Read Online The Love of My (Other) Life by Traci L. Slatton - Free Book Online Page A

his arms lightly around me and kissed my shoulder. “Idealists don’t steal.”
    “It’s not theft,” I insisted. “And I have to help Reverend Pincek.”
    “You have to help yourself, Tessa. I meant to tell you, your super stopped by before you came home.”
    I wriggled out of Brian’s arms. “Before or after you went through my personal belongings?”
    “He thought your painting on the door was beautiful, but they’re going to lock you out of your apartment.”
    “I think I’ll have another glass of wine,” I decided.
    “I don’t know how they can do that. Maybe because it’s a co-op. You don’t actually own your apartment, you own shares in a corporation.”
    “That’s it! Shares in a corporation! That’s exactly what I need. Then I can sell them and move to Florence and paint the Duomo. And I can take more figure painting classes at the Florence Academy.”
    Brian grabbed my head from either side and forced me to meet his gaze, which was serious and saner than could be expected, given his delusions.
    “Tessa, focus. Fantasies won’t help. You need a strategy. You owe years of back maintenance fees.”
    “I have a strategy,” I said. “Sell the Cliff Bucknell abomination.”
    “Then you’re fucked. Because I can’t let you do that,” Brian said, in a soft, determined voice.

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14
Central Park is where whales swim

    I was striding along purposefully, clutching my messenger bag. Brian trotted alongside, keeping up. I refused to look at him.
    Around us swirled the throngs of Central Park: dogwalkers, teenagers, runners, mothers and nannies pushing strollers, bicyclists in all their gear and attitude, tourists and pedestrians and gawkers and ne’er-do-wells. Day was waning into night, but the colorful masses teemed outdoors, shifting and reforming, a living kaleidoscope.
    “I have to sell it now. Don’t you understand? I’ve gone this far. I have a vision for helping Reverend Pincek. I can’t back out.”
    “There’s still time for you to do the right thing,” Brian said, stubbornly. “You’re better than this.”
    I looked at Brian and thought about fessing up.
    There was a backstory, and if he knew it, he might look at things differently. His heart was in the right place, even if he was crazy.
    But I got distracted, wondering: what does it say about me that I had slept with a crazy guy? Nothing good. Another one of my errors, foibles, mistakes, and blunders. There were so many of them.
    But now was not the time to flagellate myself.
    Nor did I want Brian to expose himself to risk. I said, “The guy I’m meeting is trouble. Serious, big-time trouble. You shouldn’t be here. Beam back up to wherever you came from.”
    “Do you watch Star Trek in this world?” Brian asked.
    “Is Captain Kirk one of the voices in your head?”
    I asked, sympathetically. “Oh, there’s Rat Rock.” I pointed to a whale-like gray outcropping with blue sky spilling out around it. A tall, sinister, Euro-trashy man leaned against the rock and smoked a cigarette.
    But I didn’t focus on Guy, as I should have.
    Instead, I had a flash: Rat Rock in a landscape painting, rugged shades of gray with the arching azure sky and the green park.
    Painting. We weren’t far from the Met. “Hey, after this, let’s go to the Met!” I suggested. “There’s a Raphael exhibit. His use of color and perspective is mind-blowing. It’ll quiver your timbers all the way to your soul.”
    “Raphael, funny.” Brian laughed once, a single ‘ha’ like a bark. “I’m used to hearing you rave about Pablo Casals.”
    I’d heard of him. “Isn’t he the one who was asked why he practiced the cello for three hours a day when he was ninety-three, and he said, ‘I’m beginning to notice some improvement’?”
    Brian nodded and looked away almost too quickly for me to see his face wring out. I didn’t comment because it was clear he didn’t want me to notice his sudden wrenching expression of sadness.
    Besides,