The Anomaly Page 2

  We row out into the water. Sunshine washes over us, and the wind cools us down. Birds chirp in the nearby trees, and a few ducks swim out past the rope that signals how far we can go.

  “This is great,” I tell Nathan, smiling.

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  He smiles back, and I feel warm inside. I wonder where I can find a row boat in New York City? I guess if I did more than work and go to school there, I’d know more. Then again, I’ve never been an outdoorsy girl. But here I am, with a hunk in my hometown, on a lake and loving it.

  “I feel like this could be a great workout,” I say as I row. The oars aren’t too heavy, but I feel my muscles strain.

  Nathan nods. “It is. I used to be on the rowing team in high school.”

  A duck flies past us to the lawn by the inn, where a woman holds a bag. She throws what looks like bread crumbs.

  “How long were you on the team?” I ask.

  “From my freshmen to senior year,” Nathan says. “It was fun.”

  “You ever thought of making it a career?” I chuckle, because I’m not even sure if rowing can be a profession.

  “No.” He looks into the water. “What were you like in high school?”

  I sigh. “I was a workaholic. I got decent grades, and I modeled on weekends and during the holidays.”

  Nathan looks shocked at first. “You know, I’m not sure why I’m surprised. You’re beautiful.”

  Because it’s coming from him, my cheeks get red. “Thanks.”

  “You just seem so down-to-earth. I guess I’ve never pictured a model being so ‘normal.’”

  “Well, I guess TV makes models seem like they don’t sleep at the end of the day like regular folks. But people are people.”

  Nathan slaps his leg below his knee. “Pesky mosquito.”

  I’m not sure if him alerting me to the insects makes me more aware of them, but I feel a sharp bite on my arm. I slap at the spot. “Ouch.”

  “I’ve got to pick up some insect repellent.” Nathan swats at another mosquito. “Let’s just sit here for a bit.”

  “Sure.” I let go of my oars. They’re fitted into two open spaces on the row boat.

  “Are you still modeling?”

  I nod. “Technically, yes, but I’m taking this summer off to get a change of scenery and spend some time with my dad.”

  “I see.” Nathan touches the water with his fingertips. “David told me you lived here when you were younger.”

  “I did.” I shrug.

  Nathan nods. “Do you think you’d ever live here again, or is it too slow compared to The City That Never Sleeps?”

  I laugh.

  Nathan continues, “I’m asking because the people I know who’ve left for bigger cities rarely come back, my dad included.”

  Nathan’s admission sends chills through me. “I’ve never really thought about moving back. I guess because my mom and sister live in New York also.”

  “Right.” Nathan sighs. “My parents divorced when I was a kid, and I stayed here with my mom. Dad and I weren’t close after he moved away. My mom died during high school, so I moved in with my uncle. He was more like a father to me than my real one.”

  “Is he your mom’s brother?” I lean toward Nathan. His willingness to be open with me makes me comfortable around him.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry about your mom.” I want to ask him what she was like, but I decide against it. I was scared shitless when I found out my dad had prostate cancer, and I went through so many depressing emotions that I don’t want to push Nathan to tell me more than he’s comfortable with. Maybe at some point down the road.

  Nathan nods and then sighs. “Uncle Tim, he’s great. He was my rowing coach. He still coaches the team.” He points at the oars. “My turn to row.” We switch places, and he picks up the oars. “The water’s great today. You want to continue?”

  “Okay.”

  We row around the lake. The water doesn’t remain as docile, but the shifting tides are gentle enough. We talk about some of Nathan’s experiences on the rowing team and about the year he worked as a dishwasher at the Luodor Inn. I tell him how scared and excited I was during my first year of modeling, when I tried out for the high school tennis team but didn’t make it, and what it was like being taller than the boys going through puberty in high school. Nathan is easy to talk to and charming.

  When the hour Nathan paid for is almost up, we row back to shore. A new attendant’s posted by the sign. We give him our life vests and walk back toward the front of the inn. Nathan squints against the sun as two men approach us. One’s tall and skinny like a string bean; the other’s short and stocky.

  “Well, look who I get to bump into today,” the shorter man says. He puts his hands into the pockets of his tropical-themed shorts and saunters a few steps closer.

  Nathan stops walking, and so do I.

  “Hey, Nathan,” says the tall man.

  “Hi, Sam,” Nathan says.

  “Introduce us to your friend,” says the shorter man.

  Nathan introduces me to Sam and William.

  “You haven’t returned my calls,” William says.

  Nathan clenches his jaw. “I’ve already given you an answer.”

  “Ahh... what’s the saying?” Williams bumps Sam’s forearm then sticks up his pointer finger as if he just had a light-bulb moment. “Everything is open for negotiation.”

  Nathan moves so there’s more space between the men and us. He steps to the left, but William copies his movement.

  “We can talk about it,” William says. “That painting has been in my family for years.”

  “It’s mine now,” Nathan says.

  I bite my bottom lip, wondering what in the world’s going on.

  William grimaces, then his frown’s washed over with a smile. There’s something lopsided about his lips. The left corner seems to droop. “I suppose you’re right. You did buy it.”

  “From his ex-wife,” Sam chimes in menacingly.

  Dislike, I don’t know if toward Nathan or William’s ex-wife, seeps through his voice.

  “She probably sold it to spite my buddy here.” Sam pats William on the chest.

  “It doesn’t seem like anyone in your family knew about painting before, so I doubt it.” Nathan crosses his arms.

  “You doubt it?” Sam says in a low voice before raising it. “How many times have you heard stories about a scum of an ex-wife wasting her ex-husband’s hard-earned dough? William’s woman is no different. It must’ve been easy for her to get rid of a piece worth thousands when she was already living it up with William’s money.”

  I look away, becoming more and more uncomfortable. These men want this painting badly enough that it doesn’t matter to them when or where they confront Nathan.

  Nathan remains cool. He shakes his head at Sam. “You’d really like me to buy that version of things?”

  “No.” William leans forward.

  I want to laugh, because he’s so short. Is he really trying to intimidate Nathan?

  “I’d like you to sell,” William says. “But we live in a free world, and you have a right to say no.”

  “Then I’d appreciate it if you don’t ask me again,” Nathan says with a hint of a growl.

  William raises his hands as if in surrender. “Understood.”

  “Let’s go, Shayna.” Nathan takes my sweaty hand. His is dry.

  “It was nice to meet you, dear,” William says with a slow nod. The newsboy cap he’s wearing shades his eyes as he lowers his head.

  Sam winks at me and smiles.

  Nathan and I walk away. When we’re some distance away, I peek back to see if the men are watching us. They’re joking around, and Sam lightly punches William, who laughs, as they walk to the lake.

  “What was that about?” I ask Nathan.

  Nathan sighs. “A few weeks ago, I bought a useless but pretty painting at a garage sale. The painting cost me thirteen dollars. I thought it would
be a nice piece to hang in my apartment, but it turns out that it’s worth plenty of money. Sam was low-balling. I’m sure both men know it isn’t worth just thousands.”

  My eyes bulge out like saucers. “Wow!” I take a deep breath. “That’s awesome.”

  Nathan sighs heavily, but a smile cracks through. “It is. But things are somewhat sketchy until I get it to where it needs to go.”

  “So you are selling it?”

  Nathan nods. “I want to.”

  “Just not to William?”

  He nods again.

  “How did he find out you’d bought the painting anyway?”

  Nathan doesn’t respond. He slows down but keeps holding my hand. His fingers remain steady, his grip neither tightening nor becoming lax. The silence makes me feel, for the first time today, as though we’re strangers. Nathan looks at me as if he’s a treasure hunter shifting through wet mud for bits of gold. Only it’s my character he’s trying to judge.

  “Through coincidence―sort of.” Nathan shrugs.

  His answer’s vague. And I decide it might be better if I don’t ask him my next question. “How much is this painting worth?”

  Chapter 4

  Dad and I talk in his garden. He’s planted an array of vegetables—heirloom tomatoes that are big and beautiful, squash, eggplant, lettuce, and watermelon. It’s been years since I’ve seen a home garden. Not many New Yorkers have the space to plant, or maybe they just don’t have the inclination or time. I’m thrilled to see vegetables growing in my own backyard.

  “These will taste even better than they look,” Dad says. “It’s eating things like this that helped me regain my strength.” He picks up a heap of dirt and lets it fall through his fingers. Dad plucks a ripe tomato from its vine. “And wait until you taste this tomato. Better than those store-bought ones.”

  I giggle. It’s nice to see Dad so proud of his gardening skills.

  “You laugh”—Dad wipes sweat off his forehead—“but there’s something to be said for being able to eat what you’ve planted.”

  “I guess.”

  “Linda’s making eggplant parmesan for dinner tonight with these very eggplants.”

  “Dad, did you tell her that I love that dish?” I smile. When I was young, Dad always tried to do special things for my sister and me, whether it was stopping by the ice cream shop on a Friday after school or spending an extra twenty minutes waiting in a store while we tried on clothes.

  He grins. “I did.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Whenever you and your sister visited us, the week always went by so quickly. I know I’ve told you this already, but we’re happy to have you here.”

  I tear up a little, because I know that he’s saying he’s missed us, and I give him a hug. “I’ve missed you. Love you, Dad.”

  “I love you too,” he says.

  After I pick two eggplants that Dad points out to me, we head inside to prepare for dinner.

  ~

  When Nathan calls me about going on another date, anticipation shoots through my body. I take extra time picking out a pink summer dress that flatters my figure and matching pink sandals. After taking a shower, I focus on putting on my makeup as perfectly as possible― applying cream foundation before doing my eyes, sweeping on some blush, and sliding lipstick across my full lips. My lips have always gotten me the most compliments, so I put on a sheer color because I don’t want to seem too done up.

  We meet at the Porter Bistro, a little restaurant wedged between a hair salon and a bagel place. We both arrive right before a heavy rainfall. I order a glass of pink lemonade and vegetarian lasagna, and Nathan orders the same dish and a margarita. We take our time eating, then order two slices of lemon cake.

  “I’m so glad that you eat,” Nathan teases.

  “So am I, otherwise we probably wouldn’t be on this date,” I shoot back with a wink.

  Nathan chuckles.

  By the time we go outside, the sky’s cloudless and the sun shines brightly. Rain water trickles down the sidewalk and spills over its edge, joining the wet street. Nathan and I decide to walk around a bit and window shop. I haven’t been in this area since I left Missouri, and a couple of the shops are new to me. Nathan steps close to me, and our shoulders bump.

  I smile and lean in more. “It seems like this shopping complex has a couple stores that weren’t here before.”

  Nathan nods and points at a restaurant whose entrance is a couple of feet farther down the sidewalk. “This space has gone through a rotation of different restaurants. That pizza place has lasted a while though.”

  When we reach the store, we peek through the windows. Inside, the walls are painted a rustic green, and the furniture’s dynamic in shades of light green and yellow.

  “Well, it’d be hard to be in bad mood with those colors.” I giggle.

  Nathan arches an eyebrow. “Funny.”

  “I guess,” I say, examining the décor. “Just look at it. The colors alone are something. I bet it smells great in there.” I push open the door.

  We get a whiff of baking dough, then the smells of melted cheese, tomato sauce, and various meats.

  “Ahh, that smells awesome.” I let go of the door so that it closes.

  “We’ll have to check it out sometime.”

  I smile coolly though I feel giddy inside. Another date. “Sure.”

  We stand outside the pizza place, looking into each other’s eyes. I glance nervously at my hands, wanting to kiss him. Maybe it’s too soon. When I look back up, Nathan’s attention is on a puddle in the parking lot. I move to his side, and we both gaze at the puddle, which shows a reflection of one of the shopping plaza’s lamp poles. A car approaches, and it sends ripples through the mirrored lamp pole.

  Nathan smiles then looks at me. “You’re a cool girl, Shayna.”

  ~

  Two weeks roll by hazily while Nathan and I continue to see each other. After I give him my address, he insists on picking me up. He hits it off with Dad and my stepmom from the get-go. Dad likes Nathan even more because he had worked on Dad’s Toyota before and did a great job.

  Being with Nathan’s wonderful. He makes me feel vibrant when I’m around him, and he looks at me as though I’m something special. In the modeling world, being special is an interchangeable quality. Designers are always willing to replace a model with another beautiful girl. But with Nathan, it’s in the way he looks at me. He’s also the first person who’s ever complimented me on the small mole on my neck. When he did that, I was taken aback. No one’s ever noticed that mole—not even my modeling agency.

  Nathan’s so handsome that I can barely take my eyes off of him when he’s talking. I study his mouth and the curve of his upper lip and how it fits so well above his angular jaw. From the first night I saw him walking toward the table, something about this man memorized me—he moved with a confident stride, with a purpose.

  As we sit in his car on a hilltop, I study his profile and wonder if I’d know it’s him from a distance in the dark. His shoulders are manly and solid-looking, and I sigh. Desire fills me. Nathan, who’s been watching a squirrel run along a nearby tree trunk, turns his head my way. He doesn’t say anything. Neither do I. In the time we’ve spent with one another, I’ve learned that our relationship doesn’t require chatter to fill up silence spaces. I keep breathing, trying to absorb the moment. I lick my lips because they feel dry.

  Nathan looks at them then trails his eyes up to mine. “I like being around you, Shayna.”

  “Me too.” I clear my throat. “I mean, I feel the same way about you.” I give him a small smile.

  Attraction is growing between us, but our relationship is moving at Nathan’s pace. As heady as I feel about him, it’s probably a good thing that our relationship’s building so slowly. I’ve had relationships that ran full steam ahead early on only to fizzle out as quickly as they’d started.

  “I’ve wanted to tell you about the painting I have for a while now.” />
  I nod. I’ve had questions since I learned about the art piece, but I didn’t want to spook Nathan by bringing up the subject.

  “I’ve always liked art, but more in a casual way. You know what I mean?”

  I nod again.

  “Who doesn’t like to look at beautiful things? It’s one of the few things my father and I have in common, except he studied art in college. He’s more into it.” Nathan’s eyebrows crinkle. A lot of emotion shows on his face when he mentions his father. “I read the sign about the yard sale while I was driving to work, and I didn’t think too much of it. I woke up that Saturday morning, and since I had nothing planned, on a whim, I decided to go.”

  Nathan looks at me, so I say “Uh-huh,” indicating that I’m listening.

  He tells me he milled around the lawn looking through odds and ends—backyard lounge chairs, clothing for various-sized family members, old board games, and other items. Nothing interested him. Then he went to a table near the sidewalk where the owner was speaking to another customer. He looked through the things on the table then through the brown boxes on it.

  In the third and final box, he’d found a small, framed portrait of a house. He’d never seen anything like it and was intrigued by the color-scheme: shades of brown, white, and red. It was a simple and beautiful portrait.

  “How much is this?” he’d asked.

  The owner was a middle-aged woman with a kind smile and beady eyes. She looked at the painting. “Twenty dollars.”

  Nathan didn’t mind paying twenty dollars, but he wanted to see if he could get it for a lower price. They bartered, and he felt the owner was going to remain firm on her current price of fifteen dollars, but another customer came rushing up. She wanted the lounge chairs, so the owner sold him the painting for the thirteen dollars he’d offered.

  Nathan had been elated with his bargain find. He was on his way back to the car when a student stopped him. The student was doing an article for his high school paper on discounts that can be found at yard sales.