style="font-size:15px;"> “He’s also dead in the middle of the loft next door,” she muttered and took another sip of the tea.
George looked surprised. “You sure?”
“I just ran into him when I was feeding that cat.” Now she understood a slight hint of a certain properness in his voice. England. Yes, it could be a hint of an English accent he might have absorbed living there. Then again, maybe it just came from him being so incredibly uptight. “They must use that place a lot. It’s set up like a control center for NASA, every business machine you could want. Well, not you.”
“Mmm,” George said as he looked back at the painting. “Next door, huh? Well, from what little I’ve been able to find out, Ford and some others are working on a big deal, and it looks as if that very big deal could fall through.”
Rain wondered if Mr. Jackson Ford was on the edge of being booted from LynTech for some mess up on his part? Maybe that was partly why he was so uptight. “Too bad,” she said.
“It’s all a part of the corporate mindset, that need to work your butt off and make big bucks and destroy this country in the process,” George said. “That can’t be easy on anyone.”
She didn’t want him to get started on this. She’d heard the speech far too often, and her nerves couldn’t stand it now. “No it can’t,” she said, ready to deflect the topic, but he did it for her.
“Do you think this is too much?” he asked, pointing at a huge blot of crimson dead in the middle of the canvas. “Too…intense, too flamboyant?”
Everything about George was flamboyant, another character trait that she’d adjusted to a long time ago. “You’re asking me that, the person who you once said, if I remember correctly, had the artistic bent of a log?” she teased.
He turned with a grin. “I forgot for a moment. Thought I was talking to Serenity.”
She called her mother Bree, but George never called her by anything except the nickname he’d given her the summer they met years ago at a commune on the coast of California near Big Sur. “So, she called, didn’t she?”
“Sure did.” The grin seemed permanent now. He always seemed to glow a bit when he talked about her. Over the years, through all the changes in both of them, she’d never doubted that her parents loved each other very much. They just didn’t commit to a relationship the way the world thought they should. “Did I tell you I’m taking off soon?” George asked.
“No, you didn’t, but then again, when did you ever check in when you wanted to take off?” She’d just gotten here, and with the mess at the hospital, she was hoping he’d be around for a while. But George moved when he wanted to and she was used to him just up and leaving when the spirit moved him.
“True, and that being the case, I’m assuming that I didn’t tell you where I’m going?”
“I didn’t expect you would,” she said. “Is there a gathering or something?”
“No, not at this time of the year.” Then he came over to the hammock and stood in front of Rain with his arms out at his sides. “So, how do I look?”
She shrugged. “Like you usually look.”
For some reason that seemed to please him. “Good, good,” he murmured and moved across the studio area to the makeshift dining table all but covered with stretched canvases and paint supplies.
“So, where are you going?” she asked.
“The Golden City,” he said, the smile deepening.
That meant San Francisco, more specifically, Palo Alto. “Oh, is she expecting you?”
“She’s always expecting me,” he said. “And while I’m gone, chill and get centered.”
“I’m chilling, and I’m centered,” she said.
“No, you’re not. I can’t remember how long it’s been since you’ve been centered. That so-called institution of higher learning might have given you a degree, but it also made you uptight.” He frowned at her. “And since you showed up on my doorstep saying you were going to play doctor in Houston, well…” He gave a mock shudder. “Girl, you need to get back to the basics.”
She wasn’t in any mood for one of his lectures on her choices. For a person who believed in free will and live and let live, he got remarkably judgmental about her life choices. For a moment she thought that despite his attempts at being so different from the suits, he and Jack Ford had something in common. Judging her. “George, stop. You know this is a non-topic. You taught me to make my own choices, and my own choice was to become a clinical therapist for children.”
“I know, I know, and you’re really trying to help children, just going down a different road.” He came across to her. “It’s just hard for me to think of you, my daughter, being a real professional with a real Ph.D.” He looked genuinely shocked by that. “Who would have thought it?”
“Yeah, who would have thought it?” she murmured with a grin.
He kissed her on the forehead, then stood back and said, “I’m leaving later this morning.”
She had always been amazed at her parents’ idea of “marriage.” Her mother lived in Palo Alto and George, whom her mother called “Dune,” lived wherever he wanted to, but mostly here in Houston where he painted. But twice a year, George headed west and twice a year, Bree headed east. That had been going on since Rain was eight and her mother had decided that she needed a “home” that stayed put. So the two of them had agreed on an arrangement, and it worked. Amazingly, twenty years later, they were still “connected,” and happier than a whole lot of couples held together by a piece of paper.
“Give her my love?” she murmured.
“Why don’t you come out with me? She’d love to see you.”
“I saw her two weeks ago when I left there to come here,” she pointed out. “And you know I can’t anyway, not with this whole thing at the hospital up in the air.” She shrugged. “I never expected to get here, thinking the staff position at the hospital was a done deal, then to be told that there were ‘budget considerations,’ and they put me on hold. I talked to Dr. Shay earlier today and he said it could be a week or two before they get the approval.” She shrugged. “I think they look at it as another clinical psychologist in pediatrics isn’t a life and death role, not like a surgeon or an internist.”
“Don’t they know that the soul and spirit pretty much rule our physical health?”
She slid off of the hammock and put her mug on a paint smeared shelf nearby, then turned to George. “I guess not. Now tell me what you need done while you’re gone.”
He grinned. “That’s the beauty of my life here. There is nothing to do. Just chill and—”
“I know, get centered.”
“That’s it.” He crossed to a wicker trunk under the high loft windows.
“Well, I’ve got nothing but time on my hands until the call comes from the hospital.”
“There’s
