The Starfish Sisters: A Novel(68)

“Huh. I’m so thrilled to join the crowd.”

He leans into me, rests his hand on my thigh beneath the kimono I’ve tossed on. He’s wearing his T-shirt and jeans. His feet are bare. “You could never be one of the crowd.”

“That’s what you have to say, isn’t it?”

He leans against me, rubs his cheek on my shoulder. “Not in this case.”

I let it go. I’m going to enjoy right now, whatever this is. The rest can work itself out later.

He raises his head and starts to eat again. “It’s a little weird that you’re so famous and you’re also this person in my heart.” He presses his fingertips to the middle of his chest. “Like, always.”

“Me too,” I say quietly. “Do you still draw, Joel?”

“I do,” he says. “More painting now. Just had a show at a gallery in Astoria.”

“Really. I wish I’d known.”

“Good way to get girls,” he jokes.

“No doubt.” I shift so that I can look at him more easily. “Can I see them?”

“Sure.” He picks up his phone and opens his photos, then an album, and hands it over.

The paintings are abstract landscapes and animals, rendered in vivid colors. “How big are they? They look huge.”

“Some of them are. The biggest are six feet by seven.”

“Wow. You need a lot of wall space for that.”

He nods, raises an eyebrow. “You’d be in my target demographic, actually.”

“How much does this one cost?” I show him one of a swirl of feathers and leaves, like an autumn wind sweeping everything ahead of itself.

“It’s sold, but it went for twenty-four thousand.”

I blink. “That’s substantial.”

“Not bad.”

“If you command that kind of money for a painting, why are you working as an electrician?”

He takes the phone and scrolls through the paintings, and for a moment I think he won’t answer. “It’s not that reliable,” he says. “Sometimes I’ll do a series that sells out in five minutes, and sometimes they’ll just sit there.” He shrugs. “I don’t like to put too much weight on the creative work, you know?”

“That makes sense. Phoebe goes the other way, I think. She likes to know she can make money with the art, so she keeps her focus there. Have you read her book?”

“Of course. Everyone in Blue Cove has read it.” His fingers smooth a lock of hair from my face. “Interesting that both of you have done so well in professions that are so often discouraged.”

“And so have you.” I touch his oval fingernails, testing the smooth texture, imagining his knuckles splattered with paint. “Maybe it was Beryl.”

“She was so good to all of us.” He turns his hand over and I trace his long lifeline. “Is it weird to be famous?”

“Yes.” I frown. “Don’t get weird about the fame. It ruins things if you let it.”

“Does it?”

I take a breath. “It has. You get used to it yourself, but when somebody else comes in, it’s totally weird and hard to navigate.”

“Like what parts?”

“Mmm. Just attention. People recognizing me, talking to me like they know me, photographers, all the selfie stuff now.” I shake my head. “That’s a lot more prevalent and people are bold. I don’t go out to dinner in major cities anymore for that reason. You can’t really enjoy it.”

“I can see that.” He places his empty bowl on the table and takes a long swallow of water. “It’s a little weird to me, not gonna lie.” He gestures to everything around us. “You’re also beyond a little bit wealthy.”

I nod. “Also true.”

“It must be fun, though.”

“Money is more fun than fame, but honestly, after a certain point, you’ve kind of bought anything you want. When you’re dreaming about money when you’re young, it’s because you don’t have things, and money offers a sense of freedom. Like to buy that car you think you want, or a trip somewhere, or—”

“Like this?” He taps the bracelet on my arm. “When did you buy it?”

It’s a tennis bracelet set with topazes in a rainbow hue. “After my first movie. I saw one like it at a mall in Portland when I was about fourteen.”

“I remember.” He moves it back and forth on my wrist, setting the red, the purple, the orange and yellow on fire in turn. “You told me about it and I always wanted to buy it for you.” He raises my hand, kisses the knuckles. “Better that you were the person who bought it for you.”

I smile at him. “Yeah, exactly. At the time I first saw it, I wondered who I’d be married to if I ever had a bracelet like this. Instead, I married myself.”

He touches the tips of my fingers, one at a time. “Was it lonely?”

“Sometimes. But not really. I could have married any number of times.”

“I’m sure.”

I can’t resist stroking the smooth skin of his inner arm. “Were you? Lonely?”

Something heavy crosses his face. “I would have been better off not getting married, honestly.”