Leah
“Landscapes,” Edward said. “Old buildings. Windows. Empty chairs. Things most people walked past until she painted them. Then you couldn’t stop looking.”
“Liam said she painted at night.”
“She did. She’d come into work with paint on her wrist and act like she had no idea it was there.”
I tried to picture her.
Not as a secret.
Not as a scandal.
A woman with paint on her skin, bad timing, and a baby she had wanted.
“She painted the view from my office once,” Edward said. “Made Dallas look kinder than it is. I told her that.”
“What did she say?”
“That Dallas only looks as kind as rich men let it.”
I smiled.
“She wasn’t wrong.”
“No,” Edward said. “She usually wasn’t.”
The smile faded.
“She never asked me to leave Ruth.”
“I know.”
“She never asked me for money.”
“I know t
