Page 18 of Painted

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before there was a tap on the glass above his head. He’d had his eyes closed as he relived old conversations he and Raina had had while sitting onthat spot, but he opened them as Rebecca’s muffled voice called through the glass, “You’ve got a meeting in three minutes.”

“Yep!” Rhys called back, pushing himself up and walking away from his and Raina’s spot.

By the time he made it all the way around the house and crossed the front hall, heading for the meeting room, he’d pulled himself together. More like he’d steeled himself for battle. He couldn’t convince his parents not to have the fundraiser at Hawthorne House, but he sure as hell could advocate for Raina’s memory.

“There you are,” his dad greeted him in a chipper mood as he walked into the meeting room. Everyone in the family who was at home except Rebecca was already seated at the table. Nick was obviously there, too, and so was Toby. “Martin brought pastries.”

“I figured it was the least I could do,” Flint said, eyeing Rhys anxiously as Rhys marched down one side of the long table in the family meeting room and took his usual place.

“I’m not hungry,” Rhys lied. “I ate breakfast before coming down.”

It was just his luck that Early entered the room from the door at the other end, pushing a small cart with tea things on it, as he spoke. Early glanced up in surprise, meeting Rhys’s eyes.

Rhys wanted to be suave and ignore them, focusing on the meeting and whatever Flint wanted. Instead, his eyes stayed glued to Early for a moment. He hadn’t waited around long enough to see what Early would wear when they got out of the shower, but maybe he should have.

The slacks Early had chosen from the clothes room were clearly women’s couture. They were made from some soft fabric that moved as gracefully as Early did when they walked. Their shirt was just as soft and flowy, and it had a subtle flower pattern. They weren’t wearing any jewelry, but they’d claspedtheir hair back in a pretty barrette that was shaped like a bow. On top of that, they were wearing the heels again. They were just small, serviceable heels, shoes that were probably leftover from someone who had stayed at Hawthorne House in the nineteen-forties, but they did something to Early’s legs that Rhys definitely liked.

“If that’s okay with you, Rhys,” his mum said, dragging him out of his perusal of Early.

“Hmm?” Rhys forced his attention on the conversation, which had evidently started without him.

“November twenty-second, love,” his mum said, her eyes a bit too bright and her lips twitching too much. “For the fundraiser.”

Mention of the fundraiser sent Rhys thudding back down to earth. “Are you certain that’s enough time to pull the whole thing off?” he asked, crossing his arms. “It’s only a couple weeks away.”

“My thoughts are that it’s just enough before the holiday season that it won’t interfere with people’s social calendars,” Flint said, tapping his fingers nervously on the tabletop. “Not to mention the fact that it’s one of the few dates that works for CADD’s calendar. We can do it.”

“It’s right before the end of the autumn session,” Rhys pointed out, scrambling for another excuse to push the whole thing into next year, or off a cliff somewhere.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Early move around the table, making tea for everyone present and subtly handing it to them. They knew how everyone in the family took their tea, so they were able to do it silently until they reached Flint.

“Milk and sugar?” they asked, keeping their voice soft and quiet.

They looked happy, or content, at least, doing the sort of thing that a secretary from the nineteen-fifties would do.Rhys wasn’t certain whether he approved of that or if it made him uncomfortable. Neither was he sure if his discomfort was because he thought Early shouldn’t be serving the family like that or because Early seemed so at home in the traditionally feminine role.

“Er, um, I’m not sure,” Flint said, practically squirming in his seat.

Rhys blinked, and a whole different wave of emotion washed over him. He knew the look in Flint’s eyes as he peeked warily up at Early. He’d seen looks like that a few too many times when someone caught on to who Early was.

“Is there a problem?” he asked with stony precision, narrowing his eyes at Flint. “Would you prefer coffee instead?”

“Er, no. Um, tea is fine,” Flint told Rhys with a nervous smile. He twisted to glance up at Early and said, “Milk, no sugar, thank you.”

Early smiled at the man as if nothing were amiss, then stepped aside to fix his tea.

Rhys narrowed his eyes even more as he watched Flint study Early as if they might be dangerous. When Early brought his tea over, Flint took it and thanked them, then set the mug on the table and ignored it.

Someone needed to say something, to defend Early at the very least. They had just been offended, and no one in the family seemed to care.

Although that wasn’t precisely true. Everyone in the family was looking to him, as though it were Rhys’s job to defend Early. Which he would gladly do to the death.

Before he could work up enough of a head of steam to fly to Early’s defense, Rhys’s dad returned to the meeting by saying, “If we’re settled on November twenty-second, let’s talk about what sort of activities we want to be involved in this fundraiser.”

“I think it’s important to honor Raina and Mariel above all else,” Rhys’s mum said, taking charge of the meeting for the moment. “Some sort of tribute or memorial to their lives should be included in whatever we do.”

Rhys was dead set against anything that would make Mariel Flint into something more than a murderer, but he kept his mouth shut as the rest of the family and Flint batted around ideas. Rationality and emotion were at war within him, and as he’d learned after just a few of his early therapy sessions, it was better for him to hold his thoughts until a time or place when he wouldn’t make a complete ass of himself by blurting them out and making a mess.

He was momentarily jolted from that swirl of thought and emotion when Early set a hot mug of tea in front of him, then briefly rested a hand on his shoulder as they straightened. When Rhys glanced up at them, he was stuck by Early’s smile. It was so beautiful and at such odds with the anger and grief roiling in him.

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