Chapter 34

ELEANOR

For my sixteenth birthday, I was brought to my fifth foster family in Sacramento.

The social worker’s heavy hand on my shoulder, the shabby hovel I was being dragged to, the barking coming from the backyard; none of it was anything new for me.

Miss Lacey was the social worker assigned to my case. She was a small woman with large brown eyes and a bad habit of smoking outside every new house.

She knocked on the door and gave me a grin and a wink.

A tall man with a white mustache and long hair kept at the nape of his neck with a black string, dressed only in paint-splattered overalls, opened the door. He peered down at us through his dirty glasses.

“You must be Ellie.” He reached out his hand to me. It was large and calloused. Slowly, avoiding his eyes, I shook his hand. “I’m Dean.”

“It’s our Ellie’s birthday today,” Miss Lacey informed him.

“Ah,” Dean scratched his head and glanced inside the house. “I wasn’t aware. Constance?”

He gave us a thin-lipped smile. Behind him, I heard a woman approach, grumbling as she appeared at the door.

She squinted at me.

“Ellie! Lovely to meet you, dear. Come in. Ma’am, you’ll be wanting tea and cookies?”

“She makes the best cookies,” Dean informed us.

Miss Lacey nodded vigorously and pulled me inside.

The house was largely decorated with wood paneling and overstuffed furniture, but massive paintings hung from the walls.

There were detailed paintings of landscapes, of ballerinas, of lost summer evenings, and more.

My steps faltered in front of a painting, so well detailed, it almost felt real—the northern lights. I felt my heart skip a beat. They were so beautiful. They reminded me of my first family.

“Alaska.”

I jumped at the sound of his voice.

Dean grinned down at me, his dark eyes shining. He gazed at the painting fondly.

“It’s very beautiful. It looks just like the real lights,” I whispered.

“You’ve been to Alaska?”

“I was born there,” I glanced up at him. “Where did you get this?”

He grinned at me and tugged at his overalls.

“Well, I painted it.”

My eyes widened in surprise. I took in the brawny man beside me and the beautiful intricate painting on the wall.

“I’m impressed!”

He smiled down at me and placed a hand on my shoulder lightly. “I have a gallery downtown. If you like this, I’ll take you.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he was grinning again. “Do you paint?”

“Yes!” I almost shouted. “But I’m not nearly as skilled. I usually work with oil paint or aquarelle.”

“You must show me your work! Come. I’ll take you to my studio.”

He was suddenly pushing me down the hall, past the kitchen where Miss Lacey and my new foster mother, Constance, were chatting around tea, and down the stairs to the basement.

As far as basements go, it was probably the most disorganized, but it took my breath away. The walls, the ceilings were all painted with different landscapes, seascapes, starry nights, all fused like a giant globe.

He had boxes of paint containers, and paintbrushes tossed aimlessly around the room. On an easel was his latest work: another ballerina.

She was folded into a curtsey, her wide blue gown fluttering with movement, her long dark hair covering half of her face.

He watched as I walked through his studio, admiring his work. I stopped at the small photo, placed next to the easel of the blue-dressed ballerina.

“That’s Constance,” he informed me. “She gave up dancing after she got pregnant with our first. But she was amazing.”

He picked up the photo and held it, staring down at it. “Our daughter, Anna. She wanted to be a ballerina too.”

He moved past me, pulling out a bucket of old canvases. He sorted through them and then pulled one out. It was a painting of a small girl, with bright blonde hair, just like Constance’s.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“San Diego,” he answered quickly. “She’s a dermatologist now.” He chuckled.

“Do you have any other foster children?” I asked him.

“No,” he took the painting back from me and put it away again.

“No, we thought about it for a long time. Constance, well, she always loved raising Anna, and she couldn’t have any more children after.

“When we heard about you and that you needed a home, we didn’t hesitate.” He gave me a kind smile.

“Thank you.”

“This is your new home, Ellie, for as long as you might need it. And you’re welcome to come and use my studio whenever you like!”

I grinned. “Thanks!”

“Come on, kiddo, let’s go and get some cookies! Constance makes the best chocolate chip!”

I followed him up the stairs gaily and into the kitchen.

Constance and Dean drove me to my new high school early on Monday morning. It was still dark out as I stepped out of the pick-up truck and pulled my coat more tightly around my shoulders.

Dean gave me a grin and two thumbs up.

Constance rolled her eyes and him and gazed at me seriously. “Dear, you call, okay? If the lunch is unhealthy, let me know, and I’ll pack up lunch for tomorrow.”

I smiled at them.

“I don’t want a beautiful growing girl like you to be eating that fried, cheese-stuffed greasy trash. You let me know, okay?”

“Thank you. I will.”

Constance nodded and gave me a small smile. “You’ll do fine,” she insisted.

I glanced at the school behind me. It was a looming white building, probably built in the seventies and not updated since then.

Kids were riding up in their cars or filing out of the buses and rushing inside. They looked like the typical kids I’d encountered in all the schools I’d gone to.

“I’ll see you guys tonight,” I told them with a little wave as I took off toward the school.

I noticed they stayed parked outside, watching me until I was inside the building. The high school wasn’t any different from any of the schools I had been to in the last few years.

Being the new kid was second nature to me. Luckily, I wasn’t the shy type.

After getting my timetable from the secretary, I found my next class. History. My favorite and considering how much extra knowledge my first family had given me, I had always aced it.

The kids shuffled into the classroom, complaining about the end of the Christmas break and the cold weather. I chose a seat at the front of the class, to the right, by the window.

Some students eyed me, girls arching their brows, guys winking. Nothing special.

A teacher marched in. She had very short gray hair and a rat tail that trailed halfway down her back. When she spotted me, she grinned.

“Class!” she barked as the students sat down, groaning. “Have you noticed anything new?” She waggled her brows and pointed at me. “You must be Ellie Martinez!”

“Yeah,” I waved my hand up. “You got me.” I gave her a tight smile. Behind me, someone chuckled.

The teacher gazed at me warily. “Indeed. Welcome, Ellie. Do you want to introduce yourself?”

I stood up smoothly and turned to gaze at my new class. I gave them a small smile.

“Hi, my name is Ellie, and I’m an alcoholic,” I chanted. The class snickered, and the teacher ushered me back to my seat.