Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks 1)
I set her down when she squirms and she runs back over to the presents.
“You’re such a spoil sport,” Nate says, shaking his head.
I shrug. “Nah, you’re just a sore loser.”
He humphs and walks back over to the table to join everyone else, leaving Harmony and me standing in the middle of the grass.
“Hey,” I say tentatively, stepping closer to her. “I feel like I haven’t see you at all today.”
“You’ve been hosting, it’s fine. Your mom and the kids have kept me plenty busy. It’s… I guess it’ll take time getting used to her being so…”
“Nice?” I chuckle, watching her carefully.
“I guess that’s another word you could use.” She shuffles on the spot. “Anyway, I can see Izzie dancing around her presents so you better go over there before she explodes.”
I look over at the table of presents, seeing Izzie doing just that. “Yeah.” I grin and walk over there. “Let’s get these presents opened!” I rub my hands together.
“Finally!” she exclaims.
Everyone laughs before she dives in and opens two presents in quick succession. She looks over each one and places them in a new pile before coming to her main present from me.
“This one says… ‘To Izzie, Happy Birfday, love, Daddy.’” She rips the pink paper off the top and jumps up and down as soon as she sees the handlebars with colorful tassels on the end complete with a stuffed unicorn sitting in the little carry case behind the seat.
“Can I have a ride?” She looks up at me, her eyes sparkling at having her very first bike.
“Let’s finish opening the rest first, okay?”
She pouts for all of two seconds before her eyes flit behind me. “Miss J! Why are you standing all the way over there?”
My head swirls around to meet Harmony’s confused gaze. “I… I’m watching you open your presents, sweetie.”
Izzie stands up and walks over to the table, taking hold of her hand and dragging her over, placing her next to me. “You can stand here.”
Her statement is so final that Harmony chuckles and flicks her gaze over everyone. “Okay, whatever you want, birthday girl.”
Izzie smiles and points to the giant, pink wrapped square Harmony had me bring in from the car and her eyes widen. “I want to open that one.”
Harmony chuckles and walks toward the table, picking it up and placing it in front of Izzie.
“This one’s from me,” she says, kneeling down beside her, an apprehensive look on her face.
Izzie bounces up and down as she rips the paper off what we can all see is a canvas, but she’s standing in such a way that I’m the only one who can’t see what is on it.
I hear my mom gasp as Izzie stares at the painting with a confused expression on her face, but it changes to wonderment and she wraps her arms around Harmony’s shoulders before pulling away and stroking her fingers over the surface of the canvas. “Look, Daddy, it’s me and Mommy.”
Everyone is deathly silent as my breath catches in my throat, standing as still as a statue as I take in what she said. “W-what?” I can’t look at Harmony, afraid that I may say something that I’d later regret.
Izzie turns the canvas around to face me and I stumble back. It’s a painting of Natalia and what Izzie looks like now. Natalia is crouching behind Izzie, her arms wrapped around her as they both smile as they look at each other.
Seeing something look so real has my heart thumping in my chest and my vision blurring.
“I…” Hearing Harmony’s voice has my head snapping toward her. “I thought Izzie would want something…”
I spot Clay out of the corner of my eye as he steps toward Izzie, and I watch as they both stare in awe at the realistic painting. I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to gather myself but it’s no use, because as soon as I open them back up, Clayton and Izzie are sitting off to the side, both watching the painting like it’s one of their favorite movies.
My eyes meet Harmony’s, but nothing is registering properly because I’m spiraling. I watch her for several seconds, trying to decipher what to say or do, but my temper gets the better of me as I take two steps toward her.
“That wasn’t your place,” I thunder, my voice low as I point at the canvas.