Hold Me Close(74)

Effie is no longer drunk, but she wishes she were because it would make it easier to talk to him. “You did. I haven’t heard from you in months...”

“I’ve been trying to get my shit together.”

“Good luck with that.” Effie laughs. It’s cruel. She can’t help it.

“Of all the people in the world, I thought you’d be the one to believe I could,” Heath tells her.

She should cry out after him and tell him to wait, that she does believe in him. Of course she believes. Shouting will bring her mother downstairs, and Effie doesn’t want to deal with that mess. She wants to call Heath back, but in the end, it’s better if she doesn’t. Those small hatreds they’ve started fostering between them...well, one of them just reared its nasty face.

If Heath gets his shit together, Effie will have no excuses for continuing to be a f*ckup, herself. And what if, in the end, no matter what she tries, she can’t get beyond what happened to them? College, a job, that white picket fence Bill mocked her for wanting? All of those things feel so far away and out of reach, as if she will never be able to touch them.





chapter thirty-two

Effie had never been inside the Tin Angel art gallery, a tiny studio tucked inside a lovely restored brownstone on Front Street in Harrisburg. She usually avoided art galleries, to be honest. It was too hard to judge the work on the walls against her own and find either it or hers lacking. She took a glass of white wine, though, to hold instead of Mitchell’s hand as they made their way through the different small rooms in the building.

To her surprise, in the small back corner room, hung on a plain white wall and lit with several pinpoint spots, hung one of her pieces. Effie pulled up short, uncertain. It was one of the ones she sold on her site, she knew that much. And she’d been credited as the artist, according to the placard discreetly placed beside it.

“I don’t... This is...” Effie gestured at the painting.

Mitchell looked closer at it. Then at her. “Felicity Linton? Do you know her?”

Of course he didn’t know her real name was Felicity. Effie laughed and took a long gulp of wine to keep herself from sounding like a crazy person. She shook her head.


“I just... It’s interesting, isn’t it?” She turned to leave.

Mitchell didn’t. “You like that?”

She paused. “Do you?”

“I don’t know.” Mitchell studied it, looking closer. “It doesn’t look like much of anything to me, honestly. It looks like something anyone could do if they tried a little.”

Effie frowned. “It always looks easier than it really is. I mean, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, but this...” Mitchell looked again at the placard. He leaned close to the painting once more. “I don’t know, it feels like there should be something more to it.”

There was something more to it, Effie thought. It’s what made people like it. She didn’t point that out, though. She watched him look it over, then turn to her with a shrug.

“I don’t get it,” he said.

“That’s the thing about art. It’s different things to different people.” Effie finished her wine and lifted her empty glass. “Another drink?”

“There are other places to see, if you want. There’s a great little vintage shop a block over. We could check it out, then head to dinner?” Mitchell smiled, no clue how he’d insulted her.

“Sure,” Effie said with a smile to match his. “Let’s go.”

It was better in the other shops, although Effie found herself unable to forget what Mitchell had said about her painting. It wasn’t as if she’d never had criticism before, but f*ck if hearing it face-to-face didn’t suck extra hard. She couldn’t even defend herself without outing that she was the artist.

“You’re quiet,” Mitchell said.

He’d taken her to the Capital City Diner instead of a fancy place, and Effie liked that. It meant she could order something safe and cheap and not feel bad if she didn’t eat all of it. She was making sure to actually eat at least some of it, though. She didn’t want another discussion about her weird habits.

“Kind of tired, I guess.” Effie cut into her eggs over medium with her fork to let the yolk spread out over the plate so she could sop it up with the buttered toast. She caught him looking at her and gave him a smile. “But it was fun. Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, I like looking in all the shops. They have some cool stuff. I never end up buying anything.” Mitchell looked contemplative. “I should. Maybe some decorative balls in, like, a bowl or something, for the coffee table. My house is pretty bland.”

“I know. I’ve seen it.” She said it, knee-jerk, knowing it would be slightly insulting and also knowing she was still stewing over the fact he’d basically shit on her artwork. It wasn’t fair of her. She knew that, too.

Mitchell didn’t look offended, though he did pause before answering. “I bet your house is decorated with lots of color and funky throw pillows and stuff.”

“My house is mostly decorated with clutter. Nothing matches. I’d make a terrible housewife. I hate mopping.” Effie laughed and shook her head.

“To be fair,” Mitchell said mildly, “mopping sucks.”