Free Art is the Lie (A Vanderbie Novel) by Courtney Cook Hopp Page A

rules,” his raised voice countered, but he didn’t bother to try and follow me out of the room. “I am still your father and you will speak to me with respect.”
    “Hmph,” I grunted.
    Father. He hadn’t been a father since the day Mom died. Since the day he couldn’t gain control of the car, spinning everything about our lives into this mess. He was the reason we were here.
    I headed up the stairs, and stormed down the upstairs hallway that overlooked the living room.
    “And don’t forget we have dinner at Lucy’s in thirty minutes,” he added distastefully.
    Ugh. My head had no space for an evening with the cousins. Why he ever bothered to accept her invitations was beyond me. Everything about his sister rubbed him wrong. She was the only decent thing left in our lives and he managed to push her away every chance he got.
    I glanced over the banister and caught sight of him standing directly in front of the only art piece of Mom’s that he’d kept. She’d made a name for herself in San Francisco, but Dad had sold all her paintings, save one. His arm was stretched out, his fingers tracing the contours of the metal pieces folded gently into the waves of linen, the background flooded in an ocean of blue.
    It was breathtaking. No. Heartbreaking.
    I knew he was trying to touch Mom, to find her energy in the raging ocean background. I tore my intruding eyes away. The intimacy of the moment produced a wave of grief, of loss, of guilt for having lashed out at him.

 

     
     
    The drive to Aunt Lucy’s was quiet.
    No mention of Quentin, or the partnering program, or our fight. A stark contrast to the wall of sound we were greeted with as Summer opened the door and her mouth at the same time.
    “CeeCee!” Summer threw her arms around me, my mouth catching a clump of her bright red hair. My body sagged, unsure if I could force myself through an evening with the twins after the emotional roller coaster of the past twenty-four hours.
    “Hey, Summer,” I said, spitting her hair out of my mouth. I pulled away and noticed Autumn standing quietly behind her. “Hi, Autumn.”
    “Girls,” Dad added gruffly as he shuffled by us and into Aunt Lucy and Uncle Russell’s ultimate “great room” themed house. There were no doors, only partial walls that crisscrossed each other giving you the illusion of privacy.
    “Well, he’s in a fine mood,” Summer whispered behind her hand, but I’m certain he had heard her.
    “Summer, why don’t you let CeeCee actually enter the house,” Autumn stated matter-of-factly over her shoulder , as she followed behind Dad. I liked Autumn and her brusque ways.
    “I am. Sheez.” She slapped the door closed and looped her arm through mine like we were the best of friends. “It’s been forever. I can’t remember the last time we saw you.”
    “Last week at school,” I answered, which didn’t seem all that long ago to me.
    “Welcome, Peter,” I heard Uncle Russell say to my dad. “Would you like to join me out on the back porch while I fire up the grill?”
    “Russell, Peter does not want to sit out there in the cold and smoke,” Aunt Lucy chastised before saying, “Hello, Peter.”
    I rounded the corner in time to see the half-hearted hug my dad reciprocated to his sister’s embrace.
    “Sure he does,” Russell answered, his ill-matching outfit enhanced by the dark socks sticking out of his sandals. Dad remained quiet. “Otherwise he’ll have to listen to all of you ladies prattle on about who knows what.”
    “I’ll join you, Russell,” Dad answered, putting his hand on Russell’s shoulder, allowing him to lead him out to the deck.
    My aunt walked over and gave me a hug. “How are you, my dear?”
    “Fine.” My tone was flat, but so was my mood.
    “That’s it? Just fine?” She held my shoulders and bent down to look directly in my eyes.
    “It’s been a long day. So yes, ‘just fine’ about sums it up.”
    She hesitated a moment longer, an uncertainty