"Whose is it?" the little girl asked, practically jumping up and down in anticipation of presents.
"This note says the top one is for you." Loosening the ribbons, she handed the box to Kelly. The girl immediately plopped to the carpet and opened it, gasping in surprise. Inside were bright beads to string, glitter to decorate with, colored pencils and markers, watercolors, heavy paper. "It's from your daddy," Laura said, and Kelly looked up at her, beaming.
Laura smiled back. Richard had apologized to his daughter the only way he could right now. Kelly asked if she could use them and Laura nodded, turning into the dining room and laying an old cloth on the table to protect it before getting the child a cup of water so she could paint, if she wanted.
Once Kelly was situated, Laura went back into the living room and stared at the boxes. With a sigh, she opened the first and found charcoal paper and all the items she needed to draw. The next box held a fine set of watercolors, complete with palette and brushes, the other held an easel and a collapsible stool she could use outside. And there was another note that read, "The yellow room in the west wing gets the best light and has a great view of the river and the town."
Tears burned her eyes. Her throat tightened.
No one had ever taken the time to see past her face to the person inside. No one had bothered to look. Even with her sketches on the walls of her apartment, Paul had not cared or noticed. She'd loved to draw and paint, but had given it up for things she thought were more important at the time. There was a freedom in art that nothing else gave her. Creating something from nothing was a powerful drug. And he'd given it back to her.
"Oh, you got some, too," Kelly crooned, suddenly at her side and peeking in the boxes. Laura looked down at the dark-haired child, running her hand over the top of her head.
"Isn't it wonderful? We'll have to set up a special place for us to use them, huh?"
Kelly agreed, then skipped back into the dining room to finish whatever she was working on. Laura sat on the sofa, pulled the charcoal set onto her lap and examined each piece, excited about using them and wondering what she'd draw first. She wanted to go thank him now, but she knew he wouldn't see her. Besides, there was still so much to do. After Kelly completed her first picture, Laura proudly taped it to the refrigerator, then herded the child to her bath. It took come convincing because she wanted to try everything right now. But Laura enticed her with what tomorrow would bring, and after her bath and a story, she tucked the little girl in bed. Her child's art set was on the table nearby, as if having it beside her was like being close to her father.
Leaving Kelly's door ajar, Laura paused in the hall, looking up toward the set of stairs at the end of the corridor, wondering what Richard was doing now. She hadn't spoken to him since last night. Or rather he hadn't spoken to her. He hadn't called on the intercom, or appeared out of the shadows as he'd done before. It was as if he'd revealed too much to her last night and wanted distance, another barrier. Yet he'd given her such a wonderful gift. He was a complicated man, she decided, and after a quick shower and dressing in pajamas and a robe, she went downstairs, excited about using the set.
* * *
When Richard heard Laura moving around downstairs, he stepped into Kelly's bedroom, impatient to be with his daughter. He sat in the rocker, watching her sleep, the moonlight spilling through the windows and bathing his child in silver innocence.
Serabi sat like a jungle queen at the foot of the bed, her forest a mound of blankets.
Kelly murmured "Daddy" very softly, as if she sensed he was there, and he held her hand, his thumb rubbing over the soft flawless back.
"Thank you for the drawing stuff, Daddy." Her eyes never opened.
"I'm glad you liked it, princess," he whispered.
"Miss Laura liked hers, too," Kelly said on a yawn, then quickly drifted back to sleep.
A little jolt of pleasure shot through him just then. He longed to see Laura, talk to her. Being with her was the only time he felt human, that his scars didn't make a difference as to who he was. Biding his time, he picked the book off the nightstand and opened it to the spot he'd marked. He began reading to Kelly, her sleepy smile making him feel like a king.
* * *
Richard cursed the size of his own house and strode into the library, stopping short when he found it empty. She was not in her room, not with Kelly, since he'd just left his daughter sleeping soundly. Leaving the library he turned left and headed to the west wing, an unused portion of the house that had been designed for guests and servants. He mounted the stairs, and searched, a needle of panic lacing through him. What if she'd been hurt? He called out for her softly, and when he didn't gain a response he started shoving open door after door.