Bay of Sighs
Page 80
“You like it.” With one of Riley’s famed Bellinis in hand, Sasha wandered out, hooked her arm through Sawyer’s.
“It’s everything she is.”
“I’m going to do others. It’s why I did so many sketches. I want her in the classic mermaid on the rock in the sea, and I want her doing cartwheels or flips on the lawn.”
Hearing how relaxed she sounded, seeing all the strain had vanished from her face, Sawyer understood Bran’s reasons for waiting another day or two.
Riley had it right, too. They needed the break.
“I could paint her for years,” Sasha continued. “And I likely will. But this one’s for you.”
“For—for me?”
“Absolutely.” While she sipped her Bellini, Sasha studied her work with a critical eye. “I need maybe another hour with it, just to punch it up, then it’s yours. Just like she is.”
“But I can’t take her, can I?”
“We’re in a world of miracles and magicks. I’m going to believe in both.”
“This painting. It means a lot, more than I can tell you. I need to give you something for it. Not money,” he said when she started to pull away. “I get that, and it’d be insulting between us. But when this is over, when we’ve done what we’re meant to do, if you want that conversation with Monet, I’ll take you.”
She gasped, bounced on her toes, grabbed him in a hug. “Oh, my God! Sawyer, that would be— Oh, my God! I have to brush up, big-time, on my French.”
“With just one down and two to go, I figure there’s time.”
“Riley will find the Bay of Sighs, then we’ll have two, and one to go. I just . . . I haven’t felt where we go from here. Have you?”
He shook his head. “No hints from the compass yet.”
“It’ll come, for both of us. And you need another day, at least, before we pick all this up again. So, tomorrow it’s you.”
“It’s me what?”
“I’m going to paint you tomorrow. I haven’t figured out what I’m after with you yet.” She stepped back a pace, studied him with a keen and curious eye that made him feel . . . goofy.
“But it’s you,” she said firmly.
“It already feels weird.”
But he took a seat in the sun, and looked forward to having a beer with friends.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sawyer knew he was well on the mend when Doyle ordered him into training—on the light side—in the morning. And he managed five pull-ups before his shoulder screamed like a woman getting a hard pinch on the ass. Maybe it scored the pride, a little, when Sasha did five, then gutted her way through a sixth.
“I’m not last.” Sliding to the ground, panting, Sasha wagged a fist in victory. “I’m not last.”
“Hey, bum shoulder. Near-death experience.”
“I don’t care. Today, this fine day, I’m not last. And you’re on breakfast detail.”
Maybe he shouldn’t have been so impatient to get back to it all.
But he could admit to relief when he didn’t want to crawl back into bed after an hour’s activity. And when he did crawl back into bed again, with Annika, he’d do something—at last—besides sleep.
So that did make it a very fine day.
Though it did feel weird, he posed for Sasha—mostly because she hounded him. He stood for an hour—another triumph—wearing his guns, left hand on the butt of one, compass held in the other.
At one point Riley wandered out.
“Did you find something?” he demanded.
“No—and you and Doyle can stuff it. I’m taking a break. The guy who knows what we want to know should be available tomorrow.”
“Hope you get him before you wolf out.” Hip cocked now, the thumb of the hand holding the compass hooking in his pocket, Sawyer sent Riley a quick, insolent grin. “Hey, you could bark in Morse code.”
Riley merely shot up her middle finger, studied the painting. “Yeah, you’re getting him, Sash, right down to the beady little eyes.”
“You need to do Rile here in wolf form, Sasha. An action shot. Like when she’s scratching at fleas.”
“I don’t have—” Riley hissed out a breath; Sasha just kept working.
“Do you believe in reincarnation?” she asked Riley.
“Absolutely. One go-round? What’s the point?”
“I strongly believe the two of you were siblings in another life. And I do want to paint you in wolf form. And as you are now.”
“I don’t think—”
“All sides of us,” Sasha interrupted, and chose another brush. “Now that I’ve started, I know it’s something I need to do. Do you need a break, Sawyer?”
“I’m good, unless you do.”
“I’d like to keep going—until you tell me you need a break. And you have to tell me. Painting helps me focus, and she’s trying to get in.”
“What? Nerezza?” Riley squeezed Sasha’s shoulder. “I’ll get Bran.”
“No, it’s all right.” Calmly, Sasha worked on Sawyer’s hair—he had a lot of it—sweeping in sunstreaks. “I’m all right, and he’s busy. Annika’s helping him mix medicines. I want Nerezza to try, and if I feel she’s getting through, we’ll get Bran.” Focused, Sasha continued to paint, switching brushes to detail the curve of Sawyer’s fingers on the compass. “I don’t want to push back today, just block. I can’t explain why—”
“It’s everything she is.”
“I’m going to do others. It’s why I did so many sketches. I want her in the classic mermaid on the rock in the sea, and I want her doing cartwheels or flips on the lawn.”
Hearing how relaxed she sounded, seeing all the strain had vanished from her face, Sawyer understood Bran’s reasons for waiting another day or two.
Riley had it right, too. They needed the break.
“I could paint her for years,” Sasha continued. “And I likely will. But this one’s for you.”
“For—for me?”
“Absolutely.” While she sipped her Bellini, Sasha studied her work with a critical eye. “I need maybe another hour with it, just to punch it up, then it’s yours. Just like she is.”
“But I can’t take her, can I?”
“We’re in a world of miracles and magicks. I’m going to believe in both.”
“This painting. It means a lot, more than I can tell you. I need to give you something for it. Not money,” he said when she started to pull away. “I get that, and it’d be insulting between us. But when this is over, when we’ve done what we’re meant to do, if you want that conversation with Monet, I’ll take you.”
She gasped, bounced on her toes, grabbed him in a hug. “Oh, my God! Sawyer, that would be— Oh, my God! I have to brush up, big-time, on my French.”
“With just one down and two to go, I figure there’s time.”
“Riley will find the Bay of Sighs, then we’ll have two, and one to go. I just . . . I haven’t felt where we go from here. Have you?”
He shook his head. “No hints from the compass yet.”
“It’ll come, for both of us. And you need another day, at least, before we pick all this up again. So, tomorrow it’s you.”
“It’s me what?”
“I’m going to paint you tomorrow. I haven’t figured out what I’m after with you yet.” She stepped back a pace, studied him with a keen and curious eye that made him feel . . . goofy.
“But it’s you,” she said firmly.
“It already feels weird.”
But he took a seat in the sun, and looked forward to having a beer with friends.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sawyer knew he was well on the mend when Doyle ordered him into training—on the light side—in the morning. And he managed five pull-ups before his shoulder screamed like a woman getting a hard pinch on the ass. Maybe it scored the pride, a little, when Sasha did five, then gutted her way through a sixth.
“I’m not last.” Sliding to the ground, panting, Sasha wagged a fist in victory. “I’m not last.”
“Hey, bum shoulder. Near-death experience.”
“I don’t care. Today, this fine day, I’m not last. And you’re on breakfast detail.”
Maybe he shouldn’t have been so impatient to get back to it all.
But he could admit to relief when he didn’t want to crawl back into bed after an hour’s activity. And when he did crawl back into bed again, with Annika, he’d do something—at last—besides sleep.
So that did make it a very fine day.
Though it did feel weird, he posed for Sasha—mostly because she hounded him. He stood for an hour—another triumph—wearing his guns, left hand on the butt of one, compass held in the other.
At one point Riley wandered out.
“Did you find something?” he demanded.
“No—and you and Doyle can stuff it. I’m taking a break. The guy who knows what we want to know should be available tomorrow.”
“Hope you get him before you wolf out.” Hip cocked now, the thumb of the hand holding the compass hooking in his pocket, Sawyer sent Riley a quick, insolent grin. “Hey, you could bark in Morse code.”
Riley merely shot up her middle finger, studied the painting. “Yeah, you’re getting him, Sash, right down to the beady little eyes.”
“You need to do Rile here in wolf form, Sasha. An action shot. Like when she’s scratching at fleas.”
“I don’t have—” Riley hissed out a breath; Sasha just kept working.
“Do you believe in reincarnation?” she asked Riley.
“Absolutely. One go-round? What’s the point?”
“I strongly believe the two of you were siblings in another life. And I do want to paint you in wolf form. And as you are now.”
“I don’t think—”
“All sides of us,” Sasha interrupted, and chose another brush. “Now that I’ve started, I know it’s something I need to do. Do you need a break, Sawyer?”
“I’m good, unless you do.”
“I’d like to keep going—until you tell me you need a break. And you have to tell me. Painting helps me focus, and she’s trying to get in.”
“What? Nerezza?” Riley squeezed Sasha’s shoulder. “I’ll get Bran.”
“No, it’s all right.” Calmly, Sasha worked on Sawyer’s hair—he had a lot of it—sweeping in sunstreaks. “I’m all right, and he’s busy. Annika’s helping him mix medicines. I want Nerezza to try, and if I feel she’s getting through, we’ll get Bran.” Focused, Sasha continued to paint, switching brushes to detail the curve of Sawyer’s fingers on the compass. “I don’t want to push back today, just block. I can’t explain why—”
