Sweet Hope (Sweet Home #4)(13)
Sighing deep, I slung my arm around Austin’s neck, and he led me to the biggest bedroom I’d ever seen. I was used to a claustrophobic six-by-eight foot cell. This was a dream.
“Y’all are unpacked.”
“Thanks, kid,” I said quietly as I walked to the window, a window that overlooked a still and silent Lake.
I could feel Austin hovering at the door, could feel his stare on my back. “Just ask, Austin,” I said, not turning around.
I heard the floorboard creak. “Just… just wondering what your plans are, you know, here in Seattle?”
I huffed a silent laugh to myself. What the hell would he say if I told him the real reason I was in Seattle?
“It’s arranged that I’ll be working in some fish market by the waterfront.” I shrugged. “Conditions of my parole. Start tomorrow.”
My kid brother sighed in relief. “I’m proud of you, Axe,” he said, and I could hear the sincerity in his voice. “I’ve still got your old El Camino in my garage. When I moved, I couldn’t bear to see it go. Had it tuned up, repainted and reupholstered.”
My heart dropped knowing he’d done that to my old car. A car, back in the day, I probably looked after more than my family.
When I turned round to thank him, he was gone. As I stared out the window again, I caught sight of the Husky football stadium in the distance and thought back to Levi…
He ain’t no brother of ours. He’s no Carillo. He’s just a f*cking loser of an ex-con that’s going nowhere in life, and he’s come here to use you for money and to drag us down too.
There was no f*cking hope.
Chapter five
Ally
One week later…
Wiping my brow, I sat, staring at the final wooden crate I’d just opened. It stored the last of the Elpidio sculptures shipped up for the show.
I held my breath as I gently removed the protective packages to reveal the single piece of marble that just destroyed me every time I saw it in a magazine or picture. And that one time I flew miles to see it up close.
As the foam packaging slowly gave way to a smooth white marble, tears filled my eyes. I was actually seeing it in the flesh again. In actuality. In all its devastating perfection.
As I cast a glance to my watch, I saw it was fifteen minutes past midnight. I’d been here all day, trying to place the sculptures in their correct positions to test the flow of the exhibit.
The theme of the show was proving difficult to design. I felt like there was a pattern, a natural story to the sculptures, but I’d yet to work them out. I wasn’t sure I could do so without some input from the artist himself.
Catching movement from the corner of my eye, I saw Christoph, the night security guard, doing his rounds.
Getting to my feet, Christoph jumped back in shock. “Ms. Lucia, you nearly gave me a heart attack! I didn’t see you down there.”
“I’m sorry!” I said apologetically. “I’m trying to get the final piece free from its packaging so I can position them correctly tomorrow. It's made from marble and incredibly tall, so…”
Christoph smiled, and came to help me. In just a few minutes we had the wooden crate removed and the packaging dispensed of. As the sculpture was revealed, we both stepped back, and my hand flew to my mouth at the view.
This piece was flawless.
For minutes, all I could do was stare… stare at the six-foot high double-sided white angel, this side’s hands reaching out like she was pleading. She held a pile of black ashes in her palms. I knew from my research that what I was looking at now was the broken side of the angel.
Her wings were fraying and clipped and her beautiful face was contorted in pain… no, agony. Her body was curled inward, almost like she was struggling to stand straight. What should be a beautiful dress was ripped and torn, sullied with patches of dirt. Her hair was stringy and limp, hanging haphazardly to the middle of her back, and the desolate look in her unnaturally wide eyes… was haunting.
It shattered my heart. It was as though this sculpture had a soul, projecting every emotion the artist felt when he painstakingly carved each curve and expression on the angel’s face. I could feel the wracking pain, the inner torture of the broken angel running through my blood.
No picture I had ever seen did this piece justice. To witness it in reality was like being given a gift from heaven itself.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly moved my feet and made my way to the other side, where my emotions completely took hold and tears began pouring down my cheeks.
This angel was stunningly beautiful, a complete contrast to her alter ego. This angel’s body was standing straight, full with curves and good health, draped in a pristine Roman-style dress. Her serene smiling face was tipped high to the sky, her thick long hair falling to her waist. I could feel the sensation of the hot sun kissing her cheeks, the warmth enveloping her body like an embrace. Her delicate hands were held up like she was taking flight, her angel wings spread wide. The black ashes that her alter ego held out so desperately, in this formation, were scattered to the ground.
She was breaking free.
My heart beat faster and faster with every passing minute. I was unsure how long I stood there, held in this statue's thrall.
Shaking myself from my trance, I wiped at my eyes and laughed at the extent this sculpture ripped me apart. “Sorry, Christoph, I get a little too emotional with Elpidio’s work at times—”