Always Florence by Muriel Jensen Read Free Book Online

screamed.
    Nate caught her wrist in one hand and swatted the spider away with the other. “You confront a major disease with heroic resolve and freak out over a spider?” He almost smiled, but not quite. “It is Halloween, after all. They’re supposed to be here.”
    She did a sort of all-body shudder and brushed both arms. “Okay,” she allowed. “But not on me.”
    “I guess Nature doesn’t know that.” The remark was teasing, but he still didn’t smile. “You said you had a thought,” he prompted.
    “Right.” She gave up trying to figure him out and ran lightly up the back porch steps. “If Dylan’s interested in art, I can give you a sketchbook and some pencils.”
    Nate hesitated, then nodded. “Sure. If you can spare them.”
    “Come with me.” She pushed open the back door. “I’ve got pastels I never use, too. But that can get messy.”
    He followed her inside. “I don’t care about the mess, if he’ll be occupied with something that carries low injury potential.”
    “Great. Wait here for a minute. I’ll find some things for him.”
    * * *
    N ATE WALKED INTO her small living room while she disappeared into the back of the house. He was curiously uncomfortable in her presence, though he wasn’t sure why. Possibly because there was such brightness about her and it seemed intrusive in his dark, angry world. But if she had something that would interest Dylan, Nate would be happy to have it.
    The walls in her living room were a go-with-everything off-white that would have seemed dull but for the berry-colored sofa and chair, the coffee table painted with stylized flowers and vines trailing down the legs, and all the unrelated but individually striking paintings on the walls. There was a seascape, a still life, a wild pattern of some sort, a languorous nude in the grass and a large canvas covered with what looked like a conveyor belt with rabbits on wheels careening off it. A bright sun shone, smiling birds flew around the rabbits and in the background ducks on a pond bathed happily. He stepped forward for a closer look.
    The painting defied explanation. He’d always thought he preferred representational art—a pot of flowers, a portrait, a familiar scene—but this brought a smile and seemed to inspire in him a sense of good cheer. It was ridiculous, but somehow enjoyable. The signature on the bottom right read “RLM.”
    He heard light laughter behind him. “That’s called Hare Raising. ” It was Bobbie’s voice.
    He continued to study the canvas. “Really. It’s wild. I’m surprised that I like it, but I do. Who’s RLM?”
    “I am.”
    He turned to her in surprise. She had an armload of books, papers and boxes, and a canvas tote she was trying to put it all in. He took the bag from her and held it open. “So, Bobbie is for, what? Roberta rather than Barbara?”
    “Right.” She dropped everything inside, then took the bag from him and gave it an adjusting shake. She handed it back. “Roberta Louise Molloy. That was my one foray into surrealism.”
    “I think of myself as a traditionalist, but I really like it.”
    “I did, too, when I did it. It was toward the end of my first round of chemo and I had to dig deep for energy and enthusiasm, so I tried something new. I had a dream one night about a similar scene. I added the birds and the ducks just because I like them. But I haven’t been able to find that feeling again.”
    He looked at the painting once more, then at her. “The feeling of a frightened rabbit on a wild ride?”
    She blinked and stared. He was obviously on target, but he felt sure she didn’t appreciate it. Something shifted in her eyes as she lowered them and closed him out. He could almost hear the sound of a slamming door.
    She gave him an artificial smile. “Yes. That was perceptive. I think you probably understand the boys better than you think you do.” She walked ahead of him to the door and opened it for him.
    He paused in the entry before she