Brush of Shade Read Online Free Page A

curtain and yanked open the window. The crisp evening air washed a light
floral scent across my face. Simple noises of the night : chirping, twittering, and
rustling leaves filled my room, shoving my terrorizing quiet off to the side.
My shoulders uncurled and I breathed deeper. Maybe Aunt Claire was right about
a healing quality inherent to this valley. I could still make out the screened
in gazebo in the back corner of the yard, but the evening light was fading
fast. I may have lost the right to be normal, but that didn’t mean I had to be
miserable all the time. I tugged on my sweatshirt and shoes and headed outside.
    The mudroom door
opened onto a patio constructed out of interlocking pavers in an autumn blend
of pale gold, russet, and tan that stretched the length of the house. Aside
from the three-foot square brick planters in the corners, the patio was empty
and uninviting. I wondered when the last time was that someone had taken the
time to fill the planters with flowers or had leaned against the wide railings
to take in the view. Aunt Claire readily admitted to preferring life in the big
city to spur her creativity. Dad’s career in the State Department had kept us
in Europe throughout most of my life. I’d never heard him mention growing old
in this house he’d inherited years ago. I’d asked him once about his plans for
retirement. He’d said something about Pepperdine’s never retiring, they just
fade away. I’d figured he was just having one of his melancholy moods, so I’d
let it go.
    The peaceful
sounds of the night beckoned. Their soothing balm drew me to the wrought-iron
gate that swung open in response to my light push. Aspen leaves in shades of
yellow and gold fluttered in the breeze, performing somersaults and cartwheels
in their dance towards the ground. Along the perimeter of the yard, burning
bushes and yellow mums weaved a bold tapestry against the thick forest
bordering the sides of our property. The smell of freshly mowed grass wafted
around my face as I strolled down the gentle slope. At the base of the hill,
nestled beneath a stand of aspens, the neglected gazebo waited for the next
generation of Pepperdines . Vines had been allowed to
grow and entwine about its windows. The paint was peeling and several screens
were ripped. I frowned at its neglect.
    The first step
creaked, but seemed sturdy enough, so I continued up the last two and reached
for the handle. I tugged. The old, wooden door bowed out a bit in the middle
but refused to open. I yanked as hard as I could, popping it loose. I stumbled
off the step, scraping my left hand along the rail, expecting to go down any
second. Thankfully my crutch got wedged against a post, keeping me on my feet
with only a minor loss to my dignity. Not that there was anyone to see. With a
chuckle at my own clumsiness, I relaxed my death grip on the knob and
repositioned my crutch. I hissed and turned my hand over. A half-inch long
piece of wood had come away from the rail and imbedded itself between my
knuckles.
     Teeth
gritted together, I pulled out the splinter. “ Ow !”
Droplets of blood sprayed the front of my sweatshirt. Ouch, this seriously
stung. I thrust my right hand into my pockets searching for a clean tissue. I
wavered for a minute. It wasn’t like I’d crossed some great expanse. This was
my backyard; I could come down here any time. Still, I’d been wounded in the
process that ought to merit a quick look inside.
    I straightened
up and pulled the newly loosened door open. Inside was a hexagonal shaped,
screened-in-room with a high-beamed ceiling. Years’ worth of dirt had
accumulated on the wooden plank floor. I traversed its circumference, careful
to avoid spider webs and the wood trim of the windows. I wanted to linger.
Maybe hunt for my father’s initials that I was sure he would’ve carved into the
wood. Only my hand was stinging and the blood had soaked through the tissue
leaving droplets in the dirt. Plus, my arms felt