Marney in the Middle

Chapter 40: The Whole Truth

I trail after Reese into the garage in the backyard. It looks vaguely familiar and for a second I can't figure out why. Then I realize I was in here with Donny the night of the party... this whole thing just keeps getting better and better.

Lois, Malcolm – who I didn't even realize was home, and Hal stand in front of a huge canvas. Seriously, this thing is massive. It takes up an entire wall where its nailed to a wood frame. Its splattered with colors; not even a centimeter of white shows through. Empty and half-full paint cans litter the edges of the concrete floor of the garage, and there's a paint-splattered white tarp covering the concrete floor.

"Well?" Hal asks with his back to us.

"Oh," is all Lois says.

Reese nods. "It's..." he trails off.

"Yeah," Malcolm says as if he's agreeing with some unspoken sentiment.

As for me, I'm utterly lost. I have no idea what's going on or what I should say. So I say nothing at all. Looking up at the drenched canvas, I get that prickly feeling on the back of my neck like someone is watching me. I peek around the garage and meet those pale blue eyes.

An unintentional flip.

Malcolm smirks, half his mouth upturning at the corner. I nod, keeping my own expression neutral.

This isn't exactly going against avoiding him since I am at his house. Plus, we're several feet away from each other, and we haven't spoken. Something about him being here at this very instant irks me, though, after what Reese assumed.

I mean, to be fair, yes, I liked Malcolm. But it's the past tense now – I don't anymore. I've chosen, and I'm happy with the decision. I just don't want Reese to get the wrong impression when we're still so... undecided at the moment.

"Where's Dewey?" Hal asks, pulling my attention to the present. "Reese," he says, "go get your brother."

"Why me?" Reese asks in an almost whiney voice.

"Because you're closest to the door."

Reese rolls his eyes, groaning and slumping out the door.

Hal looks at me, and I force a thin-lipped polite smile. "Marney," he waves me in, "come on, move closer. I want you to see this – you're an artist, right?"

I shake my head to convey my confusion while walking further into the garage. This puts me right beside Malcolm by the time Hal finally stops ushering me in like a plane flagger. I force my gaze to remain forward and ignore that prickly sensation on the back of my neck.

"Malcolm mentioned you painted a project for class," Hal explains.

"Oh, yeah—yes, I did. But I wouldn't say I'm an artist."

"Nonsense," he says, handing me a paint-stained washcloth for no apparent reason. I hold it out from my clothes while resisting the urge to drop it.

"If I'm an artist," he says, "so are you."

I don't respond – has he... gone off some meds or something? He's acting so bizarre. I scan Lois and Malcolm; both look unfazed. They're not worried, which is a good sign. Admittedly, I've met him a total of once, and he was a bit neurotic and twitchy then, too. This just seems somehow excessive.

Hal starts talking to Lois about the painting, telling her how he's finally completed it and it's exactly as he imagined. I tune them out and decide to break the avoidance for just a second – I'm legitimately concerned, but also too curious not to ask.

"Is your dad alright?" I ask Malcolm, stepping closer to lean toward him and whisper.

Malcolm chuckles. "He took time off work to paint after Reese got suspended. This painting has been his dream for a long time."

"So... he's just excited?"

"More like he's just having a mid-life crisis."

I sigh. Not great, but it makes me feel a little less uncomfortable. Just then Hal begins to shout that of course the painting isn't done, but it would never be done. He just couldn't get it to match what he'd always pictured.

"Well, you're going to stay out here until it's done," Lois snipes. "We're not doing this every ten years when you have an idea for a sculpture or vase."

"You don't understand!" Hal shouts, causing me to jump. "I can't get it to match what I've always pictured."

"I don't care. You're finishing it right now, end of story."

I glance out the garage's side door toward the house. Things not going as you hoped and imagined is something I can relate to. I sigh, thinking of Reese and the most recent development. This whole thing is such a mess, and it's all my—

Lois gasps.

Turning forward, my jaw drops slightly. Hal has added new colors in the last half minute. It no longer resembles a drenched canvas – it's actually begun to look like something. The browns and yellows compliment each other, swirling around and through one another in a romantic dance. I continue to watch, mouth slightly agape, as Hal adds a dab of red there and a swipe of yellow here.

It's actually quite beautiful. Suddenly his method doesn't seem so frantic and disorganized; his madness is justified.

Someone slips a hand around mine as I stare in awe. "It's beautiful," I whisper while turning to look at Reese.

Only it's not Reese that's holding my hand. It's Malcolm. He's walked around to my left side to hold my free hand. I look down at our hands, the gears in my mind whirring slowly as I try to process.

I feel like Marla Singer at the end of Fight Club when the protagonist grabs her hand while they watch in silent awe as bombs topple skyscrapers. As they stand together and witness the beauty of destruction. And they will never be the same.

Malcolm steps back, still holding my hand in his, and looks down at me. He smiles. "I like you." Wait—what? He likes me now? "There's no one else I'd rather share this with."

Share what with? The painting? I slowly shake my head—

But I'm not Marla Singer, and this painting has changed nothing.

"Malcolm," I say in a low voice.

I start to pull my hand away, but he grips slightly tighter and leans down. Wait. Oh god. He's going to kiss me. I gulp and tell myself to pull out of his grip, but I feel somehow immobile. Totally out of control.

Don't you dare kiss him back, you idiot.

Malcolm's lips are inches from mine. He's waiting for me to meet him the rest of the way. I glance around the garage for something—anything that might get my muscles and mind working again.

My heart plummets into my bowels.

Reese stands in the door, staring directly at me. No, no, no. Dewey walks into the garage past Reese, who stares just a moment longer before turning and stalking away. Wait. No. This isn't right, none of this is right.

Move, damnit. Yanking my hand out of Malcolm's, I push him away. I'm only vaguely aware that Hal and Lois are still talking.

"That's it," Hal whispers with reverie.

"Hal, it's beautiful."

"I did it. I finally did it."

I run out of the garage, chasing Reese, hoping this isn't it. Gods, please, don't let this be it. Please...