Distracted √

Distracted: Chapter Seven

Spence alternated his time between painting in his studio and working on the book with Erin at the kitchen counter. Erin picked up the new slides and a DVD filled with scanned images from Scott Schultz, then imported the data into her laptop.

She felt good about the progress they'd made so far, collaborating several hours a day. When Spence worked in the studio, she caught up on correspondence with former clients, discussed layout possibilities with the publishing house's production department, and relaxed on the beach, reading. This continued for one week, then Spence showed signs of restlessness.

Erin sat at the kitchen counter, her workspace cluttered with printouts, slides and empty coffee cups. "Let's talk about your categories next," she said, focusing on the laptop screen as she divvied the images into separate folders.

Spence scowled. "What categories? What are you talking about?

"You're kidding, right?"

Spence pushed off his stool and refilled his coffee cup. "No. What kind of categories? Categories of what?"

"Your art," she said, impatience creeping into her voice. "You know what I mean. You've got landscapes with no animals, then animals prominent in a natural setting. Next you've got paintings of buildings and places, and then you have people working. You know, the fishermen unloading their boats. The carpenter. The heron in the marsh. All of your paintings seem to fall into these types. I figured you meant to do it. I mean, it's pretty obvious," she said.

"Well, no," he grumbled. "Not really."

She tilted her head, a quizzical look on her face, then turned the laptop so he could see the screen. "I've made four new folders and I've placed all of your paintings into the categories I see. Take a look and let me know what you think."

She sat back on the stool and watched as his face changed from guarded to confused, then to reluctant acceptance. He shrugged, then turned the computer back to Erin. "Looks okay to me."

She blinked. "So, you agree now that your art falls into several categories, right?"

At his slight nod, she continued. "Now that we've segregated them, we need to write new chapters for each new category. We'll incorporate these into the existing outline and ...," she stopped speaking when Spence walked to the sliding glass door and opened it. "I'm sorry, am I keeping you from something?" She found it difficult not to sneer.

Spence didn't answer. Instead, he walked outside and sat in the hammock.

Erin thought about confronting him, but something held her back. He seemed unsettled and she wondered if it had to do with her observations about the paintings. Could he really be that oblivious?

Erin closed the laptop then followed him outside. She went behind the bar and withdrew two icy beers from the small refrigerator. Without asking, she uncapped the bottles and held one out to him. Then she went back to the bar and hopped up, crossing her legs.

Spence rocked, one hand tossed behind his head, the other cradling the beer. He lifted the bottle to his lips, a thoughtful expression on his face. Ten minutes passed before he spoke.

"I didn't know," he said. "Here I thought I was spontaneous or something. I never believed that 'creative genius' crap some people said, but I thought I knew what I was doing."

He took a long pull on the beer, draining the contents. "Guess I'm not all that special, huh? Don't know what I'm doing after all," he said. He dropped the empty bottle to the deck.

Erin sipped her beer. Her knees were tingling from the sun. She didn't want to burn like her first day on the island, so she jumped off the bar and approached the sliding glass door.