"Well, if you've got more to do, you're welcome to use my property for it. " Humor crinkled Walter's eyes. "And if another of my girls goes into labor and you can handle that between sketches, that would be appreciated. "
"Can I see what you were doing?" Cathy asked, stealing a glance at the sketchbooks Thomas had stacked neatly on the side chair.
Thomas cleared his throat. "I'm an erotic artist, Mrs. Briggs. "
"Really?" A mischievous grin crossed her face, dropping twenty years from it.
"Well then, I definitely want to see it. If something in these fields can inspire those kinds of thoughts, then maybe I'll join Walter on his morning walk more often. "
"Cathy. " Walter chuckled, waved at Thomas. "Bring them to the table, let's see them. I'm sure it's the closest we'll ever to get to them, what with the prices they charge at those New York galleries. "
Thomas hesitated. Marcus squeezed his neck. "You've nothing to be concerned about, pet. They're brilliant, even in pencil. "
"Cathy did some painting in college. She even turned her hand to it again these past couple years, since we've hired summer help. "
"Walter, I'm sure he doesn't want to hear about that. It's nothing like what he's doing. "
Walter snorted at her, rose and disappeared into their bedroom. He brought back a small framed picture, a detail of a purple wildflower Thomas was sure proliferated here in the spring.
"Walter, put that away. That's like a crayon drawing next to what this boy does, if his work is shown in New York. "
"Pfft. " He arched a brow at Marcus. "She painted it for me when I was sick with pneumonia in the hospital and couldn't be here to see 'em. So it's not available to your fancy gallery at any price. "
Thomas laid his sketchbooks facedown on the table to reach across Marcus and carefully balance the small piece in his palms. "This is silk painting," he said, impressed. "You used batik wax on the resist lines. Vibrant color. Cathy, this is really good. "
As she flushed with pleasure, Thomas added, "And you created it out of love.
That's all that matters. " He handed it back to Walter. "I don't blame you for not wanting to sell it. You can't set a price on that. My mother got magnolia blooms and floated them in a bowl of water for my brother when he was recovering from his accident. Not sure he cared much about it, but just knowing she did it for him when he was scared was enough. "
Marcus rose. "I'm going out for a cigarette. "
Thomas gave him a quizzical look. When his head was turned, Cathy reached for the sketch pad and drew it over to her place before he could stop her, though Thomas reached out in automatic reaction. She gave his knuckles a light smack and winked.
Marcus stopped at the door and turned, eyes narrowing as she and her husband bent over the sketchbook silently. Thomas waited, tension in his shoulders. It was the one
of the embracing bodies, etched into the waving pattern of the grasses. He'd done it in graphite, since the charcoal was a more difficult medium to do on-the-go renderings without smudging, but Thomas had tremendous talent with the pencil and Marcus knew where he was going with the ultimate work would be clear.
Cathy tilted it up to the light from the window. "I bet you do these as easy as I breathe. I never could do people. But look at them, Walter. It's like you can feel the wind on your skin, and this is just a sketch. You'll have to drop us a postcard when you have a showing, Thomas. I'd love to see what it all looks like finished. Walter can take me to see the Rockettes like he's been promising. " It was a homey picture. The three of them together, sunlight making Cathy's tidy brown hair gleam. Thomas was watching her, and Marcus could tell he was just dumbfounded. He'd told Marcus he'd never shown his work to his own mother or father. Never been invited to do so. Not since they'd found out his preferred subject material.
Marcus stepped out, closing the door.
Thomas looked over his shoulder at the soft click, watched Marcus move past the windows and disappear around the corner of the house.
"He doesn't smoke, does he?" The question came from Walter.
Thomas shook his head, took the sketchbook back from Cathy when it was offered.
"No. I think. . . "
He wasn't sure what made him say it to the two sitting before him, but the words seemed to tumble free without thought. "I think this reminds him too much of what I'll be going back to at the end of the week. My family. North Carolina. A fiancee, of sorts. "
"A fiancee?" Cathy's brow furrowed. "But. . . "
"My family needs me. She needs someone. . . undemanding, to take care of her. " He said it quietly, zipping the sketches into the portfolio. "We're friends, she and I. If I can't be with Marcus, it doesn't really matter. And I can't be. My mother's Catholic and where we live. . . "
He put the portfolio down on the floor carefully as if it were glass, because suddenly he had to control the overwhelming urge to pick it up and throw it. The raging frustration rose like bile in his throat, fast and dizzying. "Daralyn. She needs someone. She doesn't know. . . but she knows I don't love her like that. She's delicate, just needs someone to. . . " He shook his head. "I shouldn't be telling you this. "
"You probably haven't been able to tell anyone else, have you?" Cathy said softly.