Page 98 of Reckless Woman
“The mute type, huh?” My lips twitch. “I know a little about that.” I watch him bend down to pick something up from the ground. “What’s that?”
With a frown, he holds it out to me. It’s a flat stone, about two inches in length, with some kind of purple flower painted on it.
“That’s pretty neat.” I angle my head for a closer look. “You do that?”
He nods again and his serious expression loosens up a little. I glance about for his mom, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone else here.
He motions me over to the long glass table, where another lifetime ago Dante went head-to-head with his brother over a girl called Eve. I find myself doing what he says, sliding my gun back into the waistband of my jeans as I walk. He lifts a dirty satchel from the ground and places it on the table, and then he starts to unpack the contents, which amount to dozens of silver tubes of paint. I watch him as he works, noting the care he takes with each item. When everything is out, he rearranges them into neat rows, and then delves into the pocket of his black shorts. Producing a new rock, he holds it out to me.
“You want me to paint it?” I take a seat at the table next to him. He nods, and a rare grin threatens to burst free from my face. “Jesus, kid…These hands are made for something else. Not arts and crafts.”
He’s not taking “no” for an answer. The next thing I know, a slim paintbrush is being thrust in my face.
Fucking hell, this is ridiculous.I just chopped two fingers off a man in Medellín, and now some kid wants me to play Sesame Street games with him?
He’s still watching and waiting for me to take the paint brush. When I shake my head firmly, he gestures at the side of the house, almost pleading with his eyes. My chest constricts when I realize he’s pointing at Anna’s room.
“You want me to paint a rock forher?”
He nods again, beaming at me for the first time—a full wattage smacker.
“Kid, I think it’s going to take more than a rock to fix us.” I sigh, reaching for the packet of cigarettes in my shirt pocket.
He shrugs and starts to squeeze tiny amounts of paint onto a plastic palate, and then he’s looking at me expectantly again.
“You want me to tell you what to paint?”
He nods furiously.
Blowing out a jagged line of smoke, I tip my head back and my gaze lands on the only thing that matters.
“The moon,” I say thickly. “Paint her the moon.”
He smiles another full beamer at me, and sets to work.
While he decorates his rock, I sit a little way off, smoking and watching him. His black T-shirt is way too big for his body. The collar keeps slipping off his skinny shoulder every time he leans over the table. His black hair and skin is streaked with paint and dirt, and something else I don’t want to think too closely about:Neglect.Still, there must be some kind of education kicking around in there if he’s fluent in Spanish and English.
I make a note to ask Gabriela about him next time I see her. If his mom needs more money, I’m not exactly short.
It’s peaceful out here tonight, like it is on every other night. The pool lights are flickering into life as dusk gives way to darkness. I come here to be closer to the only woman I see, but who can’t see me anymore.
This is where I fought for her.
This is where I’m losing her.
The rawness of that fact makes me drag so hard on my cigarette I choke on it.
After a time, I feel a gentle tug on my shirt sleeve and the rock is presented to me. There, in swirls of silver and white paint, is the boldest, strongest, most complete moon I’ve ever seen.
“You did good,” I say roughly, offering up my hand for a high five. He smacks it back, and then places the rock carefully on the table in front of me.
Funny kid.
Gathering up his tubes of paint, he stuffs them into his satchel. Tossing me one final smile, he throws the strap over his shoulder and disappears off toward the main house.
“Hey!” I shout after him, rising to my feet. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”
But he’s already been swallowed by the shadows, and I already have my answer.