Painting by The Numbers

We told the cops it was all a misunderstanding and that we were just surprised to see someone there in the dark. Calvin had come for some stuff that belonged to his aunt, he had it now and was leaving. It was obvious that they didn't believe us, but they didn't have anything else to go on. One of them gave Calvin a ride, and I closed and locked the door once John and I were inside.

When the cops had left, John made gentle excuses to stay for a while. We had coffee and I had some cookies in the closet, so we enjoyed those. He looked over some of the work that I wasn't giving him and made observations. When all else was exhausted, we just chatted. It was obvious that he was concerned and was just killing time. I saw him look at the door a few times and finally broached the topic.

"I'll be fine. I'm sure Calvin isn't coming back. Either way, I'll keep the door locked and I have a good security system."

He nodded his lips firm with the beginnings of a frown. "Yeah. Of course. Listen, I'm not trying to be forward, I mean, don't read too much into this, but what if I stayed the night? This couch is tremendous. You can just throw me a pillow or something and I'll be fine."

Smiling, I reached over and touched his shoulder. "Thank you, John but I'll be okay. Give me a call tomorrow if you want to check in."

He stood up and turned to me. "The offer stands. You have my number, and I can be back here in less than half an hour."

"I appreciate it, really, but I'll be fine."

I walked him out. We carried the art and carefully placed it in his trunk. He had netting that strapped down to hold things in place, so I was confident that everything would be fine. It was fully wrapped, but the last thing I wanted was for one of the paintings to be damaged during transit. I went back inside, locked the door, made sure that the alarms were set, went to my bedroom, locked the door and laid there trying to fall asleep, phone in my hand.

When I finally woke up and looked out the window, I immediately went to my door and stood on the porch. Going back inside, I changed into sweatpants and a sweatshirt, stuck my feet into my bunny slippers and walked back outside.

I'm not a crier. I never have been. Maybe it's because I saw Mom and Dad crying way too often when I was young. I didn't and wouldn't cry over Calvin, I didn't cry when I had to tell my family about breaking up with John, and I didn't cry when my father sold the business he had built up with his own hands so that he could try to make amends with myself and Nicky.

But I cried standing on my porch looking out at the street.

John was still there, sitting behind the wheel of his car. My brother was next to him in the passenger seat, his car parked on the other side of the street. My two vigilant heroes were sound asleep. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I walked over and knocked on the window to the car. They both startled and Nick hit himself on the forehead with the handle of the bat he clutched in his hand. He looked ridiculous and I loved him for it.

John grinned sheepishly, pushing his matching bat towards Nick. He put down his window.

"The two of you work up a hunger while watching over me all night? Come on in. Use the bathroom and I'll get us some breakfast."

John rubbed his eyes while he spoke. "Get enough for one more. Alex may be coming by."

As much as I appreciated what they were doing, I didn't want everyone knowing my business. "Alex?"

John shrugged. "Don't blame me. Your brother thought that he might still have his service revolver."

Rolling my eyes, I looked at both of them. "You didn't think two baseball bats would be enough?"

Nicky leaned over and raised an eyebrow. "If you thought that someone was coming for me, would you have settled, or would you do everything you could?"

I didn't have a good answer for that, so I ignored him and walked back inside. I ordered enough breakfast for five just in case somebody else showed up as well. The guys followed me, used the bathroom, and then plopped themselves down on my couch and monopolized my TV. Watching them, any residual concern or fear about Calvin floated away. They spent their time waiting for the delivery making fun of each other and flipping through the channels. It was good to see. Nick didn't have many guy friends. One of his employees, a salesman, was close, but I always thought he was more of a father figure, a mentor.

When Nick got bored and started going through the sketches I had stacked up in the other room, I thought of Therapist Santa and realized again how similar I was to both my brother and my father. Until Jessica, I hadn't had any close female friends. I hadn't realized how much I had missed that dynamic until the two of us hung out.

Alex never showed up, so it was just the three of us and way too much food. I loved leftovers, so it wasn't a big deal. Anything I could prepare quickly when I separated myself from work was a good thing.

"Nicky, pass the butter. And who else did you tell? I guess it's inevitable that Lori knows. I'm sure you didn't tell George. What about my mom?"

He shook his head as he took a bite of a bagel. "No. Just Cat and Alex. I don't know if he said anything to Lori."

I thought back to when I had first met Nicholas. He had been on TV countless times; he traveled the world and seemed to be wealthy. I thought he was the epitome of sophistication and here he was in my little kitchen answering me while eating a bagel.

"You're so gross. Could you please keep your mouth closed while chewing?"

He smiled at me like a big goof.

Cat's birthday was coming up, and Nick asked me to go shopping with him for jewelry and offer some advice. John tagged along and we made a day of it. I knew that in part they were trying to distract me. It worked. We had a great day and when we got back to my place, Nick tried to convince me to spend a few days with his family.

I wasn't going to give into fear, so I went in, locked the door, set the alarms, had left over breakfast for dinner and then locked myself in my bedroom.

It took me another three days before I was finally comfortable. Can a bomb be a positive thing? Because three days after that, a bomb of happiness went off in the middle of our lives. Lori and Alex got approved by the people in charge of fostering. I didn't think it was ever really in doubt. Lori was the pillar of the community, and the mother of a famous athlete, and Alex was the county executive. Still, they had a little party to celebrate and two days after the party they had their first emergency placement.

Three siblings arrived at their doorstep with some officials at eight o'clock at night. The officials had called earlier and barely had the request out of their mouth before Lori said yes. It was a three-year-old boy, a six-year-old girl, and a twelve-year-old boy. I found out via a text from my brother, who received a panicked call from Alex asking him to go to the store and pick up milk and cereal. It seemed that the kids were famished, so they ordered take-out but were concerned about breakfast the next day.

I gave them some space but sent Lori a text telling her I was available if she needed anything. Alex's mother was a stern, but good woman and I was sure that she would be there. Cat and Nick would also be helping as much as possible, and I didn't want to crowd things. I knew where my services would be best used, so I drove over and picked up the girls the next day. Jessica met us at the Mexican restaurant. I was again astonished by the spicy food my nieces could eat.

I didn't know if it was jealousy, with their mother and father hanging out with other kids, but they weren't exactly on their best behavior. They demanded a story, and I wasn't in the mood for disciplining them.

"Okay, this is..."

Princess Penelope Purplepants and the Chicken Fingers of Death

Jessica started laughing. "The what?"

I shushed her and realized that death might be a bit much. "Don't interrupt. This is..."

Princess Penelope Purplepants and the Chicken Fingers of Doom

The two maidens were famous far and wide and everyone loved them. They were so popular that the kingdom had a raffle every day where you could win lunch with the maidens. On his lucky day the Judger of Art won the raffle and was able to have lunch with the maidens. He brought with him his friend, Princess Penelope.

The maiden's mother was known far and wide for making potions and brews and chocolates. They had her make an endless supply of sauces and when the Judger --"

Lori, like her father, spoke with her mouth full, but for her it was chips and salsa. "John the Judger."

I rolled my eyes.

When John the Judger arrived at the beautiful cottage of the maidens, he sat down for lunch. Princess Penelope, the maidens, and John the Judger shared a gigantic platter of chicken fingers. They had finger after finger, trying sauce after sauce, and when the platter was gone, they had it replaced with another one. All the ladies stopped eating but insisted that John try new sauce after new sauce.

Eventually John's chair began to squeak, and John's chair began to moan and his stomach started making funny noises.

Loryboryfornorrie said "Come on John, only two more sauces." Lizzyrizzy said. "Come on Mr. Judger, only three more sauces." John slowly reached to the platter and pulled another finger towards him. He dipped it in a spicy orange sauce and took a bite. His stomach said "Blurg" and his eyes grew larger. The maidens pushed the platter towards him.

"Only two more." John the Art Judger reached forward again, his hand shaking. He pulled out another chicken finger and dunked it in a honey garlic sauce. The chair groaned, and the chair creaked, and John's stomach said "Glugalug" as he took a big bite.

Leaning back John wiped sweat off his forehead and shook his head. "No more. I'm done."

"Just one more," said the maidens.

Closing his eyes, John the Judger slowly nodded his head and reached for his last chicken finger. Slowly, so slowly, he pulled it towards the teriyaki sauce, dipped it in and lifted it to his mouth. He paused and looked at the maidens.

"Do I have to?"

They called out "Yes!" in unison.

He again closed his eyes and nodded as he took a big bite. The chair groaned,

the chair creaked.

John's stomach said "Garumblelumble."

And...

And...

And...

He exploded!

There were pieces of John and chicken fingers all over the maidens' cottage. Frowning, Princess Penelope looked around her.

"Well, you got another one. I don't know why you like seeing people explode so much."

The Princess grabbed the bucket and the broom and scooped up all the pieces of John the Judger. He was feeling better a few days later but never entered the raffle again.

The End

Jessica insisted on paying for our lunch. As we walked out to the cars, she bumped me with her shoulder.

"So, he explodes all over their cottage and a couple days later is good to go? This is a guy I have to meet."

"Someday. John is the guy I was living with in New York."

She looked at me like I sprouted a third eye. "Yeah, I get that. The art judger thing gave it away. He's back in your life?"

I shrugged. "Sort of. Maybe? I don't know."

I thought I could do some shopping for the foster kids. Maybe fill in some things that are fun instead of things that are needed. I drove over to talk to Nick and see if he knew what they liked. Maybe a certain type of doll or superhero or skateboards or something.

When I showed up, the girls were gone, Cat was gone, and Nick had his luggage by the front door.

I called out. "Nick! You around?" He came around the corner with an overnight bag slung over his shoulder. He was wearing slacks and a polo shirt and shoes instead of his usual sneakers.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself. Going somewhere?"

"Yeah. The premiere of the documentary is tomorrow in Manhattan. Cat and I were going to go, but she's going to stay here and help out Mom with the kids. Your mom will be watching the twins, so maybe you could give her a hand?"

I stood there thinking for a second. "Cat was going to go, but she's canceling?"

"Yep."

"So, you have an extra ticket?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Yep."

"You know, my brother owns a travel agency. I'm pretty sure I could get a cheap flight up to New York."

He shook his head and laughed. "That son of a bitch is the worst. He'd never get you a ticket." He turned serious. "You really want to go?"

I bit my lower lip and nodded. "I think so. I bought some new clothes with Jessica, so I should have something to wear that would look decent.

He shrugged. "Okay. Go home and pack. I'll pick you up in an hour and a half."

He bought us first-class tickets, which I was grateful for. He wouldn't let me repay him. I guess that was all right because I had no idea how much he actually paid for them. Maybe the agency had points they spent or something.

I was glad to be traveling in style, seeing as I was returning to New York, the place of my greatest failure. It distracted me from thinking of John. Nicky and I went to a play that night. It was very commercial, but we both laughed our asses off and had a great time.

We didn't have to be at the premier until the evening, so the next day I dragged him to three different museums. In retrospect, it probably would've been a good idea to choose just one and go more in-depth. I was excited, and I was trying to keep my mind off John, so I wasn't too hard on myself for my poor planning. We had a late lunch to hold us over until the reception and then went back to the hotel to change.

Nick looked good, but then again, he always does. He learned while young how to present himself, and he wore a bespoke suit. Me? I was nervous as hell; I was trying to find excuses not to go. How could I live up to New York celebrities that would be attending a premier?

When Nick knocked on the door, I took a deep breath, grabbed my clutch, and stepped into the hallway. His eyes went wide as he took a step back.

"Ronnie, you look fantastic. Where's that waiflike young woman I met who was sketching her cat?"

I rolled my eyes, but I was happy with his assessment. "After you gave her a kidney, she started eating."

I had forgotten that ABC owned ESPN, but they had gotten a lot of star power for a documentary on Alzheimer's. There was even a red carpet. Reporters from the sports world recognized Nick and asked him questions, but whenever they did, he turned them in my direction and talked up my art. I wasn't my brother. I couldn't just speak off-the-cuff and entrance reporters. That wasn't me, but whenever I stumbled, he was there to support me.

A couple of people asked me who I was wearing, which seemed like a ridiculous question. I name-dropped Jessica and mentioned she was my style guru.

Someone in marketing had set up a series of interviews with the documentary participants. We got a glimpse of John as he spoke with reporters and decided to leave him alone until the reception. The documentary itself was heartbreaking.

I was going to ask Nick for tissues, but when I leaned over to whisper, I saw tears falling down his face.

When it ended and the lights went up, I saw that it wasn't only us that was affected.

The organizers had rented the Italian restaurant across the street for the reception, and we made our way over there. I sort of milled around, feeling useless as people in the industry approached my brother. He still did analysis for ESPN, so a lot of these people were his colleagues.

A four-person band with a female lead began playing softly. People filtered to the dance floor and loved ones held each other, swaying and moving, finding joy in memories of yesterday and what they had left today. John wouldn't meet my eyes, but walked my way.

With one hand on my hip and the other on my back, he leaned in close, his nose almost touching my ear, still avoiding my gaze. His whisper tickled my neck.

"Coming home to you saved me. At the end of every day, you were the raft that I clung to, trying to keep my head above the sea of despair. When you left, I held on to your memories and they kept me going. I got used to her not remembering me. Not even my name. You know what killed me? The little things. Jokes that only we would get. Her teaching me to cook. Taking me..." He took in a sudden labored breath. "Her taking me to a Yankees game and sitting in the bleachers. Everything that made us us was gone.

"It destroyed me, Ronnie. It tore me apart, but bit by bit, just by being who you were, you put me back together."

Sniffling, I wiped my eyes. "I could have done more. I should have been more."

I felt him nod his head. "You're right, and I'm sorry." He stepped back, forced a smile, and wiped his own eyes. "Thanks for coming. Being alone sucked."

Nodding, not sure if I could say anything without crying, I took his hand.

We managed half a dance before he was pulled away by a publicist. A few people asked about my art, which was gratifying, but other than that, I spent my time grabbing the best finger food that was coming out of the kitchen.

At the end of a very long day, we found out that John was staying at the same hotel. It made sense. ESPN was taking care of all the logistics. He walked us up to our rooms and thanked us profusely for coming.

"I didn't want to be alone. Everyone was there with family, and I... Yeah. The two of you being there meant a lot."

We both hugged him before you headed off to the elevator.

Ninety minutes later, there was a knock at my door. I opened it to see John leaning against the door jam.

"We never finished that dance."

Taking his hand, I pulled him into my room.

We were twelve floors above the streets of Manhattan, and the lights from Broadway pierced the shadows of the room. Neither of us said a word as we moved past the bed, and he gently pulled me into his arms. We didn't dance, not in any real sense of the word. We swayed, my head on his shoulders and his arms around my waist.

I was like a woman who hadn't realized that she was starving until she had a meal. Standing there, feeling his arms around me, I was home. I was where I was supposed to be, and everything felt right.

I eventually stepped back and pulled off the oversized T-shirt I slept in. He gazed at me with the same look he had when in front of the world's greatest paintings. Instead of the plain girl from Ohio, he made me feel beautiful. I pushed aside any feelings of embarrassment or shyness and shimmied out of my panties.

We had lived together. John had seen me naked more times than I could count. Still, the comments about my scar from Calvin lingered. They were hurtful and ridiculous. The scar had never bothered John, but the echoes of Calvin's cruelty remained. Forcing myself to concentrate on the now, I made my way to the bed as John stripped down.

He followed me and as we lay there, my back was to his front. I could feel him harden as he lifted my hair and kissed me from behind my ear and down my jawline while his hand found my breast and teased my nipple.

We slowly explored each other's body as old familiarities returned. Eventually, I lifted my right leg and placed it over his as John slid his thick cock along my entrance, gently pushing and bumping his head against my clit. Eventually, he didn't slide quite so high and instead pushed gently.