Artistic License Read online

  Artistic License

  By Julie Hyzy

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright 2010 Julie Hyzy

  Kindle Edition, License Notes:

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form or by any mechanical means without permission in writing from the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to any businesses or locale, is purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  With much love, this novel is dedicated:

  To my family,

  Curt, Robyn, Sara, Biz, Paul, and little Brian.

  And to my good friends,

  For their heartfelt encouragement.

  Acknowledgments

  This novel is the fulfillment of a dream for me. And so many have helped me in so many ways to achieve this dream. With a full heart, I know I’m the luckiest girl in the world to have such wonderful people in my life.

  Chapter One

  Annie held the white stick in her shaking hand and stared. There was no mistaking the tiny pink plus sign.

  She couldn’t be.

  Taking a ragged breath, she squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “Please,” hoping to change the result by sheer force of will.

  But when she looked, the plus sign was still there. Unwilling to meet her own eyes in the bathroom mirror she sat down, hard, on the tub’s curled edge. How was it that a small piece of plastic could so profoundly affect so many lives? Even now, she was sure that somewhere, another woman sat just as she was sitting, seeing a blank spot instead of a plus sign. Disappointed, and perhaps not for the first time.

  The bathroom walls closed in on her, their pale pastel tiles growing brighter through the tears that worked their way hotly to her eyes. With another deep breath, she realized how tenuous her hold on calm really was.

  Resting her elbow on the sink’s countertop, she massaged her temples. Buying the home test had been hard. Taking it even worse. The night before, she’d driven to a grocery store ten miles away just to avoid running into people she knew, feeling like a shame-faced teenager who’d let her boyfriend do the nasty and whose period was late because of hysterical fear.

  But instead of an adolescent, thrown by hormonal urges into a dizzy moment of awkward intimacy, she was a married woman who’d slept with her soon-to-be ex-husband in a moment of weakness.

  What was I thinking?

  Two months ago, she’d felt invincible. Two months ago the world was open to her and she’d been ready to embrace it for the first time in years. But two months ago she’d tried to let Gary down easy. In the final page of the unpleasant book of her marriage, she’d sought a compassionate ending.

  It had been pity sex. And now she was pregnant.

  With her breath coming in noisy, uneven pulls, Annie picked up the pieces of the test kit and placed them back in the box, trying to fit each item back in the plastic tray neatly, as packaged. She pushed the emptied and rinsed collection cup back into its niche, only to have it pop back out to dance across the countertop. Grabbing it, she jammed again, still unable to get it to fit. A hiss of frustration shot from her lips as she scooped all the pieces with both hands, and slammed them into the wastebasket. Crumpling the flimsy page of directions, she suddenly remembered a paragraph about errors in readings.

  The nearly see-through paper was misshapen and creased, covered on both sides with minuscule black print offering everything from directions for use in four languages, to reminders about practicing safe sex. Annie smoothed it out, breathing slowly. She grasped the paper in her left hand, tried to read, then brought her right hand up to help steady the sheet, her eyes scanning the page, searching for words like “false” and “positive.” When she found them, she raced through the paragraph, making the words blur, both before her eyes and in her mind. Taking another steadying breath, she started again.

  The wording was precise. False positives were virtually unheard of.

  The breath she’d been holding fell out of her in a sob. She tried to suck it back in before she lost control, but fear and desperation bubbled up to the surface. Her body trembled once in an attempt to maintain control, but her next gulp of air heaved forward in a moan.

  Her mind, wired to always try to solve problems, to remain detached enough to see a challenge through to its logical solution, was overwhelmed to the point where she could do nothing but let herself feel the anguish. My God, she thought. How could this have happened?

  And, all too well, she knew how it had.

  * * * * *

  Three days after their fifth wedding anniversary, Gary had received the divorce papers. He’d shown up at her door, holding them in his hand.

  “Gary,” she said, surprised to see him.

  He ran his free hand through his chestnut brown hair, pulling it up and out of his face for a moment, though whether that movement indicated nervousness, or the need for a haircut, Annie couldn’t be sure. His eyes, the color of dark chocolate, wavered a moment before he spoke, as if he was deciding what to say. He thrust the neatly bound sheaf of papers out toward her. “What is this?”

  She held herself against the door, the heavy wooden one she’d found at the Kane County Flea market. It was fine-grained golden oak, and had beveled glass set into an oval shape in the center, which sent rainbow prisms of light into the house on sunny days. Browsing the stalls at the market, she’d seen it leaning against a white panel truck, and tried to negotiate the seller down, knowing all the while that the excitement in her eyes kept the wiry old man from lowering his price. As they’d loaded it into the back of their van, Annie, barely containing her glee, had repeated over and over, “This will make the house ours.” Gary had simply shrugged.

  Now Annie gave him a look, one that she hoped conveyed the message, “you don’t really expect an explanation, do you?” and he raised his eyebrows in question.

  With a sigh, she opened the door a little wider and he stepped inside.

  Gary stood in the center of the small hallway, looking around. “Lot of changes since I was here last.” He moved into the living room, and Annie wondered if he was as unsure of himself as he seemed. He gave her a hesitant grin and walked across the room, stopping at a painting above the couch. “You’ve gone back to your watercolors, I see.”

  Annie bit her lip. The fact that he noticed surprised her. He certainly hadn’t noticed much about her in the years that they’d been married. “Yeah, I’m experimenting with oils and acrylics, too,” she said, then cleared her throat. “Was there something you wanted?”

  Gary kept his back to her as he examined the picture. “This looks like that place we went for our first anniversary. The backyard of that bed and breakfast in Galena.”

  “You remember that?”

  He turned, and his brown eyes sparkled. “I remember how much you loved that garden. And how I complained about you using up three rolls of film trying to capture it in different lights.”

  Annie smiled, “I was a little obsessed, I guess.”

  “And all I could think of was how beautiful you looked as you agonized over every shot, and I wanted to be those flowers, to have your attention like that.”

  “Gary . . .” her
voice held a warning.

  “Yeah, sorry.” He rolled his tongue over his front teeth, and sighed. “About these papers . . .”

  “You knew they were coming.”

  “I did. But it hit me harder than I expected.”

  Annie shook her head and picked up her purse. “We’ve been separated a while. The only thing left was the paperwork.”

  “This is just . . . amazing. Looks like you got your inspiration back.” Gary reached to run his finger along the picture’s silver frame, then turned to her. “Is that because I’m out of your life?” He chewed his lip and set his jaw, as if the answer was of no consequence, but Annie had known him long enough to recognize the tiny glint of pain in his eyes.

  She took a breath before she spoke. “I was about to head out . . .”

  “Where you goin’? Donagan’s?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Mind if I come along? Haven’t eaten yet, either.”

  * * * * *

  Why hadn’t she been stronger?

  In the kitchen, Annie flipped through her calendar. Seeking to find some order to calm her thinking, she counted forward by weeks. Her due date would be February eleventh. Due date.

  Memories of that fateful day, of Gary’s lopsided grin and its effect on her, floated through her mind.

  The same charm that had pulled her in all those years ago had worked its magic again. And yet, something had been different. Gary had been more persistent than usual. More self-deprecating. And, whether manufactured or not, it was an attractive change. And while Annie had been able to remain cognizant of the fact that there was a divorce ahead of them, she’d felt herself slip into old comforts during dinner at Donagan’s.

  “Ahhnna! Gahry!” the hostess said as they walked in, rolling her r’s and elongating their names. Annie had never learned what country Elena had come from, but it was likely Eastern European. “It is too long that I see you!” She moved forward, kissing them both on the cheek.

  Annie smiled politely, understanding that Elena believed they’d gotten back together. She was about to say something, but couldn’t quite come up with the words to explain that being here together didn’t mean being together. Gary returned Elena’s embrace and shot a beaming grin over to Annie, as he asked, “Is our table open?”

  It was, of course. At seven-thirty on a weeknight, Donagan’s was relatively empty. They kept up with Elena’s brisk step, following her path along the well-worn carpet, her tight black polyester skirt bouncing side to side with every shift of her hips, as she wound her way past empty pre-set tables.

  Truth be told, the restaurant had seen better days, and was dwarfed both in size and class by the franchised eateries that had cropped up all over this little Chicago neighborhood. With wobbly chairs, and fat teardrop-shaped candleholders swathed in red fishnet on each table, Donagan’s maintained a level of shabby charm. She and Gary had started coming here for dinner when they were first married. The menu was basic, the food homemade, and the helpings big enough for leftovers the next day.

  Elena came over with oversized red leather binders with tassels hanging off the side. She turned to Annie and asked, “Glass of the Riesling?” with a look of pride for remembering.

  “That would be wonderful.”

  “Mr. Gahry?”

  Gary ordered a Manhattan and closed the menu as Elena left. He smiled at Annie and she wondered how the finality of the divorce would affect him. She’d been careful to avoid interactions, but had anticipated Gary’s need to talk it through. Tonight’s conversation was inevitable. Annie was just surprised it had come up so soon. Nonetheless, it was their chance, she hoped, to say good-bye.

  They sat in silence until Elena reappeared with their drinks. She took their dinner orders, winked at them, and left.

  Gary watched her leave. “Well,” he said.

  Annie took a sip of wine, then another. She put the glass back down with a nervous laugh. “Yes,” she said. “Well.”

  “Annie,” he said, moving the red-sheathed candle to reach across the table for her hands. There was a tiny hole in the white tablecloth between them. “I’m not going to fight you. I know how you feel about some of the choices I’ve made. There’s nothing I can do to change that.” He winked. “Not yet, at least.”

  He gave both of her hands a little squeeze, as he continued. “What would you say if I told you I’m going to win you back? One way or another. That I’ll be the husband you want me to be?”

  She pulled her hands away, and when she noticed the concern in Gary’s eyes that her movement caused, she tried to make it seem nonchalant and so she picked up her wine glass, and played with it. The wine glistened before her eyes, and she took a sip, a long one, feeling the delightful smoothness as it eased down her throat, warm and tingly.

  She sighed. “Gary, we had some good years. But you’ve promised me that before. We have very different outlooks on life. That isn’t going to change.”

  “I can change.”

  “You won’t.”

  “But divorce, Annie? We can’t let that happen. I will change.”

  “Gary,” she said, her hands folded on the table, her gaze unwavering, “it’s better this way.”

  “We’ll see,” he said.

  She watched him as they talked, and tried not to be pulled into those dark eyes that sparkled when he looked at her. It was something that she suspected he was capable of turning on and off. Right now the charm was in high gear. It had been at least six months since she’d seen him, and despite her misgivings, she couldn’t help feeling flattered by his attentions.

  When Elena dropped off a second glass of wine at the table, Annie held up her hand. “What are you trying to do to me? Another glass and you’ll have to carry me out.”

  Gary grinned and gently pushed the glass toward Annie by the base. “One more. We’re having a nice time, aren’t we?”

  They were. Dinner arrived and they talked as they ate. Gary was attentive, listening, and asking all the right questions. He’d been surprised to find out that she’d quit her job at the architectural firm, and sat back in his chair as she explained.

  “It’s time, Gary. I’ve been waiting for the right time to strike out on my own. All my life I’ve wanted to create. To do ‘art.’ But the time isn’t going to present itself to me on a silver platter. I have to grab it. And that’s what I’m doing. I’m cutting ties and I’m going for it.”

  He was shaking his head in a way that conveyed amazement. “What’s happened to you?” He held up his hands and sat forward, “Don’t get me wrong; I think this is great. But you always wanted to have everything just so before you tried it on your own. You wanted security. What changed?”

  Annie’s brain was working perfectly, but her mouth was finding it difficult to form words. “Maybe,” she said finally, after taking another sip of her Riesling, “I need insecurity to push me. If I don’t have a safety net, then I can’t let myself fall, can I?”

  And before the glass of wine was finished, she’d told him her plan. She would work on her artwork, her paintings, her passion, by day. Eventually, she hoped to find a gallery to represent her. In the meantime though, for income, she’d paint walls.

  “Paint walls?”

  She hurried to explain, “Not like a house painter . . . I mean I’ll do murals and faux finishes and things like that. Artistic stuff. And I figure that if I market my talents to corporations and businesses, I’ll use non-business hours to work, like at night, leaving my days free for the real art I want to do.”

  “You plan to sleep at all?”

  She giggled. “I’ll manage.”

  “Murals, huh? Like what?”

  “Whatever they ask for. I already did one back at the house.”

  “You did? Where?”

  “In our room.”

  Gary lifted an eyebrow.

  Annie bit her lip, “Er . . . my room.”

  They’d walked home, as they always had. Gary took her hand as they left the restaurant a
nd winked when Annie looked at him. “You’ve had a couple of glasses of wine tonight, sweetie. Don’t want to see you fall and smash that pretty little nose of yours.”

  And she’d let him hold her. Feeling comfort in the warmth, she felt the stirrings of femininity. It had been a long time. For the past several months, all her time had been taken up with setting up her business, getting paperwork together, insurance matters settled, and advertisements done. She hadn’t thought about meeting anyone, hadn’t considered the possibility.

  At her door, or their door—her mind felt muddled—she let Gary pull out his key. He reached over and touched her cheek. “I’ve missed you so much,” he said in a soft voice.

  A part of her mind remained logical and detached, but it was getting harder and harder to pay attention to reason. The wine in her system had worn down her resistance. Companionship, conversation, having a person to share her dreams with—she’d forgotten how seductive those things could be. Her knees and elbows were feeling liquidy, and an agreeable warmth had started from her toes and was in the process of working its way upward.

  She knew better. She should have kept quiet.

  But she said, “I miss you, too.”

  The sparkle in his eyes turned into something more as he moved almost imperceptibly forward. His face was so close that she could feel his breath pleasantly warm on her cheek. For a moment that lasted no more than a second, but felt much longer, they stood there, eyes locked, inches apart, until Gary tugged her closer and their lips touched, softly.

  And when he asked to see the mural in their room, Annie told herself that until they split things up, the house was half his anyway—that he had every right to see it. Ignoring the alarm bells that whispered beneath the heavy blanket of wine, she invited him inside.

  * * * * *

  June fourth. Seven weeks, three days ago. And how much had changed since then.