Beach Rental(38)

“Are you afraid Ben will cancel the deal you two made?”

She wanted to spit. “Let me know what you decide.” Juli paused in the doorway with her hand on the knob. “If you think talking to Frankie will help, and you’re willing to try, let me know. I’ll call you when he comes around again.”

“Give me his address. Maybe I’ll drop by.”

His words dashed her like cold water. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Juli went to his desk, grabbed a pen and scribbled the address of the apartment house on a sticky note. Luke left it lying there on his desk, conspicuously not touching it.

She wanted to discourage Frankie, but not for Luke to delve more closely into her life. Luke, going to where Frankie lived, to where she had so recently lived, made her uncomfortable. Frankie could say anything, true or not. Luke would be a receptive audience.

If that was the price Juli had to pay for his help, then so be it.

Frankie liked to fly low, below the radar, to avoid police attention. A few words from someone like Luke would keep him away.

Juli left his office without goodbye or thanks. Maia was nearby tidying a shelf. The customer had gone. Had Maia overheard them? Her plea for Luke’s help? His insulting remarks?

It was obvious Maia had heard enough to make her uncomfortable because her smile was without its dimples and her eyes looked dull.

“I’ve got to run, Maia. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Okay.” Maia averted her eyes. “Rain check?”

“Sure.” She walked past.

Maia called out, “Juli?”

Juli stopped. “Yes?”

“I’ll call you later this week?”

“Sure.” Juli left the gallery. Out the door and halfway down the steps, she turned back and saw Maia entering Luke’s office.

It saddened her, but Maia was as temporary in her life as the rest of them.





Chapter Twelve



“So, it’s clear you understand perspective.” Anna drew in the air, her fingers tracing imaginary lines meeting at a point. In this case, the point was the end of the dock as it stretched out into the sound. Juli had drawn her lines on sketch paper.

Anna put her thumbs together as if framing the real-life scene before them. “Where you have the dock beginning, where it crosses the shoreline, uses overlap to reinforce the perception of perspective, of having three dimensions.”

Today, the classroom was Anna’s backyard. About twenty feet from where the water met the shore, they’d spread an old cotton blanket on the ground and put the chairs on top of it. The blanket discouraged the insects in the grass from biting their ankles. The grass beneath it, made the blanket look fluffy.

“I remember those lessons from middle school. We used rulers, though.”

“Well, it’s no good making the lines too perfect, unless maybe you’re drawing a machine. In the case of this dock, you want to show its personality, its vagaries.”

“You mean its flaws, like where it’s old and falling apart?”

“Yes, that’s exactly right.” She touched her face. “If you were to draw me, you’d catch the wrinkles and gray hair to give character and distinctiveness.”

Heat flooded Juli’s face. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I meant the dock looked like it needed some work. I didn’t mean, well, I wasn’t talking about—you know, age.”

“No harm done. Age is a fact whether it’s docks or people.” Anna settled back into her lawn chair and stretched her long, narrow bare feet out in front of her. “Folks are funny. They search for beauty. They try to find it, make it if they can’t find it, and then try to preserve it to keep it. But perfection is boring.” She laid her head back against the metal frame of the chair. “Look at the Old Masters. Look at paintings that have withstood time and changing tastes. You’ll see ideas of beauty, but you won’t see perfection of features.”

Juli shifted the sketchbook on her knees and stared at the dock.

Anna waved in that direction. “Look at the individual boards. Notice how the nail heads are pounded in at varying angles and how the shape of the shadows around each are different. Forget for the moment that you’re sketching the dock and draw one of the boards.”

Juli dropped the pad of paper onto the blanket. She walked the few steps to where the dock began and knelt to look at the boards. She touched the weather-smoothed crevices and the worn edges at the cut ends of the planks.

“It’s almost a pattern.”

“It is definitely a pattern. A unique pattern because each piece of wood will weather according to its grain.”

The lawn chair sighed as Juli took her seat again and reclaimed the sketchbook. “This sounds more like a philosophical discussion than an art lesson.”