The next morning, I dropped Michael off at the daycare. There were so many things I needed to do, and this time, I didn't want anything to stop me, not even the fear of what would happen once David would learn of what I was about to do.

First, I called the attorney. He wasn't at his office, so I left him a message asking him call me back. I needed to know what to do to get Michael to follow the child visitation agreement to the letter. Though calling the attorney was just another bill to add to the monthly expenses, I needed him to document that I wanted to have everything between David and I in writing. Two hours later, the attorney called me back and we got to discuss what I needed to get done. Then I headed to Laguna Beach to visit my favorite framer, and pick up Olivia's portrait that I'd dropped off to him a week earlier.

Reggie Bond, of Bond's Edge & Frame Studio, had been so happy to learn that I'd started painting again that he gave me a 30% off the cost of the frame. He was originally from Yugoslavia — back when the country was known as Yugoslavia — although now, he called it Bosnia. He moved to California over thirty years earlier, and had been back home only twice since then. I'd known him long before I met David and used his services for the framing of all my work. I even tucked his business card at the back of all my paintings, in case buyers needed to have my work framed professionally.

He handed me Olivia's portrait presented in a dark wood frame with gold leafing along its edges. The gold brought out the sunlight caught in her red hair. He recommended the frame himself and I was glad I followed his advice. I always did, whenever it came to framing art. That's why I was a painter, and Reggie was a framer.

"She's a beautiful woman," he said. "Client?"

"Friend," I said. "Well, sister of a client. Friend."

"It made Sara cry just looking at it," he said. "I like the softness of the colors you painted her with. Reminds me of the Madonna and child. Different from the way you used to paint though - the hyperrealism is not exactly there like in your previous paintings. You've softened it for her this time."

I nodded. "It is Madonna and child, just in Italian. Madre i figlia."

"Perfect," Reggie said. "And your style has changed from what I remember, Sam. This is a bit more, shall I say, more mature. There's a hint of darkness behind her yet she's looking at the light as seen on her daughter's face. Sara called it loss and renewal."

Sara was Reggie's wife of twenty years, who helped him with the business.

"Sara always knew how to title paintings," I said. "I only name them for the place or the person, and this one just screamed mother and child to me."

For the next few minutes, Reggie studied the painting, commenting on its composition, the light, the angles, and the mood. He was a popular framer among many artists who participated in the annual Sawdust Festival, and though Reggie had always hoped I'd apply to have my works included, I'd yet to submit anything to them.

"I'm really glad you're back doing what you're good at. How's that hand of yours?" He asked.

"It's fine," I said, looking up at him, surprised. "How'd you know about my hand?"

"Everyone knows about your hand, Sam," he whispered. "Just like they know about what David did to your paintings over at that art gallery in the BH. He tried to revive his business down here as if that thing never happened, but no one would have him. Not after what he did to you."

"He seems to want to start again in Las Vegas, I think," I said, trying to lighten the subject. I didn't really want to talk about David after my encounter with him yesterday. "He was trying to win an account over there."

"Good riddance to him then. Anyway, I bet your baby's no longer a baby. A little man now, huh?"

"Michael will always be my baby." I waited as he wrapped up Olivia's portrait and walked me to the car to help me put it into the trunk.

"Reg, I fell in the garden, you know. That's how I broke my wrist," I said as Reggie positioned the frame in the trunk of my car.

"That's what you tell everyone, but since when did you ever garden, Sam? Wasn't that garden of yours supposed to be some Japanese dry lake bed?" he asked as he closed the trunk. "Your friend came by, you know, the one who died-"

"Rosie?"

"Yeah, Rosie. She came to have one of her portraits framed. One of yours. She told me that David broke your wrist after that Beverly Hills fiasco. She didn't see it happen, but she guessed as much. She knew you didn't garden either. She said the neighbors had called the police complaining of some domestic disturbance but you both denied it. They must have arrived before he hurt you good."

"She might have exaggerated things, Reg," I said.

"Sam, there's nothing to exaggerate when it comes to beating a woman, alright? David knew you painted with that hand yet that's what he broke. I don't know what he's got on you that has you scared shitless, but I hope to God you're not protecting him." He took a deep breath, trying to control his temper.

"I'm not," I said.

"When I didn't hear from you all this time, I thought he'd won, and that you'd given up painting forever, you know. You can't imagine how happy Sara and I were to see you last week, and to learn that you're painting again."

He placed a hand on my shoulder and pulled me into a hug. "You're not alone. You know that, right? You just gotta let some of us in, you know?"

As I got in behind the wheel, Reggie came to stand by my window. "Hey, before I forget, I wanted to thank you for referring me to the client who bought Strands, that painting you swore you'd never sell but had no room to keep for yourself," he said.

It took me a few minutes to comprehend what he said, but after the initial shock of realizing he was talking about Erik, I feigned shock.

"He came to you?" I asked, surprised that I hadn't assumed the frame had come from Reggie when I first saw it. Of course it was his frame, I thought. It was perfect for Erik's wall.

"He came down here and asked me to come to his house in Manhattan Beach. He needed me to decide which frame I'd pick out based on the painting and the location where he wanted it set up. He wasn't happy with the framing job the gallery did on your painting, and said that he found your website online and saw that you recommended me. I can't remember his name but —"

"Erik," I said. "Doctor Erik Maystrom." Saying his name made my belly tighten, the memory of his kiss returning too fast for me to prepare for its aftermath.

"Yeah, that's him," Reggie said. "He asked about you. Said he'd seen the other paintings and wanted to buy two more for his clinic, but they were gone when he came back. It was none of my business to tell him what I knew, but then everything I'd heard about it was hearsay anyway."

"What did he want to know?"

"He wanted to know who you were and where to find your other paintings, that sort of thing," Reggie replied. "He also wanted to know how to get in touch with you. I told him I only knew you as a customer, but that I didn't share private information about my customers to anyone, you know. He seemed nice, though I didn't much care for his girlfriend."

"Did she come down here with him?" I asked, trying hard to keep my face impassive.

"Heck, no! Met her at his house. Gorgeous woman. Quite exotic. One of those high-maintenance chicks, you know. And she hated that painting. Turns out she's into modern art. Abstract, like Pollack, that sort of thing."

"I can't imagine how they were even together, considering that my work is far from modern."

He shrugged. "Anyway, when I returned to deliver the finished painting, they were having some kind of argument in the other room."

I didn't really need to know what they were arguing about, but my mouth was faster than my brain. "What about?"

"Poor girl, he was dumping her, you know. Told her to stop coming over and telling him how to live his life. I felt sorry for him though. His brother-in-law was some race car driver who'd just been killed, and he needed to get to his sister that night. Italy or something. I checked the sports channels but never heard of the brother-in-law."

"You were really eavesdropping, weren't you?" I couldn't help but smile.

"Well, Strands was a big painting, Sam," Reggie said. "I couldn't rush that job even if I wanted to. But she was jealous of his own sister. Isn't that whacked? She didn't want him to fly out without any warning, said that his sister could handle things by herself for a few days, that sort of thing."

"What happened afterwards?"

"He told her to leave. Right there in front of me and two of my guys," Reggie said.

"And did she?" I asked, remembering the way Serena breezed into the front door on her roller blades that one time when I saw her.

"Not before saying her piece, something about him being too old-fashioned. Some romantic who needed to get on with the times. She was tired of waiting for that diamond, not that he could afford the one she wanted - not with his salary. At least that's what she said, but boy, she was pissed," Reggie said, his arms animatedly moving about him. "She said she wanted a real man. A man who was as driven as she was. She didn't want someone content to work on charity cases and those who could only pay $35 a consultation. But...but do you know what really got me?"

I shook my head.

"She called Strands cheap — now that was her worst offense if you ask me, Sam. I mean, I'm biased towards my customers, you know. But even I couldn't forgive her for that. No one calls Strands cheap. You should submit it to competitions."

"Anyway, poor or not, that doctor tipped me and my men very well," Reggie continued. "After she left, he made all these calls, something about friends filling in at his clinic while he was gone. He was even packing his bags as we were finishing up. One of his friends picked him up, a cop with a gun and everything. I mean, it was big deal for me, Sam. Nothing that exciting ever happens in my shop, you know."

"I'm glad you got to pick the right frame for Strands, Reg," I said, slipping the key into the ignition.

"You need a man like that Erik guy," Reggie said, his voice serious. "Someone who loves what you do and respects it. Not like David. Sorry if this offends you, but he loved you for the money your work brought in. Why do you think he had a Boxter and you still have your old station wagon?"

I started the car and pretended not to have heard what he said. "Thanks for everything, Reg. I'll drop off a few more paintings in the next few weeks or so. If not, I'll refer whoever buys them to you."

When I drove away, I could see Reggie standing in the parking lot, still watching me. I waved my hand out the window as I turned the corner and switched on the radio to the most obnoxious station I could find.

This new discovery about Reggie's meeting with Erik was such an interesting coincidence, I thought. It made me realize just how my world felt like it was closing in on me. It was as if Erik had been there all along for me, though our paths would not cross till later - much later than I would have liked - if not too late.