Chapter 83 Paint

Chapter 83 Paint

~ Ronan's Pov ~

“What should I do now?” I asked Calder as he took a seat on the chair in front of me.

“She wants to know about her past, and I need to tell her. I already feel guilty for lying to her about it.”

“Didn't the doctor say you should give it time?”

“You don't understand, Calder.”

“I do. I understand as much as you do. This is my daughter I'm talking about, yet you wonder why I'm so calm about the situation. I do want her to get better. I do want her to get her memories back, but if those memories would hurt her, I'd rather not do it.”

I can't sit. I can't rest. For days, I've thought this through. After what happened at Willow Creek, I'm too scared to keep this from her.

“I know it's hurting you, but you have to think about it. Not telling her is the logical thing to do. Plus, the last time you did, you know what happened. Have you even talked to the doctor about this?”

“I have,” I sighed. “She said she wouldn't really know if she's ready for her memories or not. It must come from the patient. This is bullshit. This is all bullshit.”

“You gotta wait this one out.”

“I don't know. She knows I'm keeping something from her. Last night, someone recognized her from the park, and I don't know how much longer I can keep that up. I've removed everything from the house… anything leading up to that night.”

“Then what else do you want?”

“I just… I don't know. I guess I want her to know about her past. I don't want to feel bad about this.”

“What about you?”

That doesn't matter.

I turned my head away, and he understood.

“I know you don't want to talk about it, but you have to. You were hurt too these past few years. You went through so much as well. You lost your son.”

“I don't… that's not important.”

“I know you're still grieving him, and I know how much you tried, man. But you have to give yourself credit. Look at you—you're old, but you look much older. You don't have that spark in you anymore.”

I know, but that doesn't matter. I vowed to be by her side no matter what. I promised to stay, and I just can't leave her.

“I say… give it time. Don't rush those memories on her because the truth is, when she learns about everything, she would absolutely blame herself for it all. What happened that night wasn't your fault. All that has happened the past few years wasn't your fault, life just happened.”

I hope I can understand that. I really hope I can.Calder and I talked some more. Honestly, it's been a while since we sat down and talked like this. For a man I call my best friend, he really plays the part.

I still remember when he found out about us… he absolutely hated me for it. I didn't think he would stick around, but he's proved to be one of the best people to have in my life.

Later in the day, I drove back home. I was going to take his advice. I won't rush her memories on her. Fuck me if she curses me out.

Fuck me if she calls me all sorts of names.

But I won't do it. It'll be good for both of us in the long run, and this way, when she eventually gets her memories back, she'll be strong enough to hear them.

I got into the house. Chanel was out today, and I'd sent the boys to run a work errand for me. Everywhere was oddly quiet. I stuck my keys in my pocket when I heard a loud bang upstairs.

My heart did a backflip as I ran upstairs, calling out my wife's name.I followed the sound to the painting room on the other side of the house. I walked in, a painting over my wife's head as she struggled to hold it still.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” I asked, already out of breath.

The fuck? I was scared for my life.

“Hi,” she only said and gave me a warm smile. “You're back. I didn't hear the door.”

I ran to her, picked up the painting, and placed it against the wall to wedge it in place. Then I helped her get up.

She dusted her pink material shorts, smudging the small bit of paint that had caught on her nude shirt. From the looks of it, her disheveled hair and, of course, the paint smeared around her face and lower cheekbone—she'd been at it for a while.

“Have you been painting?”

“Ah, am I that obvious?”

“Pretty much. But… you don't know how to paint.”

“Well, I know. But I love art and decided to give it a try. What do you think?” She asked, pointing to the painting I'd just helped secure.I looked back at the heavy frame and squinted at the thing on it.

“What is it?”

“It's a peacock.”

Sure? That doesn't even look like a living thing.

“There's no head.”

“Well, there is… look at the feathers.” She pointed to what looked like a mixture of blue and gray.

“Are those feathers? Jeez.”

“Come on, you're making me feel bad. Isn't it good?”

“Uhm.”

“I'm supposed to auction it out today.”

“What?!” I turned my eyes back to her instantly.

“Yeah, I decided to sell my homemade art! Isn't that great? I get to work from the comfort of home and contribute too.”

I swallowed. "Wow baby, that's beautiful. How were you able to sell it?"

"Well, I was scrolling through the internet with the new phone you got me and I found a site where you can buy art from anonymous people. And I thought, well I could freaking do this and here I am! I haven't shown her yet but I hope she likes it. She's going to like it, right?"

I looked back at the thing. It was awful and I was pretty sure the buyer was going to hate every bit of it.

She sighed, "anyways I need to shower before i call her."

She tiptoed and kissed me on the cheek. That's new...

I looked at her as she happily walked out of the room, a smile on her face. My chest felt warm. It's been so long I have seen her that happy.

When she was out of sight I picked up my phone and sent a quick text to Allen.