Small-Town Secrets

“Want some help?” Adam offered.

“No, go on back and see your father. He tried calling you earlier.” Marianne smiled at him, as she had his entire life. She’d been his champion, but she hadn’t really understood him, either.

Adam figured his dad was checking up on him, calling to make sure he would fill in for Andy and the three-thirty class. Adam didn’t need reminders. He was here to help out, and that’s what he’d do.

Well, that was the price for arriving early: too much time to talk. His dad might have traded a suit and tie for a white sparring uniform called a dobok, but he still harbored the soul of an accountant. He liked every task to be itemized, completed and checked off.

Maybe that was where Andy got his extreme need for routine.

Robert Snapp was hunched over his desk, muttering about paperwork and frowning. He still believed, even after almost a decade, that somehow Snapp’s Studio would turn a decent profit. Maybe in the big city, but here in Scorpion Ridge?

Getting sick had only made him want to succeed more.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Adam had ignored his dad’s phone call, but it was harder to ignore the man.

“Sit down.”

Adam reminded himself that he was a foot taller than his dad and that he’d been living on his own a long time: two years working at BAA and five years in three different states as a well-paid muralist.

But all he could remember was that every time he was called into his dad’s office, whether it was here at Snapp’s Studio or at home, he would hear how displeased his father was with him. Adam had sat through hundreds of lectures grilling him on grades that were never the best, goals that were not met and how in the Snapp household everyone had a job.

Problem was, the job his dad wanted him to do and the job Adam had been born to do were two different things. Choosing a paintbrush over a “reliable” career had put the two men on opposite sides, and neither was willing to swim to the other.

Until Dad got sick.

“It’s good to have you home,” Dad said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Adam started to remind his dad that this was temporary, but stopped himself. Adam had had five years to miss his family and to consider the real meaning of home.

“It’s good to be home.”

One thing his ex-girlfriend Stacey had taught him was that home was temporary and love wasn’t always unconditional. To some it was the means to an end.

Now, though, his dad needed him. Dad had injured his back three months ago at the studio. He still moved slowly, and a wrong move would put him in bed. But then a blood test had turned up something more serious: pancreatic cancer. His parents had been very optimistic about treatment and recovery, but Adam hadn’t thought twice about coming home. He wanted to see the world and work a career he loved, but he could put his family first for a while.

Taking a deep breath, Adam reminded himself to keep thinking as positively as his parents, because thinking any other way made the truth all too clear.

His father could die.

So until his dad’s health returned, Adam would teach the classes that his brother and the other instructor, Mr. Chee, couldn’t.

“Glad you’re here early,” his father said. It was his idea of a compliment.

“I was working over at Yolanda’s. She’ll be opening on time.” Adam waited for the chitchat to end. His father wanted to talk about something more important than what he’d done that day.

“She’s a hard worker. So was her mother.” Adam’s dad approved of hard workers, whether they be a waitress at the local restaurant, or a grocery store clerk, or a housekeeper.

Roving mural painter didn’t make his list, though. It didn’t make Yolanda’s list, either. She’d stopped speaking to him when he dropped out of school, muttering something about people not knowing when they had it good. Back then, he’d thought she was talking about his dropping out, home life and art. Now, after working with her these past few months, he realized she’d just meant his home life.

She was right. He’d taken his family, especially Andy, for granted. His talent, too. Now that both were in jeopardy, he realized just how much he could lose.

Adam smiled, thinking about Yolanda. At first glance she was quiet, deceivingly hesitant, but underneath she was all fire and opinions. But she never got flustered. Not even when they’d worked together at Bridget’s Animal Adventure. If they’d had a problem, she’d just calmly tug on his sleeve and say, “The anaconda is loose” with no more concern than if she were asking for a tissue.

But she’d made it clear that she felt he should charge for his murals. She was a bit more impressed that he did caricatures for pay on the weekend, but only a bit.

She was too much of a Type A. Always with her calendar filled with tasks and no time to watch the sunset. Let alone enjoy it.

Just like his father.

“You had something you wanted to say to me?” Adam chose not to sit but remained standing. He didn’t want his father looking down on him.

His dad closed the folder he’d been fingering. The pause was typical, but had a different feel. Adam started to worry. Finally, his dad said, “Shut the door.”

Adam did as requested.

“Your mom and I are going to get a place in Phoenix for a while, close to the Mayo Clinic. The doctors want to do exploratory surgery to see what can be done—either good news or bad.”

“Will this improve your chances?”

“I’m not going to sugarcoat this for you anymore. It might give me five more years.”

Adam’s breath left his chest like a vacuum taking air from the room. The lights seemed to dim. And Adam, who didn’t cry, felt his throat close and his eyes water. He couldn’t talk.

His father continued. “We’ll be relying on you a bit more.”

Adam nodded. His parents couldn’t stay in Phoenix if no one was around to take care of Andy, not just at home but here, at Snapp’s Studio. “Sure, I’ll do it.” Unbidden came the thought: this might be the last thing my father asks of me.

His dad blinked, clearly surprised. “You will? It means working more hours at the studio and some real time with your brother.”

“Of course. When will you be going?”

“We’re working on—” his dad hesitated “—on getting the money together.”

Adam swallowed. He’d have money to give his parents if he’d been a little wiser. If he hadn’t trusted in Stacey’s supposed love.

Stacey Baer had wanted to be an artist, so she claimed. He’d met her when he’d been commissioned to do a mural for the town of Wildrose, Illinois, and she’d insinuated herself into his work and his life almost immediately. She’d climbed right up on the catwalk beside Adam as he started sketching the train and all the history of Wildrose, population two thousand and three—counting him.

He’d loved the old building the town was turning into a museum. It had character. No one was threatening to paint it Kool-Aid orange! Having someone next to him who appreciated art had made the job all the better.

He’d shared his craft, his apartment and his money.

Growing up in Scorpion Ridge, he’d been insulated. No one had taken advantage of him, ever. And he’d made sure no one took advantage of Andy. They were the Snapp brothers. People admired his family, especially his dad, who’d sacrificed so much. They were pillars of the town. They paid their bills, attended parades, went to church... It had ill prepared Adam for the realities of life.

Six months later, as soon as he finished the mural, Stacey had cleaned out his bank account and broken his heart. Last he’d heard, she was in Boston. That is if she hadn’t run out of his cash. He hadn’t been able to paint since.

“You need money, Dad?”

“I’ll get it.”