The Vanishing Girls by Callie Browning (read this if txt) 📕

VERY SELDOM HAD EILEEN seen Buckworth Street rendered in its catatonic Sunday state. The vendors who lined the street with wooden crates of golden starfruit, bumpy sour sops and spindly cassavas weren’t there. Businesses were shuttered, traffic was sparse and not a single pedestrian trod the weather-beaten sidewalk as she slipped the key into the lock and entered the funeral home.

The building felt like a comfortable old T-shirt the way it welcomed her back. The aroma of tea mingled with the woody scent of coconut frond spines and orange oil. The mottled pattern of old grey tiles mixed with new hadn’t changed. A crudely sharpened pencil with neat indentations left by her front teeth and a stack of catalogues were exactly where she had left them on her desk. But on top of the catalogues was one thing that wasn’t familiar. Eileen picked up the small slip of paper and read the three words written in Holden’s neat hand: Please go upstairs.

Upstairs? thought Eileen in confusion. In all the time she’d been there, she had never known there to be an upstairs to Davis and Sons, but it suddenly dawned on her that there had to be. The building had two stories, but it had never crossed her mind to ask how to access the second floor. She went inside the viewing room, looked around and noticed for the first time that the wood-panelled walls that ran the full length of the room were unbroken except for the far corner where a waist-high brass handle stared back at her. Surprisingly, the door didn’t creak when she pulled it; the smell of grease told her that the door had been recently lubricated.

At the top of the narrow steps was an area with a layout similar to that of a living room except that it looked more like an abandoned art gallery. Thin slats of light from the bi-fold doors streamed across the room, landing on two easels and a stack of palettes and brushes. Eileen raised her eyebrows. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was supposed to be looking for but before she could search any further, she heard footsteps on the stairs behind her.

She turned to see Holden standing in the middle of the staircase, his eyes wary as he watched her watching him. He took a step back as though trying to decide if he should leave. She took a step forward.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.” He jutted his chin in her general direction. “I didn’t know you would have been released from the hospital so soon, but I’m glad you’re well.”

“Yeah…” she jutted a thumb over her shoulder. “You left me a note telling me to go upstairs.”

He shook his head and made to retreat. “No, it’s nothing. I just came to pack up…some things.”

Silence descended on them, dwarfing both of them as they stood less than five feet apart. They’d reached an impasse, an awkward moment in which neither of them was sure what to do or what to say. Eileen felt something stir inside her, not lust nor longing, but the sensation she got whenever she was near him. It always struck her as unfamiliar but not uncomfortable, the feeling that stole over her when Holden was close by. At first she had interpreted it as mutual respect, but as time went on and she noticed the little things about him, became enthralled by them, she knew it was something else.

Eileen took her time broaching the distance between them until she stood two steps above him — even then they were barely eye-level in the dimly lit stairwell.

“Why did you tell me to go upstairs?” she asked softly.

“Why does it matter? You said it would never work.”

“I don’t want to come between you and Paul.”

“Hasn’t it occurred to you that he’s done that himself?” Holden snorted. “I’m not a masochist, you know.” He smacked his thighs with his hands, suddenly lost for words. “And frankly, if someone is going to torment me, I’d rather it be you.”

Eileen laughed. “I’m not that bad.”

Holden stepped up and held Eileen by the waist as he placed his feet on either side of hers on the landing. “Yes, you are,” he said earnestly. He was so close now that his jagged breaths tickled her forehead. “Since you practically hired yourself, I've felt different, almost like I was a robot without batteries until you jump-started me. And you’ve bloomed here too. You’re an incredible business woman and I know we can take over this whole country, and even the region, if we want to.”

She glanced behind her at the wide open space and smiled. “So I can paint up here during lunch?”

He beamed and took her right hand, leading her up the stairs until they were standing in front of the easels. “You can paint during lunch if you want to. But I was thinking that we should turn this space into an art gallery for your pieces. I’ll build stairs at the side of the building so people don’t have to come through the parlour.” His excitement was palpable as he let go of her hand and unbolted the bifold doors, throwing them open and flooding the room with light. “Look…imagine how amazing your art will look on the walls when the doors are open.”

Eileen’s eyes shone. She looked around dumbstruck as she tried to absorb what Holden was saying. She reached out and touched the colourful tubes, fanned her fingertips across the paintbrushes’ soft bristles. “M-my own gallery?”

He nodded earnestly. “Yup. I’ll hire a new assistant — Clifford’s son is interested in the post — so you’ll have all the time in the world to paint.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed the tip of his chin. “I can’t believe you’re willing to do this for me.”

He leaned down and kissed her softly, his eyes burning with intensity as he looked at her. “My wife deserves the best.”

She pulled away and gazed into his eyes, unsure as to whether