by Melissa Tagg
Bear.
Bear, who wasn’t coming back this time. He hadn’t said it in so many words, in any of his sparse texts or short calls in the week since he’d left. But she heard it all the same.
“What did you say, Rae?” Kate asked the question from where she and Colton shared a piano bench at the far end of the table.
A reminder that everyone was staring at her, waiting.
Raegan took a breath, twisting her napkin in clammy hands. Why had she thought this was a good idea? “I said . . . I’m in therapy. I get panic attacks. Have for a long time. But now . . . I’m getting help.” There, she’d said it. She picked up one of Dad’s mini-quiches and stuffed it in her mouth.
The pattering of a light shower drifted in from the dining room’s open patio doors, along with a gentle breeze and the earthy smell of rain. Fitting, the weather this day—Mom’s birthday. She would’ve been sixty. Oh, how Mom had loved rainy days. She’d said they were perfect for curling up in front of the fireplace with a book or an old movie.
Maybe Raegan shouldn’t have chosen this morning to open up to everyone all at once. Not when they’d intended to spend the time remembering their only missing family member.
Then again, maybe Mom was looking down right now and savoring this moment and the honesty that came with it.
“I go to counseling.” Kate’s husband looked at Raegan as he spoke. “Went once every two weeks like clockwork for almost a year. I go once a month now.”
Everyone around the table knew Colton’s story by now, the traumatic experience he’d had as a child, the blocked memories, the flashbacks.
Colton reached for the platter of Kate’s French toast and helped himself to another slice. “It’s been one of the best decisions I ever made.”
A grateful warmth trekked through Raegan, even as discomfort held its grip. “I think it may end up being one of my best decisions, too.”
Her gaze traveled the table, awaiting the responses she knew would come. Maybe not now—but eventually. Beckett would want to know what caused the panic attacks, all the facts, and would rack his brain for any instance of having personally contributed to them. Kate would hug her and cry and insist they sit on Raegan’s bed and talk for hours. Quiet, gentle Logan would simply ask her if she was okay.
Dad met her eyes, a world of tenderness in his expression. “I’m glad we know now.”
“Does Bear know?” Uncertainty tinged Seth’s question.
“I’m going to guess he knew before most of us,” Beckett answered without nearly as much tease in his voice as Raegan might have expected. Maybe none at all.
“Actually, Bear’s probably the only reason anybody knows. He saw me have a panic attack and then proceeded to pester me until I agreed to talk to someone.”
Seth grinned. “Sounds like Bear. Doesn’t like anyone poking into his business but he’ll heckle you about yours with ceaseless determination. Always with good intentions, of course.”
Laughter coasted into awkward silence.
“You can talk about him, you know. I won’t fall to pieces.” There’d been too many tears already. First in her bedroom the night of the shooting. Then again in Sara’s sunroom during this week’s appointment.
When she’d apologized, when she’d tried to wave it off, Sara’s light scold had interrupted. “You don’t have to pretend here, Raegan. If you’re hurt, feel it. If you’re angry, feel it. If you’re miserable, feel it.”
“If I’m all those things and more?”
“Then I’m really glad my freezer’s stocked with ice cream.” Sara had waited until Raegan pushed out a lone laugh. “Listen, I’m not encouraging you to wallow. That’s not what this is. I’m encouraging you to be honest—not just with me or even yourself, but with God, too. He can handle it. Read the Psalms sometime. David was not one to hold back.”
“And then what? After I get honest, I mean.”
“Then you let God start weaving the frayed pieces of your heart back together in His way in His time. And you keep doing this—you keep talking.” Sara had stood. “Also, I wasn’t kidding about that ice cream.”
Even if Bear never walked back into her life again, she’d never stop being grateful for his suggestion that she talk to Sara. Yes, she should’ve been candid with Dad and everyone else years ago. But even in her stubbornness, God had found a way to nudge her where she needed to be.
“Speaking of Bear,” Dad piped in, “I had this thought of how we might spend part of today. That is, assuming the rain lets up.”
“By the amount of food on the table, I figured the whole day would be spent eating.” Logan grinned as he loaded Charlie’s plate with a second pancake. “And recovering from a collective sugar coma.”
“Which makes what I’m about to propose all the more fitting. A little physical activity will do us good after this feast.” Dad glanced at Raegan. “I was talking to Sara Jaminski the other day—”
Raegan choked on her coffee. “What?”
“Don’t look so surprised.”
“Did you apologize?”
Kate’s fork clinked on her plate. “Apologize for what?”
“For kicking her out of the house, of course.” Beckett turned to Raegan. “Wait, so you know why he did that? And you haven’t told us?”
“Uh, didn’t previous conversation convey that I’m pretty good at keeping quiet about things?”
Logan just looked confused. “Dad kicked somebody out of the house?” He eyed his wife. “I think we might need to move back. We’re missing too much.”
Dad rapped on the table with his empty coffee mug. “People. Focus. You are all way too caffeinated.”
Seth snorted. “You made the crazy-strong coffee.”
Dad ignored the jibe. “Sara said that Bear called earlier this week to apologize for abandoning the work he was doing on her cabins. Apparently he feels horrible about it.”
He would. Raegan returned to twisting her napkin. Bear felt horrible about too many things. If there was an opportunity to feel guilty about something, he took it. Did he even know how to operate without carrying the world on his shoulders?
“Anyway, I thought maybe we could head over to the ranch. If we all worked together for a few hours, we could make some nice progress. Bear already did the hard stuff. He replaced the floors and patched the roofs. I think it’s mainly staining wood and cleaning at this point. Putting together new bunks. That kind of thing.”
Wow, Dad really had talked to Sara.
“Although I understand if you need to work on the mural instead, Rae.”
She shook her head. “I’ve had this date cleared on the calendar for weeks. No painting for me today.” Mom would’ve liked this—the whole family working together to help someone else.
Besides, it was the one thing she could do for Bear. Even if he didn’t know it.
“I’m in.”
Moonlight angled in the window of Bear’s apartment, dancing dust motes and shadows bumping into the stillness.
After a long day of working at the ranch and then dessert at Seth’s restaurant, the rest of the family had dispersed—and Raegan had snuck away to work on the mural. A borrowed portable floodlight had allowed her to keep going after sundown, but when the wind picked up and shook the scaffolding, she’d finally decided to call it a night. Even if a slightly panicked piece of her had tried to insist she go on.
Less than a month now until the festival. After so many setbacks, her hopes of completing the project on time were dwindling. Would she be painting up until the day of? Like Kate with one of her writing deadlines?
The smell of oils mingled with the turpentine she’d used to clean her brushes. She’d only meant to stop by the apartment long enough to stash her mural supplies, but then she’d caught sight of the painting waiting at her easel, the one she’d started the night she’d run away from Bear in the storm. The night she and Sara had sat in this apartment and Raegan had poured out her heart through a river of tears.
So many tears. This morning at breakfast she’d had the thought that there’d been too many tears in recent weeks. But at least some of them had been healing tears.
Anyway, she’d found only the tiniest snatches of time to work on the painting since that night. But the second she’d spotted it tonight, a creativity that hadn’t tired despite the late hour urged her to pick up her brushes once more.
Now, nearly four hours later, she stood in front of her easel, hands on her hips, a smile teasing her lips. This was good. It was really, really good.
The canvas presented a field of prairie grass and wildflowers, not all that different from the land that stretched behind J.J.’s Stables, rolling in brushes of gold. And in the middle of the picture stood a young girl in a fuchsia sundress, one arm lifted, the other holding a straw hat in place over flowing hair.
Wasn’t just paint that splayed over the canvas. She’d used strips of fabric for the dress, real straw for the girl’s hat, using paint to hold and weave in the textures. It’d been an experiment in mixed-media art. And it’d worked.
It’d be the perfect gift for Elise after her surgery next week. If the surgery was successful, she’d be able to see the painting. But even if it wasn’t, the variety of textures would allow her to appreciate it in her own way.
“I thought you said no painting for you today.”
“Dad?” She spun. She hadn’t even heard the door. “It’s the middle of the night. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
“It’s only been a week since the shooting. Don’t expect I’ll be sleeping well for awhile. Not without all my kids safe under my roof.”
She lifted her paintbrush. “Kate’s not under your roof tonight.” And Logan wouldn’t be either after he headed home to Chicago tomorrow. One of these days Beckett would fly the coop, too.
And Raegan?
Not a clue. Mr. Hill still insisted that artist-genius friend of his could open amazing doors for her, but if she didn’t manage to the finish the mural, the man might be wasting a trip.
Dad’s attention had turned to her painting. “It’s beautiful, Rae.”
“It’s for Elise. I shouldn’t have stayed up so late working on it, though. It’ll be morning in a couple hours and I haven’t slept and the mural—”
“You’ll finish the mural.”
“You’re a lot surer than I am.” Should she warn Mayor Milt? Suggest he have some kind of backup plan if she didn’t complete it on time?
“It’s a father’s job to have confidence in his children. Or, even better, to have confidence that God will help his children.” He slipped his arm around Raegan. “It’s also a father’s job to be proud of his daughter. I couldn’t possibly be prouder of you, Raegan. And if your mother were here . . .”
Maybe Raegan was wrong. Maybe there couldn’t be too many tears. Maybe it was in the shades and swirls of emotion—the light and the dark, the joy and the grief—that lives entwined and hearts connected. No pretense. Just honesty.
And if honesty meant tears, she had plenty to offer.
“I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing her, Dad.”
“Me neither.”
She heard the hurt and the hope in his voice.
“But then, lucky for me, I’ve got a daughter who—though unique and very much her own person—looks exactly like her.”
Raegan dabbed her brush in light blue paint. “Except for the pink hair and eyebrow ring.”
And with a flourish, she leaned toward the painting and signed her name in the corner.
“Listen, Rae, about Bear—”
“He had to make a decision, Dad.” And she didn’t blame him. Missed him, loved him, couldn’t imagine that changing. But she didn’t blame him.
“I just want to make sure you remember . . .” Dad paused, squeezed her shoulder and glanced at the painting once more. “You have choices, too.”
19
“Look at Mayor Milt. It’s like he’s completely forgotten the only reason Maple Valley is even hosting this thing is because of another town’s disaster.”
Raegan burst into laughter at Beckett’s observation—an astute one, at that. Mayor Milt stood in the middle of the bustling town square, practically preening.
But he had good reason. The Annual Heritage Arts Festival couldn’t have possibly come together more perfectly on such short notice. Tables and booths lined the square, with a lavish summer sun and pristine cerulean sky as a backdrop.
A mellow breeze wisped over Raegan’s bare skin—the promise of a warm July day having coaxed her into yellow cotton shorts and a tank top. She’d packed a light sweater into the tote she carried over one shoulder just in case.
Beside her, Beckett tipped his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose. “Nervous?”
For the mural’s unveiling? Maybe a little, but not nearly as much as she’d thought she might be. It helped that the town had watched the progress of her work these past weeks, their encouragement and approval spurring her on.
And that she’d finally figured out what was missing from her design.
But somewhere in this crowd of people, Mr. Hill strode around with the esteemed Forrester Carlisle Young. For a while, in all the craziness of the shooting and the aftermath of Bear leaving—was it really nearly a month ago already?—she’d almost forgotten about the renowned artist/professor/critic’s plans to attend the festival.
Mr. Hill, though, had been eager to remind her. Again and again. Especially in more recent days. And it’d be a lie to say the thought of meeting Young didn’t, at the very least, bring a few butterflies to life in her stomach.
“Part nervous,” she answered Beckett. “Part starving.” She reached into her tote, fingers feeling for the familiar plastic bag. Ah, she had remembered to pack the Twizzlers.
Beckett chuckled. “I should’ve known.” He stopped in front of an abstract painting, splotches of color seeming to spill over the edges of the canvas. “Listen, Rae. It’s taken me too long to say this, but—”
She already knew where he was going. “You really don’t have to.”
“I do. That night when I gave you that article about Bear . . . I don’t think I really listened to what you were saying. Anything I’ve ever done to make you think I only see you as ‘the little sister,’ I’m really sorry for it.”
“Beck—”
“I’m serious. I don’t think you realize how many times in my life I’ve looked up to you.” He glanced down at her. “Figuratively, that is.”
“Well, you weren’t all wrong that night.” They started walking again. “Sara says we all tell ourselves stories—about who we are, about the people around us. And they aren’t always true. I think I too often told myself the story that I didn’t measure up to the rest of you. That I was the odd one out.”
“Pretty sure we’ve all told ourselves that particular story at one time or another. I know I have. Especially all those years when I refused to come home.”
Raegan finished off a piece of licorice. Home. Lately she’d begun to expand her definition of the word. Try it on for size in a different way, even if just in her imagination. And, oh, the pictures her mind had painted.
Beckett had asked if she was nervous. That—those pictures and ideas swimming around in her brain—those made her nervous. But perhaps nervous was a good thing. It meant you weren’t stagnant or stuck. It meant there just might be a leap of faith in front of you if only you were brave enough to take it.
“Hey, speaking of Sara, check it out.”
Raegan followed Beckett’s pointed finger. Well, now, would you look at that? Dad, ambling along the green, chatting as amicably as could be with one Sara Jaminski.
“Do we know how we feel about this?” Beckett asked.
“I know how I feel—entirely too overjoyed that now we can finally all get back at Dad for spending so much time prying into our love lives.”
“Love lives? You actually think . . . ?”
“I think I invited Sara over for dinner a few nights a
go and he didn’t kick her out when she showed up. Soooo . . .” She tucked the bag of Twizzlers back in her tote as they rounded the corner and the Blaine River came into view. Almost time for the unveiling. “And now, as long as we’re talking love lives, I have to ask: When are you going to hurry up and propose—”
“Tomorrow night. At the orchard. With lots of twinkle lights. But if you say a word to Kit or anyone else, I will break into your bedroom and steal every bag of licorice in the place.”
“Beck!” She squealed his name, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Shut up,” he hissed, his cheeks reddening. “She’s right over there.”
Over with the rest of Raegan’s family, all gathered on the blocked-off road in front of her tarp-covered mural. Charlie was running circles around Logan while Amelia laughed. Kate and Colt stood with Seth and Ava. Kit, of course. And Dad and Sara were just now approaching.
Before Raegan could start forward again, a pair of skinny arms wrapped around her waist from behind. For a split second, she imagined they were Erin’s arms or even Jamie’s. Let herself imagine that Bear had come back and—
No. She shook away the fleeting thought and turned instead to see Elise’s smiling face. Sunglasses covered her eyes—still sensitive to too much light after her surgery. Her successful surgery. No more finding her way in the dark.
Raegan held the girl to her. “Elise Linder, I thought you couldn’t come today!”
“I begged Mom and Dad to come home from vacation early. They wanted me to see Mount Rushmore, but I just wanted to see your mural.”
Tears pinched Raegan’s eyes as they moved toward the crowd once more, Elise chattering about attending Sara’s test run of the horse camp in a couple weeks. They joined the others as the crowd grew around them and Mayor Milt took his place on the platform up near the Hay & Feed Store. He’d wanted Raegan to do the honors—pull the rope to lower the tarp and display the mural. But she’d asked if someone else could do it.