Most of All You: A Love Story(41)

She looked over at me as if she knew I was simplifying the explanation but smiled anyway. “Sunlight,” she repeated, a note of wistfulness in her tone. She stared at me for a moment and then looked around again, limping over to the wall, where she leaned her crutches against the bed and used both hands to cup one of the rainbows in her palms. She looked back over her shoulder at me and smiled, bigger and brighter than the rainbow she held in her hands.

Ah, sweet Christ. Ellie’s smile. I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath.

Her smile faded, but her eyes remained soft as she turned and picked up her crutches again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

We took our usual spots out on the patio after pouring our coffee, and she let out a comfortable sigh and stretched her casted leg slightly where it rested on another chair. I took that as a good sign that it was healing well and wasn’t paining her as much. Her expression looked more peaceful than it had the previous mornings. Her facial injuries were looking better every day, her beauty now more obvious than the abuse she’d received. There was only a yellowish bruise on her right cheekbone and a scab along her jaw where a cut was still healing. And, God, I loved her face without makeup, loved the clean prettiness of it, the delicate grace, the way I could see what was really her and not some phony product meant to exaggerate and enhance a face that needed no such thing. Eloise was beautiful in a way that told me she’d always be at her loveliest first thing in the morning, bathed in dawn’s soft glow, her eyes vulnerable and still full of dreams. My blood heated at the vision. But I turned my mind from those thoughts…they’d come to no good, not now, not for me and not for her.

“Time for work?” she asked.

I chuckled. “You mean time for you to watch me work?”

Her carefree expression slipped. “I’d be more useful around here if I could.”

“I know that, Ellie. I was only teasing you. I don’t expect you to do anything more than heal.”

She looked uncertain, and I regretted making her feel that way. In actuality, I liked that she kept me company while I worked. Sculpting could be a lonely job, and although it was easy for me to lose myself in my work, while I was doing the labor that didn’t require a lot of focus, I loved having her there to talk to. Although so far we’d mostly spent time discussing what I was doing and what tools did what, I hoped that the intimacy of that time would cause Ellie to open up to me a little bit—eventually.

I had brought a lounge chair into the garage, and that’s where she sat while I worked, a blanket draped over her legs. She was still weak, and I could tell that her ribs still caused her pain. Not that she complained. I tried to make her as comfortable as possible. Even so, she usually only lasted a couple of hours before she was ready to return to bed, where she slept the afternoon away, waking for dinner and maybe a TV show and then back to bed. To be able to sleep so much meant her body was healing.

As I helped her get settled in the lounge chair, I thought about all the things she’d said while she’d had a fever and was on a strong dose of pain medication. She’d called out for her mama a lot, and she’d also talked about someone named Mrs. Hollyfield, red Popsicles, and rainbows. I wondered what it all meant. Eloise. She was full of so many mysteries, full of so much pain. I heard it in her fear-filled voice as she cried in the night, calling out to people I imagined long gone. People she’d once loved, if the tears that rolled down her cheeks when she dreamed of them were any indication.

I smiled over at her as I began chipping away at the cherub. “I think he’s a boy,” I said, running my hands over the stone that had taken shape in the last few days.

She tilted her head, obviously knowing immediately whom I was talking about. “Yes, I think so, too. What should we name him?”

I chuckled. “I don’t usually name my pieces.”

“You don’t? Why?”

I shrugged, a tremor of unease running through me. What I’d told her wasn’t completely true. I’d named my work once … and never since. But that was different. “Just never thought of it. What would you name him?”

She sucked on her full bottom lip, and a shivery feeling ran down my spine, my muscles tightening. I cleared my throat, trying to lead myself away from dangerous places.

“William.”

I smiled. “William? Why William?”

She shrugged one shoulder, looking slightly embarrassed. “I don’t know. I just always liked that name.”

“William it is. What do you think of your name, Will?” I tilted my head, pretending to listen. “He likes it.”

She laughed softly, sending a spear of joy to my heart. “Good.”

We chatted easily for a little while as I shaped William’s chubby body, smoothing his fat little stomach. I glanced over at her, and she looked peaceful. One arm was propped behind her head, and her cast was peeking out from beneath the blanket; her face was in profile as she looked out the open garage door, the yellow bruise on her cheekbone highlighted by the sun. She looked like a broken goddess, and if I knew how to paint, I’d want to paint her, to capture all her shadows and light. “Did you ever think of modeling?” I asked. “You have the looks for it.”

She turned her head toward me and sighed. “I answered an ad once for models before I started stripping.” She was quiet for a moment, again looking off into the distance before continuing. “I went to this studio, and the guy told me I needed a portfolio if I was going to work. A few pictures were a thousand dollars, but if I didn’t have the cash, there were other ways I could pay for the photos he took.” She looked back at me, the meaning of “other ways” clear. I clenched my jaw. Disgusting asshole.