Free Let Me Hold You by Melanie Schuster Page B

fat because I eat too much, but I’m pretty so I get a pass. But even I’ve decided to take off some weight because it’s getting too hard to wear my stilettos. And it doesn’t make sense to get mad at the store because they don’t carry my size—I can either limit my shopping or limit my eating, so I guess I’ma call Weight Watchers.” She sighed heavily and ate the last bite of her key lime pie.
    “I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings, Alana, because that’s the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to shake off whatever devil has been riding you so you can be happy. And so that fine-azz Roland doesn’t go to waste. It’s not like we have a bumper crop of tall, rich, handsome, single straight men to pick from, you know. You can’t just pass him by, sister.”
    Alana smiled at Tollie’s outspoken frankness and they ended their lunch with laughter and a big hug. She’d had something besides food for lunch; she’d gotten a lot of food for thought. She went back to work and found it was difficult to keep her mind off the things she and Tollie had talked about, or the things she’d listened to, since Tollie had done most of the talking. She decided to leave work early, which meant that she left at five, leaving her assistant manager to lock up, something she also never did. She thought about going over to Adrienne’s or to Alexis’s but instead of seeking out company, she went home.
    * * *
    She took a shower and put on a pair of pajama pants and an old denim shirt that she used for painting and went to the studio to paint. But her muse had deserted her for the night; she couldn’t get started. She’d prepared the palette and brushes and was ready to work on Adrienne’s portrait but her hand just wouldn’t cooperate.
    Forcing herself to add some detailing only resulted in a slight mess that she had to clean up with a rag dampened in linseed oil. It was obviously a fruitless effort so she abandoned it.
    She turned off the lights and went to the bathroom to wash her hands, staring in the mirror as she did so. Tollie was right; she did look haggard and wrung-out. Taking a deep breath, she applied more of the expensive eye cream her mother had given her and decided to go to bed.
    Standing in the doorway of her bedroom, she looked at the decor with new eyes. Despite what Tollie had said, there were some new things in the room.
    The furniture was new, a gift from her mother. An ivory French country queen-size bed with a matching armoire and dresser graced the space, with nightstands on either side of the bed. The duvet and curtains were beautiful, a gift from Adrienne who’d made them from a floral cotton sateen. The chair, in a coordinating color, had been contributed by Aunt BeBe. She’d found it at a yard sale and Alexis had refinished it, painted it and Adrienne had made the cover for the cushions. There was a lot of love in the room and not all of it was from Sam.
    But Tollie was right about the portrait.
    It was beautifully done, showing him standing against a background of trees and flowers and it was all Sam. His fair skin with the freckles that dusted his face, his curly black hair and green eyes and the smile that was for her eyes only; no one else ever saw that smile. He wasn’t a big man, like Roland. He’d been about five-ten, wiry and muscular and full of energy. Her eyes went to the other walls and true enough, there were more pictures of Sam; some had been photographed by Alana and some were her drawings and paintings.
    He’d been one of her favorite subjects during their short, happy marriage and she saw no reason not to display them. Why shouldn’t they be there? It didn’t make the room a shrine, it was just the way she wanted it and if Roland couldn’t deal with it, it was his issue, not hers, she thought with a burst of anger.
    Surprisingly, she drifted off to sleep. It wasn’t a restful sleep; it was fitful and full of dreams. It ended with the worst dream she’d had, ever. She saw