Summer's Road (4 page)

I looked down when a small hand patted my leg. I bent to Emily’s height—a girl from Rock Hill County—who was crying. Most of the kids weren’t from Wylie, they came from other towns. When news of my class spread, they’d come from everywhere. Emily’s mother, Barb, had her hand resting on her daughter’s shoulder, attempting to console the girl.

“Emily, what’s the matter?” I kept my voice quiet.

Her bottom lip quivered. “I left my brushes and paint at home. It was on accident.”

I smiled gently and pushed her soft brown hair from her face, grateful she still had her hair. “Well, that’s quite all right. See, I always have extras.” I handed Emily some supplies, delighted the light returned to her eyes.

“That’s what I told her but, you know her. Worries over everything.”

I nodded at Emily’s mother, biting my tongue. The girl had faced death before her third birthday. She had a right to an anxiety disorder.

My art therapy program consisted of children with a cancer diagnosis, mostly terminally ill or in recovery. Occasionally, other children with life threatening illnesses enrolled. Two years ago, I had a pair of siblings who were HIV positive and, last year, a child with cerebral palsy. Emily had a bone marrow transplant three years before.

Though I loved this class, there wasn’t a need to expand it more often on the curriculum. I also taught Advanced Painting at the high school three days a week and was back here for Intro to Art at the elementary level twice a week during the regular school year. The board couldn’t cut my Saturday afternoon class with the developmentally disabled children due to new legislation, though they did balk about kids from other counties being enrolled. I was still fighting them to separate the autistic kids from the ones with Down syndrome to have two separate lessons. I only taught that class during the school year.

One step at a time
.

“Is everyone ready?” I asked. They all yelled
yes
excitedly. “Well, today we’re going to paint our favorite thing to eat in summer.” I clasped my hands in front of me. “It can be anything you want, but you have to use your color chart to mix mediums. No primaries today.” 

All the kids eagerly started their pictures. I rarely did a strict curriculum with this class and I pretty much let them have free reign. Most of the families didn’t have a place to engage in activities with these children and came from counties quite a distance away, so the parents usually stayed throughout the class.

Rarely did I have a child absent, so when the kids were engaged with their painting, I quietly walked up to Samantha’s mom, who lived in the same county, and asked about Jon Melbourne.

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” She put her hand on her chest. “They found another lump in the follow-up x-ray and he’s back at the hospital.”

My heart and hope dropped, just like that. Nausea swirled in my stomach.

“I thought they called you.”

God. No.
No, no, no
. “Thanks for letting me know.” I pressed a hand over my stomach, willing it to calm. I tried to put Jon out of my mind and half-heartedly smiled. I would ask Ian to go with me to visit Jon later.

I walked around the room, smoothing out the worry and panic from my face, not wanting to show the kids something was wrong. They all had enough problems. But, dear God, no child should have to endure this. My soul shattered a little every time the bad news erupted. It was beginning to outweigh the good.

Leaning over Samantha’s station, I found what resembled ice cream in crazy hues of orange and purple on her canvas. “Wow, that’s a great use of color, Sam. I love your ice cream cone.” The eight-year-old beamed excitedly and seemed pleased I knew what it was. I wrapped my arms around her, planting a kiss on her soft cheek. Samantha giggled and continued her painting.

I watched the tiny faces around the room. Most of these kids grew up too fast, or they never would at all. So many times I tried to forget that when I was here, focusing instead on the small hands, intently brushing colors, the eyes, wild with imagination. The yearly benefit, I hoped, brought us closer and closer to a cure for childhood cancer. To me, it wasn’t just about keeping the art program running.

By the end of class, there was paint everywhere. My heart lifted. “Okay, that’s it for today. You all did so well. Let’s form our circle.” Nineteen tiny hands clasped tightly together with bowed heads. I recited our ritualistic prayer. “We ask that you watch over and protect us, Lord, so that each and every one of us may return next week. We ask for good health and strength. We ask that our loved ones feel your presence through difficult times. Amen.”

I wondered if these prayers were even heard. Matt was much more sure in his faith than I was.

“Have a great week and remember to mark your calendars that second Saturday in August, because that’s when we have our art benefit. Also, parents, remember I’m gone this Saturday, after the Fourth of July.” That was me and my friends’ annual Seasmoke trip to the coast.

The children all ran up and gave me a hug, as they did at the end of every class, and began to shuffle out. My heart tugged behind my ribs, warmness flooding me to eke out the loneliness and hurt. I loved this class so damn much. Children never ceased to amaze me—the resilience of their nature, wrapped in hopes and dreams. If I memorized their faces, just in case, well…no one had to know my secret.

For a moment, I wished I could go back to the time of swinging from trees and collecting frogs. Things were so much simpler when I only had to worry what time to be home for dinner.

One could be worse things than a swinger of branches
. Robert Frost had that right.

After I locked up the school, Rick was leaning against my car with his arms folded and his ankles crossed. I’d already stopped by their house this morning. It wasn’t unusual for him to pop into my class to see the kids, and they loved it when he did, so why hadn’t he?

“Miss me already?” I grinned.

He straightened so I could open the trunk. “I just wanted to see if you were okay.” There was an easy humor in his smile, but his eyes were all concern.

I dropped my bag in the trunk. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Rick watched me as if surveying for weakness, a habit he shared with Ian. “I didn’t realize what yesterday was until after you left this morning. I should have come over.”

I crossed my arms, at first thinking about Sharon’s visit and how upset I’d been. But then I swallowed and nodded because Rick was referring to my father, not my mother. I’d been lucky enough to have gotten to say goodbye to him before he’d died. Most didn’t get that chance. My friends had rallied around me every one of the four years since he’d passed away.

“There was no need. I was fine.”

“Did Ian at least come by?”

I nodded. “He came over after his sex date with Susie. He didn’t mention Daddy, though. He probably forgot, too, which suits me fine.” Because it was easier to grieve and cry alone. Plus, sometimes Ian’s over-protectiveness only reminded me of my failures.

“Ian didn’t forget. He just won’t bring it up.”

That time after my father’s funeral seeped into my thoughts. I quieted them before Rick could notice my train of thought. How I wished I could go back and undo that whole week.

“Four years this year. Still hard to believe,” he said.

Yeah, but it may as well have been yesterday for how much it still hurt to have Daddy gone. And the way Rick was studying me, he knew it, too.

“I’m fine, Rivers. Honestly.” I used his nickname to pull a grin from him.

He stepped closer and ran his hands up and down my arms as if to warm me. “Still, I should’ve come by.” He hugged me, resting his chin on the top of my head. “I’m a shitty friend.”

“The worst. I don’t know why I put up with you.”

It still shocked me how much I needed these little reassurances from him. The connection I shared with Rick went beyond friendship to more of a family bond. He was the big brother, the protector. And without saying a word, he knew what I was thinking and feeling.

“Must be my great body. You can’t say no to me.”

“True.” I stepped back and tucked a piece of his blond hair behind his ear after it broke free of the band. One day he should cut it. “I love you, you know.”

His grin was lopsided. “Lucky for you, I love you, too.” He crossed him arms again. “So, what’s this about Matt coming in town tomorrow?”

Rolling my eyes with a smile, I turned to my car. “Dee and her big mouth.” But I said it with amusement. I opened the door. “He’s just paying his girlfriend a visit. I mean, I would miss me too if it had been a month since I last came over.”

Rick chuckled, the sound immersing me. “You’re probably right. He’s in withdrawal. They should make a drug for that.”

By the lines of tension on his forehead, he was gauging how nervous I was about the supposed “talk” Matt wanted to have, so I placed a palm to his cheek with the driver’s door between us. “I can handle Matt. For all I know, he wants to whisk me away to a foreign island and live in sin.” I very much doubted that, seeing as Matt was a devout Christian, but my humor seemed to reassure Rick.

“Well, be sure to say goodbye first if that’s the case.” He pulled his own keys out of his pocket. “I’ll see you later.”

I pulled up to the small art supply shop in the center of town ten minutes later and climbed out of the car. I dreaded these supply runs because the owner, Peter, used every opportunity to ask me out. He was an old classmate of mine, having inherited the store from his grandfather after college. Susie, Peter’s sister, was standing outside.

“Hey, I heard your date went well last night,” I said to the short, thin brunette, referring to one of her many nights with Ian. I ignored the swift tug of jealousy. Every so often, it pointlessly popped into my subconscious, no doubt because I selfishly wanted things to stay just as they were.

Susie was a woman who changed men as often as she did her panties. No one ever seemed to hold it against her. She was, after all, one of the nicest people around. I often wondered which lucky man would keep her interest someday.

I wished I could be more like Susie. Open to exploring possibilities. Let myself be comfortable and free with a man to accept all the pleasure he could give. Not think everything through a thousand times and hold back. If I did, maybe I’d finally find love. Happiness.

Matt and I hadn’t taken that step yet. In truth, I feared he was a crutch. If our relationship was going to the next level, I’d have to let my guard down. I wondered what would happen to his ‘no sex’ rule if that were the case. I’d only had two lovers before and, needless to say, my opinion of sex was in the overrated category. No one had given me that zing, that desire to shout to the heavens, and had my toes curling. Perhaps Matt would be different. Maybe I could let go with him, let my body feel and shut my mind off.

“I should have known you’d know everything about our
date
by now.” Susie grinned wickedly.

The way she said “date” had me wishing I did know.
No. Nope. Don’t go there.

Susie dug around in an enormous handbag, finally pulling out a lipstick tube. “I just can’t help myself with Ian, you know? That washboard stomach and chiseled chin. Mmm.” She licked her lips, waving around the soft, pink lipstick.

I attempted a laugh, the sound coming out more unusual than sincere. “I never saw him quite like that.”

Okay, that was a lie. If I were being completely honest, I had wondered every now and then. He was a gorgeous guy and I was a woman, after all. But then I’d remind myself he was my best friend and going that route would be disastrous. And I don’t mean wearing white after Labor Day kind of bad. I mean a Kardashian as president disastrous.

“Oh, come on, girl. All those years and he never knocked on
your
door
that
way?”

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed until I cried. I envisioned Ian literally knocking on my bedroom door and…

Nope. Ian had never so much as looked at me with a flicker of hunger, nor did I ever want him to. There was too much at stake. I was pretty sure he didn’t even know I had breasts. Oh yes, the town often speculated about what Ian and I did at night. Our houses were on a two mile long private drive, tucked away by the creek. I never took it seriously. Rumors and gossip.

I gripped my side. “Nah. He’s all yours.” Along with a scattering of other females but, eh, semantics.

“Well, your loss, sweetie. His ass alone is worth the ride!” She winked. “Catch ya later.”

I was still grinning when I entered the hobby shop. The storeroom in back was significantly larger than the actual floor room and had everything a hobby-goer would ever need from models to brushes. I remembered coming here as a child, fire in my eyes, wild with the thought of creating a masterpiece. Peter’s grandfather used to dollop a spot of pink paint at the end of my nose before I’d left the store. His wrinkled, calloused hands always smelled like spearmint gum.

Peter was putting away something on a shelf near the back, so I meandered over to the acrylic paint tubes and brushes I needed. The place smelled the same, like old wood and paint thinner. I secretly loved the fact that some things never changed. By the time I got to the counter with my supplies, I figured Peter had already worked out a new plan to ask me out.