Raphaela's Gift Read Online Free PDF Page B

believe this, did she? "Of course I have, but this…" He motioned toward the studio door. "…is unbelievable--and rare. My daughter is not a savant."
    "Savants are not unusual, about one in ten children we see here possesses some form of savant skills. And like I said, artistic skills are common for savants." She paused, her eyes boring into his. "What are you afraid of? Art may be her gift. Are you too stubborn to explore its potential? So determined to prove Mountain Rise a fake you cannot accept your daughter's true talent? If so, I pity you. Art may be the only way to reach her, the only way for her to reach you."
    The challenge in her voice angered him even more. He knew all about savants. He was a psychiatrist. But he'd never seen a hint of artistic skills in his daughter before. The kind of talent he'd seen in Faith's studio, on that easel, didn't develop overnight. When he'd tried to encourage Raphaela to draw or color in the past, she'd merely held the crayons in her hands and stared at them.
    The more he thought about the whole thing, the madder he became. How dare Faith try to con him, try to raise his hope, all in the name of profit! If he had proof of what he suspected, he'd leave--and slap a healthy lawsuit on the place. What kind of racket were they running?
    "I've heard enough." He reached for the doorknob and gave it a swift jerk.
    She grabbed his arm. "I've lived with naysayers all my life. My parents said, 'It can't be done. Or even if it can be done, it can't be done by you.' You have no idea what that does to a kid. You want to do that to your daughter?"
    He released the doorknob and tugged his arm free from her grasp. "I've spent every waking moment I could with my daughter the past three years trying to reach her. You spend ten minutes alone with her, and you have the damn key? I don't think so."
    She didn't back off. Gauging by the tightness of the muscles along her jaw and around her eyes, his words had only sparked more determination. Why? What was in it for her?
    "I have no reason to lie to you, Doctor Damiani. I'm here to help you. I know you love Raphaela. I can't even begin to imagine how hard the past three years must have been for you." Her voice was low.
    "Damn right, it's been hard."
    "You've done more than most parents I've met here."
    "You're new. How many parents have you met?"
    She continued, ignoring his insult, "No doubt your skills and education have helped you."
    He knew what she was doing, trying to cool him down by appealing to his pride. Looking away, he stared at a bulletin board hanging on the wall and littered with colorful announcements. Her soothing words, like a salve on an open cut, eased the burn. His anger faded.
    Regardless, he would not let her build false expectations. He loved Raphaela--loved her to death, for who and what she was. Art therapy would not change a thing.
    He was a trained professional, possessed far more education and experience than Faith. If she wanted to play a game, he was ready. She'd never win.
    After the thought crossed his mind, something deeper, more painful rose to the surface. What if she was right? What if he could reach Raphaela?
    Hope blossomed among the thorns of doubt and fear.
    Faith watched Garret struggle with his feelings. The battle was plain on his face, as was the depth of his love for his daughter. If only he could reach deeper, beyond his sense of parental duty and loyalty. Sure, those were amazing qualities. He was committed, willing to work hard to help his daughter, but he was still missing the mark. She yearned to draw him from his hardened shell, yearned to keep him from hurting his daughter the way her parents had hurt her.
    Even now, after decades, and with hundreds of miles between them, she could hear her mother's voice echoing in her mind. Oh, Faith, you're such a dreamer! Why would people want to pay money for your artwork when they can go to the Louvre and see real masterpieces? Why can't you do something worthwhile