Page 2 of Second Round

Then everything wentblack.

1

BrentSaysSell

JackieWagner

Black was surprisingly complicated.Apparently, it wasn’t even a colour, but the absence of colour. I squeezed some Iron Oxide Black from the tube onto my glass palette and felt guilty. One of my painting instructors had said that real artists mixed their own black. But every time I tried to make black, all I got was this really ugly brownish grey. No matter how many complementary colours I added, the paint was never sufficientlyblack.

I dipped the brush into the juicy paint and ran a line across the canvas. Could anyone tell that my black came from a tube? Would a hand-mixed black be more complex and fantastic? Maybe it was like the difference between baking from scratch and using a cake mix. But I had used my share of cake mixes, too. When you remembered the night before that you had to bring birthday cupcakes for an entire grade two class, Betty Crocker was yourflippingBFF.

Maybe that was my problem as a wife—too many shortcuts instead of doing the right thing the right way. No, that was ridiculous. Brent hadn’t left over cake mixes. It must have been not doing the things he considered important. But damn it, I could never figure out what those things were. Living with Brent was like a multiple-choice exam when you had skipped the entire semester—you could only guess at the rightanswers.

I shook my head, trying to physically clear those discouraging thoughts from my brain. This was why I loved painting. It was the one activity that allowed me to stopworrying.

The tulips in front of me were beginning to droop slightly. This was the problem working with live models instead of photographs—everything changed, the objects, the lighting, the angles. But my new painting teacher, Uwe, was so dramatic. He had actually torn up one woman’s photo reference and thrown it on the floor. After a horrified silence, he told the class that if we wanted photos we should take photos, but if we wanted paintings we needed to learn to see things inreallife.

I squinted at the flowers. Maybe reality was better, because I had to really look at the shapes and dimensions instead of gridding everything out. And in the evening light in the dining room, I realized something big. The flowers weren’t only red. They had pinks, yellows, whites, and greens in them. And where the petals were almost translucent, I could see all kinds of veins and lines. Maybe Uwe was right. I mixed some new colours on my palette and tried to capture that lovely yellowish-green shade. Sofresh.

“Mommy!”Tristan squeezed his arms aroundmyhips.

“Darling! You’re homealready?”

With a pang of guilt, I checked my watch. Not only did it have paint on it, but it was forty minutes past the time I meant to quit. As usual, I’d completely lost track of time while I waspainting.

I brushed the bangs off my face with the back of a paint-splattered hand and looked up. Brent and Hannah were standing there, and both of them had the same look on their face—slightly disdainful. Like I was some disorganized flake who had to be tolerated. If only I were showered and perfectly dressed with the studio transformed back to a dining room, as I’d planned. I smiled apologetically, but neither my ex-husband nor my daughter smiledback.Damn.

“Still doing your painting?” Brent asked. But he didn’t wait for an answer. Tristan dragged him away to show him something. Hannah sidled in and looked at my unfinishedcanvas.

“Flowers again?” Then her tone softened. “I like the colours. Did youmissus?”

I kissed the top of her head. “Of course. It’s so boring when you’re not here. How did your soccergamego?”

“We lost again,” she said. “But Iplayedgood.”

That was typical Hannah; she worried about doing her part more than winning. I began jamming all the tubes of paint back intotheirbox.

“Where’s Minx?” my daughterasked.

“I think she’s sleeping onyourbed.”

At least she had been when I last saw her this morning. I admired that lazy cat’s ability to sleep eight hours straight. Since Brent left, I had not slept through the night once. But the good thing about sleeping alone was there was nobody to complain if you turned on the light to read. Hannah took off to see herbelovedpet.

I was rinsing my brushes in the kitchen sink when Brent walked in and cleared histhroat.

“Listen, Jackie, we need to talk.” The sweet tone of his voice meant that he really wanted something. When we were married it might have a been a guys’ weekend in Vegas, trading in his almost new car, or a blow job. But now what coulditbe?

Against all reason, hope bubbled up inside me. Did he want to come back? This was my secret fantasy. If my life were a movie, then Brent was the only eligible male in the cast, so naturally all my romantic thoughts were centred on him. It was two years since he packed up and left. Now we were legally divorced, and he was dating Margaret Whittaker. Reality should have sunk in by now, but I was still an optimistic idiot. Or just a regularidiot.

I dropped the brushes into the sink. Then I smoothed out my hair and smiled. Well, I tried to smile, but my expression felt fake and awkward. That was the problem with seeing Brent. I never knew exactly how to act with him. We couldn’t go back to our loving familiarity, but I couldn’t treat him like a stranger either. There was so much left unsaid between us. We really should have had a screaming, plate-throwing fight that night he said he was leaving. That would have been more satisfying and given me some closure. Like donating a pint of blood at once, instead of releasing it dropbydrop.

“Yes?” Iasked.

He was staring at my mouth. That used to be the signal he wanted to kiss me. Holy crap, did he want to kiss me? Because I still found him attractive, damn it. His thick dark hair curling over his forehead, those soft lips, and that five o’clock shadow that he had five minutes after shaving. Maybe he’d put on weight in the past year, but it wasn’t too bad. There wasn’t one man I’d met since he left who ignited the passion I used to feel for Brent. I moistened my lips andwaited.

“Don’t do that,”hesaid.

“Don’tdowhat?”

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