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blinds to look out the front window.   She saw Rebecca dragging her wounded bike, slamming it onto the lawn. "No, I didn't get it," she said, distracted. "Bullshit."  
    Laura stabbed out her cigarette in an ashtray on the windowsill. "Yeah, well, what you say and what you do are two totally different things."
    Rebecca kicked open the front door and made a beeline for the staircase.   Laura followed behind. "I gotta go," she said, pressing the button to end the call.   She followed Rebecca to the staircase and watched her disappear around the corner.
    "Hey, where've you been? I was worried sick!" Laura heard Rebecca's bedroom door close with a bang.   "Becca?" Laura climbed the stairs.   She reached for the handle, pausing a moment to calm down, still pissed off from the phone call.   She reminded herself how Rebecca need not suffer for her mistakes.   For all she knew, the drama and betrayal that sliced their family up the middle was the cause of poor Rebecca's night terrors.
    Laura slowly entered the room.   Rebecca was seated in the center before a large, white easel.   On it, a half finished canvas painting of the maple tree growing outside her window.   Adorning every empty space of wall in her room were crooked, hastily tacked up works of art, each one a glorious masterpiece, amazingly detailed.   A true prodigy if there ever was one.
    Along the floor was an assortment of canvasses, empty bottles of paints, brushes, charcoal pencils.   Laura spent a good portion of the wages from her part time supermarket job on Rebecca's expensive art hobby.   How could she not?   It also kept her quiet. Rebecca never suffered any outbursts while she was occupied with her art.   Perhaps the outlet for her expression released those troubling emotions in a more sane and civilized way.   Without it, she exploded, especially when immersed in the dull, confining routines of elementary school.
    The sun was setting outside, casting a warm orange glow through the room.   Rebecca dipped her thin bristled brush into a jar of water.   She dabbed it, then dipped it into a jar of green paint, scraping and poking the glass to utilize the last remnants.  
    Laura loved to watch.   She offered no explanation for Rebecca's gift.   There wasn't anyone in her family she could trace the artistic gene back to.   It was a mystery.   A miracle.
    Laura wasn't particularly religious, she never took Rebecca to church or felt the need to hand down any family traditions as there weren't any in her family growing up. But she was convinced that if there was a God he was speaking through Rebecca's artwork.
    Laura gazed around at the growing collection on the walls.   Rebecca's art mostly consisted of still lifes, inanimate objects.   There was one of herself that she wasn't particularly fond of, mainly because Rebecca had very accurately captured the wrinkles beginning to form around her eyes.   The portrait made her look angry.   Rebecca painted it one night after Laura scolded her for not eating her dinner.   She remembered feeling self conscious upon seeing it a few days later, wondering if she really looked like that.   That one could go, she thought.
    "You okay, sweetie?" As expected, she got the silent treatment.   "That's really beautiful, what you're doing there."
    "Bike's broken," Rebecca said.   Laura frowned on one side of her mouth.
    "That old bike was broken when I rode it.   I'll get you a new one, I promise."
    Laura spotted green chewing gum had somehow gotten tangled in Rebecca's hair.   She'd have to cut it out.   Little fucking bastards.  
    Laura placed her hands on Rebecca's shoulders gently.   "Pretty soon we'll have to open up a gallery for your collection."
    Rebecca turned abruptly to her. "Mom, why'd we have to come here?"
    "Rebecca—"
    "Everyone hates me here."
    "No they don't, sweetie." Rebecca turned back around and continued to paint.   Laura sat down on Rebecca's bed and sighed, they'd had this