Love Hurts by Brenda Grate Read Free Book Online Page A

her.
     
    Hopelessness came over her and filtered through every vein, like tainted blood. Her limbs felt heavy, her neck unable to hold up her head. She’d been fooling herself. All this time she’d believed she’d moved on, forgotten Mamma and the things she’d done. I lied. Lying to myself is worse than lying to another person. If I can’t trust me, who can I trust?
     

Chapter 5

    Jilly cleaned up the glass and tried to read a book, but she couldn’t relax. She decided to visit her favorite place, the art gallery, once Gregg was home to watch Matthew. No one but the evening clerk knew she went there. If anyone found out, she’d tell them it was for inspiration for her students. Jilly hadn’t told anyone, not even Anna, but not painting wasn’t a choice. She couldn’t paint.
     
    She went to the gallery often, hoping to get her inspiration back. The paintings always soothed her spirit. She waited until after dinner and asked Gregg if he would watch Matthew. He said he didn’t mind, but the loneliness on his face made her hesitate. Should she stay home and focus on him, on them? The thought of taking on someone else’s pain was too much, so she fled the house.
     
    The rain came in a deluge, so there was a good chance she’d be able to avoid the usual few tourists checking out the gallery while they stretched their legs. She didn’t know if she could handle seeing Mamma’s painting again, but thought she might need to see it.
     
    When she entered the gallery, she pulled off her wet coat, shook it and hung it on the rack near the door. She smoothed back her damp hair and nodded at Mary, the gallery clerk seated behind the counter. Mary smiled back at her over the top of her novel. Jilly moved past her quickly, not wanting to give her a chance to strike up a conversation. She didn’t feel like speaking to anyone. She wanted to be alone with the paintings.
     
    The painting sat in the middle of the main room, and Jilly averted her gaze, not yet ready to look at it again. Instead, she moved toward the side room, where she always went.
     
    When Jilly stepped through the doorway, she took a deep, calming breath. Just being in the room made her feel better, like all her favorite people surrounded her and not one of them judged. She stood in front of the first painting and let the colors seep in. Her eyes swam with tears as they did each time she stood in front of it. She didn’t know why. It was created by an anonymous painter, a scene of a field full of daisies with a dark, stormy sky overhead. It always filled her with deep emotion. Each time was different depending on her mood. Today, sadness overwhelmed her as she gazed at the daisies, struggling to stay upright as the wind blew and the storm gathered strength. To Jilly, it seemed that the flowers huddled together, trying to find warmth and protection from the forces around them. They looked delicate and insecure.
     
    She stepped back, her arms wrapped around her body. She had often felt alone and unprotected as the storms of life raged, threatening to rend her limb from limb. She shuddered and moved on to the next painting.
     
    This one had bright, almost garish, colors and today it seemed to Jilly to have a somewhat frantic quality about it, as though the painter tried to cover up something ugly with beautiful colors. The ugly thing seeped through at the cracks. The painter could paint layer upon layer of warm, comforting colors, but the foundation tainted the loveliness of the paint.
     
    The futility of it all struck at her heart. She wondered why people tried so hard to make ugly things appear beautiful. Why did families try to cover up the past and tell lies about it, when the lies were as apparent as a familial nose or brow?
     
    Jilly sank cross-legged to the floor and opened her oversized purse. She pulled out a pristine sketch pad and a new charcoal pencil. This she clutched in her hand as images formed in her mind. The images today were stark,