I didn’t know how Jameson fit into any of it.
Jameson. The thought of leaving him made me slightly ill. I wouldn’t be able to swing by his shop to see how his piece was coming. Meet him for sandwiches and take them down to the lake. Go out scrap hunting or help him pull apart that old car he’d found.
I could still keep in touch, and I certainly would. I wasn’t going to let our friendship fade away like I had when we were younger. But I hated the idea of not being able to see him all the time.
I brought up his number and sent him a text.
Me: I have to go back to L.A. Flight leaves in the morning. I’m going to Washington tonight and getting a hotel.
There was a long pause before he replied.
Jameson: Sorry to hear that. Will you be gone long?
Me: Not sure. Depends on a lot of things.
Another long pause.
Jameson: Do you need a ride?
Me: Thanks, but I have to return this rental car anyway.
Jameson: OK, just thought I’d offer.
I chewed on my lower lip, wondering what else I should say.
Me: I’ll text you when I get there.
Jameson: Please do.
Me: Thanks for everything. I had fun.
Jameson: Me too. We’ll talk soon.
Me: OK
There were a million other things I wanted to say, but I didn’t. I put my phone down and got out of the car to go tell my dad the news. I needed to find a hotel room. Go back to the cabin and pack. Let Scarlett know I was leaving. And I had a long day of travel tomorrow.
18
JAMESON
A nd just like that, she was gone.
The morning after Leah Mae told me she was leaving, I woke up early to a summer rain storm. It was fitting. The sky was covered with gray clouds and water pattered against the roof. Ran in rivulets down the windows. The weather matched my mood.
Jonah dragged me through a workout before breakfast. I was quiet, and he didn’t ask questions. Jonah was good like that. Seemed to be able to tell when I didn’t feel like talking. That done, I went out to my workshop. I figured I’d get a good start on the work I wanted to do on my piece today.
I’d barely gotten started when my phone rang. It was Deanna.
“Hey, Dee,” I said.
“Good morning,” she said. “How’s the piece coming?”
I walked a slow circle around my sculpture, glad she couldn’t see me wince. Parts of it were coming along fine, but there was something missing, and I was struggling to figure out what.
“It’s lookin’ good.”
“Will you send me some pictures?” she asked.
“Nope.”
She groaned. “Jameson, it’s not that I don’t believe you that you’re making good progress, but…”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I make a living dealing with artists,” she said. “I’ve been doing this for twenty years, and I’ve learned the hard way not to take the artist’s word for it when it comes to meeting deadlines.”
“All right, I’ll send a picture.” I held out the phone and tapped the screen to open the camera. Found an angle that made it look more finished, took a quick picture, and texted it to Dee. “Get that?”
“Hang on.”
I was hit by a sudden rush of nerves. I hated showing my pieces to people before they were finished. In some ways, I hated showing my work at all. Not that I wanted to hide it away and keep it to myself. But showing what I’d created always left me feeling so intensely vulnerable. I was never sure how to cope with the rawness.
“Wow, this is different from what I was expecting,” she said. “But it’s beautiful.”
I rubbed the back of my neck and shifted on my feet. “Yeah, I reckon it’s coming along.”
“Whatever you have going on out there that inspired this, keep it up,” she said. “This is unlike anything you’ve done before, but Jameson, it’s going to be incredible. I can see it already.”
“Thanks, Dee. Appreciate that.”
“Okay, I’ll let you get back to work,” she said. “And don’t forget about the unveiling in Charlotte.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Don’t sound so excited,” she said with a laugh. “And get back to work.”