Jeremiah is dead. The adoptive father that fueled the artistic side of me. He fed my hobbies by buying me expensive paints and allowed my emotions to flow from the brush to the canvas. I was holed up in my studio with orange paint streaked across my forehead. Giant plumes of vibrant warm colors filled the canvas. He loved sunsets and flowers. This is for him, and my outlet of grief. Three wine bottles scattered the half wall separating the stairs and the large loft. Several more were broken against the wall in my rage. Why him? Why did he have to die so young? He was only fifty. Healthy as a horse and died from a heart attack. I couldn't even stay in our childhood home. Alex blamed me, Eliza was catatonic. I had no one just like before. I miss him. I miss them.

I didn't even realize how long I had been here until my phone rang. I glance at the analog clock on the worn brick wall to my left. Seven pm. A sigh escaped my lips. I didn't even look at the caller ID and swiped to answer.

"Hello?" I answered, my throat thick with emotion, and croaky from crying.

"Ponytail! Where the fuck are you? You are late! You are so fired if you don't give me a good reason." Of course it was Snapper. I lower the phone to look at the date. It was my meeting with Lena. Fuck.

"I…Snapper my father died. I'm sorry." The line was silent for a while to the point I thought the call dropped or he hung up. It was tense and uncomfortable.

"Don't be sorry. I'll sort it out. Where are you? Are you safe?" I blink in surprise at the tenderness in his otherwise gruff voice. I pull my phone from my ear before returning it and answering.

"I'm in my studio. You know where it is." I say softly. He goes quiet again. I hear some conversation in the background.

"Someone is coming to get you and take you home, Kara. Just…take care. We'll reschedule." He never used my real name before today. How odd that it takes a death to be respected. Bidding goodbye, I hang up, and look at my canvas. It's tainted by death. I stare at it for so long, my eyes lose focus and my vision is blurred by tears. My legs go weak and I collapse in a heap on the wooden floor. It had paint splatters from my other works staining the dark wood. I stopped using a sheet long ago when the splotches of smeared paint became like their own art piece. Years of painting is on this floor. Years I was robbed of by a memory of death. I'll have to paint the floor. I look out of the large floor to ceiling windows. It's the kind you only see in old buildings in Brooklyn.

I don't hear the door at the bottom of the stairs open or someone coming up them until I hear a feminine voice call out to me.

"Kara?" My head snaps up at the subtle Irish accent. Keys drop into the bowl on the bar by the stairs. A purse hits the floor and someone kneels next to me. It's Lena in a dark green negligee with a trench coat. It's open and I can see more than she probably would see in daylight hours. She repeats herself and I can't help the sob that breaks through my throat. Immediately, I am wrapped in a warm embrace. She sits with me, rocking me back and forth on my paint splattered floor. My body wracks with cries of what ifs, what is, what could be. She rubs my back soothingly in circles. We sit there, cradled in a heartbreaking embrace rocking together.

"It's okay." she whispers. "It's going to be okay."

And for once, I felt that it would be okay.

"Lena?" she hums in reply. "Why are you here?" I ask. She's silent.

"As soon as Snapper told me, I drove here. I knew what you would be feeling. I lost my father years ago and I quit my job. I was a chemist. I fell into this job. And I haven't gone back to being a chemist since. It hurts too much." she slowly releases me to look into my eyes.

"I know it hurts now. I know you blame yourself. Don't. Don't fall into grief. Come out and be present." She squeezes my bicep to send her message home before standing and offering me her hand. I reluctantly take it and stand as well.

"Did you paint all of these?" she asks, looking around. I nod slowly. "You've got a talent, Kara. Don't stop because he loved it too." Again, I nod. We walked down the stairs together. The door opens and it's raining. Pouring really. It's rare to have a thunderstorm here. I sigh. Lena pauses before tightening her trench coat. That's when I notice she's wearing Louboutins. I grab her arm as she's about to walk out from under the tiny coverage we had.

"Not with those shoes." I find myself saying. She rolls her eyes. Before she can protest, I scoop her into my arms and dash to the Mercedes. She gasps in surprise and holds onto me by wrapping her arms around my neck. She squeals in delight and laughs. The car unlocks and I look down and see the fob in her hand. And it's in this moment, I know for a fact, there is more to Lena than Lunar Snow. And I want to make it my mission to find out what it is.