When Morning Comes by Francis Ray

be pushy and nosy, it was because she loved him. Although, admittedly, it drove him crazy at times.
    Parking in his driveway, he unloaded the paintings. He made himself not look at them. Kara had so much talent and didn’t have a clue. He couldn’t wait to see the realization sink in to replace the fear and self-doubt.
    Bringing the last picture into the house, he turned it toward him. It was a splash of bright colors that almost looked as if the colors had been carelessly tossed on the canvas, but a closer inspection revealed a yellow vase and multiple stems of flowers reaching almost to the edge of the canvas. Her paintings drew you, just as the woman who painted them did.
    However, unless she believed in herself, she’d always be stepped on.
    *   *   *
    Less than twenty minutes later Kara climbed out of Fred’s truck in front of her house, thanked him, and then slowly started up the walk. She’d made it halfway when the door opened. Her mother stood there, waiting. Kara stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans and glanced down the street. She didn’t want to talk to her mother. She was still too angry with her, but Sabrina’s car wasn’t in the driveway.
    â€œKara.”
    There was impatience in her mother’s voice. She saw nothing wrong in what she’d done. Kara stepped onto the porch and went inside.
    â€œWell, did he buy them? And don’t tell me Fred got rid of them because he was too evasive when I called him that night to ask if he’d done as I asked,” her mother said, her hand clamped around her cane.
    Hands clenched, Kara faced her mother. “Why? All you had to do was tell me you needed the space and I would have moved them.”
    Her mother’s lips pursed. “You waste your time painting when things need to be done around the house. You promised to polish the silverware weeks ago.”
    â€œYou also wanted the hardwood floors polished; the sheers in the bedrooms washed, pressed, and rehung; the windows washed,” Kara said, not caring for once that her voice had risen. “I work sometimes ten hours a day, when would I have had the time?”
    â€œStop that foolish painting and you’d have the time,” her mother snapped.
    Angrier than she’d ever remembered, Kara pulled the check from her front pocket. “Everyone doesn’t think they’re worthless.” Her mother reached for the check, but Kara shoved it back into her pocket. “The paintings were mine and so is the money.”
    â€œIf I hadn’t given him a price you would have gotten taken,” her mother said. “It’s only right you share.”
    â€œ Right? You talk to me about right when you sent the paintings you know I loved and worked hours to paint to the dump yard?”
    â€œIt was for your own good. You got to stop wasting your time on something that will never matter,” her mother said, her voice rising. “I saw the way that man looked at you. You’re wasting your time there too. He probably doesn’t have a pot to pee in or a window to pour it out. Burt is the man for you.”
    Her mother would never understand, and there was no sense discussing it. “I’m going to my room.”
    â€œYou really don’t plan to share the money with me?”
    â€œShare?” Kara whirled back to face her mother. “I pay the utility bills, buy the groceries, let you use my charge account. What do you share except your—” Kara clamped her mouth shut before she said hate.
    Anger flashed in her mother’s eyes. “If your father were alive, you wouldn’t talk to me that way. How do you think I feel that I can only get your father’s pitiful Social Security check? He promised me he’d always take care of me. So, I go shopping to help me forget my life is practically over. Who wouldn’t? You’re mean-spirited, and I don’t have to listen.”
    Kara