Free See No Evil by Gayle Roper

would become the world’s greatest artist, and I’d get rich from my masterpieces. I never swerved from that goal. I took art lessons all through junior high and high school, and I majored in art at college. Dad complained about the costs of something he thought a waste, but he couldn’t refuse his little girl, and I knew it. Besides, I minored in education to make him happy.
    Mom died when I was sixteen, a terrible blow to all of us as we watched her waste away with ovarian cancer. Just before she died, before the pain was overwhelming and the morphine made her too unaware to think clearly, she spoke to each of us kids privately. I don’t know what she told my brothers. Being male, they never shared. But I never forgot what she told me.
    â€œAnna, God has given you great talent. You are an artist. Don’t ever forget that.”
    â€œI won’t, Mom.”
    â€œPromise?” She held my hand, hers so thin I marveled I couldn’t see through it. “Don’t let anyone talk you out of it.”
    I knew she meant Dad, though she’d never say so. “I promise.”
    â€œSay it for me, Anna, love. ‘I am an artist.’”
    I was crying so hard, I could barely speak. “I am an artist.”
    â€œNever forget that, sweetheart. It is as much a part of you as your heart for God. Serve Him with your art, and you will find joy.”
    I looked at the scene hanging on the kitchen wall above Gray and knew that I was still trying to keep my promise and prove to Dad that I was the artist Mom had thought me. The only things missing were the talent and the joy.
    God, I can do it, I often prayed in frustration. I know I can, especially if You just help me. Make me an artist who touchespeople’s hearts, who turns them to You. Lord, make me really, really good!
    The rest of the prayer, buried deep in my heart, was, So I can find joy. I didn’t have the courage to say this out loud because it sounded selfish and demanding. Of course, I knew God knew this wish because, after all, He knows everything. I think not saying it made me feel less shallow, less needy. But, oh, how I wanted the joy my mother had talked about.
    Through the years I continued to turn out “nice” paintings that all my non-artist friends thought wonderful. My artist friends were usually kind enough to keep their thoughts to themselves.
    Too bad I became more morose every time I picked up a brush.
    My eyes fell on the newspaper at Gray’s elbow. Now the issue seemed to be not whether I was good enough to paint well, but whether I’d even live long enough to paint another mediocre picture.
    â€œSo what do I do now?” I put a tall, ice-filled glass of lemonade in front of Gray and sat across from him with my own glass. He drained his in one long gulp.
    I rose and put the pitcher at his elbow. “Help yourself.”
    He did.
    â€œSo what do I do now?” I repeated.
    â€œYou mean about trying to not get killed?” He downed the second glass almost as quickly as the first.
    I nodded, studying the photo in the paper again. “The only good thing about this mess is that my father doesn’t know.”
    â€œProtective, is he?”
    I rolled my eyes. “You might say that. My brothers are just as bad.”
    â€œMaybe I should give them a call, enlist their help,” Gray said. “They could be your bodyguards.”
    I shot him a horrified look. “Don’t you dare!”
    â€œWhere do they live?”
    â€œOhio. And we’re going to leave them there. All of them.”
    â€œHow’d you end up in Amhearst?”
    â€œI went to college nearby and stayed in the area after graduation. I love my family, but…” I shrugged. He smiled at me.
    â€œDon’t worry. I know that family, no matter how loving, can sometimes be overwhelming. You should see my sisters try and fix me up with women.” He shuddered. “It’s like the