Artist Free Zone by Annette Mori

Chapter 1

Prologue

Sarasota

Sarasota lifted her azure eyes to the weeping woman. Her brother curled into the woman’s left side as she absently ran her fingers through his soft baby fine hair.

Her human companion was crying softly for the third day in a row as she lifted Sarasota into her arms. Sarasota didn’t mind getting wet, even though she would normally avoid water. Her human needed her. It was the responsibility of her and her brother to cheer Melissa up.

Melissa grabbed a tissue from the box on the nightstand and blew, waking up Freud, who expressed his displeasure with a stunted, “Meow.”

“Sorry, Freud. I know I’m a mess. Something is wrong with me. I keep doing the same thing over and over, and every single one of them leaves. Am I such a horrible lover I’m destined for a life of loneliness? What do I keep doing wrong to drive them all away? I’m so tempted to have a doctor prescribe a happy pill for me. I know it’s situational depression, but maybe I can convince them it’s full-blown clinical depression.”

Sarasota didn’t want to see Melissa in so much pain, but what could she do? After all, she was only a cat.

 

Chapter One

Melissa

“Um, babe.”

“Yeah,” I answered without looking up from my book.I wasn’t paying attention. I did that a lot—you know, answer without my partner seeing the whites of my eyes. It meant I wasn’t listening. No eye contact was a bad habit. I admit it. It was a treat to have Colette visit on a Monday night, and I wasn’t spending quality time with her. It wasn’t right. I knew that.

“We need to talk,” Colette said.

Oh shit. I decided I’d better listen because those are the scariest four words in the English language. In my experience, no good ever came from those four words. When your lover says them, it doesn’t mean they want to talk. It means they have something bad to tell you. That wasn’t a conversation.

I looked up from my book and showed her the whites of my eyes. I knew I needed to demonstrate I was listening.

Colette continued, “I know it’s not a surprise that things haven’t been working between us lately.”

Well, call me stupid because it was a surprise. Yeah, we had a few problems a year earlier when I found out Colette was drinking again. I defended her to all my friends who kept telling me she wasn’t only off the wagon but had tipped the damn thing completely over. We had been to counseling and were on a good path I thought. We even had ourselves a fabulous mini vacation. Two weeks ago, I braved that itty-bitty scary-ass float plane and gave her the best fortieth birthday present—a trip to Stehekin, Washington. You can only get there by boat or float plane, and she always wanted to go by plane. One of my biggest fears was flying, yet I endured that airborne coffin for her. Why? Because it’s what you do when you love someone. I loved her more than my phobia.

“What do you mean? I thought we were doing okay. Didn’t you love our time in Stehekin?” I looked at her with hope in my eyes.

“Well, yes, we had a nice time in Stehekin, and that was sweet of you to take me there, but you’ve got to admit, even on vacation, we aren’t exactly tearing up the sheets. I just don’t think it’s going to work out. I need more in a relationship, and I’m not getting that from you.”

Are you fucking kidding me? Normally, the f-word wasn’t in my vocabulary unless I had an especially good reason, but that didn’t mean I didn’t think it.

I wondered if she’d met someone else but couldn’t imagine she’d had time to have an affair.

That didn’t stop me from asking because artist number one and artist number two—my previous two long-term relationships—both left me for someone else.

“Did you meet someone?”

She looked up at me, and her eyes grew wide. “No. That’s not what this is about. It’s about how you sequester yourself in the office the minute you get home. We’ve been drifting apart for years.”

I became defensive and spit out, “I sequester myself in the office because I’m constantly working on your website to help you sell your music, sign you up for your college classes, and help you with your homework.”

Okay, maybe my beeline into the office each night wasn’t a completely selfless gesture. I’m a huge introvert, and my job as a human resource director needed me to be front and center with people all day. By the time I got home, all I wanted to do was hide away in the office until my juices regenerated. Working on her website and helping her with other computer projects gave me the perfect excuse not to have a deep conversation about anything.

I thought I detected a note of apology in her voice as she answered, “I know, and I appreciate all you’ve done for me. Really, I do. It’s just we never talk. I don’t ever know what you’re thinking about. You keep yourself all bottled up. I can’t be with someone like that.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just such a habit. I forget I only get to see you on weekends and I should spend all my time with you—not on the computer. The PowerPoint you needed to do for your class was important. I tried to work on it when you were asleep this past weekend. I guess I got too involved and forgot the time. I’ll try harder to talk more.”

Colette had been attending school in Seattle for the past year and a half, and not every subject came easily to her. Her classwork took every ounce of extra time during the week for her to complete. She had a place in Seattle she stayed at Monday through Friday, but she almost always came to our house in Cle Elum on the weekends.

Of course, I was paying for her schooling and for most of her living expenses since we got together eight years ago.

We had a plan for our future. Colette had almost finished with respiratory school, and then we could pay off our bills and retire early.

Colette was artist number three. I could sure pick ’em. I mostly supported all my previous long-term girlfriends who were artists. Like a bee to honey, I could never resist the starving artist types. They were all incredibly talented but not terribly motivated to hold down a full-time job.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t think you can change enough to meet my needs,” Colette said.

“But we have eight years together. I’ll do anything. I’ll go to counseling again. Whatever you want, but please don’t leave.” At this point, I wasn’t above begging.

“I’m sorry. I have to go.”

Well, fuck me raw. Again, I didn’t say this aloud. I only thought it.

Instead, I asked, “Are you leaving me?”

She wasn’t completely heartless, I suppose, as she began to cry a little. That didn’t stop her from asking for a favor. “Do you think you can take care of Red and Blackie until I can work out arrangements for them at my place?”

“Sure. Okay.” Even though I’m a cat person and Red and Blackie were her dogs, I agreed. Taking care of her dogs was one of the ways I showed her my love. I even had a fence built at the new place I bought in Cle Elum, just for her dogs.

I moved to Cle Elum for a new job as the human resources director because the politics at my old hospital led me to believe my days might be numbered. In a very controversial election, I supported the losing candidate for a position on the hospital board. The surgeon who won was a crazy son of a bitch who was vindictive enough to get me fired. When the community elected him, I might have used the term ‘crazy mother fucker’ with my close friends because that was one of those times when using the f-word was totally justified.

Colette stood at the door and hugged me goodbye. “Take care of yourself, Melissa. I’ll call you later to get my stuff.”

“Okay,” I responded. What else could I say? I was still in shock. The tears hadn’t started yet.

I closed the door on artist number three.

Sitting on the loveseat, I looked out the window. I’d bought a house in a quiet little cookie cutter neighborhood. Every other home on the block looked the same except for mine.

When the realtor showed us the little house that resembled a ski chalet, I fell in love with it. I told Colette to take off her shoes the minute I stepped into the house because this was it—the place I would buy. I didn’t want the carpets messed up with our snow-encrusted shoes.

Now I thought how pitiful I was in my unique little house, and how this was the perfect fit for my lonely existence.