Love Makes the Difference (Sully Point Book 1) (5 page)

He blinked at her and took a gulp of his drink--then blinked
more rapidly as his eyes watered. "What the--"

"Yeah, I know. I went a little crazy with the tequila.
Here's the thing. I know you may not see me as a little kid anymore, but you
don't see me as a grown-up, either. You're able to see Cody and Holly as adults,
but not me. And it's time. I've been thinking a lot about this and I've come to
a decision."

She paused to take another swallow and Frank said, "Wait
a minute, just wait. I've always called you kiddo, but that doesn't mean I see
you as a kid. I know you're twenty-three, Anna. I can see that you've grown up."

"Maybe so, maybe it's me being overly sensitive, but
could you try to call me something different?"

"All right, I can do that. Now, what's this decision
you're talking about?"

She straightened her shoulders and stood facing him. "Dad--I
want to move into my loft, to live there, full time."

Frank took a careful sip of his drink. "You're sure
about this?"

Anna nodded. "I really want it. I want to be on my own
and I've always loved the loft. I can fix it up so it's not quite so industrial-feeling."

"It will need more than just decorating. There's barely
a kitchen in the place. And as I recall, the bathroom isn't much, either. But
you know, between Cody and me, we could give you an upgrade."

"That would be wonderful--but--wait, aren't you going
to try and talk me out of it?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you think I'm still a kid!"

"Anna, I've been waiting for you to have this talk with
me. I know it's time for you to be out making your own way. But you had to come
to that realization on your own. I'm proud of you ki--uh, honey."

Anna stared at him. "You were waiting for me? I've been
staying here for you, Dad, so you wouldn't be all alone."

"Ah," Frank said and reached out to pat her on the
shoulder. "I think I'll be okay, just like you will be. Come on, let's sit
down and figure out what we need to do to that loft to make it really livable."

Anna felt a huge sense of relief. He was okay with this.
Inside her there was a burgeoning sense of freedom, of lightness. "You sit
here at the kitchen table, Dad, and make a list while I make the enchiladas. We
need food in our stomachs to counteract these margaritas."

"That's for sure," he muttered.

* * * *

The next morning, Anna woke up with a hangover, but also
with a growing sense of delight. As she lay in bed being still, she thought
about last night. She and her father had stayed up late making plans for the
loft, figuring out how much the renovations would cost, coming up with various
drawings until they had it nailed down. And they'd finished off the margaritas.

With her savings, she could help finance some of the work
and get better furniture for the space. Her father wanted to pay for the rest.
Actually, he wanted to pay for all of it, but Anna insisted on doing her part.
One long wall would be filled with bookshelves. She had quite a large
collection of books. A section would be cordoned off with screens for a bedroom
and the bathroom and kitchen would be enlarged and fitted out with new fixtures
and appliances.

Anna thought about her paintings propped up in various
locations around the loft. She'd need to put them all in the large packing
crate she kept in a smaller room at the back of the loft for storage. It wasn't
that she was trying to keep the paintings from her family. Through the years,
they'd seen various paintings. Holly had one in her office in the city. But
lately some of her paintings were more...passionate, more revealing of her
inner self. She wasn't quite ready for anyone's eyes to look at them yet. Once
she got some distance from the work, after some time went by, it wouldn't
matter so much. Someday, she would show them, but not today.

She jumped out of bed, grabbed her head and moaned in agony,
but hurried to get dressed. Glancing at the clock, she realized she'd have to
wait until the afternoon when Kayla came in to take over at the bakery before
she could go to the loft. She was flat out of time this morning to pack up the
paintings.

Grabbing some aspirin and a bottle of water from the fridge,
she left the house and took her car to work rather than walking. The
dilapidated old automobile came to life with a stutter or two, but then ran
smoothly. As she drove, she thought that one good thing from the previous night
was not thinking about Sam at all. She'd been so caught up in the planning for
the loft that he hadn't entered her mind. But he did now.

He seemed like a nice guy with a good sense of humor, great
looks, friendly manner--what the heck was his actual job? She wondered
suddenly,
should I just ask him?

The more she thought this idea over, the more she liked it.
At work, she started on the cinnamon rolls so they would have time to rise. She'd
call Kayla after nine and see if she could be in earlier today so Anna could
leave.

* * * *

Sam spent the morning up on the roof fixing some loose
shingles. By noon he was starving and out of nails. He climbed down the ladder and
decided to go by the bakery for rolls and then hit the deli. First, though, it
was time for a shower.

He was rinsing soap off his body when he wondered whether
Anna would be interested in hearing about his literary creation Danielle--then
he stopped and shook his head. What was he thinking? He couldn't just blurt out
information about a character in his book when nobody knew he was a writer. And
why would Anna be interested anyway? Or was it that he wanted her opinion on
the character? He realized he had no business being concerned about what Anna
thought of his characters.

How could he keep his writing--his identity--a secret and
still see what she thought...and should he even try?
The thing is, I do care
what she thinks.
Maybe it was time to tell someone--no, not yet. It always
made a difference to people--the money, the fame. He'd have to come up with
some story that skirted the truth but didn't reveal it.

* * * *

Frank Grainger felt enthused as he opened up the hardware
store. The long-awaited talk with Anna had finally happened and he was thrilled
she was feeling independent. He'd worried for the past few years, afraid she
was stuck in a comfortable, safe, boring existence. He wanted her to get out
there and spread her wings. Having a place of her own was the first big step.

He decided to head over to the loft early in the afternoon
to take some measurements. Then he'd look for the brochure from the makers of
old-fashioned looking appliances that were actually energy efficient. Anna
would probably love the idea of an old-style stove in some retro color.
Especially in that space, which would need some help making it feel homey.

By lunch time, he saw Sam Carter walking through the
doorway. "What do you need today, Sam?"

"Nails. For roofing shingles."

"All right, they're here in the boxes on this shelf.
How're things going for you today?"

"A little confused. I have something I need to explain
to--someone. On the good side of things, the house is just about finished. I'm
done with all the painting and my furniture should be arriving tomorrow."

"You must have a lot of experience working on old
houses if you've managed to make Wally's place livable in so short a time."

"I do have some experience," Sam said with a
smile. "I've fixed up a few others through the years. Renovations of one
sort or the other."

Frank paused and looked at Sam. "I wonder..."

"Hmm?" Sam murmured as he counted out money. "Did
you say something?"

Frank nodded. "Yes, I was wondering if you'd like to
look in on a little reno job I'm going to be working on. My son Cody and I are
going to work on a bathroom and kitchen in a loft. I was going over to take
some measurements now. If you wanted to come along, you might have some ideas
that we could use."

"Oh, I don't know if I want to  get involved in your
business--"

"Sorry--I wasn't clear. It's not actually business, it's
Anna's loft."

Sam's head jerked up from looking at his wallet. "What's
that? Anna's...loft?"

Frank felt curious about the intensity of Sam's tone of
voice. "Yes, she has a loft here in town off Main Street. She's going to
be moving in there once we fix it up."

"But I thought--what about her boyfriend? Isn't that
his place off Main?"

Frowning, Frank said, "I don't know where you get your
information, but it's wrong. Anna doesn't have a boyfriend."

"She doesn't? Oh. Well. All right. Yes, I'll come by the
place and offer any advice I might come up with."

"I was planning on heading over there now, actually. We
can drive together."

"Sure, sure," Sam said rather dazedly. "How
about I pick you up so you can ride in the roadster?"

Frank smiled widely. "Now that sounds like a fine idea,
just fine."

* * * *

Sam's desire to know what was going on burned through his
mind as he tried to rearrange his suppositions about Anna's life. No boyfriend.
No abusive relationship. So why did she have a loft that she went to in the
nighttime? Just what was her secret life about? It was funny how they both had
secret lives. They appeared to be more similar than he'd realized.

He picked up Frank in front of the hardware store.

"Seriously nice car!" Frank said as he got in.

"Thanks. It's pretty fun to drive."

"Just take a right off Main Street up there and it's on
the first block. We can park on the street."

Sure enough, the building was the same one he'd seen Anna
enter. Now maybe he'd get some answers. They walked up one flight of stairs,
but Sam saw an old elevator with an open cage. Frank unlocked the door and
stepped into the loft with Sam right behind him, so that Sam ran into Frank's
back when Frank stopped dead.

"Whoa, what's up?" Sam asked, peering around Frank
into the large open space. Then he saw what Frank was looking at and found he
had no words.

The painting was on a large easel. It was big. And
unbelievably good. The depth, the intensity, the passion that shone through...Sam
was stunned. Frank appeared to be as well.

"Anna--Anna did this?" Sam asked, feeling a kind
of awe.

Frank said quietly in a shaking voice, "Yes...oh, yes.
Her mother was an artist. But I never knew Anna had come so far."

"How could you not know? This painting is...wonderful.
You hadn't seen it before now?"

"No, it's been a while since I've seen any of her
paintings. Actually..." Frank turned to Sam and looked uncomfortable.
"She has never been big on showing her paintings to people outside the
family. I guess I shouldn't have brought you here. I didn't think about her
paintings being out like this."

"Frank, if that's how she feels, we need to get out of
here, like, now." As he grabbed the other man's arm and turned to pull him
back out the door, he heard steps running up the stairs and knew he was too
late.

It was Anna and she was clearly shocked to see them. Frank
stepped forward. "Anna, honey, I brought him because of the reno--I had no
idea all your paintings would be out like this."

Anna held up a hand, palm outward. "Just--stop talking
a minute, okay? You both went in and saw my paintings? Looked at all of
them?"

"No, we stopped at the doorway as soon as we realized
they were out everywhere. We were just going to leave. But honey, they're wonderful."

Anna shook her head, tears in her vibrantly green eyes, but
not falling. Sam felt awful. He knew how he would feel if someone read one of
his manuscripts before he was ready. "I'm sorry, Anna," he said
quietly.

Now he understood the intensity of those eyes he'd noticed
before, a depth he hadn't recognized when he should have. They were alike, he
and Anna, both artists, of different types, yes, but heavily involved in the
creative process. No wonder he'd been attracted to her! Of all people, he more
than others understood her need to keep work private. Now it was like they had
ripped off her protections and had stared at her soul when they'd looked at the
painting. He understood that and couldn't think of a single thing to say to fix
it.

"Could both of you just go now? Please? I need for you
to leave."

All he could do was nod acceptance of her wishes and walk
out the doorway and down the stairs. He heard Frank try to talk to his daughter
again and be rebuffed. His steps on the stairs could be heard coming down slow
and heavy. When he got to the bottom he said, "Sam--I don't know what to
say. If I'd had any idea, I'd never have brought you here. I didn't mean for
you to get involved in something like this."

"I understand, perhaps better than most." Sam
said, looking down. "I am--well--I'm a writer. I came here to work on a
novel. So I understand about not wanting people to see your work until you're
ready. She obviously wasn't ready yet for people to see her art. I wonder why,
though."

"Sam, be honest, did you see what I saw? Pure talent on
the canvas?"

"Yes, she is beyond talented. She's an accomplished
painter and could have a showing in New York tomorrow if a gallery owner saw
her work. She's that good."

"Glad to have a second opinion. You see, I think she
doesn't believe they're any good. Or at least, not as good as her mother's
paintings were. Long story. Anyway, I think that's why she's been timid about
showing them. Then here you come, not quite a stranger, but close enough and
she has a cr--well she meets you and suddenly you're in her loft looking at her
work. I see why she got upset."

Sam thought about it. "She should know they're good. I
mean, if she let people see them she'd hear only good things. Well. Let's get
you back to your store. I think we've done all the damage we can do here today."