Page 50 of The Art of You

Apparently curiosity didn’t only kill the cat, it killed me. I wasted no time in demanding my phone he’d taken from my room and was holding hostage.

I’d skipped over my mother’s worried texts and voicemails, since she clearly was privy to the news, and I embarked on a journey down the rabbit hole of social media. Let’s just say it was no Wonderland.

Keyboard warriors on steroids were rampant, spreading lies and filth about Hudson and my family. Now I understood why Hudson was MIA. Alessandro told me he’d needed air, and he didn’t want to share that air with anyone.

My first reaction—aside from wanting to test if a cellphone was flushable—was to head to the beach. Not to take a casual stroll, but to dive into the cold Atlantic, hoping to stop myself from responding to the comments and slanderous accusations.

Alessandro seized my phone again and forbade any cold-water plunges. He even went as far as assigning one of the guys protecting us here to follow me everywhere while he continued chasing leads.

Malik, one of Constantine’s most trusted operators, was currently hovering in the hallway outside my bedroom like another overprotective brother. And what was I doing? Standing by the window, marinating in my emotions, waiting for Hudson’s return.

Wanting to forget the horridness I’d read, I decided to fill my mind with memories of my time in the theater room with Hudson. I still couldn’t believe I passed out watchingThe Shiningwith my head on his lap. Somehow, our afternoon together had been perfect. And perfect wasn’t something I’d expected to get out of today considering why we were at this house in the first place.

“My God, Izzy.”

My shoulders startled back as Callie’s voice abruptly cut through my thoughts.

I turned to see her in my bedroom doorway, staring at the easel that hadn’t budged from its current position in over fourteen years.

“Did you draw that?” She came into the room, her cowgirl boots clicking across the hardwoods on her way to the canvas that’d been parked on the easel for nearly half my life. The only reason it hadn’t collected dust was because my mom made sure it didn’t.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Guilty.”

“I had no idea you were an artist. You’re incredibly talented.”

I let the compliment roll off my shoulders. I didn’t feel talented, I felt like a failure. “It’s unfinished.” I joined her by the very object I’d avoided looking at since we’d stepped foot in this house. “Just like her life.”

“That’s Bianca?” she whispered. “I thought it was a self-portrait.”

“Me? Don’t be silly. Look at her. She’s gorgeous.” I faked a laugh, and Callie playfully swatted the side of my arm.

“Girl.” I interpreted her polite remark as Southern code forBullshit.

“Well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” I touched the drawing as if I could reach through the canvas. Dip my hand into the past and actually feel my sister’s face. Be with her while she was still alive. “One person’s masterpiece might be used as another person’s dart board. So, there’s that, too.”

A gentle nudge of affection in the form of an elbow caught me in the ribs.

“She was always reading or writing in the garden when we were here, and I followed her around like a lost puppy,” I said somberly. “I was her shadow. I thought she was the coolest.”

“From what Alessandro has shared about her, she was pretty incredible. Just like you. She’d be proud of the woman you’ve become.” Callie held my arm, then leaned over, resting her head on my shoulder as we both stared at the partially finished sketch. “Do you still draw? Paint? I’m surprised Alessandro never mentioned it.”

“It’s one of those things my family doesn’t bring up at the dinner table, with anyone. You know, an off-limits topic. Like politics. Religion. They avoid conversations about our failures.”This is one of mine. Giving up my passion because I became passionless.

“Hardly call this talent a failure.” She lifted her head, searching for my eyes.

Sometimes I felt guilty about how much I loved having Callie as a sister. And Maria, too, of course. I was scared Bianca would think I was replacing her. It was hard to keep a wall up between them, though. They were experts at knocking them down. After all, Maria cracked Enzo’s, and Callie blew down Alessandro’s.

“I quit because she died, and Bianca would hate that. She’d hate it with every fiber of her being.”

Well, damn.Now I was getting emotional all over again. I’d prefer being pissed off at faceless strangers on the internet to coping with this type of pain. This type didn’t go away with any passage of time. You never truly got over losing someone you loved.And why would I want to?

“I have this fear that if I try to draw again, it’ll be of the crime scene. I’ll see her dead on that floor, resting in her own blood and . . .”

At some point, as I lost myself to my thoughts, Callie had pulled me in for a hug.

“I’m scared I’ll only be able to depict death and sadness. And I’ve had enough sadness fill up my cup to last a lifetime. Why overflow it with the bad, you know?” That was the first time I admitted that. Heck, I’d never even told that to my therapist when she’d pressed me about taking up art again.

Callie gave me time to pull myself together. To work through what I’d admitted, quietly holding me the entire time.

---