He grinned at Twila while lighting a fresh cigarette. “So tell me more about these adventures of yours, little sis. Your letters didn’t tell me nearly enough about what you’ve been up to since I left.”

  “Like I told you, I started out in Florida,” she told him with a dreamy sigh. “It was beautiful and warm, but not really my scene. I was only there for a few weeks before I made my way to upstate New York. It was pretty there, and I loved the ease of visiting the art galleries and museums in Manhattan whenever I wanted. But for some reason, it didn’t feel like home. I always felt as if I were a tourist. Then, I met someone who convinced me to head to New Orleans with them, and I instantly fell in love with the city. I just knew I had to stay. The dreamy architecture was like nothing I’d ever seen, and the people were so friendly. And don’t even get me started on the music…I fell head over heels for jazz! They have these amazing festivals and parades, especially around Mardi Gras. And the food—oh, the food. Tommy, it was amazing! I got the most amazing jambalaya recipe from a 90-year-old woman named Miss Penny. She became one of my very dearest friends while I was there. I’ll make you a pot of her jambalaya while you’re here.”

  She turned to Arnold. “You’ll have to come try it, too! I promise it’s the best thing you’ll ever taste!”

  “I don’t doubt that,” he answered with a small smile.

  “What about the men?” Tommy teased. “Are you going to sit there and pretend you didn’t find anyone worth mentioning?” He glanced at Arnold and winked. “My baby sister has always been a head-turner. I had to fight guys off like crazy in high school.”

  “There were a few,” she admitted, her lips twisting into a shy grin. “A talented jazz drummer…an artist who taught me the proper way to use a paintbrush…a literature professor.” Her cheeks burned. “It’s certainly nothing I want to talk to my big brother about.”

  “Have you ever been in love?” Arnold blurted.

  Heat pinched Twila’s cheeks as she closed her eyes and remembered each of her lovers. She clearly recalled the times she’d shared a chair with the drummer as he taught her how to properly handle a drumstick, and all the festivals they’d attended while she was encased in his arms. Her heart swelled when she recalled how the artist looked at her when she volunteered to let him paint her nude. Her lips stretched with a glowing smile when remembering the late nights star-gazing with the professor as he read her poetry. She’d been in love with every single one of them.

  They had all been a passionate kind of love, burning bright in the short time they lasted. None of their relationships had the stamina to last forever. She wasn’t sure that was something she wanted anyway. She thrived on the heart-stopping thrill that came with every new relationship and the buzz that consumed her body the first time their lips touched. She was convinced the excitement of getting to know a man she liked carried over into her paintings.

  “As a matter of fact, I have,” she finally answered Arnold. “Have you?”

  “I don’t think so,” he admitted with a slight pink color rising in the apples of his cheeks.

  What a shame, Twila thought to herself.

  “Does that mean you’re a virgin?” Tommy asked him.

  “Tommy!” Twila snapped. “Don’t be so rude!”

  Just then, a flurry of wild knocks fell at the front door. Chuckling at his sister’s scolding, Tommy jumped to his feet and quickly answered, finding a handful of his high school buddies ready to greet him with hugs, weed, and several 6-packs of beer.

  “Looks like we’re in for a late night,” Twila told Arnold a moment before the other men rushed inside to sweep her off her feet in greeting.

  Arnold kept to himself for the rest of the night, sipping beer in one of the plastic camping chairs beside the fire pit in their backyard. Twila got caught up in stories of old times with her brother’s friends. She’d spent considerable time with Tommy and his friends as they had only been a grade above her in the small Papaya Springs high school. As much as they flirted with Twila, she couldn’t take her eyes off Arnold the entire night.

  There was something mysteriously enduring about the man. How was it that someone so handsome had never experienced love? She sensed it was due in part to his shyness. He hadn’t tried to interact with Tommy or his friends and seemed content to be sitting alone.

  Finally, once the neighborhood became blanketed with darkness, she forced herself to break free of the reminiscing tales and check in on him.

  “Sorry,” she began as she approached him and fell into the open chair at his side. “I didn’t mean to ignore you. I just haven’t seen those guys in over four years. We hung out a lot when they were seniors.” She eyed his can of beer. “Need a refill?”

  “Nah, I think I’ll head in for the night.” He bent to retrieve his crutches piled on the ground. Twila beat him to it, holding them out of his reach with a teasing smile.

  “Will you stay up a little longer if I promise to sit with you?”

  His brow bunched up. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Because I’d like to get to know you better.”

  He responded with a gruff laugh. “What’s an oaf like me have to offer a beautiful woman like you?”

  “You have a very striking face,” she blurted. “One that I don’t think I could forget if I tried.” All at once, feeling shy, she dipped her chin. “Would you be interested in posing for me sometime? I’d love to attempt to capture it on a canvas.”

  Anger slipped over his features. “If this is some kind of joke⁠—”

  “It’s not,” she promised, setting the crutches back onto the ground by her feet. She took one of his hands with hers, feeling an overwhelming thrill when their skin touched and her hand disappeared inside his large grip. She lived for that sensation and wanted more. Her heart beat a little faster when she looked into his eyes. “You’re very handsome, Arnold. And you seem sweet. In fact, if you asked me to go out on a date with you, I’d probably say ‘yes’.”

  His eyes sparked with a gleam of hope against the darkness. “Probably?”

  “Okay, definitely,” she amended, lacing their fingers together. The buzz from their connected skin warmed her belly.

  “I don’t have a lot of money right now,” he admitted, his lips pulling into a frown. “The disability checks will take a while to start coming in, and I don’t know how long it’ll be before I can work again.”

  She squeezed his hand. “That’s okay. Money doesn’t impress me anyway. We could go for a picnic on the beach tomorrow after we’ve spent some time working on your apartment.”

  “That sounds nice,” he decided, squeezing her hand back. “I’d like that.”

  Twila’s smile grew. “Me too.”

  As they dove deep into conversation, hands still held, Twila caught Tommy glaring at them from across the yard. Since Arnold was staring into the fire as he spoke, Twila stuck her tongue out at her brother. She wouldn’t let anyone tell her who she could or couldn’t date.

  11

  Twila’s first picnic on the beach with Arnie—as he preferred to be called—was everything she’d hoped for. He was still a bit withdrawn around her, so she had been the one to initiate their first kiss. The way he gently cradled her head and kissed her back with some hesitation made her wonder if Tommy was right—if Arnie was still a virgin.

  That picnic evolved into more dates, leading to more hand holding and, eventually, endless passion. Before long, Twila found herself once again in love.

  For several weeks, Twila and Arnie spent nearly every waking moment together. She sewed curtains for the window and a new divider for his bathroom. She planted a community garden behind the apartment building, providing fresh fruits and vegetables to share with the other tenants. When Arnie found a couch on the side of the road that was in halfway decent condition, she sewed a slip-cover to go over it and bought pillows from the thrift store to liven it up.

  By the time the two of them were done scrubbing and painting, Twila had to admit she was satisfied enough that even she wouldn’t mind living there.

  One day, she saw a mouse scurry across the floor. She scared Arnie when she jumped on one of the kitchen chairs and squealed in surprise.

  “What in the hell is wrong with you, woman?” he scolded, gripping his chest. “You should know better than to surprise a man who’s spent time in the jungle, fearing for his life!”

  “I’m sorry!” she said with a little cry. “I saw a mouse!”

  He shook his head, disappointed. “A little mouse isn’t going to hurt you. I’ll make a run to the hardware store and pick up some traps. He’ll be dead by morning.”

  Twila leaped off the chair. “You can’t kill him!” she pleaded, tugging on his arm. “He’s just an innocent creature! I’ll somehow catch him and set him free!”

  “You think you can catch it with your bare hands?”

  “I’ll put some cheese in a bucket or something,” she decided, tears filling her eyes. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Just promise me you won’t kill him!”

  With a gentle laugh, he took her into his arms and dropped a kiss inside her hair. “From now on, I’ll call you ‘my little mouse.' It’s the perfect nickname, considering our size difference and your kindness towards animals.”

  Tears stung her eyes when she grumbled in reply, “Then maybe I’ll start calling you ‘my big moose.’”

  Although there were times Arnie was frustrated with his lack of progress in healing and displayed a deep-seated temper Twila had been unaware he possessed, he was nothing but kind and gentle with her. He was patient without fail as she honed in on her ability to adequately capture faces with oils, using him as a model countless times before she decided she had earned the right to be proud of her work.

  He built her an easel that always remained upright by the window. After being hired by a local car parts factory, he occasionally bought her painting supplies. Although he wasn’t the best cook, he ensured she didn’t starve when she was too caught up in a painting to stop. He never complained when she asked him to pose or dragged him to local art festivals. He had become, in Twila’s opinion, the perfect lover.

  As time went by, Twila built up enough confidence to paint other faces from a mix of her memories and the small collection of Polaroids she’d collected on her adventures over the years. Her favorite, a close-up of Miss Penny from New Orleans, earned a place of honor on one of Arnie’s apartment walls. It was her best work, but she didn’t have the heart to sell it. She eventually sold several others to a local art studio, earning enough royalties to purchase a brand-new bed and refrigerator for Arnie’s apartment since he refused to let her contribute toward rent.

  By that point, she was living with him full-time. Although he hadn’t officially asked her to move in with him, he had begged her to stay with him nearly every night, and she had started bringing over enough of her belongings that it simply progressed over time.

  They’d been together for nearly a year when she began to grow restless. She hadn’t planned on staying in Papaya Springs for so long, especially once Tommy decided to move into a house with a buddy in Los Angeles. Her friends in New Orleans had expected her to return shortly after she’d welcomed Tommy home. She often received a letter from one or more of them, begging her to return.

  Arnie didn’t have any friends, which Twila found odd and frustrating. She craved time alone or with friends, but Arnie was always at her side whenever he wasn’t at work. It became suffocating. She repeatedly asked if he had met anyone interesting at the factory, and nearly every week, she encouraged him to invite someone over for dinner. Although she had never sensed Arnie’s oddness her brother once spoke of, she wondered if it was only because Arnie loved her. She was beginning to suspect he didn’t warm up to strangers.

  Arnie also didn’t like to travel. Accordingly, he refused every one of Twila’s proposed road trips. He claimed it brought back too many tragic memories from Vietnam. She missed the adventures of discovering new places and became stir-crazy. Whenever she wanted to visit Tommy, she was forced to navigate through the harrowing streets of Lost Angeles on her own.

  On one of her trips to the big city, Tommy took her to a music and art festival downtown. Twila felt most at home surrounded by other artists and immersed in that atmosphere. She stopped at nearly every booth, deciding it never hurt to network with like-minded individuals. As she met countless men and women with the potential to one day become her friends, she cursed herself for agreeing to settle down with Arnie.

  Later in the afternoon, while her brother flirted with a belly dancer getting ready to take one of the stages, Twila met a man named Henry who owned an art studio in downtown Los Angeles. Henry was an attractive, willowy man with a thick mustache, curly dark hair, and kind, russet eyes. He was significantly older than Twila, possibly edging toward fifty. His rust-colored checkered shirt and white polyester pants were stylish enough for a disco floor, and he possessed a killer smile with deep dimples on either side. Twila was unquestionably drawn to his knowledge of art and ability to tell engaging stories of famous artists he’d met.

  Her conversation with Henry continued effortlessly as they moved over to a booth run by a local distillery and indulged in locally-made brews. Between bouts of laughter, Twila realized she hadn’t felt so carefree and elated since moving in with Arnie.

  Once her mind began to buzz from the alcohol, she found herself wondering what her life would’ve been like if she had ignored the wounded soldier at the bus station. Would she have felt the tickle of Henry’s mustache when they kissed? Would she have gone home with him that night and continued their conversation between lovemaking sessions? Would she have eventually relocated to Los Angeles, where the artist community thrived?

  They became so engaged in conversation that Twila didn’t notice when the sun set and the street lights glowed overhead. Until Tommy joined them, she had forgotten she had yet to drive back to Papaya Springs.

  “Tommy!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arm around her brother’s waist and knocking over an empty beer cup. “Henry, this is my big brother, Tommy!”

  Henry tilted his chin in greeting. “Don’t tell me you’re here to steal your beautiful sister away from me, Tommy. She’s a real delight.” He reached across the picnic table to squeeze Twila’s hand. “So well-educated in the art scene.”

  “She has a long drive ahead of her,” Tommy scolded, glancing at the stack of remaining empty cups between them. “We need to get going.”

  Henry set his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Nonsense, son. I own a large loft just down the street. You’re both welcome to crash there for the night. You could join me at the disco next door if you’re inclined.”

  “We’d hate to put you out like that,” Twila told him.

  Henry’s mustache lifted above a broad smile. “It’s no bother. I entertain guests frequently. It’s an enjoyable pastime.”

  Tommy gave Twila a thoughtful glance as if wanting her to make the call. He hadn’t been a fan of Arnie from the start, and she sensed he had also been instantly charmed by Henry.

  “Do you need to return home for some reason?” she asked her brother, quirking one eyebrow as if silently asking, “Why not?”

  He glanced over his shoulder, watching the belly dancer interact with a circle of friends. She caught Tommy’s gaze and offered a little wave before giggling with her friends. “Actually, the disco sounds like a great idea,” Tommy decided, licking his lips.

  “Feel free to invite your little friend to join us,” Henry told him. “I have enough party favors for everyone,” he added, wiggling his thick eyebrows and grinning.

  Tommy grinned back at him. “Groovy.” He hurried back to the belly dancer with a smile almost splitting his cheeks.

  A slight twinge of unease stirred through Twila as she considered their plan a little more. Arnie didn’t have a telephone. It was an added expense he insisted they could do without. How would she tell him she wouldn’t return until morning? She could only hope he would understand.

  Besides, they weren’t really committed to each other. It wasn’t like Arnie owned her or anything. And spending time with Henry could lead to bigger things. After all, making the right connections often achieved success as an artist.

  “Everything alright, love?” Henry asked, moving in closer.

  Twila stared at his pale pink lips beneath the impressive mustache. She had never been with a man over forty. If she decided to be with him, she could break things off with Arnie the next day and let him know she found someone else she wanted to be with.

  Still, as many times as she fell in and out of love, she had never “cheated” on anyone. She decided it would be unfair to both Arnie and Henry if she were to act on her feelings.

  “I’m with someone,” she admitted with a guilt-ridden grimace. “Another man. We live together. I’m sorry if I unfairly led you on. Maybe in another life⁠—”

  “Good heavens!” Henry choked on a bout of laughter. “I didn’t stop to think how my proposal must sound! Dear girl, I’m happily married. I merely enjoyed your company today and wish to nurture this new friendship. My wife is already at the disco, and I was hoping to introduce you to each other. The studio apartment is something we occasionally use to entertain guests…my wife and I won’t be staying there along with you.” His cheeks turned a dark shade of red. “I will admit I thought you would be a perfect match for my boy, Thomas, but clearly, that’s off the table. I would, however, be pleased if you would stop by the studio in the morning and perhaps demonstrate your method to my wife. She’s actively searching for an artist who specializes in oil paintings to feature at her next exhibit.”

  Embarrassment scorched Twila’s face. “I’m so sorry. I should never have assumed⁠—”

  Henry patted her hand once more and winked. “Perhaps in another life.”