The Sign Painter Page 7

  Lucy cocked her head. “Are you actually blushing?”

  He felt the flames inside his skin grow hotter. “I came here tonight for the reasons I said.”

  She studied him for a long moment before deciding, “You know what? I actually believe you.”

  Paul was not done. “I had no idea she was going to open up like that. But I’m glad she did. Because until she spoke, we didn’t have a clue what we were going to do next.”

  She took a step back and studied him while the ire faded from her gaze. “It’s not often I read a person completely wrong.”

  He was still so embarrassed that he stumbled over the words. “You’re trying to do the best you can for your people.”

  “That’s right, Paul. I am.”

  “They’re lucky to have you. And I’m on your side.”

  “Granville said I should trust you. I’m beginning to see why. All this time I’ve been thinking it was us who needed you. Now I’m thinking this might be a two-way street.”

  The same emotions clawed at his raw throat. “I think so, too.”

  Lucy offered him what was perhaps her very first genuine smile. “In that case, we’ve just moved a family into their new home. The apartment two down from Amy is free. You can move in tonight.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Sunday morning Amy did as the two cops had suggested. She knew Granville was retired, and Paul had been a fed and was now helping the church, but she still thought of them as a pair of cops, two men who had belonged to the group she avoided at all costs. It left her unsettled to dwell on how much rested in their hands. Trusting anyone was very difficult for her these days. And now that was all she was doing. Her future depended upon strangers who claimed to have her best interests at heart.

  She dressed in the cotton shift she kept for the Sundays when she and Kimmie were able to attend church. The Internet chat rooms for homeless people trying to keep a hold on life often discussed these places: churches where the faces were friendly and hope was offered with the free coffee. People who genuinely cared. Havens from the hurt and the fear. At least for a morning.

  The dress was part of the old life, a nice floral pattern that set off her hair. She let Kimmie wear her favorite pink dress. But as she buckled the straps on her daughter’s sandals, Amy observed, “Honey, these shoes are too small.”

  “They’re my favorite, Mommy.”

  “Look at how they pinch.” The sandals were the same shade as the dress and had sparkly stars painted across the top. “Your toes are squished up like ten little sausages.”

  “But I like them.”

  Amy shifted back and looked at her daughter. Kimmie’s dress had been washed until the seams were fraying. Amy had replaced a loose button with orange thread because it was all she could find. The girl was growing, and the dress was both too short and too narrow in the shoulders. She wore a hair clip that once held a smiling Peter Pan, but the elf was gone and still Kimmie wore it every chance she got. Amy swallowed and said, “My baby girl is growing up.”

  “Please let me wear them, Mommy.”

  “Of course, darling.” Amy had managed to ignore these things because she had been unable to do anything about them. That was nothing new. What she saw now was how her daughter had learned to do the same. Kimmie ignored her hurting feet because to do otherwise meant giving up something she cherished. Amy wiped her eyes. “What a big, beautiful girl you are.”

  “I’m still just five.”

  “How would you like to go shopping for a new outfit this afternoon? Dress and shoes both.”

  “Pink ones?”

  “Any color you like. And if you could have anything in the whole wide world for dinner tonight, what would it be?”

  Kimmie’s eyes went round. “Can we do that?”

  “Anything and everything,” Amy said. “We can even go to a restaurant if you like.”

  “I don’t want to go anywhere, Mommy. I like it here.”

  “I like it here, too. So what do you want to eat?”

  She answered as Amy knew she would. “Chickie burgers and tater tots and corn!”

  For once, Amy did not insist her daughter have greens. “Did you forget dessert?”

  Kimmie’s laugh carried a bell-like clarity that caused Amy to shiver. “Nutter Butters and chocklit ice cream!”

  Amy led her daughter out of the apartment. Before she shut the door, she took one last look inside. Sunlight spilled through the kitchen window, touching the breakfast plates drying in the rack by the sink. Kimmie’s ratty doll was seated on the sofa, waiting for her playmate to come back. Amy’s Bible was open on the counter, where she had read it with her coffee. There was a normalcy to the scene. A promise of better things to come. And no one was going to take that from them.

  It was good to be home.

  The church sanctuary was at the far end of the complex, around the Sunday school building and across two parking lots. Tall imperial palms and blooming oleander framed the structures. As she checked the side road for traffic, she noticed that Paul Travers was shadowing her. The man was dressed, as usual, in a knit shirt and dark pants. He hung back far enough to blend in with the other people headed for church. He wore sunglasses and did not appear to look her way at all. But Amy knew he was there to protect her and found great comfort in the fact that she had been right to trust him.

  As she led Kimmie up the stairs and into the large foyer, her mind went back to how Paul had spoken the previous night. The act of confession had burned him, just as it would her. She dreaded opening up in front of others, though she knew it was part of the healing process. Watching Paul do it had left her convinced that she should trust him. That here was someone who would do what he said and be there in the hard moments. She needed friends like that, especially now.

  She’d started to slip into an empty pew when she spotted a familiar head two rows up. Bob Denton sat alone. She hesitated just a moment, then walked forward and asked, “Mind if we join you?”

  Bob Denton’s face lit up at the sight of her, and Amy knew she had done the right thing. “Kimmie, this is Mr. Denton. I’ve been working for him this week.”

  “Painting pretty windows,” Kimmie said.

  “The prettiest in Florida,” Bob said, slipping down and making room. “What a beautiful little girl you are.”

  “Mommy is taking me shopping this afternoon.”

  Amy fished crayons from her purse and handed them to her daughter. “Kimmie has never met a stranger.”

  Bob glanced at her, then went back to smiling at her daughter. “What are you going to buy?”

  “A new dress and sandals.” Kimmie lifted her feet. “Pink ones. As pretty as these.”

  “You will be cute as the sunrise when you’re done.”

  Amy said, “Thank you, Mr. Denton.”

  “Call me Bob.”

  When the service was over, Amy remained seated beside her little girl. It was a habit she had started soon after they hit the road. Amy wanted her daughter to hold on to all the good things that remained within reach. She could not tell such lessons to a child. She had to show them. Here was safety. Here was a place where she could feel connected to all the goodness in the world. This was a true sanctuary from life’s uneven hand. And Kimmie needed to feel it for herself.

  Bob Denton rose with the congregation, but when he saw that Amy remained sitting, he settled back down. Amy started to say he should leave, but Kimmie chose that moment to ask her, “Was this like the church where you and Daddy went?”

  Their life before things fell apart was a favorite topic of Kimmie’s after church. Amy had disliked it at first but decided it was good for her child to feel safe enough once each week to ask the difficult questions. Even when it made Amy’s heart swell up and her eyes burn to reply, “Our church was smaller. But the feeling was the same.”

  “The
church was stone.”

  “That’s right, darling.”

  “Made from the mountains.”

  “West Virginia granite,” Amy confirmed.

  “And Daddy held me.”

  “You didn’t like going into the nursery. You wanted to be with us.”

  “And I fell asleep.”

  “Almost every Sunday.”

  Bob watched this exchange with a somber expression. As Kimmie continued drawing on the church circular, he asked, “What has it been like for you two out there?”

  Amy did not need to ask what he was talking about. “Mostly it was about making it through each day. The hardest part was the fear at night. That we wouldn’t find a way out.”

  “A lot of people just give up.” Bob followed Amy’s lead and kept his voice light. “Lucy says her hardest job in choosing people for the apartments is finding those strong enough to keep hoping.”

  Amy stroked her daughter’s hair. “Thank you for giving us this chance. The home, the job—they are answers to prayers I almost forgot how to say.”

  Bob took his time replying. He was clearly a man who took his exercise seriously. He stretched out his long legs, slipping his feet under the pew in front of him. His shoes were either new or recently polished, pale brown loafers with woven leather bands across the top. They looked expensive. “When my wife died, I almost did that—forget how to pray. Give up hope. One Sunday I was sitting right here in this very pew. Lucy was there where you are. Afterward we started talking.”

  Kimmie surprised them by announcing, “I like Lucy.”

  “I like her, too.” Bob responded to Kimmie as he would to an adult. “And that Sunday she was an answer to a prayer, just like you described, one I had almost forgotten how to ask. I needed something more than the business and the routine to make it worth going on. Lucy told me about this decrepit motel that was going into bankruptcy. I knew about it, of course. The whole church despised the place. You know what I’m talking about, right?”

  Amy kept stroking her daughter’s hair. “They rented rooms by the hour.”

  “Exactly. Folks had been complaining about this place for years, but Lucy was the first to come up with an idea that was forward-looking. Renovate it into small apartments and combine it with our other outreach programs. She had taken it to the elders and been shot down. She didn’t know what to do or where to go. So she had been sitting there, praying over it.”

  “And you bought it.”

  “I helped,” Bob corrected. “Some friends and I.”

  “You were the driving force. You made it happen.” Amy shook her head. “Someday I might find a way to tell you just how much that place means to us.”

  “I like it there,” Kimmie said.

  Bob glanced at his watch. “The next service is about to begin. Want to come with me to Sunday school?”

  Most of the class members were older than Amy, but not all. A gray-haired woman found Kimmie some drawing paper and made a game of sneaking three colored markers from Granville’s whiteboard. Kimmie sat at the desk used by the greeter and drew. When Kimmie started humming midway through the session, and the women in the class glanced over and shared smiles with Amy, she felt an unseen band of tension ease a notch. As though the really important point of this particular Sunday was learning to set her burdens down.

  After class, Bob introduced Amy and Kimmie to the others, then drew her away from the exit and said, “There’s a man who’s been dogging you.”

  “I know. Paul Travers.”

  “You want me to do something about it?”

  Granville was the only other person in the room. He made a slow circuit around the class, gathering books and papers, pointedly ignoring them. Amy chose her words carefully. “I might be followed by some bad people. Paul is keeping me safe.”

  “A pretty girl like you, I can’t imagine . . .” Bob stopped when Kimmie walked over, beaming as she offered them her drawings. “Look what a nice picture you’ve made!”

  “Did you and your wife have children?”

  “One. A boy.” Bob shook his head, closing that subject. “You’re certain you can trust this man?”

  “Granville does.”

  The burly cop used his name as an excuse to sidle up. “Paul is a new buddy. He’s one of the good guys.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “More every day.”

  “Well, I guess that’s all right.” Bob hesitated, then said, “I’ve got something I want to talk with you about.”

  “Me or the lady here?”

  “Both, I guess.”

  “Why don’t we take a seat?”

  Kimmie protested, “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

  Amy reached into her pocket for a cereal bar and realized she had forgotten to bring it along. “In a minute, baby.”

  Bob took that as his cue. He passed over an envelope. “This is the remainder we owe you for the paintings. I’ve put in a little something extra.”

  “You don’t need to. Really.”

  “We’re already hearing some nice things about your work. We’ve shot another ad using your paintings as a backdrop. Take the money. You’ve earned it.”

  Amy stowed away the envelope. “Thank you. This means the world.”

  “About your next job. I’ve made a few calls. Unfortunately, I haven’t found anybody who’s hiring. The economy here is hurting.”

  “Sure, like everywhere.” Amy told herself there was no reason to feel as disappointed as she did. “Thanks to your generosity, we’ve got a bit of a cushion. I’m sure something will turn up.”

  Bob fiddled with his tie. “How’d you like to come work for me?”

  Amy did not understand why asking her that question made him so nervous. “You mean do another mural?”

  “I mean for me. In my front office. Take over the administrative job. You would help me oversee the transactions as they come in and keep a record of the day’s business. You can handle a computer, right?”

  “Well, sure, my job as a graphics designer was all about translating art to the screen. And I took a couple of courses on keeping accounts. But that was, you know . . . before.”

  “Our bookkeeping system is designed for folks who argue with numbers. Like me.” He realized he was fidgeting and jammed his fingers together across his middle. “The pay is decent and the hours are flexible, so you could take time to see to your little girl. I tried a temp out last week. The young man could not have been dumber if he’d been planted in my front lawn. What do you say?”

  Amy realized the man was nervous because he feared she would turn down his offer. And there were any number of reasons why she might be concerned—the run-in with the drug dealers, the unresolved issues with Drew, the cash. But all she could think was, A real job. “Mr. Denton—Bob—this is fantastic. I would love to work there.”

  “I know you’ve had a few hard days. But the transactions will be stacked up after this weekend. I need you to start tomorrow.”

  “Sir, it would be a pleasure.” She rose to her feet. “You don’t know—You can’t possibly have any idea what this means.”

  He smiled as he rose to his feet and said the same words she had used at their first meeting. “Now’s the time you ask me about pay.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Amy bought Kimmie lunch at the mall food court. She disliked the cavernous din almost as much as Kimmie loved being there. Kimmie had no interest in racing around with the kids or yelling her ya-yas out. Instead, she watched everything. She twisted in her seat as the other kids rushed past. She observed them and the fountains and the shoppers and the sparrows that had slipped inside the mall and lived in the fake trees and stole crumbs. She laid out bits of her fries and managed to tempt one particularly brave bird to within inches of her fingers. Days or weeks from now, Kimmie would mention something she ha
d seen, surprising Amy with what she remembered. Kimmie was the most observant person Amy had ever known.

  Which was why, as they walked the mall after lunch, Amy was not entirely surprised when Kimmie asked, “Do you like that man from church?”

  “You mean Mr. Denton?”

  “He said for you to call him Bob. Should I do that, too?”

  “I suppose you can call him Mr. Bob if you want. And yes, I think he’s nice. He’s honest, and he cares about people.”

  “He gave you the job. You looked like you were going to cry.”

  “I was happy.”

  “He built our home?”

  “He helped the church make it.”

  “So we could live there.”

  “That’s right, honey.”

  “Are you going to marry him, Mommy?”

  “Sweetheart, Bob Denton is my boss. I’m going to work for him.” They walked past another couple of stores. “Do you want me to marry someone else, honey? Do you want a new daddy?”

  Kimmie gave a huge shrug. “I don’t know, Mommy.”

  Amy nodded. She didn’t know, either.

  She studied the people as much as the stores. Sundays were a good day for mall walking, because many women dressed in their favorite clothes. Amy saw several outfits she thought would suit her. Then she drove Kimmie to Marshalls. They had done this before when they had money, going first to the mall to study styles, then to Marshalls or T.J. Maxx to find bargains. Amy found Kimmie a pink dress and matching sandals, then a new pair of pink jeans and two matching tops. Amy selected three outfits for herself, two pantsuits and a lovely dress of smoky blue, and three additional blouses, and pumps, and stockings. It was the most she had spent on herself in over two years.

  Amy left Marshalls with both hands full of shopping. Kimmie carried her own bag mashed up tight against her chest. As they passed down the line of cars, Amy noticed a man seated behind the wheel of a nondescript gray four-door. With a start, she realized it was Paul Travers. She started to wave, but he turned away, almost as though he didn’t see her at all. Amy drove to get groceries, then home, and spent an hour playing dress-up with Kimmie. As she started making Kimmie’s favorite dinner, she glanced out the front door. Paul Travers was seated on the sidewalk, watching the empty parking lot.