Chapter 179

Almara’s Pov

The night finally comes to an end. By the end of my shift, I’m still soaked in dirty dish water, my body is sore from leaning over the awkward height of the sink and then only bending over further to access the dishwasher.

Grace is beyond fussy out of boredom. I brought a ton of toys and books to try and keep her occupied and gave her what attention I could in between washing dishes, but ultimately she was confined to her play pin that I had set up along a dirty white wall.

Meanwhile, the other cooks and dishwashers kept giving me mean looks and saying how I should find somewhere proper to leave my daughter and that no mother should be treating their daughter this way.

At least Emma eventually left me alone but that was only because it was slammed tonight. So, she was making a ton of tips and piling the dishes high for me to wash. Now I stand in the back parking lot waiting for Arthur.

When I see his car roll up, I can barely keep it together anymore. He steps out of the driver's side and comes to wrap me in a hug. “How was your first day?” He asks, and I just sob, falling into his chest.

“Whoa. What happened?” He asks and I can already feel his anger rising.

“I’m a bad mom.” I tell him. Out of all the horrible things that happened today, the comments from the cooks have to be the worst.

“Who said that!” Arthur practically howls into the night.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s true.” I say, letting myself feel sorry.

“It is not true Almara. You are hardworking and doing all of this so that Grace can have food in her belly and a place to stay. These sacrifices make you the best mom.” He says so convincingly, I almost start to believe him. I pull away and wipe my nose.

“I need to shower,” I say, flinging a piece of wet tomato off my shirt.

“That might be true,” Arthur says with a small smile and I joking hit him. I almost doze off on the car ride home, soothing myself with the promise that I’ll beg my parents to watch Grace next time.

Once I’m stripped and standing under the hot water I don’t mind the steam filling the bathroom, despite being in a muggy room all day. This steam is nice and Arthur put lavender essential oil into the shower so the whole room smells like a meadow.

It’s hard to believe that not too long ago we were quite literally taking showers in waterfalls and running through flowered fields and now we’re back here. I shake my head, trying to rid myself of these comparisons. Once I start going down that path it’s very hard to come back.

Instead, all I can focus on is the hope that tomorrow will be better.

I step out of the shower and through the thick steam curling around the bathroom, I see Arthur standing tall against the bathroom door. Naked. I let the towel drop from around my chest and for a moment neither one of us moves.

We stand, bare-bodied taking in one another’s physique, Arthur grows more excited with each passing moment.

He makes the first slow step towards me and my entire body heightens with awareness of his every move. He laces his fingers behind my head and rolls the tip of his tongue along the side of my neck. Despite the heat in the room, chills cover my body. At least this night is already improving.

I awake the next morning, my body still buzzing with delight from last night. Only Arthur could take my pain from a day of hard work and make me feel as if I just got a full body massage. I stretch my arms over head and decide to take my time getting up.

Lily lets out a big yawn. I think my body was way more tired than I realized. Just as my eyes begin to get heavy again, they shoot open. Oh no.

I forgot I have that interview today. I spring out of bed, rousing Arthur from his deep sleep with my sudden movements.

“I’m going to be late,” I tell him even though he didn’t say anything. I frantically throw open my closet door and look for clothing that’s half-decent. “Can you get Grace ready?” I ask but Arthur’s already tossing the sheets aside and moving towards her.

Twenty minutes later, the car is in reverse and we’re on our way to Art Tree Supplies. I feel bad for taking the car, leaving Arthur stranded with no other way to get to work but he said not to worry about it and he would talk to my parents about using theirs once they woke up.

If I take this job and keep working at the diner this will be something I’ll have to get used to. Working late into the night, just to be up early to make it to this place. At least it’s an art store, a place that always feels like home.

With Arthur’s job too, we could save up enough without using any Hurricane Pack funds to move out soon. Hopefully.

I roll up to the store with a minute to spare before my interview. Grace is still eating her yogurt when I unbuckle her, some spills on her dress and I try my best to clean it up, but it’s pink yogurt on a white top. Great.

I look up at the building before going in and am amused to find the store is actually in the shape of a tree.

I walk through the automatic doors and realize I have no idea where to go. The store is almost overwhelming with art supplies. From floor to ceiling are rows of shelving each with its own art purpose. Pain, pencils, sketchbooks, brushes, oils, crafts, and more. It’s more of an art warehouse.

“Almara?” I hear a voice say and I turn and see a tall woman crossing the glossy tiled floor with an extended hand.

“Hi, that’s me,” I say with a warm smile “and this is Grace.”

“Pleasure to meet you both. I’m Macey we spoke on the phone. My office is this way, you can follow me.” Macey says and leads the way to the back of the store. Macey walks like she’s on a mission, I try to keep her pace, but my back is hurting from work, or from Arthur, last night- I can’t tell.

I peek down each aisle looking at all the décor, getting inspired just by seeing all the art supplies. There are endless possibilities that could be created here, I get giddy with just the thought.

Eventually, we come to something like a classroom in the back. A short fence is put in place to separate this part of the store from the rest.

Just past the natural wood fence, the floor is elevated by a foot, like a large platform. Across the platform are rows of desks and the walls are lined with more art supplies, and some beautiful artwork including sculptures and paintings.

“This is where we have our art classes. We would like you to teach them.” Macey says, smiling proudly at the classroom. My jaw drops.

“I thought I applied for the cashier position.” I stupidly say. She just told me she wants me to teach art and I downgraded myself to cashier. “I mean, I would absolutely love to, but why?”

Macey clasps her hands down in front of her. “Well, you’re resume is rather impressive, and if I recall you’ve had your own art studio before,” Macey says eyes wide with admiration.

“You’re extremely qualified and we need someone of your status to inspire our students. Forgive me, Luna, if I’m being too forward but from what I understand you’re something of a rags to riches, correct?” Macey says with a bow.

My head spins. Luna. How could she know my artistic history? I didn’t include any of this on my resume since we’re trying to maintain a low profile and not use our position of power. Arthur even- I cut my thoughts short.

This definitely was Arthur’s doing. He probably called the art supply store and told them my artistic history and used his gifted charm to suggest I be offered this position. I don’t know if I want to scold him or thank him.

I suppose teaching art isn’t necessarily a position of power, I mean I’ll still be working. Besides, it’ll probably pay more than the cashier position and I wouldn’t have to stay at the diner.

“What about Grace?” I ask nervously. When she and I spoke on the phone I mentioned how I would need to bring my daughter with me to work sometimes.

“Oh, that won’t be a problem. We think our students would find her innocence and youth just as inspiring. She’s welcome to create her own art too of course.” Macey says. I feel like I must still be dreaming. I’m definitely still asleep in my bed at home.

Just then my dream turns into a nightmare as the sound of splashing liquid hits something next to me. I turn to see Grace has thrown up all her pink yogurt over someone’s once beautiful floral painting.

“Sick. Sick.” Grace says, her eyes watering. I dare to peek a look at Macey who stands looking horrified at the mess. Grace probably got sick from being around the dirty dishes and humid air all day yesterday.

It’s official. I am the worst mom.