David Handler - The Hot Pink Farmhouse

“I honestly don’t know,” Mitch confessed, sipping his champagne. “He wanted me to. All I kept thinking about was how it would change the way people looked at his art. Change it for all time. And for what-something that happened thirty years ago?”

“A girl died, Mitch,” Des reminded him.

“Believe me, I know that,” he said, watching her. “You’re not okay with this, are you? Me not telling you about it.”

“Nooo, I’m cool,” she said slowly. “Deciding what’s right isn’t that simple, no matter how much we want it to be. I mean, if there’s one thing I’ve learned at the art academy, it’s just how many different shades of gray there are. But if you’re feeling guilty, I know how you can make it up to me…”

“Go for it.”

“How would you like to mentor a troubled teenaged boy? He loves movies, he’s incredibly bright. He’s also a garbagehead with an attitude, but put seventy-five pounds and a pair of baggy khakis on him and, whoop-dee-damn-do, he’s you.”

“This is Ronnie the Mod Squad kid, am I right?”

“You are.”

“I take it the first selectman is pleased that you shut them down?”

“Hey, I’m Dorset’s new fair-haired girl,” she cracked. “So what do you say-will you give it a try?”

“I can’t say no to you. Why is that?”

“I can’t imagine why,” Des said demurely, caressing him with deft, knowing fingers under the water. “What would you think about Bella moving in here for a while? Until she finds a place of her own.”

“I think it would be great,” Mitch replied enthusiastically.

Her eyes searched his face carefully. “You do?”

“Absolutely. You’ll feel better about spending more time at my place if you know that she’s here watching your charges. Plus we’ll get a good, honest brisket dinner every Friday night. Major sandwiches with the leftovers. Of course, I’ll have to grow us some horseradish

…”

“I’m serious, Mitch.”

“So am I, girlfriend. I’d be thrilled if you never spent a single night here. Stay with me out on Big Sister. We should be waking up in each other’s arms every morning. We should be together. What do I have to do to convince you of that?”

She fell into a guarded silence for a moment, her body tensing next to his in the tub. “You liked Moose, didn’t you.”

“Sure, I did.”

“No, I mean you liked her.”

Mitch gazed at her in astonishment. “Why do you say that?”

“Maybe I can read your mind sometimes, too.”

“What a scary concept.”

“It isn’t pretty, now that you mention it. Are you sorry how things turned out?”

“I’m sorry that she’s dead, if that’s what you mean.”

“It’s not,” she said, leveling her gaze at him. “And you know it.”

Mitch let out a sigh of sheer frustration. She still didn’t believe they were for real. Was still protecting herself against getting hurt. “If you’re wondering whether I’m sorry that you and I are together, the answer is no, you hardheaded doofus. Sooner or later everybody has got to believe in something. And somewhere along the line-I don’t know when, I don’t know how-you are going to have to believe in us. I sure as hell do.” He reached for her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. “Okay…?”

Her eyes were shining at him now. She swallowed, and in a husky voice that sent shivers through his entire body, Des Mitry said, “Boyfriend, it’s way more than okay.”