Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks 1)

“Is everything okay? I didn’t want to do this now, but you seem off today.”

“I’m fine, Mom. Having last-minute jitters is all,” I reply.

Again, who am I fooling? Gerry’s constant comments from when we were together have been playing through my head like a movie reel: making me feel like I won’t succeed, making me feel like I’ll be a failure and won’t make an impact on these little people’s lives.

She narrows her eyes at me before perking up and pasting on a fake smile. “Alright then, they’ll be here any minute, go take a breather,” she replies, shooing me up the stairs into what I’ve turned into my personal studio.

I open the balcony doors to let in some fresh air, breathing in the sweet smell of the flowers that grow out here before turning around and bracing my hands on my knees.

I'm surprised when I read the address on the flyer. Places like this are never part of the community, and by community, I mean the “good” side of town. There's a clear divide with the tunnel. One side is lower class and the other, to put it bluntly, is the rich side.

The rich side is full of health stores, designer shops, and spas, so to have a place like this on the outskirts is unusual to say the least. It’s always about appearance with this side of town and this doesn’t fit in with the appearance the rich like to have.

I pull up to the building and my eyes widen as I stare in awe. You’d never know this was an art studio if you were to drive past. Its balcony is the first thing that catches my eye; I can envision leaning against it, watching the sunset with a glass of red wine in my hand.

“Look at all the pretty flowers, Daddy,” Izzie whispers, the awe in her voice evident.

My eyes follow the path of the flowers that wind around the balcony and down to the cobblestone path. There’s something magical about the place, I can feel it already and we haven’t even been inside yet. I also can’t deny the sense of calm that washes over me the longer I stare, and when I turn to face Izzie and Clay, I can see that they’re under the same spell as I am.

“Ready?” I ask them.

“Yeah!” Izzie shouts but Clay shrugs and pushes his door open, the book he had this morning still tucked safely under his arm.

I hold my hand out for Izzie when I’ve got her out of her seat and she places her small one inside mine, then together we walk up the path with Clay two steps behind us.

We walk through the open doors, my head turning as I gaze around the studio, marveling at the wooden beams that run across the ceiling with

copper lights hanging from them. It’s a stark contrast to the modern, cold feel of our home and I can’t deny the warmth that washes over me from standing in the place.

The few paintings that are on the wall bring a smile to my face and memories invade my mind at the sight of them. I'm drawn to them like a moth to a flame, not able to stop staring as I try to remember the names of all the different colors.

I start to take a step toward them when a woman walks around the corner, catching my attention. Her face is open and her eyes twinkle when she catches sight of us. “Our first students! Welcome!” she says, her arms open wide and a huge smile across her face. “Who do we have here?”

“I’m Izzie!”

“Hello there, Izzie.” She crouches down, holding her hand out to her. “That’s a really pretty name.”

“Thanks.” She smiles, shaking her hand in only the way a little girl can with a frown on her face before wandering over to the easels that are sitting in the corner.

When Clay doesn’t say anything, I rest my hand on his shoulder and smile at the woman. Her brown hair has a smattering of gray, but it’s her eyes that capture my attention. The dark blue hue of her eyes sparkle when the sunlight hits them.

“This is Clay, I’m their dad.” I hold my hand out to her but she hesitates, narrowing her eyes at me slightly. I tilt my head to the side, wondering why she’s looking at me like that. She shakes her head, pasting a smile on her face as she places hers in mine, shaking it and then stepping back.

“I’m Matilda but please call me Tilly,” she tells me.

I nod in reply and crouch down in front of Clay, giving him a reassuring smile. “Try it this once.”

“Okay.” He nods, the expression on his face still unsure.

I squeeze his shoulder gently before standing up and watching him walk over to Izzie. “He’s a little… erm…” I search for the right words but Matilda waves me away.

“Don't worry about it. We will get him to love art by the end of the session.” I smile awkwardly, the memories that I pushed deep down inside worming their way back up. I don't want to go back there, I don't want to think about what I did. “You can pick them up in an hour.”

“I leave them here?” I ask, shuffling my feet on the floor, not liking that I have to leave, this was supposed to be something for all of us.

“Yes,” she answers, placing her hand on my forearm in a reassuring gesture. “They’re safe here, but I’m afraid you can’t stay. We have a strict ‘no parents’ policy for the first six weeks until they get settled in.”

I frown at this information and look over at Izzie where she’s looking at all of the paintings, her voice echoing as she “oohs” and “aahs.” Her face is full of admiration and I know that even if Clay doesn’t like it, Izzie will.