Chapter 7 No.7

Twenty minutes later, a battered yellow Jeep Wrangler jumped the curb and screeched to a halt in front of the pharmacy. Harley jumped out, wearing paint-splattered overalls and combat boots. She looked like an avenging angel.

She took one look at Carleigh-wet, shivering, holding a bloody handkerchief-and her face crumpled.

"Oh, honey," Harley said. She hauled Carleigh up and practically threw her into the passenger seat. "I'm going to kill him. I'm going to drive this Jeep through his lobby."

The heater in the Jeep was broken, blasting only lukewarm air, but to Carleigh, it felt like heaven. They drove across the bridge to Brooklyn.

Harley's apartment was a converted loft in Bushwick. It smelled of turpentine and linseed oil. Canvases were stacked everywhere. It was messy, chaotic, and safe.

Harley cleaned Carleigh's hand with rubbing alcohol-Carleigh hissed through her teeth-and bandaged it efficiently.

"So," Harley said, handing her a mug of hot tea. "He froze the accounts?"

"Everything. Even the pre-marriage savings."

"That is illegal," Harley said.

"It's Kenton. The law is a suggestion." Carleigh took a sip of tea. "He wants to starve me out. Force me back."

"Well, screw him," Harley said. "You can stay here. The couch is lumpy, but it's free."

"I can't just mooch off you, Harls. You're barely making rent."

"We'll figure it out."

"I already have," Carleigh said. She reached into her waterproof bag and pulled out her laptop. "I need your wifi."

She booted up the computer and logged into a proton mail account.

"What's that?" Harley asked, peering over her shoulder.

"Vee," Carleigh said.

Harley gasped. "You're bringing her back? I thought you swore you wouldn't touch a commission brush again after the wedding."

"I have a standing offer." Carleigh opened an email from The Atelier. "Harvey Freeman wants me for the 'Lost Renaissance' project. He sent this three days ago." She added, "I haven't taken a job in three years, but I never stopped studying. I've been practicing strokes on scrap canvas in the dead of night. The muscle memory is still there."

"Freeman? The god of restoration?" Harley's eyes went wide. "Carleigh, that's huge. That pays six figures just for the consult."

"I replied this morning," Carleigh said. "I have a meeting with him tomorrow at noon. But... I have to go as Vee. No one can know it's me. Especially not Kenton. If he finds out I have income, he'll sue for the breach of contract immediately and garnish my wages."

"So you need a disguise?" Harley grinned.

"I need to be invisible."

Harley's phone rang. It was lying on the table between them. The screen flashed Unknown Number.

Harley picked it up. "Hello?"

"Put her on." Kenton's voice was so loud Carleigh could hear it from the couch.

Harley's eyes narrowed. "Who is this?"

"You know who it is. Tell Carleigh that if she doesn't come home tonight, I'm throwing out her painting supplies. The ones in the attic."

Carleigh felt a pang. Her old brushes. Her mother's easel.

She looked at Harley and shook her head.

Harley smiled a wicked smile. "Go ahead, Ken-doll. Burn them. She doesn't need your trash anymore. Oh, and if you call this number again, I'll file a harassment suit so fast your head will spin."

She hung up and blocked the number.

"He's scared," Harley said. "He's grasping at straws."

Carleigh looked at her bandaged hand. "He should be."