The Escape Collection: (The Escape Collection) (66 page)

I chose a glass and sat in the rocker across from him.
 

Jason reached for a muffin and took a large bite. “Worked up an appetite, did you?” he mumbled through a mouthful.

“Something like that.” I took a sip and let the cool milk soothe me from the inside.

“Want to tell me what that was all about?” he asked as he wiped crumbs from his jeans.

I didn’t answer. Instead I busied myself with a blueberry muffin, picking off small pieces and popping them into my mouth, one at a time.

“Well?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, after a moment.

“Oh, I think it does. I’m not an idiot, Becca. I know angry sex. Especially when I’m involved.” He finished the muffin and took a long drink of milk before continuing. “What’s going on?”
 

I put a berry in my mouth instead of answering him.
 

He watched me for a moment before grabbing another muffin. “Well, you seem more relaxed now anyway.”

“I am.” I smiled. “Thanks to you.”

“So, you’re feeling better then?”

“I am.”

“About everything?”

“No.” My smile faltered. “Not everything.” My thoughts flashed to Jon and the girls. Steph’s words echoed in my head. You can’t be that person, Becca. Because you aren’t that person. I looked over at Jason. Was she right?
 

“You’re in control here,” Jason said, shaking me from my thoughts. “Whatever you left behind, you get to decide what happens next.”

I nodded.
 

“You like it here.” It wasn’t a question. Jason reached across the table and took my hand. “You feel good here.”

“I do.”
 

“Because of me? I mean, I’m not trying to sound egotistical, but…”
 

“I know.” I smiled. “And yes, obviously that’s part of it. But it’s more than that.” I put my milk down and stood up. Walking to the edge of the porch, I looked past the field and into the trees. “Maybe it’s this place?”

“It is amazing here.”

“But it’s more than that.”

“I’m helping?”

“You’re infuriating,” I said, and turned back to him.

Jason stood, a smile on his face. He moved towards me and took my hands in his. “Maybe so,” he said. “But you don’t seem to want to get rid of me very badly.”

Chapter 21

After Jason left, I’d grown restless in the cabin again. I was ready to move from my carefully constructed comfort zone and explore more of what Rainbow Valley had to offer.
 

I drove down the mountain road and pulled my car onto the weedy shoulder next to the river. I grabbed the bag I’d packed up at the cabin from the front seat and ventured down the banks. The river wasn’t moving fast enough to be intimidating, but the steady flow of the rapids danced over the rocks, stirring up froth before settling into a smoother flow. Close to the edge, the water was clear enough to see the rocky bed below, but further out it turned to a deeper green, almost teal, and the rocks vanished in the depths. I dipped my fingers into the water and yanked them out again. The water was as frigid as if it’d just come off a glacier, which it likely had.
 

I found a grassy spot hidden from the road with an unobstructed view of the river, settled in, and pulled my sketchbook from the bag. Within moments I was lost in the rhythm of the pencil strokes and soon I had a rough outline of the bank across from me. Moving to the colored pencils, I shaded the water, focusing on blending the blues and greens to create the perfect hue that would capture the flow. I worked methodically, entranced by the process, and it wasn’t until the water was complete that I sat back and stretched my neck.
 

The newness and fear of drawing again after so many years had worn off. Looking at my work again filled me with—what? Peace? A sense of pride? I couldn’t pinpoint it, but whatever it was, it was a welcome feeling.
 

I dug through the bag and pulled out the long wooden box of watercolors I’d thrown in on a whim before leaving. In college, my medium of choice was oils and acrylics. I favored them over the subtle, almost delicate look of the watercolors. I had a need for bold and dramatic back then.
 

I unclasped the box and examined the small tubes. The idea of the softer colors intrigued me; the blending and feathering that would create the froth of the water and the flow of the rapids over the boulders.

So many choices. Every one resulting in a different outcome.
 

I let my fingers slide across the tubes and shut my eyes. My fingers twitched to hold a brush again instead of a pencil. Painting had always been my true love. I knew I could capture the fragility of the flowers in the meadow better with paints. The blossoms would be so much more vibrant. They would come alive. But could I do it again? Would I remember how?
 

I could do more. I knew it. If only I took the chance.
 

My eyes popped open. I ran my fingers across the tubes one last time and clicked the box shut.
 

It was time to pay Sheena a visit.

***

The little store was busy when I arrived. I was used to finding Sheena’s empty, and for a moment I considered not going in. But my fingers opened and closed, eager to hold a brush. The desire to try paints won out over my need to be alone; I left my car and went inside.
 

There were a handful of people doing their shopping and visiting with each other. Deciding to wait until some of the shoppers left, I moved to the back of the store and started browsing the handicrafts. I was examining a brown crocheted purse when a large woman, her basket overflowing with fresh vegetables, turned into the aisle. She wore a tie-dyed robe, secured at the waist with a thick macramé
 
belt that gave her the look of an overstuffed throw cushion. Her long gray hair was twisted into two thick braids like tassels that fell on either side of her puffy face.
 

“Pretty purse,” the woman said, stopping next to me.

“It is. Not really my style, though.”
 

“Not good enough for you?”

The edge in her voice startled me into dropping the purse. It swung on the rack. I turned and was confronted by angry eyes, narrowed into slits that were almost swallowed by the swollen folds of her face.
 

When she spoke again, I was assaulted by the sour stench of the woman’s breath. “You think you can force yourself into our world, and insult our goods? We’re very proud of our handicrafts here,” the woman ranted, her volume increasing with every word. “Just because you come from a big city someplace with all your money doesn’t mean you’re any better than us.”

“Pardon me?” I bristled with her words and stood taller. “That’s not what I said at all. What I said was—”

“That she prefers her purses to be a little more colorful,” Sheena said. She came up behind me and stood at my side. “Her personality is far too bright for a brown purse.” Sheena took my hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Is that what you meant?” The woman spat the question.

“Yes.” I nodded. “That’s exactly what I meant. It’s a beautiful bag—the craftsmanship is impeccable—but I like them a little brighter.” I gestured to the bright canvas bag I’d found at the cabin, thankful I’d left my own black purse behind.

“See now? No one is saying they’re better than anyone else,” Sheena said. “Are you just about done with your shopping, Crystal? Go on up to the front and I’ll get you taken care of so you can be on your way.”

Crystal nodded once, her eyes burning into me, before turning and making her way up the aisle. Her basket bounced against her heavy leg with every step.

“Don’t you worry about Crystal,” Sheena said. “She just gets a little protective about her work.”

“You mean—she made it?”

“That’s right and now she’ll probably make you one with the brightest yarn she can dig up,” Sheena said. Her voice crackled with laughter. “Now, what brings you down to the store today? You’re looking better.” She looked me up and down and nodded with satisfaction. “Yes, much better. What have you been doing with yourself? I like this change in you.”

My mind flew to Jason. His hands, his lips, his touch. I tucked the images to the back of my mind, but allowed my mouth to curl into a smile. I pulled out my sketchbook and opened it to the picture I’d just finished. “I’ve been drawing.”

Sheena’s face flashed with something unreadable before taking the book from my hands. Just as quickly as it’d appeared, the strange look was gone and she said, “This is lovely. You’re very talented.”

“It’s been so long. But it feels right, you know?”

Sheena nodded slowly. There was a sadness about the movement. “I do,” she said. “But I don’t think it’s just the drawing that’s caused such a dramatic shift in your aura. Am I right?”

I recalled how I’d spent my morning. No. It was definitely not just the drawing. “Well, actually—”

“Sheena!” a voice, presumably Crystal’s, called from the other side of the store.

“Sorry, Sunshine. I should take care of that. Will you be here for a few minutes?”

“Of course. I need to pick up a few things. Go. Take care of your customers.”

Sheena disappeared in a swirl of skirts and shawls. I picked my way up and down the aisles in search of the supplies I needed. The store was remarkably well equipped for such a small place. Of course, Jason had mentioned that the primary visitors to the valley were artists and writers. Sheena knew her market well.
 

I remembered there were brushes in the the trunk but I picked up a few new ones anyway. I couldn’t resist. If I was going to do it, I wanted to do it right. I chose a few canvases in varying sizes, grabbed a wooden palate to mix the colors on, and started to work my way to the front of the store. Only an aisle away, my eyes landed on a small doll made from rags, clearly handcrafted.
 

Kayla.

I shifted my items to one arm and picked up the doll. It was well-made and reminded me of the easy innocence of childhood. I took the doll, and remembering Jordan, went back to the rack of purses and chose a pretty blue bag with small gemstones sewn into the front.
 

At the front desk, as I waited for Sheena to finish up with her last customer, I pulled out my sketchbook and tore out the first picture I’d drawn. The white daisy.
 

On the back of the page I wrote:

Girls,
 

I miss you very much and
 
think about you both every day. I saw these and thought of you. Kayla, I gave the dolly hugs and kisses to give to you. Please share them with Jordan.
 

I’ll be home soon.
 

Love, Mommy

Would I be home soon? I refused to dwell on the question. I needed to focus on the present.

“Sorry about that, Sunshine.” Sheena came around the corner and slid out from behind the desk. “It’s not usually so busy in the middle of the week. Anyway, I have a few minutes now. What have you got there?” She pointed to the doll and purse.

“I just saw them and thought of…”

“Your girls?” Sheena took my hand.

There was no longer any point to deny it. I nodded. It would have been so easy to sink into the guilt, but I straightened my shoulders and shook off the sad heaviness that threatened to weigh me down. “Do you think you could send another package for me?”

“Of course. I’m actually sending a parcel of fresh jellies to a customer in the city this afternoon. So we can send it by courier.”
 

“Really?”

“It’ll get there tomorrow morning.” Sheena patted my hand before releasing it and reaching for the pile of art supplies. “It looks like you’re going to do some painting.”

I picked up a brush and absently swiped it back and forth across my hand. “I’m going to try. It’s been so long since I’ve touched paint of any kind and I’ve never used watercolors at all. But it feels right. So why not?”

“Why not indeed. You’ll be using the ones in the wooden box, I assume?”

I nodded. “Those are the ones. They’ve never been opened.”

“No. Your father gave them to Vicki. But she never used them. Couldn’t bring herself to paint with them. They’ve been locked away in the trunk all this time.”
 

“Do you think I should use them? I mean, if she didn’t—”

“No,” Sheena interrupted. “I don’t think there’s anything your mother would like more. You go ahead and use those paints.” Sheena’s eyes took on a faraway look, but it didn’t last long. After a second, she snapped back to her usual self and said, “You know, I have something in the back that you might find useful. Wait here.”

She disappeared behind the beaded curtain, returning a few minutes later with a folded, wooden easel that she dragged across the floor and propped up against the desk next to me.
 

“This was your mother’s. After she…well, after, when your father decided to rent out the cabin, he didn’t want anything that was left, so everything was packed up. You’ve already seen what was in the trunk. The easel was too big to fit, but it didn’t seem right to get rid of it. I’ve had it in the storage room ever since. I think you should have it.”

“It’s beautiful.” I touched the easel and let my fingers travel down the smooth wood. I was already visualizing where I’d set it up. “Why didn’t she have it with her?” I asked. “Why did she leave all her art supplies here instead of taking them home?”

Sheena bent her head and reached for the pouch around her neck. After a moment, she said, “Your mother had a hard time in the city. It was lifeless, dead. There was no inspiration there. She would come back for visits, though. By herself. She’d try then to paint, but it wasn’t the same. It was never the same after the move.” Sheena tucked the pouch back into her blouse. “But that was a long time ago. And now, I think you should have it. It belongs to you.”

“Thank you.” My voice sounded far away to my own ears. I stared at it, trying to picture the woman who once stood before it. Was I like her? Was there something wrong with me, too? A reason I couldn’t paint for so long?