Monroe knew his brother had done well for himself, built his own computer software company up from scratch. Monroe had picked up on a few magazine articles over the years about the Latimer Corporation and its successes. Still, he’d never given any thought to what that meant. His brother was a stranger, so why would he? But now his brother’s wealth was staring him right in the face, he could see Linc and he weren’t just strangers. They were from different worlds.
‘It does the job,’ Linc replied mildly.
Linc led the way round the side of the building. Monroe followed his brother up the outside steps.
‘Your wife’s English, right?’ Maybe a bit of polite conversation would help ease the knot in his gut.
‘Ali, yeah. We live in London most of the year, her family’s there. But we vacation every summer in Long Island. We’ll be here through September.’
‘Right,’ Monroe grunted. No way would he be here that long. Hearing the affection in his brother’s voice as he talked about his family had made the knot in Monroe’s gut tighten.
Linc opened the door to the apartment and flicked on the main light switch. Recessed spotlights illuminated the spacious, airy room. With a new kitchen and breakfast bar on one side and a comfortable, expensively furnished living area on the other, the room looked clean, modern and barely used.
‘It’s only two rooms and a bath,’ Linc said.
Two rooms or not, it was the most luxurious accommodation Monroe had seen let alone stayed in for a very long time.
‘It’s a good thing we had it fixed up over the winter,’ Linc said, opening the French doors at the end of the room that led onto a small balcony. ‘Or we wouldn’t have had a place to offer you.’
Monroe frowned. He needed to put the brakes on, before Linc got the wrong idea. ‘It’s nice of you to offer. But I don’t know if I’ll be staying more than a night. I’ve got stuff to do in New York and I don’t have a lot of dough at the moment.’
It wasn’t the truth. He’d worked like a dog the last six months so he could afford to spend a few clear months painting. He had stacks of sketches stuffed in his duffel bag that he wanted to get on canvas. He’d had a vague offer to tend bar that came with a room in Brooklyn where he’d been hoping to settle while he got it done.
Painting was Monroe Latimer’s secret passion. Ever since he’d taken one of the art classes they’d offered during his second stretch inside, painting had been his lifeline. In those early days, it had been an escape from the ugliness and the sheer boredom of life in a cage. After he’d got out, it was the thing that had kept him centred, kept him sane. He always gave the pictures away or simply burned them when he had to move on. The process was the only thing that mattered to him. Making the oils work for him and putting the visions in his head onto canvas. He didn’t need family and possessions. He could put up with the drudgery of dead-end jobs and enjoy his rootless existence, if every six months or so he got the chance to stop and create.
He wasn’t about to tell his brother any of that, though. After all, he didn’t know the guy.
‘Monroe, if you’re short right now, surely it’d be good to crash here for a while.’
Monroe stiffened. Pride was the one thing he never compromised.
The irony of the situation, though, didn’t escape him.
When he’d been sixteen and desperate, after his first stretch in juvie, he’d been prepared to do anything to survive. Mooching off his rich brother back then wouldn’t have bothered him; in fact, he would probably have enjoyed screwing the guy over. But in all of the years since, Monroe Latimer had learned a lot about self-control and a whole lot more about self-respect. He’d sworn to himself after that second stretch that he would never go back to that horror again. To do that, he’d stayed clean, and he’d learned to rely on nobody but himself.
‘I’m not a freeloader.’ Monroe forced the words out, trying to quell his annoyance.
Linc sighed, his voice weary. ‘I know that, but you are family.’
‘I’m not family.’ Monroe watched his brother frown at the words. Tough. He needed to get this straight once and for all. ‘We weren’t that close as kids, but even if we had been, that was a million years ago. You’re not obligated to me any more than I am to you. We’re strangers.’
‘All right, stop.’ Linc held up his hand. ‘I understand what you’re saying, Roe,’ he said slowly. ‘Like you say, we’re strangers. Don’t you think I don’t know that?’
‘Then why the hell did you invite me?’
‘Why did you come?’
The quick rejoinder had Monroe stumbling to a halt. Why the hell had he come? ‘I don’t know. Just curious, I guess.’
‘Well, maybe that’s enough for now.’ Linc walked across the living area. ‘Let me at least show you the rest of the place, before you run out on us.’
Monroe was thinking he should do just that when Linc flung open the door to the apartment’s bedroom and his mind went blank.
The wall of glass at the far side of the room flooded it with mid-afternoon light. He could see the pool patio across the gardens, and the ocean beyond. Surf tumbled onto shore on an empty beach of white sand. The view was stunning, but it wasn’t that which made his blood slow, his heart thud against his chest. With its walls painted pristine white and only a bed and a small chest for furniture, the room was so bright and airy, he’d never seen a better place to paint. Always before, he’d had to be satisfied with dingy rented rooms or, one memorable summer, a broken-down trailer next to a car dump in Virginia. He’d never had a studio before, had never thought he wanted one, but, seeing the play of sunlight across one wall, he wanted this one.
‘You like it?’ Linc’s question interrupted his thoughts.
‘Yeah, I do.’ Monroe couldn’t disguise the leap of joy in his voice. He refused to let his doubts surface. Couldn’t he have this one thing, just for a little while? He’d pay his way; he’d make sure of it. ‘Looks like you’ve got a house guest for a while.’