Designing Morgan

by Lucey Phillips

  He walked over to me, put an arm around my shoulder, and leaned his cheek on my head briefly.

  The room filled up and I greeted each woman with a smile and a trembling handshake. Finally I looked at Isabelle. She gave me a warm smile and a nod. It was time to begin.

  I walked to the front of the room. “Ok, well, I guess we can get started,” I said, wondering if the women heard the nervousness in my voice. I knew I was mumbling so I tried to project a little. “My name is Morgan. I’m a jewelry designer and an artist. But today, you’re going to be the artists.”

  The women quickly fell silent and watched me with interest. I pulled out a notepad where I’d written the step-by-step instructions for silk scarf painting. Even though it was a simple process, my mind goes blank sometimes when I’m nervous.

  And at first, I really did need the cheat sheet. But after just a few minutes, I realized the women weren’t really thinking about me or even watching me. They were focused on their paintings. I could see the magic of creativity slowly taking over all of us.

  I gave some simple instructions, encouraging the women to focus more on colors and abstract shapes. Paint spreads and blurs on silk, so creating a precise representation of, say, a bird or a flower, would be difficult using these techniques. The expectation should be to simply make an interesting blend of colors and shapes, I explained.

  While I walked around, helping the women and answering their questions, Lee circulated around the room, making sure everyone had enough paint and clean jars of water for rinsing their brushes.

  “I think I messed up,” one woman told me with an embarrassed laugh. “It looks like a murder scene over here.”

  Her scarf had bright red streaks over the white silk. I had to admit, it did look a little bloody.

  “Well,” I said as I examined the scarf. “How do you feel about purple or pink?”

  “I like both,” she said.

  “Ok,” I said smiling. “Just get that larger brush, dip it in the clean water, and do some broad sweeping strokes across the red areas that you want to change.”

  She followed my instructions and the deep red color turned lighter, and then began looking pink as it spread across the silk. I resisted the urge to pick up a brush and help. This needed to be her project.

  “Ok, now wet your brush again and the put a generous bit of blue paint on it. Now paint some blue, maybe here… and here, if you like,” I said as I pointed to the edges of the water marks.

  A broad smile came across the woman’s face as the water picked up the blue and spread it slowly onto the field of pink, creating shades of purple.

  “It looks like a sunset,” she said.

  “Yeah, that’s cool,” I said. “If you want to add some yellows or oranges you could, just paint it on these parts, where the silk is still dry, so it doesn’t all smear together and turn brown.”

  The woman nodded and went back to her paints without looking at me. She was still smiling.

  “Maycey would have loved this,” said one of the women. I recognized her as one of my customers who came in with Isabelle at Hilltop.

  The woman beside her nodded. “She was so talented,” she said. “Every crafty thing she did was really a piece of art.”

  Many different types of conversations drifted in and out of the group as the women worked. They shared funny stories, talked about recipes, and sometimes discussed what it was like fighting cancer—how challenging it was to find the energy for their kids’ activities and how strange it felt to need help from family and neighbors.

  We ate lunch while the scarves dried. Isabelle sat down with her plate, across the table from me and Lee.

  “This is perfect,” she told me. “I forgot how life-affirming artwork can be.”

  I smiled. “I’m really impressed with what everyone has come up with.”

  One scarf looked like a rainbow. Another was different shades of blue with remaining ribbons of white. One had a row of pink swirls loosely resembling the breast cancer awareness ribbon.

  After lunch, we gathered at the front of the room, holding up the scarves, and Lee took a group photo. Then I was the recipient of more sincere hugs and thank yous then I’ve ever had in my life.

  Isabelle took both of my hands in hers and looked me in the eyes. “I hope you can come back soon,” she said.

  “I will.”

  Lee and I packed up the Jeep and headed back.

  He drove while I sat in the passenger seat, looking out the window, admiring the snow-covered hills and valleys. After hours of meeting new people and having their attention directed toward me, I loved the quiet car ride.

  Even though the afternoon was a little exhausting, I’d meant what I’d told Isabelle. I did want to come back. And I had some ideas about using art to help other women.

  “Remember the Copperheads game?” I asked Lee. “How that woman was getting beaten up by her boyfriend but she wouldn’t let us help her?”

  “I’m sure I’ll remember that for the rest of my life,” Lee said.

  “Well, there are support groups for that, too? Right? Like domestic violence support groups?”

  “Yeah I’m sure there are. And there’re shelters too.” Lee said. “Why?”

  “Maybe they would like to do a scarf party, too?” I said, keeping my eyes steady on the snowy road. “I mean, they don’t need to keep their heads warm like the folks from the cancer support group, but being creative, and making something as a group, it could be like, a healing thing for them, you know? Or maybe they’d like to make jewelry?”

  “Yeah. And it will probably be good for self-esteem too. You know, making something, being expressive,” Lee said, nodding thoughtfully.

  “I mean, my work week is really only like twenty hours,” I said with a shrug. “I might make these little workshops a regular thing, you know?”

  “You seemed really happy today,” Lee said. “Especially when you were going around the room and helping everyone with their projects. You were just, I don’t know, relaxed, but focused.”

  He reached across and smoothed my hair, then gently rested his hand on my knee. I nodded, understanding what he meant—that maybe this was what I’d been looking for.

  Also by Lucey Phillips

  Ashley’s life is traumatic, even outside the hospital…

  Ashley Winters is a recent college graduate, a genuinely nice person, and a brand-new ER nurse on the night shift. When she got her first real job, she thought it would be the start of an exciting and freeing transition to independent adulthood. She never expected a bully nurse would be out to get her and that another colleague would rope her into a drug-stealing scheme!

  Life outside of work isn’t much better. A combination of unlucky choices and bad judgment puts her into more than a few uncomfortable situations with men. After a series of rough days and rougher nights, Ashley realizes that trauma patients aren’t her only challenge. She’ll need to find the confidence to stand up for herself and live the life she knows she deserves.

  Dreams of a Day Sleeper is a women’s fiction novel about a nurse coming of age in the real world. If you like chick lit with substance, characters who tackle personal and professional problems, and gripping page-turners, then you’ll love Lucey Phillips’ dazzling debut novel.

  Buy Dreams of a Day Sleeper to go on a journey with Ashley Winters today!

  Author’s Note

  Thanks to Ellen Campbell for editing this work.

  Thank you to my family, especially my husband Chris. Without his support, encouragement, and advice, this book would not have been possible.

  Thank you to anyone who read this book. If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to leave a review.

  For more information about Lucey Phillips and other works by this author, please visit www.luceyphillips.com

 

 

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