Page 65 of Painting Celia

The lurking shadow in the painting was coming for him, ominous and suddenly terrifying. He looked up at the house again, its dark western windows mirroring the night’s end.

He had to get out and think, get away from this painting, from her. Escape.

He quickly dressed, grabbed his phone and wallet, and ordered a ride-share on his way out the side gate.

•••

Celia awoke to white walls reflecting too much light, her bed stretching too wide for just her. Maybe that would change soon.

León had kissed her.

She hugged her arms around herself, letting herself feel the thrill. Why try to squash her excitement about last night? She felt special when he looked at her, like he genuinely saw and welcomed her. His curiosity about her thoughts and feelings was intoxicating.

Why try to smother the enthusiasm? León encouraged her to be aware of how she felt, and this felt delightful. Celia chose to feel it, hopeful about taking a chance for once. A glance at the clock showed that she had a few hours before noon when León usually came in for lessons. Well, staying busy in the morning was never a challenge.

She hummed in the shower and capered once or twice as she tidied her rooms.

León didn’t show up at noon. No text, no appearance at the back door. Maybe he was a late sleeper. She didn’t really know.

He would come. He’d promised.

She could always kill time cooking. The gang was coming tomorrow night, so she started a small pork roast braising in the dutch oven with onions and carrots. She smiled as she chopped, determined not to let anything ruin this happy mood.

An hour passed. She texted León. No response.

Feeling uneasy, she checked again that the craft room was ready. She would paint her idea of the moon in water today. Just because León had painted her floating, that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a different interpretation. A story, she reminded herself with a quick smile.

He’d kissed her. He’d promised to help today.

Celia finally went to the pool house, her buoyancy precarious. She could see his precious blue painting from where she stood, but not well. She didn’t want to trespass but finally let her gaze slide to the right, to the daybed. Empty.

He’d left.

Not everything revolves around you, Celia Rose.

So, her day would be the common crawl, the same clock dragging its same recalcitrant hands. The urge to clean hit her. Lord, not again.

She would paint on her own. No waiting around on León! She could make a hundred paintings if she wanted.

She started her own lesson in the craft room. First, Tranquila. Second, mix some paint.

She brushed on wavy turquoise and aqua lines that might look watery if one squinted. A crescent moon floating in the middle, not white, because she knew better. She understood its reflection should look broken up, hitting different waves, but the mechanics defeated her. A knot built in her chest, refusing to loosen.

Was it an opalescent moon floating on water? Celestial Celia existing? Not remotely. It was a ridiculous painting, the worst cliché she’d ever seen. She’d never be able to figure this out on her own.

A heavy sigh escaped her. Another painting to stuff into a cupboard. Celia regarded her room with its white cabinets and sensible lighting, her art list supplies tucked away in organized baskets behind tall doors. She hid the clutter of her attempts to find a talent, a voice, all proving she had nothing unique to offer.

You’re nothing special, Celia Rose.

Stop thinking like that!

Maybe she should just clean the whole room again, throw out everything. She eyed her practice paintings, stacked on the table next to her, the top one featuring her stupid bridge of black lines. A dull ache formed behind her eyes as she confronted the familiar image.

Apparently that was her only story.

Her dad, looking back from the top of a bridge, holding out a hand.

She stared at the simple arch of the bridge, feeling it mock her crescent moon. The same shape, but so much harder to paint as if it were reflected in a broken surface. No wonder she painted the dumb bridge so often; it was easier.

---