I Think I Love You! Page 2

  Done with thinking about him and her father, she changed into her old clothes and set out her palette. Work would block all the negative things she felt. For all her screw-ups, at least she’d been blessed with that.

  * * *

  Blake drove up to the hospital where their board member and family friend was about to have an emergency quadruple bypass. Anderson Roth was in critical condition. Once inside, Blake headed to the cardiac floor where he found his father, Blake Parker Sr., his mother and Audrey sitting at a table, sipping coffee. He crossed to them.

  “Hello, son,” his dad said. “Glad you could get here for this.”

  “Of course.” He sat down next to Audrey. Took her hand. It was cold and felt thin. Fragile. She didn’t care for public displays of affection, but this time, she gripped his fingers. “It’s heart surgery. On Daddy.”

  “I know, darling. But this operation is very common these days.”

  Her light blue eyes teared. “Not to me.”

  “We have to pray for the best.” Trite, he knew, but Audrey wouldn’t be consoled no matter what he said. She was devoted to her father since her mother died years ago.

  Still holding her hand, he turned to his mother in the seat adjacent to him and kissed her on the cheek. Lucinda Brock Parker was still attractive at sixty. She sat erect, in a slim suit of dark blue silk. And even during a crisis, he caught a whiff of her signature perfume from France. “I’m happy you’re here, son.”

  “I am too, Mother.” He glanced around. “Is there anything I can do? It’s lunchtime. I could get us food.”

  His father stood. He towered over everyone, asserting his power innately. “Your mother and I will go to the cafeteria first. Then you two can take a turn.” He grasped onto his wife’s hand to help her stand, and they left.

  “I’m sorry. Were you hungry now?” Blake asked Audrey.

  She shook her head. Her hair, in a blond bob to her shoulders, swayed with the movement. She said, “My father makes autocratic decisions like that all the time. I’d miss him so, Blake, if...”

  “Do not go down that road, Audrey. We have to stay positive.”

  She went silent.

  What to talk about? Her career focused on running the charities for the Roth Foundation. She had an MBA in finance and management. His schooling had been in the arts. Neither was involved with the other’s passion. Suitably interested but not involved.

  After a hefty sigh, Audrey picked up the conversation. “Tell me about your meeting with the new artist.”

  “It went well. She’s so good. Every time I see her work, I’m surprised by it.”

  “Really, how can that be?”

  “I must see something different each time.”

  “It’s modern, isn’t it?” She said the word with almost a distaste.

  “Yes. So that kind of reaction is supposed to happen, but it doesn’t always.”

  She got distracted quickly, and said, “Do you mind if I check my email? I won’t think about Daddy.”

  “Of course, whatever makes you feel better.”

  He studied Audrey after she took out her phone. She was the opposite of Ravenna Marcello in every way. She was small and petite. Ravenna stood tall and...had muscles, he guessed. Audrey’s hair was never messed up, even after sex, and Ravenna wore hers down and messy or pinned up in clips. He could go on, but for some reason the comparison depressed him.

  So he took out his phone and checked his messages, too.

  It wasn’t until late afternoon that they learned Anderson had come through the surgery fine and his prognosis was a full recovery.

  Chapter 2

  Raven drove onto Stepping Stones Academy grounds and her heart filled with peace, as it did each of the two times a week that she volunteered here. In a suburb of Maryland, the private school was set on three acres of land, which included fields for sports, three smaller structures for the arts and a big brick classroom building. They accepted only grades five through twelve students, all with special needs.

  Stepping Stones’s mission was to provide a safe and nurturing environment, to be developmentally appropriate, student-centered and individualized. The program also facilitated students having fun while learning to get along with their peers. The curriculum stimulated their talents, abilities, strengths. The latter was where Raven came in.

  Her pass was okayed at the door, and she hustled to the art building, which was connected to the main structure. As she entered one of the large rooms, she was comforted by the scent of art: paint, of course, but there was also a hint of charcoal, turpentine and chalk. “Hi, Macy.”

  From a table where she sat, Macy Marino looked up. She was loosely related to the Gentileschis because one of the Marinos had married Raven’s older sister Calla.

  The woman had pretty, strawberry-blond hair back in a braid, her hazel eyes bright. She even sported freckles. The typical girl next door. Her son Simon was a student here.

  “Hey, Raven. How are you today?”

  “I’m good when I come to school every single time.”

  “I know the feeling.” She checked the clock. “The kids’ll be here in five minutes.”

  She joined Macy at the table.

  “You look nice today.”

  “Not my style, but Lexy said these colors are soothing.” Raven had bought school clothes in pretty summer colors that didn’t suit her at all. But she didn’t want to wear black for these visits. It seemed as if dark, haunting colors might have a negative effect on the students.

  “So, Devon asked to work with you again.”

  “Great.”

  Devon was a tenth grader who suffered from severe anxiety. Mostly, she was a sweetheart, but when she had flare-ups of the condition, she could be tough.

  “I’m going to do Emotion Painting with her.” An activity in art therapy to help kids express their emotions and stand back and see a visual representation of what they were feeling. The result was enlightening.

  Macy said, “You’re so creative.”

  “Thanks.”

  Three kids appeared at the door. Macy stood. “Hello, everybody. Come inside.”

  Devon’s gaze stayed on Raven as she walked farther into the room.

  “Devon, you go with Ms. Raven today.”

  The expression on the girl’s face, which was so often filled with sadness, was like the sun coming out on a dreary February day.

  Raven stood. “Let’s go over to the space by the window.”

  The room was sectioned off for individualization. When they could bring in another artist, a third person worked with a student. Raven’s area was a soothing slate blue with big windows which allowed in the morning light. Two easels were set up, sporting large tablets of drawing paper. A table had been put next to each easel holding acrylic paint, paintbrushes, water containers, plastic mixing trays, paper towels and pencils. Devon picked up a pink painting smock, donned it, then sat in front of one station. Raven put on similar clothing and dropped in front of the other.

  “Tell me how we take care of our tools, kiddo.”

  “Clean brushes before dipping into a new fresh color. Treat the brushes good by not squishing them down on the paper. Try not to drip paint.” She rolled her eyes at the quiz. “What are we painting?”

  Kids were always anxious to get stuff on the canvas. “We’re doing an emotion painting. Can you describe what you’re feeling today in words?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “No, of course not. But we do have to talk about a few things. Study the palette. Now tell me what emotions an individual color emits to you?”

  “Red is angry. Yellow happy. Black sad. Blue can be happy or sad.” She commented on the other hues in the rainbow.

  “Okay, how about lines? What kinds are there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Draw some lines on the paper.”

  “But I’ll ruin it.”

  “We’ve got lots.”

  The girl drew a straight line, a squ
iggly one, a jagged one and a zig-zag. Some were short, some long.

  “Which is happy?” Raven asked.

  “The squiggly one.”

  “Sad?”

  “The jagged one.” Devon’s gaze narrowed. “It’s mad, too.”

  “What about the zig-zag?”

  “More mad.”

  “All right. Start your picture knowing all that.”

  “You paint, too.”

  “I will.”

  Devon ripped off the line sheet and picked up a brush. Raven mixed a color, too, but didn’t look at Devon. She knew the girl got nervous over being watched.

  So, she asked herself as she stared at the blank canvas, How are you feeling today, Raven?

  Still frustrated from yesterday’s aborted work with Blake Parker. Still happy about the show. She’d concentrate on the latter. Raven began to paint.

  And lost herself.

  * * *

  Frustrated, Blake tossed the ball into the air, raised his racket and smashed the little blue sphere into the wall in front of him. It hit exactly where the floor met the wall and bounced up in a lob. His buddy, Caleb Cramer, sprinted to the farther wall and returned the shot. The volley went on for three more rounds, then Caleb tried a corner shot and it fizzled out.

  “My game,” Blake said as he walked to the side to get a towel. Sweat dripped down his face and dampened the shirt of his white tennis outfit. The activity was invigorating.

  Caleb stood on the court. “One more game?”

  “You’re a glutton for punishment. We already played two.”

  “And we’re tied.”

  “All right.”

  Aces, lobs, bullet shots and those that died took up the next half hour. When they finished, they both headed toward their things. “Water or juice?” Caleb asked.

  “Both, actually. You got time?”

  “I run my business so I’m the boss. You?”

  Blake sighed. “I wanted to meet with the exhibitor for the new art wing, but she was busy. You’d think she’d free herself up for the biggest show of her career.”

  “Yeah, you would. What’s she doing that’s so important?”

  “She wouldn’t tell me. To be fair, I left her in the lurch yesterday to go to the hospital. She can meet tomorrow.”

  They’d walked upstairs while they talked and got drinks, then settled in cushioned chairs with just the right amount of support.

  “To privilege,” Caleb said, to needle Blake. They played at his country club which had the best amenities. His friend eschewed these kinds of trappings.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I inherited my wealth and you’re a self-made man.”

  Caleb had been his roommate at Yale and became a lifelong friend. He’d gotten scholarships and had jobs during college, but he was ambitious and smart as a whip. He still wore his blond hair long and favored casual clothes. Now, he took a bead on Blake. “I’m kidding. I know how hard you work.”

  Blake downed some juice. Tart and ice-cold, it hit the spot. “I’m touchy, I guess. I get this subtle vibe from Ravenna Marcello that she thinks I’m a snob.”

  “That’s the modern artist who has the show, right?”

  “Uh-huh. She hasn’t said much, but she looks at me with disdain, I guess.”

  Caleb’s laugh was full and hearty. “Not the reaction you usually get—or got—from women.”

  “I guess not. Plus she’s prickly.”

  “You’re used to that from painters.”

  “Something about her rubs me the wrong way.”

  “What’s she like?”

  He pictured her. “Dark hair, messy. Black as onyx eyes. Wears black all the time.”

  His friend’s gaze narrowed on him. “Who’d you last feature in the gallery?”

  Blake named the guy.

  “What color are his eyes?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What color are his eyes?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Don’t you think it’s interesting that you can describe this woman to a tee?”

  “She’s very striking.”

  “Hmm.”

  Blake knew that expletive. “For god’s sake, Caleb, I’m engaged.”

  Caleb didn’t respond.

  “I know you don’t like Audrey.”

  “I don’t like her for you. She’s too...perfect.”

  “Beautiful, sophisticated, smart and successful are pretty attractive.”

  “No, I don’t mean that. She loves you, I know, but she’s too devoted to you. You need more of a challenge.”

  “No, buddy, you need more of a challenge. I like simpler relationships.”

  “I’m not trying to cause any problems.”

  “I know.” This man unconditionally supported him. And vice versa. “Any women in your life since your breakup with Judith?”

  “No.” His eyes lit. “Hey, why don’t you introduce me to Ravenna? She sounds like my type.”

  “I guess she is. But when you break her heart, she’d blame me, so no introductions.”

  “All right.”

  “Now tell me about work.” Caleb ran a very successful nonprofit organization which got grants for renewable energy.

  Blake tried to concentrate on the very worthwhile endeavor of his friend that Blake himself supported through personal donations and money from the gallery. But his mind kept drifting. When he realized his thoughts went to Ravenna’s eyes, he cursed Caleb’s wisecrack.

  * * *

  The next day Raven arrived at Parker’s with the rest of her paintings and noticed Blake’s car was already here. Of course, in addition to planning her show, he ran the gallery. Leaving her stuff in the SUV, she walked inside and headed for his office.

  Blake was on the phone. “I told you we needed the benches by next week. They’d better be here, Williams, or I won’t work with you again.”

  Silence on his end. Then, “I hope so,” and hung up. And noticed Raven.

  “Problems?”

  “I ordered curved benches for the sections in the new wing and beneath the windows in the hallway. Williams, my supplier, is behind. I hate when people don’t hold up to their commitments.”

  “Did he have a good reason?”

  “No. He said the work was going slowly.”

  “Then I’d be pissed off, too.”

  Taking a deep breath, he sat back in his chair. “So, you’re here. Did you bring the paintings?”

  “I did. They’re in the car.”

  He picked up his phone again. Pressed a button. “Hi, it’s Blake. Can I have two maintenance people up here?” He waited. “Thanks.” To Raven, he said, “The guys are coming now. We’ll meet them at the front door.”

  Once the artwork was deposited in their correct section—a fairly big job—Blake scanned the collection in first. “Wow, they’re bigger than I remembered.” Before he chose to feature her at Parker’s, he’d insisted on seeing the real paintings, not only the slides.

  “I didn’t paint them for any specific area. I let inspiration guide me on the canvas.”

  “Maybe you should have been more cognizant of the size.”

  That got her back up. “Two-thirds of them were already done, Blake.”

  Impatiently, he said, “I hope this isn’t a problem.”

  Trying to be the adult, she said, “We’ll have to adjust. Cut down the number of paintings, if necessary.” She couldn’t help but add, “Adjusting isn’t your forte though, is it?”

  His shoulders tensed. Today he wore an expensive navy sports coat, a pristine light blue shirt and high-quality dark pants. Raven knew good clothes when she saw them. “I like order. But I know there will be variables putting on exhibitions.”

  She walked over to the main painting lying against the wall where it would eventually be hung. She ripped off the wrapping.

  For a moment, he stood staring at Silenced. Raven tried to view her work through his eyes. She wondered if he saw what she saw. Red swirling circles in thick brush
strokes, each getting smaller as they went inward. The very last was simply a thick black dot. Hence the name. For the background, she’d used black and gray sections in a variety of shades and shapes going in different directions.

  Finally, he shook his head. “Amazing.” He turned back to her. “Shall we unwrap the others and see where they’d best be put?”

  They lined the paintings up against one wall and both stood there studying them. “For the paintings on either side of Silenced, I’d choose these.” Raven pointed to two.

  “Let’s try them in that order.”

  They set each a few feet away from the main work.

  Blake frowned. “That’s too much red together.”

  “They all have red in them, Blake.”

  “Some more than others.” He glanced around the room. “So, if the viewer starts off to the right, I’d like to see more contrast.”

  “I’m not sure I agree.”

  He turned. Raised that damn eyebrow again. “We’ll try it my way first.”

  Raven bit back a retort. He was in charge. “Fine.” They both reached for the same painting. His palm brushed the back of her hand. His was big and warm. She moved away quickly and went down to another painting that contrasted to Silenced with the red, but also had pinks peeking out and a light blue shone through. It was called Sunset.

  “That’s great,” he said, looking at the two of them.

  She wasn’t sure. So she said, “Why don’t you take a shot at setting up all seven of them, and I’ll see if I agree?”

  “Agree? Your contract says you’ll have input, Ravenna, not approval.”

  That had been a stickler for her. “I realize that. But you have to take my input seriously instead of being your usual autocratic self.”

  “I’m not autocratic.”

  Now she raised a brow, too.

  “Whatever.”

  “Why are you so prickly today?” she asked in exasperation.

  He took in a deep breath. “The problem with the benches bothers me. And then there’s Anderson. He’s still in ICU. And his daughter’s a wreck.”