When Morning Comes (14 page)

A couple of hours after she'd found her mother on the floor, Kara figured out she was being punished, but she'd done her mother's bidding anyway. Her mother's manipulations just showed Kara how much she needed to move. Without the buffer of her father it was impossible for them to peacefully live together. It was even more important that her paintings sell.

Flinging back the covers, Kara showered, dressed, and went to the kitchen to fix her mother a tray. She paused at the entrance on seeing her mother sitting at the table, her right leg propped on a small hassock they kept in the kitchen. She always slept late unless her hip was bothering her.

Despite the doctor's stern orders, her mother hadn't done the physical therapy as ordered and now she was paying the price. She blamed the doctor for the continued pain and stiffness. Falling had probably aggravated her condition.

“Morning, Mama. Are you feeling better?”

“I've felt better.” She rubbed her right thigh. “Staying in bed seemed to make it worse. The therapist said a whirlpool would help. I could sure use it after my fall. I'm sore all over.”

“We can't afford to remodel the bathroom.” Kara reached for an apron. “What would you like?”

Her mouth tight, she looked up at Kara. “An omelet since I missed breakfast yesterday. I got up so you wouldn't have to fix my tray.”

And to take another dig at Kara, and put in another request for a whirlpool. Her mother was back full force. Kara pulled a mixing bowl from beneath the cabinet.
One day,
she thought as she cracked eggs, chopped ham, diced tomatoes, and onions,
I'll be free.

*   *   *

Kara had barely pulled out of the driveway before the phone rang. “Hello.”

“Good morning, Kara.”

Tristan.
Her hand gripped the phone. For some odd reason his voice made her teary, perhaps because he and his mother reminded her of how lacking her relationship with her own mother was, how gently he'd touched Kara.

“Kara? Are you all right?”

No.
“Yes, I'm sorry. Good morning.”

There was a slight pause. “You haven't changed your mind about letting me help you promote your paintings, have you?”

“No,” she said, then inwardly winced at the desperation in her voice.

“It'll be all right. You have talent, and we're going to show the world.”

Swallowing, she pulled through the stop sign. He wanted to reassure her. His voice soothed her, stroked her. She was sure if he had been there he would have given her a hug. Against her better judgment, she wished he was. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he said, his voice stroking her in an entirely different way.

Kara moistened her dry lips. Tristan was getting to her despite her efforts.

“Vera called back last night with an idea to get your work out there even more,” he said. “She wants to use your paintings in a million-dollar spec home she's been asked to decorate.”

“What!” Kara screeched, her hand clenching the phone.

“Exciting, isn't it?” he said, laughter in his voice. “When Mother likes something, it's full speed ahead. She's selecting pieces from several interior design studios, but she wants your art.”

Kara took the exit ramp to Haskell, her excitement building once the initial fear had disappeared. “Which paintings? They need to be framed.” She hadn't had the money or the time or the belief in herself that she could sell her work. “I can go by Fred's house this afternoon to look at the woods I have.”

“You framed them too?” he asked, surprise and awe in his voice.

“I wanted to see how different woods, stains, and molding types looked, plus it was cheaper. Fred's grandson is the manager of a lumberyard and he sells me the wood at a discount and then I frame them at a craft store in Uptown Village.”

“A true Renaissance woman. You probably already know that Van Gogh, Degas, and Eakins made their own frames. I'll meet you over there to pick up the material and you can frame them at my place. It will keep you from taking the pictures back and forth and risking damage to them. You tell me what you need, including what's at the craft store, and I'll put everything in the room with the paintings,” he offered.

“What?”

He repeated his offer. “It makes sense.”

The wooden bar lifted in the employee parking lot and she pulled through the gate. “I can't let you do that.”

“I'd like to get some photos of your work and start blogging. They'd come off better framed. It would certainly be easier working at my place.”

Easier, but definitely more dangerous and Tristan was smart enough to know it. She pulled into a parking space and shut off the engine. “Just business?”

“Whatever you say,” he agreed.

Kara frowned. He'd agreed much too quickly. “But you plan to try and change my mind, don't you?”

“Yep,” he said, laughter in his voice. “But I'll respect a no.”

That was as good as she could hope for. “I can't tonight. It will have to be tomorrow. My mother isn't feeling well.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he said. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, thank you. I'll call Fred and let you know what time to meet me there.” Getting out of the car, she started for the crosswalk.

“Tomorrow night might be better for me too. I just arrived at my current project and the first days are always long.”

“You doing another article?” She stopped on the sidewalk.

“Another house,” he said. “I rehab homes. I caught the bug when I did an article on how to make a home look lux for a fraction of the cost. I like doing different things. I bore easily. At least with some things,” he quickly added.

Kara could just imagine one of those things was women. “I see.”

“If we finish transporting everything early enough tomorrow night, I thought we might go to dinner and afterward a gallery opening. Some important people will be there.”

“I don't have a thing to wear,” she blurted. Her eyes widened at the admission. She barely kept from slapping her hand over her mouth.

“Whatever you wear, you'll look fantastic.”

She smiled at the compliment, but she had to be sensible. Tristan wanted more than to help her with her paintings. “Can I think about it and let you know later?”

“Sure.” He sounded disappointed. “One of the workers just walked in. Talk to you later. Bye.”

Kara disconnected the call and went inside the hospital. She should have insisted she frame the pictures at Fred's house, but Tristan was right about the possibility of damaging them while taking them back and forth, and it would be easier and faster if everything was all in one place. She just had to remember Tristan was off-limits.

Thus far, she wasn't doing a very good job. Her crack about clothes proved as much. Unlike her mother, she didn't obsess about clothes. There were more important things to think about, like the house payment, food, utility bills. With Burt, she certainly hadn't worried about what she'd wear.

Waving to a coworker, Kara went inside her office. Tristan was too smart not to have realized what her comment meant. Thinking about Tristan as more than a business associate was a mistake, but she seemed to be heading in that direction.

She turned to look at the last painting of her father. “Daddy, I think I'm in trouble.”

*   *   *

Several hours later, Kara was more than ready to call an end to a horrible day. Nothing had gone smoothly since she'd walked into the hospital. One family had even called her supervisor to complain that she hadn't worked hard enough to find them a nursing home. It had all boiled down to them wanting Kara to find a more luxurious accommodation that someone else paid for. Most days she enjoyed her job.

Not today.

A knock sounded on her door. She was tempted not to answer it. “Come in.”

Sabrina breezed in with the happy smile she'd been wearing more and more since she'd decided to go after Dr. Mathis. She took one look at Kara and quickly rounded her desk. “Tristan, your mother, the job, life?”

“How about all four?” Kara answered.

Sabrina sat on the corner of her desk. “I have ten minutes.”

“Mama and the job aren't going to change. Life is life.”

“So that leaves the yummy Tristan. Talk.”

Kara leaned back in her chair and told Sabrina what had happened after Kara had come home from church. “Mama doesn't trust him. Tristan admits he wants a sexual relationship. The bad thing is that no matter how hard I try, if I'm honest, I'm attracted to him. I just don't want to make a fool of myself, especially with Mama ready to tell me I told you so.” Kara's hand closed around the bottle of water on her desk. “Going over there every night to frame my paintings isn't wise.”

Sabrina put her hand on her best friend's tense shoulder. “I wish I could give you the answer. I tend to jump first and look later.”

“You aren't afraid to go after what you want.” Kara leaned forward and propped her arms on her desk. “Tristan asked me to dinner and a gallery opening tomorrow night. I want to go, but—”

“But nothing.” Sabrina cut her off. “You're going.”

“I don't have anything to wear,” Kara confessed. “Mama has maxed out the charge accounts already, but even if she hadn't I wouldn't waste any of the money he paid me or use my emergency credit card on a new outfit.”

“Buying an outfit that makes you feel and look good is not wasteful.” Sabrina stood. “I'd buy the dress for you myself if I didn't already know how stubborn you can be.”

Kara adamantly shook her head. “No, I'm not borrowing money from you.”

“Who said anything about borrowing? It's my gift for all the times you've fed me.” Sabrina folded her arms. “I wouldn't have the great house I live in if not for you. You helped me hang curtains when I was lost. I have a beautiful yard because you introduced me to Fred. I could go on, but my break is almost over.”

“You're a friend.”

“Exactly. Friends are there for each other. There's a boutique near here that has some beautiful things and they're having a sale.” Sabrina wrinkled her nose. “I went by there yesterday. They had this sexy white halter sundress I almost bought, but it wouldn't look right with a short jacket or sweater.”

It wasn't often Kara thought of the scars on Sabrina's upper body. Like everything else, Sabrina saw the burns as an inconvenience, not as an excuse to be bitter. “I wish I had your outlook on life.”

Sabrina shook her head. “And I wish I had your patience. Now, back to the dress to make Tristan drop to his knees and beg for mercy.”

A picture of Tristan on his knees flashed through her mind, but she was the one begging for mercy. She flushed, tucked her head.

Sabrina lifted a brow. “Did I miss something?”

“Just thinking,” Kara said. “I'll wear what I have.”

“Kara, why don't we just go look?”

“No. Thank you,” Kara said firmly, afraid she'd weaken. Sabrina was very persuasive. “Tristan is business and I want to keep it that way. It doesn't matter what I wear, it's the paintings that matter.”

Sabrina made a face. “You're going to kick yourself ten seconds after the store closes tomorrow at six.”

“Probably, but Tristan will have to take me as I am,” she said.

“From what you've said, he's ready to take you any way he can,” Sabrina said teasingly, and laughed out loud at Kara's blush. “All right, but if you change your mind, call me.”

“Thanks, but I won't.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.” As soon as the door closed, Kara picked up the phone and called Tristan.

“Tristan.”

Kara rubbed her jittery stomach. She wasn't sure if it was the sound of his strong voice or what was at stake that had her nervous. “If the offer for dinner and the gallery opening is still open, I accept. Fred says he'll be at home after four so we can pick up the wood.”

“Give me his number and I'll send someone to pick the material up so you can go home after work tomorrow to check on your mother,” he said.

He was a quick thinker, and thoughtful. She gave him the number.

“I'll pick you up at seven tomorrow night. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.” Kara hung up the phone and bit her lower lip. Had he sounded impatient? She recalled his earlier words that he became bored easily. Had he already become tired of her? She chastised herself. She wasn't going to do this to herself. He was probably busy.

*   *   *

Kara opened the back door of her mother's house a little after five Monday afternoon. She'd debated all the way home whether to tell her mother about working with Tristan. She finally came to the conclusion that it was cowardly not to. Besides, how was she going to explain being away from home every afternoon for a couple of hours? However, she was not mentioning the check.

Turning on the oven, she went to check on her mother and change before cooking dinner. Her bedroom door was ajar. Kara heard her mother laughing.

Kara pushed the door open farther. Her mother was reclining on the lift chair eating ice cream off her best china. “Hello, Mama. Glad you're feeling better.”

She jumped, almost dropping the bowl. She looked at Kara with annoyance. “You scared me. You're home early.”

“I wanted to check on you,” Kara said. “It's good seeing you're all right. After tonight, I'll be working on framing my paintings in the evenings.”

Her mother's eyes narrowed. “You still have too many things around the house to start painting again.”

“I won't have to,” Kara said, taking a certain amount of pleasure in the announcement. “Tristan returned the paintings to me. He's going to help me sell them.”

Her mother straightened. “How much?”