Page 68 of The Version You Hide

“Don’t worry about cleaning up, ladies. I’ve got it under control,” Grace says.

“Are you sure?” They both say in unison as they hold their soapy hands under the running water.

“Oh, yes. It’s fine.” Grace waves a dismissive hand their way. “I’d hate for you to be late to your activities.”

“We’ll be back for tomorrow’s oil painting class, Grace,” Betty hollers. “And Mackenzie?”

I swivel around at the sound of my name. “Yes, Betty.”

“Grace is right. You are very talented.” She pats her hands dry with a piece of paper towel, then tosses it into the waste basket. “That blank canvas of yours. Something tells me it could be the best work in the exhibition if you just paint something that moves you. Something that makes you feel alive.”

I give her a subtle nod, forcing a smile. If only it were that easy.

A moment later, the two of them disappear out the door and I turn my attention back to Grace.

“I can help you clean up,” I offer.

“There really isn’t a whole lot to be done. I just need to wipe down the tables and get set up for the next class. I have about fifteen people joining me for some charcoal drawing. You’re quite welcome to stay.”

“That sounds fun.” I contemplate her offer. I’d have to catch a later bus home, but I could make it work. “I’ll start wiping down the tables.”

Grace smiles warmly back at me as I turn for the sink and grab a sponge. “Thank you for your help, Mackenzie.”

“It’s the least I can do. I haven’t even paid for a lesson yet.” I swipe the clay from the tabletop, scrubbing at the parts that have dried on the surface. “Which reminds me. My two free sessions are up. How much are your weekly classes? I’m pretty busy with work but I’d love to come down once a week and try out some new techniques.”

Plus, I could really use the escape from reality.

I feel Grace’s eyes on me as I wander back to the sink to rinse out the sponge. I squeeze it under the running water, watching as the terracotta-coloured swirls circle the drain.

“You’d really like to keep coming back?” she asks.

“Yeah, of course. I like your studio. I think it’s really cool.”

Grace’s smile grows wider as she moves toward me, though her expression is contradictory. Her eyes don’t mirror the

happiness in her smile. Instead, they’re haunted with sadness.

“Um… are you okay?” I ask.

She clears her throat, turning to gather some art paper from a drawer underneath the bench. Her voice is clipped when she replies. “Yes. I’d love for you to come back. For as many classes as you’d like. Free of charge.

“I don’t understand.”

Why would she offer me these classes for free? It doesn’t make sense.

There’s a faraway look in her vacant teary-eyed stare that sends a sense of unease through me. The speed at which her mood has changed from pleasant to tortured is unsettling. I watch as she picks up the little shark I’d moulded mere minutes ago.

“You seem to have a natural talent,” she says, delicately turning it over in her palm. “Your mother was the same.”

Her words hit me like an ice-cold rush to the head, an almost physical jolt wracking my body. I’m frozen, unable to respond, my breath caught in my throat.

I must have heard her wrong. I must have.

It feels like forever before I finally manage to choke out a reply. “What did you say?”

Her gaze snaps to mine, her clear blue-grey stare wide with shock as the realisation of her admission begins to sink in.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mackenzie,” she gasps. “I shouldn’t have just blurted that out. I wanted to say something to you sooner.” A single tear rolls down her cheek as a wrinkled hand comes up to her mouth. “I just didn’t know how.”

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