Page 80 of Drawing Home
Angus pulled out one of the stools next to the island and sat down. “It’s true, there’s no need to pay rent on Mount Misery when you have this place. But as I told you when we first started discussing this, I’m not comfortable in this big, strange house. It doesn’t feel right.”
“Angus—”
“Don’t worry about me! Whatever you decide to do, I’ll be fine.”
Emma wanted to say thatshewouldn’t be fine. But she didn’t want to push him for her own selfish needs. But what about—
“And I’ll always be here for Penny,” Angus added. He knew her too well.
“I don’t want you to make a rushed decision on this,” she said, her hands gripping the tin of baked goods like it was the steering wheel of an out-of-control car.
Angus reached for one of the brownies, announced that he absolutely shouldn’t be eating it, then popped the whole thing into his mouth.
“Angus,” she said. “I’m really hoping you’ll reconsider.”
He looked up at the ceiling, steepling his fingers. “Emma, when I was faced with losing Celia, I was more than happy to promise her that I’d move in with you and Penny, that I wouldn’t be alone. Because the truth was, I was afraid of it myself. She was the one dying, but I felt like my life was over too. I realize now she didn’t just want me to have company. She wanted me to go on with my life. I wasn’t ready five years ago, and I’m not sure I’m ready now. But I can’t be afraid of change. And neither can you.”
Emma had gained a house but she felt like everything else that mattered to her was slipping away. And she had no idea how to turn things around.
It had been an expensive day, and despite all her wealth, Bea hated expensive days. First, she’d written a check to that no-good Mark Mapson. Then, after a long negotiation, she’d bought the drawings from the art gallery on Washington Street. That, at least, had been worth every cent. Because now that she had them set out on the glass coffee table in the living room, she noticed something on the back of each one. A number.
“Iknewit!”
She had been right all along—there was sequential meaning to the sketches. Now she would have to go back to the library and the museums to see if there were numbers on those drawings as well.
The unmistakable sound of the girl’s crutches against the hardwood floor distracted her. What was she doing wandering around? Shouldn’t she be in her room? There had to be some boundaries in this undesirable situation. The living room and dining areas were her territory.
More noise.
Oh, for heaven’s sake.Bea gathered up the drawings to take them to the privacy of her room. On her way to the stairs, she spotted Penny balancing on one foot, propping her crutches against the breakfast table. One crutch teetered over and then crashed to the ground.
“You are going to scuff these floors!” Bea said.
The girl had a book pinned underneath her chin; she’d been trying to carry it without using her hands. She lifted her head, and the book fell onto the table with a thud.
“Young lady, you must treat this house with more respect. You can’t knock about with no regard for—”
Bea recognized the book on the table. It was the same cartoonish tome she had found in Henry’s hidden drawer. A coincidence?
“Did Mr. Wyatt give you that book?”
“No. I’m the one who toldhimabout graphic novels.” Penny maneuvered herself into a chair.
“You…told him about graphic novels. In what way?”
“I read them all the time and I showed him my favorites,” she said, looking up at her. “He got pretty into it.”
Bea felt her pulse quicken. Standing there, she realized having the little urchin under her roof might be a blessing in disguise. This girl might be the most important link to Henry she could find.
“Penny, did Mr. Wyatt give you any drawings?”
“Sure,” she said. “He drew stuff for me all the time.”
Bea tried to keep her voice measured. “May I see them?”
“No,” the girl said.
“What? Why on earth not?”
