The Escape Collection: (The Escape Collection) (62 page)

The whistle of the kettle saved me from saying anything further.
 

Sheena rose to add the water to the mugs. From the counter she said, “It’s not the pink in your aura I’m worried about, Sunshine. It’s the gray.” She poured the water and steam filled the air. “Just like your mother.”

My stomach flipped and twisted into a knot. “My mother?”

“She had a deeply gray aura as well,” Sheena said. “But not always, just…well, at the end.”

A warm, spicy aroma filled the air and my head grew heavy, full of the weight of the day. I rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying to release some of the pressure.
 

“It’s okay to cry.” Sheena’s voice was gentle.

“I don’t cry.” I dropped my hand and turned to see Sheena watching me from the counter. “Can’t remember the last time.”

Sheena smiled a sad smile and turned away. “Another thing in common with your mother. She didn’t cry either.”

“Ever?”

“No,” she said, placing the mug in front of me. “She was a very passionate person, but very troubled as well. I don’t think she knew back then how to release the emotions and cleanse herself. Although Lord knows enough people tried to help her.”

I wrapped my hands around the mug and absorbed the heat through my palms. I inhaled deeply. The scent of the tea was fruity, with the slightest touch of something spicy. “What do you mean, ‘help her’?”

“Like I said, she was a troubled soul. But she wasn’t always that way. Her aura used to glow with warmth. There were yellows, oranges, reds, and pinks. Oh, the pink.”

“Sexual desire?” I asked, not sure if I wanted to hear the answer.

Sheena laughed. “That, too. But her aura glowed with a pale pink. The color of true love.”

“Dad.” I looked into the tea, focusing on the leaves floating around the bottom.

“Yes. I’ve never seen a purer love than between those two. It was magical. And you and Rayne, you were such blessings from that love.”

“Rayne?” I looked up.

“Oh, that’s right,” she said. “He would go by his given name now.”

“Dylan?” I smiled and made a note to tease him about that later. Then my smile faded. “There’s so much I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe you would tell me? About Vicki, I mean.”

Sheena took a long time to answer, staring deeply into her own tea mug as if to get answers. When the silence became uncomfortable, she looked up and said, “I don’t know why you’re here, Sunshine.” She held up one hand to ward off my protests. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. After all, we all have our own journey to make. But I think before I tell you anything about Vicki, it’s important for you to travel your own path.”

“What are you talking about?” The pressure built again in the back of my head. “I know why I’m here.”

“Do you?”

“Of course.” I pushed the mug away. The heat was suddenly too much. I looked up and stared directly into her eyes, and all at once, I wasn’t sure. I closed my eyes and visions of Jon, Kayla, Jordan, Dad, Steph, and Connie flashed through my head, followed by an image of Jason. I shook my head sharply, erasing them all and snapped my eyes open. “I do know why I’m here,” I said.

“Really?”

“Yes.” I took a deep breath, the roaring in my head increasing in intensity. “I’m sick of it. I’m sick of everything. I’m so damn tired of getting out of bed every day and being a failure at everything I do. I’m supposed to be good at this. Being a mother, a wife. But I’m not. And I’m not me anymore. I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be. Becca the wife? The mother? Or the artist? I’m certainly not that anymore. I’m nothing. And what’s worse, I’m not sure I care.”
 

I pushed my chair back and jumped to my feet. “I’m here because I’m miserable and I don’t know who I am. There. I said it.” My body vibrated, and my voice shook, but I kept going. “I’m here because I couldn’t stand for one more minute to try and be everything to everybody, when all I really wanted to do was close my eyes and make it all go away.”
 

“Good,” Sheena said. “Feel it, Becca. That’s good.”

The roaring in my head grew, threatening to take over my consciousness. I swallowed hard and said. “I’m here, because I’m afraid,” I said, much softer.

“Afraid of what?”

I braced my hands on the solid table, bent my head, and forced myself to draw the breath I needed to strengthen me. “I’m afraid that…that I hate my life,” I managed. “That I might I hate everything I’m supposed to love.”

I looked up then and Sheena’s eyes were full of tears. “It’s okay, Sunshine. It’s going to be okay.”

“No.” I shook my head. “No, it’s not.”

I hung my head again. It was too much to take.
 

“You don’t hate it all,” Sheena said. I could hear her move around the table and when she placed her hands on my shoulders, the warmth of her touch filled me.
 

“What if I do?”

“You don’t. It’s just the natural flow of things,” she murmured into my ear. “You’ll be okay, Sunshine. You’re in the right place. Everything will be okay.”

I turned and moved into her waiting arms. They felt good. Secure and comfortable. Letting her hold me, I was reminded of Connie’s strong arms when I was a child. “I’m just so scared, Sheena,” I mumbled. “Just so scared.”

***

By the time I got back to the cabin, I was too agitated to think straight. The conversation with Sheena had shaken me. Did I really hate everything I was supposed to love? Just because I’d said it out loud, did that make it true? I paced the small rooms, searching my head for answers. But I didn’t have to think very hard; I knew there was truth to what I’d said to Sheena. A lot of truth. But still, so many questions.
 

I walked into the bedroom and my eyes landed on the lavender sachet Sheena had given me. I picked up and inhaled the gentle scent. Sheena’s voice rolled through my head.
 

She didn’t cry either. Just like your mother.

I squeezed the pillow, crushing the dried flowers inside.

Somewhere over the last few years, I realized, I’d forgotten to cry. Forgotten how to feel enough. How was that even possible?

I knew I loved my family. But I’d told Sheena I hated everything. That wasn’t really true. Was it?

The cabin was too small, too stuffy. I needed to get out. I grabbed the sketchbook and retreated to the rocker on the porch.
 

Almost at once I fell into the familiar rhythm of the pencil strokes on the paper. Amazed at how quickly it’d come back to me, I let myself go with it. I didn’t focus on anything, except drawing the pictures in my head. It didn’t take long for my breathing to slow and my heart rate to return to normal. In only a few minutes, I felt more relaxed.

When I was finished, I sat back and examined the picture. I’d drawn the pond. It was empty. The urge to sketch myself swimming flashed through me. But I didn’t draw people. I never had. Not even in art school. There was something about recreating the human form that I could never master. It wasn’t just the body—it was the spirit of the person. It wasn’t easily captured in art. It took a skill, an insight that I didn’t possess.
 

Instead of dwelling on it, I flipped the page of the sketchbook. The sun was disappearing behind the mountains but there were still a few stray streaks of orange and gold left behind in the dusky sky. In the lingering light, I quickly drew a poppy. The flowing lines of the papery petals came easily to me and my hand flew across the page.

When the last of the light faded, there was an easy sense of calm before the deep shadows of night started to creep in. I put the book down and relaxed into the rocker to enjoy the peace. Drawing did that to me. Settled me. It always had. How had I forgotten that?
 

I stretched back in the chair and closed my eyes. The stress and confusion from earlier was gone; I let my body relax and after a few deep breaths, the sounds of the crickets surrounded me.

Chapter 18

I didn’t have long to enjoy the quiet of the new dusk before I heard the now familiar rumble of Jason’s truck. I didn’t move. Even when the engine cut and I heard the slam of the door.
 

“Hey there,” Jason said from the dark. “Am I interrupting something?”

My stomach clenched at the sound of his voice. I could try to fool myself into thinking it was because I’d been alone all afternoon, but my body knew differently and the increase of my heartbeat defied me.

Opening my eyes, I turned to him. “Not really,” I said. “I was just enjoying the quiet.”

“I’m sorry to disturb that then,” he said. “I know how soothing it can be up here. I won’t stay long. I just wanted to bring you something.” He held up a paper bag. “A peace offering of sorts.”

“Peace offering?” I managed.

“Well…yes.” He looked away quickly. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to get flustered, and it was kind of cute. “Anyway,” he said. “I managed to sweet talk Zeppa into some cheese and a bottle of her homemade wine. I snuck some of Moonbeam’s fresh bread, too. I thought you might like it.”

“Zeppa?”

Jason laughed and the awkwardness of the moment was gone. “Hippies, remember? I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.”

I smiled with him. It felt good.
 

“Hey, look,” he said and his tone became serious. “I’m sorry about the other day. I can be a real jerk sometimes. I know I came on kind of—”

“Don’t.” I held up my hand to silence him.
 

I didn’t need or want to hear his apologies, when all I could think of since had been the way his kiss had made me feel. I knew if I closed my eyes at that moment, I’d still be able to feel the thrill his lips had sent through my body. We stared at each other across the porch. His eyes held mine and caused a smoldering to start deep inside. Surprising myself again, I didn’t look away.
 

Jason was the one to finally break the building tension. “So, are you hungry?”

***

I leaned up against the counter and watched as Jason unloaded his bag. He moved comfortably around the kitchen and it reminded me of the ease which with he’d moved around the cabin on the night we met.

“You’ve spent a lot of time here,” I said.
 

Jason stopped, the bottle of wine in his hand, hovering. “I have. I rented this place for about a year before I started school. Don’t worry,” he added. “I know Sheena told you about school. It’s fine.” He turned back to the fridge. “You okay with something simple for dinner?”

“I’m good with anything,” I said. “As long as I'm not making it.” It was nice to be served and have dinner prepared for me. “So, why rent this place instead of something in town?”

“I don’t need to tell you that it’s beautiful here, and peaceful. But mostly I just needed a break from, well, from everything.” He stopped moving for a moment, but didn’t turn around.
 

“Can I ask you another question?” I asked when it was clear he wasn't going to elaborate.

He turned then. “Only if I can ask you one.” His voice teased, but his eyes were serious.

Before I thought about it too much, I agreed, with a courage I didn’t know I had. “Deal,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows. “Okay. But let’s have some wine first.” He pulled the cork and poured two glasses. Handing me one, he said, “Ask away.”

I took a small sip. The wine was cool and sharp on my tongue. “Why are you going to school?” I asked.
 
“I mean, it seems kind of...”
 

“Late?” he finished for me. “Because of my age, you mean?”

“Well, it’s not that you’re old.”

“Really?” He grinned.
 

“Stop it.” I snatched a tea towel from the counter and swatted it at him. “You know what I mean.”
 

He laughed and dodged. “I do.” He resumed his preparations and reached into a drawer. Pulling out a knife, he began to slice thin pieces of fresh mozzarella. “I guess I’m not your typical coed.”

“Well, no. How old are you?”
 

“That’s two questions.”

I eyed him.

“Ok, I’m thirty-one.” He watched me for a response.

“What?”

“You just seem shocked that I’m so old.”

“You’re not old,” I said. “I’m older than you. I thought you were younger, actually. So now answer my first question—why are you going to school at the ripe old age of thirty-one?”

“Because I can.” He grabbed two tomatoes from a bowl on the counter, began slicing them and laid them on a plate next to the cheese.
 

“You’re being awfully cryptic. I don’t think that qualifies as a fair answer.”

“Okay.” He turned to me. “I’ll tell you.”
 

I waited while he picked leaves off a small basil plant he'd produced from the bag. “I was married,” he said simply. “She was the love of my life, or so I thought. We were childhood sweethearts. I can’t remember a time that I didn’t love Leila.”

It was completely irrational, but I felt a spark of jealousy at the thought of Jason's true love.

“We married too young and we didn’t have a plan. All we knew is that we wanted to be together. My parents didn't approve at all and refused to come to the wedding. Mom said I was making a huge mistake not going to school and doing something bigger with my life. Her parents, too. They thought we were ruining both our lives.”

“That would be hard,” I said. “Not a great way to start a life together.”

“No,” he said. “I wouldn't listen, but my mom knew then what I couldn’t see. Leila and I grew up together. We’d loved each other since we were kids. Now, looking back, I can see that my love for her ran deeper than hers did. I guess I thought it would be enough. It wasn’t.” His voice was quiet. “So we married right after graduation and I never went to school. Instead I took on odd jobs for people. You know, landscaping, painting fences, that kind of thing. Leila had always been artistic, so she spent her days making jewelry. On weekends we'd set up at the farmer's markets and spots around town. It was nice. Simple.” His face took on a faraway look.
 

“It does sound nice,” I said.