Free Indelible by Kristen Heitzmann

him as he beheld his opening tableau, feeling, for the first time, something more than invisible.

Six
    F ive days after the opening, Fleur led Piper and her quirky giant, Miles, into the gallery. The event itself would have meant too many people, too many germs for Miles to bear gracefully, but they entered now with anticipation she could feel.
    “Oh, look!” Piper exclaimed—to Miles, obviously. “What fun!”
    “Yes, fun, very fun. Who could imagine such fun?”
    Fleur pressed her fingers to the smile pulling at her lips, in case they were looking. She suspected at least part of what Miles said poked fun at himself and the world he had such a hard time in.
    “Fleur, your paintings look fantastic here. Don’t they look fantastic, Miles?”
    “Quite fantastic.”
    “Hello.” Natalie joined them, but her greeting seemed uncharacteristically flat. Concerned, Fleur stayed behind while Piper and Miles moved through the display floor. “Has something happened, Natalie? Is it your nephew?”
    Natalie released a slow breath. “Cody’s still fighting infection. I guess animal attacks are bad that way, but it’s going in the right direction, thank God.”
    “Your brother?”
    “He’s all right, I think.”
    “Then.” She tipped her head, waiting.
    Natalie sighed. “I did something stupid, and now, days later, I can’t stop thinking about it.”
    “What did you do?”
    “I showed Trevor something I shouldn’t have.”
    “Trevor MacDaniel?”
    “I knew better and let him talk me into it anyway.”
    “That sounds … a little hinky.”
    “No.” Natalie groaned. “Nothing like that.” She took her arm. “Come with me.”
    Fleur went with her into the studio at the back of the gallery. She heard the soft plop of a moist cloth, and a moment later Natalie directed her hands to cold, damp clay. Not a lump. A head. A face. Familiar. “Is this me?”
    “I hope you don’t mind. Faces get stuck in my head. It’s called eidetic memory, to keep seeing something as though it’s still there. This is how I make it go away.”
    Fleur fingered the hair, the brow, the bridge of her own nose. “You showed Trevor my face?”
    “Not yours. His.”
    “So what’s the problem?”
    “Faces are like maps, showing where they’ve been and what happened along the way. Not specifics, of course. But joy and pain and goodness … and not.”
    “You saw something bad in Trevor?”
    “Not bad. No. But not what he wanted me to see.”
    Fleur rested her hands on the smooth work surface. “Show me.”
    “I can’t. It’s his.” Another sigh. “He wanted me to make it, practically forced me to, but when he saw it, he walked out.”
    “I didn’t realize you were friends.”
    “I don’t know what we are. I hardly know him, and yet.” Her voice trailed off as she bent down for something, opened a cabinet and closed it. “It’s just without Aaron, this is harder than I imagined.”
    “Is he your only family?”
    “My parents head a relief team. For the last two years, they’ve gone from one disaster area in the world to another. That was their dream and they’re finally doing it.”
    Warmth and esteem came through in her voice.
    “They check in when they can, but it isn’t often. Anyway, I’m twenty-five. I’d be fine on my own, if I could stop seeing people.”
    “Careful what you wish for.” Fleur heard the cloth covering the model. “Natalie, if you fire and display that, I won’t mind. It should be enjoyed like the rest of your work.”
    “I don’t show the faces. I only thought, if anyone could, you’d understand my making them.”
    “I do understand that. But not your hiding them. Gifts are given for a reason, you know.”
    “I’m using my gifts and my blessings. But this part sometimes feels more like a curse.”
    “All right.” Fleur reached and found Natalie’s hand. “Come on, then, let’s get Piper and Miles. We’re going out for dinner, and you’re coming with us.”

    The Tarleton