The Art of Rivers

by Janet W. Ferguson

  “You should probably get checked out. I can go with you if you’re nervous.” Goodness. She really needed to keep a hospital bag packed here.

  “Oh, heavens, I’m not nervous for me. I just can’t leave poor Phoenix. He’s probably having an anxiety attack. If you could look after him, my mind will rest, and I suppose I can go with them now.”

  “Phoenix?” Please, not the bizarre, rodent-looking, pet. “The possum?”

  “You remembered.” Priscilla’s features relaxed.

  “Okay.” Rivers heard the word come out, though she hadn’t meant to say it.

  “There’s a key on the rack by the door. Give these nice men your number, and I’ll text you the instructions from the ambulance.”

  Once the ambulance drove away, Rivers ventured inside Priscilla’s house. Perspiration beaded on her forehead. This was not what she had in mind at all when she offered to help. It seemed life kept throwing her curve balls.

  Huddled in the corner of a large kennel, the animal’s beady eyes stared up at her above a long snout. Its nose was pink, and its ears were more rounded than she remembered from their first meeting.

  Sort of cute. Maybe. “Hello, Phoenix.”

  At its name, the animal pushed to its feet and took slow steps with strange fingerlike toes spread wide toward the kennel door.

  Why had she called it, anyway? She wasn’t getting the thing out until she heard from Priscilla.

  Her phone began a series of chimes. And a string of instructions.

  Phoenix has a litter box but likes to go outside. No leash needed. He wanders the house but will need to be in the kennel when no one is home. He is a little lazy and sleeps a lot. He loves to eat and can be fed cat food along with fruit. His favorite is strawberries.

  Rivers pocketed her phone and stared at her new charge. “Strawberries, huh? I hope Priscilla is stocked up because you’ll be out of luck at my place. And moving this crate seems like a lot of work. Maybe I’ll stay over here for a while.”

  Two hours later, the possum lay curled up and snoring beside Rivers on Priscilla’s couch. They’d been out in the yard so he could do his business. No wonder no leash was needed, the creature moved slower than a three-legged turtle. They finally made it across to the cottage where she thought to grab the journal before returning across the yards.

  She’d topped off the food bowl with cat food, but Phoenix seemed to give a sad pout, so she fed him a few strawberries she found in Priscilla’s refrigerator. His little mouth was pink when he finished smacking the fruit. Rivers ran her fingers across the animal’s fur. He was as soft as a kitten. Maybe the little fella was growing on her, but that long bald tail still freaked her out.

  Although dreading what she’d learn, she turned her attention back to the journal.

  October 1964

  I’m in a dark place, and I feel I may never return. Betty is here to care for the girls, or all would be lost.

  I can still smell the booze on Frank’s breath. I can still see his rabid expression. I see the blood dripping from his arm where he broke our window and forced his way into the cottage. With angry fists, he beat me and threw me off the porch. I hear the girls screaming and relive their vain attempts to stop their father from hurting me. In his rage, he punched Brooklyn and knocked her out. I thought he’d killed her. The police arrived as Pearl ran out, carrying a butcher knife, ready to avenge her sister.

  Like a nightmare in slow motion, I relive the carnage.

  They say the baby boy I carried is in a better place, yet I mourn for him. They say the girls will recover, but will they truly ever recover their innocent hearts?

  Breath catching in her lungs, Rivers brushed away a tear and petted Phoenix’s fur.

  No wonder Stella and Brooklyn had excised Cooper from their lives like a cancerous tumor. And Cooper’s mother had followed suit. Pearl’s bond to her twin was strong.

  Chapter 23

  “HAVE Y’ALL TALKED ABOUT the petition?” Shane Turner stood in the doorway of Re-Claimed men’s house. His calm expression seemed at odds with the statement he’d just made—the bomb that had been dropped on them yesterday after church.

  “Kevin and Gabriella are looking into it, but they feel sure they’ve followed the law.” Cooper drew a deep breath, trying to loosen the stranglehold of stress tightening his throat. Its grip seemed to be intensifying with each passing hour. Mondays, the gallery was closed, and he met with each client to see how they were progressing. He was only halfway through the list, so he really didn’t have the time or emotional stamina for this discussion.

  “But you know these two houses are on prime real estate. They could be sold and y’all could move into a really nice facility in Brunswick. There’d be plenty of extra cash left for helping even more of your people.”

  And Shane would be happy to broker that deal. Jordan’s step-uncle had been good to him, but that didn’t mean Shane wasn’t a bottom-line kind of guy. “The houses were donated by families who’d lost someone to addiction specifically to provide a place for people to live who are trying to start over.”

  “You can’t blame the neighbors for being scared they’ll be robbed.” His gaze became serious. “They worry their kids might get hurt.”

  His comment threatened to dredge up more guilt about Savannah, but this was too important to give in without a fight. “What they may not realize is that there are already addicts living in their neighborhoods, working at their businesses, attending their churches and schools, and sharing their roads. The people living here are sober, productive people in recovery, which is good for the community.”

  “Not everyone will understand or believe that. I heard you lost one just this weekend.”

  Why the sudden negativity? Cooper’s jaw tightened, and he kept any replies that came to mind to himself. A motto they often used here was KMS: Keep mouth shut.

  Shane took the hint. “I’m here if you need me to get you a good deal.”

  “I’ll tell Gabby and Kevin, but I have appointments.” Already, Blake waited just outside the door.

  “I’ll check back.” Shane took a step out but pivoted back once more. “You met Rivers?”

  “Yep.” He’d been waiting on this subject to come up.

  “I’ll handle the sale of the gallery for her and help you find a new place.”

  “Thanks for the offer.” Cooper tried to present an appreciative expression that matched his words. Shane had helped, giving him a chance and allowing Re-Claimed to run the gallery, and they’d worked hard to keep it maintained. Kevin had also taken maintenance crews by the cottage at Shane’s request for no charge. They’d cut the grass and performed various small repairs on the exterior, even painted it two years ago. The setup had been a win-win situation. Not that any of it mattered now since Rivers was going to get rid of both properties.

  Once Shane left, Blake stood in the vacated spot. “Hey. They said I have to talk to you.”

  “You don’t have to do anything, but if you want to work to get better, come in.”

  Blinking hard, Blake lumbered to the couch and sank onto it. Deep furrows carved into his forehead, and his complexion held a pasty tint, especially compared to the dark circles surrounding his eyes. The doctors had prescribed medication to help the guy wean off the heroin, but getting clean would still be excruciating.

  “I have the questionnaire you answered for us, and I think we can agree that your addiction is acute. You’ve taken a big step coming here, but given the severity, you might have a better recovery at an inpatient facility. I can find you a spot.”

  “Been there, done that, many times.” Blake lifted one hand like a stop sign. “Not going back to a lockdown.”

  “Okay, then, it’s good you’re willing to give Re-Claimed a try. It worked for me. I was a tough case, too, but with God’s help, I’m clean.” Cooper leaned forward in his seat, giving Blake his full attention. “Where do you want to start?”

  “Long story, but I can start at the beginni
ng, I guess. I’ll try to tell you without getting too deep in the weeds.” Blake’s eyes closed. “In school, back in New Orleans, I was good at baseball. Always had been, so that kept me in a popular group. But I never really felt comfortable talking to people. Felt awkward. I didn’t know how to connect, you know?” He opened his eyes to check for a response.

  Cooper nodded. “Man, I could write a book on it.”

  “The first time I took a drink, I felt free from all the uneasiness. I had so much confidence. And I just kept going. Anything and everything I could get my hands on, I tried it. But once I got a hold of some Oxy, that was my thing.”

  “Did you raid a medicine cabinet?”

  His head bobbed. “My parents’ was first, then my grandparents’, aunts’, cousins’, and anyone else’s I could. Somehow, I got into college to play ball, but I still used. I sold to be able to keep myself supplied. There was a girl I met not long after Hurricane Katrina hit down there. Because the girl was special, I tried to quit, but it didn’t work. I ended up getting arrested for distribution the very day that she told me she was pregnant. The cops had been watching me.”

  “What happened with the girl? The baby?”

  “Never talked to her again. My family wouldn’t bond me out, but finally a friend did. I was so jittery, I went right back to using a day later. Got caught riding dirty and was put back in jail until my trial nine months later.”

  “So you were in jail when the baby was born.”

  “When I got out, I asked some of Cammie’s friends about her and the baby. They told me to leave Cammie alone. She had gone back to her family’s place on the Mississippi coast, and they were taking care of her. I stayed clear of women after that.” He shook his head. “No sense messing up some other kid’s life. I was in and out of jails and rehabs, but a couple of years ago, I was clean awhile. Moved to the Mississippi coast, thought about connecting with my daughter, explaining things to Cammie. Tell her I was sorry. I was working at a seafood restaurant in Bay St. Louis, saving money to give them, but I thought I’d be okay having a beer now and then.” He paused and swiped his fingers across his cheeks.

  “You relapsed.”

  “Gradually, but along the way, I met Star. She taught in a gym where I worked out. I saw her boyfriend roughing her up after closing one night. I stepped in and kicked his tail, but it turned out he had some gangster friends. Long story short, we got out of town and headed east. We were working at the hotel here, but some rich guy got hot and heavy for Star. When she wasn’t interested, he made up some bull about us. Got us fired. We haven’t had much luck since.”

  With Blake’s height at well over six feet and his athletic build, he’d likely packed quite a punch to Star’s rotten boyfriend. Cooper couldn’t help but admire Blake’s protective nature. “What are your reasons for making this try at sobriety?”

  “I’d like for Star to be safe.”

  “What about you? How would you want things to turn out in your life?”

  Sighing, Blake lifted one shoulder. “Don’t know. Growing up, coaching seemed like an option. With my record, that can’t happen. There isn’t much out there for guys like me.”

  Not a lot of hope left in this man. “You’d be surprised. There are still people who want to give guys like you and me a chance.”

  “I’d just blow it. Star, though, she’s not so far gone.”

  “But you’re here, and today, you’re sober, so there’s still hope, Blake.” The burden to speak life, especially in an addict’s worst and weakest moment, weighed heavily on Cooper. “Do you believe in God?”

  “You mean like working the steps? Higher power and all?”

  “Yeah. You’ve used the steps before, and they will work when you keep with them.” Cooper paused to choose his words carefully. “My Higher Power has a name. Jesus. I believe in a God who loves you so much that He sent His Son to die for all your mistakes so He could be with you for eternity. He is the God who has restored me to sanity while I walk with Him and submit my will to Him every single day—every single hour and minute. And sometimes those small increments feel excruciatingly long.”

  Blake let that sink in, and Cooper allowed the stretch of silence.

  “Sounds okay, but I always seem to get stuck. What I want and what I do are two different ballgames.” Blake stood and pressed his fingers between his eyebrows. “I feel like I’m gonna be sick. Can I be excused?”

  “We can talk more later.” Cooper rose and followed him down the hall to the bathroom. “I’ll tell Kev you’re not feeling well.”

  He had no idea if he’d made any connection with Blake. Weariness blanketed Cooper’s spirit, pressed down on his shoulders and heart. Storm after storm seemed to be rocking his faith, and without a lot of Jesus, he might just implode.

  Chapter 24

  THE POSSUM WAS GROWING on her. Rivers unloaded a bag of supplies at the gallery, but she missed her little sidekick already. He’d followed her around, sat when she sat, ate a whole lot when she ate, and slept when she slept, plus some. No wonder Priscilla worried about the little creature. He was sweet and seemed to crave companionship.

  Growing up, Rivers never had the opportunity to keep a pet. At first, her mom and dad both stayed busy with work, and she’d been busy with dance lessons. Then her mom’s accident happened. Now that she thought about it, her mother might actually do well with a therapy dog. Or possum.

  Rivers took a deep breath. With the anxiety coursing through her midsection over teaching this class, she could use a therapy animal herself. At the studio entrance, Rivers knocked, then turned the knob to crack the door. “Hello. It’s me.”

  Good, the room was empty. She’d have a minute to collect herself.

  “We’re coming.” Gabriella called and waved from the sidewalk. The ladies trailed behind her, chatting loudly.

  Star brought up the rear of the group, a sour expression pulling down her mouth. “This is stupid.”

  Anger flooded Rivers. Her job was stupid? Of all the rude, ungrateful people she’d met, Star just moved to the front of the line. Rivers held in a biting reply.

  Definitely should’ve brought the possum.

  Rivers set her bag inside the door and waited for the ladies to catch up. Weaving her fingers in front of her, she tried to pretend she wasn’t a pulsing bundle of nerves and annoyance. Sweat broke out across her forehead, and her palms felt clammy. She needed to calm down. And ignore Star. Her go-to activity was prepared for tonight, and once she saw how the ladies participated, she could prepare from this starting point for next week. Or whenever another art therapy session was expected.

  Once they’d filed in, Rivers began laying out and sorting the supplies she’d brought.

  “You can have anything you want.” Cooper had slipped up behind her, his presence throwing her even more off balance. Shaking his head, he shrugged and stared at the ground. “I mean the gallery is yours, but the supplies are purchased by Re-Claimed...or donated.”

  “Thanks.” Rivers studied his uncomfortable stance. He probably meant he’d bought the supplies for art therapy himself. Therapists and teachers often spent their own money for their students, or their clients, in this case.

  He still stood near, watching her—also unnerving.

  She swallowed the growing lump in her throat and motioned toward the mix of items in front of her. “I hope you don’t mind, but I thought this stuff from the cottage was perfect for art projects. I mean, if you see something you want, just grab it. In fact, I have a lot of things at the cottage I wanted to ask your opinion about. You could keep some or we could give to a charity.”

  “I don’t need anything.” His voice came out flat. “The Re-Claimed ladies run a thrift store. They’d be happy to take your donation.”

  “I still wanted to show you a few things, and I didn’t get a chance the other night.”

  “Okay. I can stay during your session tonight if you want—”

  “No.” Once again, her tone came out sh
arper than she’d intended. And she hated the way it dampened his gaze. Her emotions seemed to be a churning mass of exasperation. “It’s just, I’m already nervous, and I hear you can be a distraction to the ladies.” Though butterflies flitted in her abdomen, teaching would probably be better than remaining in this awkward conversation. She glanced at Star who was glaring their way. Maybe teaching the class alone would not be better. A distraction could be good.

  Why did Star hate her so much? Rivers ran through their time at the hospital. She’d only tried to help the girl. Why couldn’t Star see that?

  “I’ll get out of your way then.”

  “Thanks.” She offered the best smile she could conjure through her agitation. “I mean it.”

  He left, and Gabby approached. “Everyone, this is our art therapist for tonight.”

  And she was on. Her heart raced in her chest. “Hi, ladies, I’m Rivers. I met some of you the other evening at dinner.” Oh, great. Bring up the night Star was stabbed. “You can take a seat in front of an easel, and I’ll explain our project.”

  They shuffled to a spot, their gazes weighing heavily on Rivers. Her face grew hot under their scrutiny. Kids were so much less intimidating.

  Gabriella moved to stand in front of the closest canvas. “While they’re getting settled, I’d love to hear a little about how you got started as an artist.”

  “Great question.” And unexpected. Rivers took a deep breath. “From an early age, I wanted to reproduce what I saw. Color excites me. I enjoy picking up a brush and trying to transmit my feelings from my heart and soul onto a canvas. That’s one of the things I want you to consider. Painting, and art in general, is a personal experience. Allow your emotions freedom. Be prepared for disappointment in the results sometimes, but also let go of self-doubt.”

  One woman in the group had zoned out already, staring into space. Another applied lip balm and fiddled with her hair. Two girls in the back put their heads together and whispered.