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Tara took the list and studied it. “We’ll have to get some of it from the art supply store.”
I checked the time. “When do they close?”
“Late. Most artists don’t keep regular hours. And before you chastise me for making an unfair generalization, I am one, so I’m allowed to say it.”
Chastise her? “Do I really do that?” I asked.
Tara’s expression darkened. “All the time, Pen.”
Now, I felt like absolute shit when, a minute ago, I was great, lighthearted, and excited to see my new friend tomorrow. “God, Tara, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. We all do it. I mean, I just did it to you.” She smiled and rolled her eyes. “I chastised you for chastising me.”
At least once every day, I was thankful for my four best friends. They got me, and I got them. Could I be a bitch? Yes, I could. So could each one of them, but we’d known each other long enough that we accepted each other as we were.
Brand was like that with me too. He got me in ways that stunned me.
“I love you, Tar.”
“Ditto. So, do you want help with all this?”
“I can handle it.”
“You didn’t even get the list right.”
Since the art supply store was open late, Tara called her husband to say she and I were having dinner and explain what we were doing afterwards.
“Knox said to text him when we’re done at the store, and he’ll help us bring everything back to the gallery.”
“Does he want to join us for dinner?”
Tara shook her head. “Girls’ night.”
We’d laughed and talked so much that we arrived at the store fifteen minutes before they closed, but we were still able to get everything Tara thought my new and unnamed friend would need.
The next day, I checked the clock at least every fifteen minutes to make sure I wasn’t late.
When it came time to leave, Tara came down from her studio. “Pen, don’t chastise me for asking this…”
I smirked. “Go ahead.”
“This woman, do you think she’s homeless?”
“I didn’t get that impression at all. There’s something about her, though. I can’t explain it, but she seems, um, tragic.”
“Interesting word choice. How sad.”
I nodded. “I know. It isn’t as though she said anything. It was just a feeling I got.”
“I’m proud of you for doing this.”
I had to admit, I was proud of myself too.
Knox had packed everything in a large portfolio case and a small box with a handle so it was easy for me to manage on my own.
When I saw her seated in the same spot as the day before, I was relieved she’d showed up.
“Good morning,” I said, setting down the case and box. “These are canvases and paints. My gift to your talent.”
