Page 56

He had spent most of the afternoon with Poppy in the studio, lounging naked but for the beer helmet.

They had developed a good system to keep him hydrated without unduly interrupting her painting, using the largest water bottles that the helmet could support.

He would sip as needed to remain comfortable—which was, even with his preparatory soak, quite often—and meanwhile Poppy would set an alarm for an agreed-upon period of time.

When the alarm went off, an upbeat song performed by a pair of women who seemed to be weather reporters, Poppy would sing along to it for a few measures, then rise to refill his bottles, stretch, favor him with a kiss, and return to her chair to reset the alarm and resume painting.

On drier days like today, he might have to go without water for a short time, but not long enough for him to feel ill, and he could thus maintain the needed pose for the entire painting session.

And she had said it was healthy for her to move regularly rather than painting without respite, so the water break was good for both of them.

It was especially good for Rai, because Poppy singing and occasionally dancing made his heart overflow.

Though he had snorted with laughter the first time he’d heard the song, pointing out to Poppy that everyone knew the clouds only rained snow, hail, sleet, and—obviously—rain upon the earth. Not men.

“They rained you, didn’t they?” she’d countered, kissing him soundly. “Hallelujah.”

He could not argue with that logic. Especially when she was kissing him.

Though they had almost argued today. It had only not been an argument because Rai had not pushed—which he had been quite proud of himself for, truthfully.

Because the fissures of his own lies and sins had made him sensitive to all lies, and he was thus growing frustrated with the great lie Poppy insisted he help her to perpetuate, despite it concealing a truth that could only make Poppy’s life easier.

It had started innocently enough. He had been splashing water on his face following their painting session while Poppy settled the protective drape over the incomplete painting. And fool that he was, he had decided to probe.

“When the rains end”—he had not said when I leave , as it made them both flinch—“will you return to your transcripts?”

“I guess I’ll have to.” She’d sighed, shifting papers around on her drawing table. “I mean, I’ve been selling a few drawings a week, but it’s still not going to be enough to support us. And I haven’t gotten an answer back yet on Mom’s appeal.”

“She must worry greatly,” he’d said, tossing his hair back.

“Not if I can help it,” Poppy had replied, and he’d turned to her in surprise.

“You have not told her?”

“And stress her out again? Of course not.” She had busied herself arranging her colored pencils, as she did when agitated. “I mean, she knows we’re waiting on an answer from Social Security, but she doesn’t know…how much we need it. Or that they rejected it in the first place.”

Rai had set his hands to her shoulders. “Would she not wish to know?”

“Sometimes we want things we…shouldn’t have.” She’d shrugged stiffly, not leaning into him but not pushing him away, either. “I’ll take care of it. Her.”

“But the transcripts, they—” He’d had no words to describe what he remembered, the defeated, dull misery he’d seen on Poppy’s face when he’d finally been reunited with her after her days of toil. “You will be unhappy. Your mother should know—”

“Please stop,” Poppy had said. Just that, but her voice had been small. Close to weeping.

He had stopped. He had not pushed. And yet the lie boiled within him now, just as the water for their tea had boiled. Screaming to get out of him, like her mother's teakettle.

Jen should know what her daughter did for her, what was at stake.

She should. Rai knew her well enough now to know she would grieve at Poppy’s unhappiness.

Though they did not speak of deep things, they had texted occasionally since he had given her his number, and he believed in Jen’s love for her child, her essential desire to not be a burden.

She should know the weight of what Poppy bore for her sake.

And he had promised Poppy he would not tell.

And everything was breaking inside him .

And he was running out of time.

He would not break the promise. But he found an opportunity, when Poppy left him alone with Jen while she changed over the laundry, to approach the conflict in a different way.

Poppy’s labor was to support her mother.

If Rai found a way around that, made it so Poppy did not need to keep worries from her mother because those worries did not exist, then there would be no need for the deception.

“I have been meaning to call my mother,” he said, gathering their empty teacups. “She will be pleased to know of the painting I have commissioned for her.”

“Do you call her often?” Jen watched him but did not protest. She had grown used to him washing the dishes, though of course she didn’t know he’d been using the chore to secretly rejuvenate himself.

“As often as I may.” He set the cups in the sink, started the water running. “She is very far from here. I have not seen her in…many years.” It had been decades, he realized guiltily as he added soap to the water.

“You should call her tonight,” Jen said. “Mothers worry, you know.”

“I know it. I must beg her forgiveness for my neglect.” He began to wash the cups, keeping his face averted, affecting a casual tone. “What was it like for you when Poppy lived far away?”

Jen was silent for a brief moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was wistful. “I missed her, of course. But she called almost every night. So it was almost like she wasn’t that far.” She sighed. “But that’s what children do. They grow up and fly the nest. And I thought…she was happy.”

“She thought it, too,” Rai said, hearing the note of self-recrimination in Jen’s voice.

“You are not to blame for”— that fucking pollution —“her husband’s betrayal.

” He ran the sponge over and over the same porcelain cup, the painted flowers on the side, the golden rim.

“But a mother always wishes for her child’s happiness and success.

It is why my mother sent me forth into the world, as well. ”

“Of course.” She sighed again. “I’m so grateful Poppy’s here now, to help me get back on my feet.”

“Yes, she is so proud that her editing of novels can support you.” There, he had done as he’d promised Poppy.

He set the first cup aside for rinsing, started to wash the next.

“She is…wonderful. So generous and altruistic.” He took a chance, cast his most brilliant smile in Jen’s direction. “Just like her mother.”

“You’re so kind,” Jen said, but there was a hint of doubt in her eyes. There .

He turned back to the sink, managing not to gloat.

“You must be looking forward to the day when it is no longer necessary for her to work so hard.” He moved on to the final cup before his impatient fingers scrubbed the gold right off.

“When you have enough money that she may again pursue her dreams without worry.”

“Yes,” Jen said, her voice a bit stronger. “I want her to…” She trailed off, voice uncertain.

“Be free?” Rai said softly. “Yet I do not think she will wish to leave you.”

“Of course not,” Jen said with relief. “Of course not. But I… I want her to be happy.”

Rai had mercy on her. “She will not leave you,” he said. “Not for anything. She loves you and wishes only to stay by your side. Yet I know you would be happy so long as she is happy. Just as my mother is happy for me.”

“I would,” Jen said with conviction.

“You are the best of mothers.” He heard Poppy’s footsteps in the hall and turned one final smile upon Jen. “And you are correct. I will speak with my mother this very night, as I am sure she is like you and misses me desperately. I thank you for your wisdom.”

Poppy entered the room. “Please tell me she’s not lecturing you on how to wash dishes again.”

“Just about mothers,” Jen said, smiling as Poppy settled back at the table.

“I must call mine,” Rai said placidly as he rinsed the cups.

“Does your mom have…any idea about the painting?” Poppy’s eyes rested on Rai’s bejeweled phone on the table.

“She does not,” Rai said, answering both the question Poppy had spoken and the one she had aborted.

It amused him to picture his mother with a smart phone, or any phone at all, but of course she did not have one, as the waters of her home would damage it.

He would show Poppy later, if she wished, how it was he could communicate with his mother through a pool of water.

He did need to speak with her, regardless, and his father.

His time with Poppy and her mother had filled him with nostalgia and the desire for contact with his own family.

And they should know of Poppy now, to avoid surprise later.

In any case, he had done what he wished to do without breaking his promise. He’d planted the seed of the idea that Poppy might one day need to again leave the nest, yet he had not forced Jen to confront it. It was just a seed, to be carefully watered until it came into bloom.

That way, when the rains ended, Jen would be his ally in achieving his goal.

He could provide money to her, enough that she would want for nothing.

Enough that Poppy would never need to edit a transcript again, that she could live her days doing nothing but making art for him.

And he would promise to Jen, swear it upon all the drops of water in the ocean, that he would make Poppy very, very happy indeed.

It would be the truth of all truths, true enough to mend the fissures in his heart and soul, to wipe away both his and her lies, leaving behind nothing but love as smooth and pure as the sands of Rendezvous Bay.

And then when he left, he would simply take Poppy with him.

That would fix everything.