First she chose crimson. A brilliant shade of crimson that glistened like fresh blood. She picked up the paintbrush and swept it across the blank canvas in careful strokes. Then came black. Then yellow. Gradually, her light sweeps evolved into careless dashes. She saw flashes of bright turquoise. The canvas grew into a muddy confusion of colors. The image of that arrogant smirk stuck in her brain. Soon there was no more white spots to fill. His words echoed in her ears like a distant alarm clock she couldn't turn off. The paintbrush clattered against the floor and splattered paint over the carpet. Tears fell from her eyes in slow drops like sprinkles of rain during summer. Melabee made no sound as she broke down into tears. She felt angry and confused and betrayed.
And she had no idea why. She almost felt ridiculous at how she was being. He was a murderer and there was no reason to feel anything but hate for him. But as she wept, she didn't know which she hated more: the fact that he turned out to be the killer or the fact that her heart desperately defended him.
There was a gentle knock on her door. Quickly, she brought her hand up to wipe at her tears and bent to pick up the paintbrush.
"Come in," she called out. Her father emerged from the door and gave Melabee a smile.
"Hey, dad, what's up?" Melabee asked as casually as she could. She began to put away her art supplies in attempt to avoid her father's eyes.
"Actually, Melbee I have to talk to you about something," her father replied softly. He sat on her bed and fiddled with his fingers.
"What is it?"
"I've been called in for a job." Melabee stopped to glance at her father. He was looking down at his hands, his face grave.
"But dad you just got back."
"I know Melbee," her father kept his gaze down. "This is something I have to do."
"You sell houses, dad!" she cried out suddenly. She did nothing to restrain frustrated tears from rolling down her face.
Mr. Samuels quickly got up to wrap his arms around his daughter. "I'm sorry, Melabee. I really am."
"Tell me the truth," she demanded, removing herself from him. Mr. Samuels stared long at her. Melabee got her answer when he finally dropped his gaze. Melabee shook her head at him in disbelief before taking a moment to compose herself.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"Germany," he answered.
"Germany?" her face fell. "Dad that's thousands of miles away!"
"I promise to get back as soon as I can," he told her.
"You and mom said that last time." At this, Christopher Samuels' eyes burned with tears. Immediately, Melabee regretted the sentence.
"I'm sorry-" she began but her father spoke.
"I'm sorry Melabee. It's all my fault."
"Dad, no-"
"I should've saved her, Melabee. She should be the one alive, not me-"
"Dad-"
"She wasn't supposed to die before me," Christopher Samuels mumbled in defeat. His shoulders slumped. "She was supposed to grow old and be here with you and bake pies and cookies. She was supposed to live to see you get married with a man she approved of. She was supposed to live to be a grandmother and spoil all her grandchildren with candy and toys. She wasn't supposed to die now."
He continued:
"I don't sell houses, Melabee. Neither did your mom. I've lied about this but please trust me this time. This is something I have to do for her. And also for myself. This is all I can say for now."
