Free Dark Daze by Ava Delany Page B

grimaced. “Besides, my appetite turned
and drove the other direction last night. Sorry again for showing
up so late.”
    Brie stepped toward the table, wondering how
to say what she must.
    “Good morning.” He held out a hand toward
her. “Come in.”
    “Sit down, have a waffle, and we’ll chat a
bit. We didn’t get much of a chance last night.” Delia gave Brie a
patient smile. “I want to get to know Ian’s new girlfriend
better.”
    Brie looked at Ian, then back to the woman
who adjusted her thin glasses, and then mumbled to herself, “Yeah,
I guess I would be now, wouldn’t I?”
    “I’m so glad you’re here, dear.” Thin arms
went wide, and before Brie knew it, she was locked in Delia’s
embrace.
    She smelled of lavender and cookies. Just
what a mother should smell like.
    Brie hadn’t realized for a long time how much
she missed her mom. A moment in Delia’s arms made her remember what
having her mother was like. Her heart melted, and she smiled.
    She spent the next twenty minutes chatting
about her life and trying to choke down the waffles in spite of her
negative appetite. Ian rolled his eyes every time his mother snuck
waffle bits to Buster. Brie had to tell him about what she’d seen
in her dream, but how could she do it in front of his mother? Delia
had a gift too. Did that mean she would understand?
    “I…” Brie hesitated when the attention of the
room was on her. What exactly could she say about her flip. She
didn’t really understand it. She glanced at Delia. “What are you
doing today?”
    “I’ve got to go to the supply store and pick
up more tubes of black and red. I feel I’ll need them.”
    Ian nodded. “Good, we’ll go down to the art
supply store. I’ll buy the paint, and you can paint for me.”
    Delia met Ian’s gaze, but didn’t speak, and
Brie wondered exactly what Ian had told her about the previous
night.
     
    <><><>
     
    Moments later, they piled into Ian’s truck,
heading toward the Arterium. Ian had never been happier to pull
into the parking lot of an art store in his life. Soon they would
have some answers.
    They left Buster in the front seat and went
into the Arterium, which looked like Venice Beach had come for an
extended visit to the interior of the quaint store.
    A mural covered the ceiling—a poor rendition
of an artist’s hand holding a dripping paintbrush over a canvas.
Armature art, given to the store by loyal customers or painted by
the staff, decorated the walls. Supplies of every variety filled
the shelves throughout the store. His mother moved to an aisle full
of paints, holding one of the small baskets the employees stacked
near the end caps. Brie waited, fidgeting from foot to foot.
    He knew exactly why. Watching his mother shop
for oil paints was like watching a fisherman trying to find the
perfect bait to catch a prize fish. She stared at the tube, reading
every word on it. Then she opened the cap and smelled the paint as
intently as a wine connoisseur would smell the cork of a vintage
wine bottle. Next, she put a small amount on her fingertip and
smeared it around. Finally she wiped her finger on a piece of
canvas.
    Ian leaned into Brie. “When I turned
fourteen, I asked her why she did that,” he angled his chin towards
his mother. “She said ‘you should insist upon perfection in
everything that truly matters to you, Ian. Otherwise you’re just
average.’ Good advice, I guess.”
    Brie nodded and shifted again.
    Ian hated to see her nervous, so he crossed
to the next aisle. He picked through the books, showing paintings
to her to ease her tension. A book filled with Monet’s water
lilies, another holding Botticelli’s ladies, and a third containing
Titian’s beauties made a neat pile in moments. He flipped to a
self-portrait of Picasso sans ear.
    Bright color caught Ian’s eye. A man in a
clown costume drifted down the long aisle perpendicular to theirs.
When Ian turned from the art book, he caught a glimpse of the man’s
face