“She must really love him to do that,” Brandt said. “Though he doesn’t see it now, she’s trying to make it easier for him.”
“Really sucks they have to go through this,” Hellen said.
“Does,” Lucien said, pulling Hellen in for a hug.
“So she knows about everything, then,” Daisy said.
“Yes. She deserved to know,” Tempest said.
Daisy nodded thoughtfully.
“Excuse me,” a voice said, from just outside the door as he peered in. “Are we too late for the grand-opening?”
All eyes turned to a man standing there with a hopeful smile on his face. He was tall and had brown hair with expressive hazel eyes. His lashes were long and curled, and his lips weren’t thin, but they weren’t full either. They were just right. He had a tanned complexion, and was dressed in a pair of slacks and a button down shirt and dress shoes. His smile accentuated the smile lines around his mouth and the crows feet from what Daisy decided must be years of laughter around his eyes. The little boy at his side was a little replica of himself. And while the man seemed tired, he seemed friendly and warm. The child on the other hand seemed very sad, and almost withdrawn.
“No! Not at all, come on in. Hi, I’m Daisy,” Daisy said, walking toward them as they entered and the man rested a hand on the child’s head to guide him into the building.
“Daisy, this must be your place.”
“It is. What gave it away?” she asked.
He pointed over his shoulder without looking that way. “The sign. Your name is on it.”
“Oh! Yes! I guess it is. She said with a little giggle. And yes, this is my place. Thank you so much for coming by. Are you an artist?”
“Nah. Maybe once upon a time I dabbled a little, but couldn’t seem to make anything recognizable except stick people. Carson here, though, he’s very talented.”
Carson continued to look at the floor rather than at anyone in the room.
“What do you like to draw with, Carson?” Daisy asked.
“Carson, the lady asked you what you like to draw with.”
Carson, who seemed to be about six or seven years old, just half-heartedly lifted one shoulder.
Daisy smiled at the man and gestured at Carson. “May I?” she asked.
“You can try,” the man said softly. “He’s always nervous around new people and places. I was hoping that maybe this could be a good thing for him,” he said, gesturing around himself at all the art supplies.
Daisy knelt in front of Carson. “Hi. My name is Daisy. I really like your name. It’s Carson, right?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. Instead standing in place and picking at the skin on the edge of his finger nail. He’d picked it so badly, it had begun to bleed. “Oh, my goodness. You made your finger bleed.” She held out her hand. “May I see it to make sure it doesn’t need a band-aid?”
He tucked his finger in with the rest of his fingers on that hand.
“You know, I used to get so nervous, so stressed about having to leave my house that I’d do the same thing. But look, I figured out how to not do it anymore.” She turned over her hand and let him see that the skin around her nails wasn’t picked raw or bleeding.
Carson looked at her hand. He didn’t look up at her, but he did look at her hands. “How?” he finally asked.
“I just figured out that I was only hurting myself. I was afraid of everybody. But I decided not to let them win by making me not be able to do the things I loved.”
He raised his eyes to tentatively look at Daisy. “That’s all?” he asked.
“That’s all.”
“Can I see your fingers so I know what size band-aid to get you?” she asked, her hand still outstretched.
Carson looked at her again, then at her hand. It took a few moments before he finally, very slowly, lifted his hand and put it on her palm.
