When she wants to know if there’s any salsa in the takeout bag—as if a kick-ass assistant like me would neglect to bring salsa—just like that, we fall back into comfortable conversation, talking about the list of things that need to be done in the next forty-eight hours. The more we discuss, the more excited I get. I can’t wait to show her what I’m made of. I’ve never shied away from hard work.
At ten o’clock my summer class starts. “Hi everyone, I’m Kendall, and I’ll be overseeing your class today. How was your weekend?”
“Good,” they return.
“I can see you’re just about done with your paintings and have put a lot of hard work into them.” I walk between the four teenagers sitting on stools in front of easels. The theme for the exhibit is “The Power of Us,” and on each canvas is the artist’s unique rendition.
“Would you please introduce yourselves?” I ask.
“I’m April.”
“Javier.”
“Brooklyn.”
The fourth student, a boy whose light brown hair is bisected with a scar several inches long, doesn’t say anything.
“His name is Will and he doesn’t talk,” April tells me.
“That’s okay,” I say, a sharp pang stabbing my heart. Not pity, but concern. For the first few days after the accident, I barely spoke a word. It was easier for me to keep things bottled up inside. “Can you hear me, Will?”
He nods.
I ache to know all of the stories in this room, and maybe with time I’ll get to hear them. April, Javier, Brooklyn, and Will look to be around sixteen or seventeen, close to the age I was when I crashed Mason’s car. I’m not sure I believe in fate, but if my aunt hadn’t asked me to house-sit for the summer, I wouldn’t be standing in this room right now, trying to hear these kids and trying to help them.
“It’s nice to meet all of you,” I say. “Your artwork is beautiful.” It truly is, but I stall in front of Will’s piece, awe overcoming me. He’s chosen to use charcoals instead of watercolors like the others, and the depth and detail are amazing. The drawing depicting three young girls playing with a large black-and-white dog is so lifelike it’s as if I could reach out and touch them.
Are they girls he knows? Sisters? Friends? Will’s focus is fixed firmly on his picture, his shoulders hunched in concentration. Whether from his memory or imagination, it’s remarkable and tugs at something in me. My eyes see the girls as Dixie, Amber, and me, bonded in a way we never were at that age, but maybe are heading toward now. Seeing it leaves me a little sad about our past but hopeful about our future. I have no idea how much Candace is charging for these works of art, but I want to buy this one.
“Where’s Josie?” Brooklyn asks.
“She has the stomach flu.” I resume walking around the easels, impressed by each picture. The talent varies, but that’s not what this is about. It’s about the artists pouring out their feelings, and that mission is accomplished—in the colors, shapes, shades, and clarity.
April stops painting. “Will she be okay for the exhibit?”
“I’m sure she’ll try her best to be here,” I say, moved by the concern. This group may be here because they need emotional support, but that hasn’t stopped them from caring about someone else.
I could easily pull up an easel and join them.
…
The house is dark when I get home. I flip on the lights and try not to trip on Snowflake, who is underfoot and barky about being left alone in her big, comfortable house with her millions of dog toys. I scoop her up and fuss over her as I make my way to the kitchen for something to quickly curb my major hunger pains. Luckily, the kitchen just happens to be Snow’s favorite room in the entire world, so she settles in my arms and switches from annoyed bark to excited bark. “Are you hungry, girl? Me, too. And unlike one of us, who has three live-in servants to see to her meals, I’m running on half a breakfast burrito, which is way under my normal calorie intake.” Not that I thought much about food today. I was having too much fun substitute teaching and helping to prep for the art show.
Still holding Snow, I open the cupboard where Sally keeps the dog treats, dig out one shaped like a fish, and let Snow inspect it. She approves by biting off the tail. Great. I put her down with her feast and scan the room. The plate of chocolate chip cookies is right where I left it on the kitchen counter. I peel back the clear plastic wrap and take one of the remaining two, only to hear a greedy whimper at my feet. I shake my head at Snow. “No. This is my treat. That’s yours,” I say, and use my foot to point at her biscuit. Then I bite into the cookie. Snow grumbles and then turns tail, takes her biscuit, and runs off.
As I eat both cookies, my thoughts stray to Vaughn and the smile on his face when he devoured the ones I brought him. I’ve probably smiled a dozen times today thinking about his killer green eyes and the words that come out of his sexy mouth.
Licking crumbs off my fingers, I notice a lined piece of paper with writing scrawled across it. I reach over. Snow has been walked and received her “good walk” treat. Don’t let her con you into giving her another.
Oops.
Dixie and I are at the ArcLight for a movie. Text if you’re home before seven and want to join. A & D
I glance at the digital clock above the stovetop. It’s seven fifteen.
I’m not too disappointed but wish I’d known sooner so I could have tried to meet them at the theater. Looks like it’s a turkey sandwich then bed for me. Just as well, since tomorrow will be another insanely busy workday. My lips twitch in anticipation.
I startle when there’s a knock on the kitchen door. It’s Vaughn. And oh my God, is that a pizza box in his hands?