The Art of Rivers

by Janet W. Ferguson

Chapter 28

  “SO THIS IS THE OTHER place I inherited. My cleaning-out project.” Rivers tried to keep her voice neutral while Gabby parked the Re-Claimed van in the cottage drive. “I’m glad we can load the stuff I’ve collected for the thrift store while we’re here.”

  The ride over with Gabby and Star had been somber. Gabby had quickly decided to distract Star from Blake’s disappearance with the job interview. Whether they let her work for Priscilla or not, they needed to keep Star busy.

  A harsh wind pressed against them as they stepped onto the shell-lined drive. Heavy, dark clouds still held back the full rain that loomed above. In the distance, thunder rumbled.

  “Let’s load your donations before the bottom drops out.” Gabby motioned upward and trudged onto the porch. “Then we can meet your neighbor.”

  Star glanced around the property. “Looks like a Coastal Living magazine cover.”

  “You like that one, too?” Rivers pivoted to study her.

  “Why?” Star’s chin jutted. “You don’t think I’ve seen the same magazines as you?”

  “I don’t know what to think about you.” Rivers smiled. “But I’m learning.”

  “Fair enough.” Star gave a nonchalant shrug. “And I’m stronger than y’all think. I’m not falling apart about Blake. Yet.”

  “Good.” Gabby wrapped an arm around her. “No sense worrying about what we can’t control.”

  Though Star sounded tough, Rivers couldn’t help but think about the canvas and the tiny box that walled off the heart in the center. “I hope you won’t leave.” Rivers spoke without thinking.

  This time Star’s head whipped around. “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t really know, but I do.” And she meant it. Somewhere in this muddle, she’d grown attached to the people she’d met in St. Simons, even this young woman full of sharp contradictions.

  Star shot her a curious look. “You must be a little touched in the head. An eager beaver for disappointment.”

  Rivers had to laugh at the honesty. “I must be.” She turned to Gabby. “And I have an idea about how to fight back against that petition. We could host an art opening—kind of a gala—to raise awareness of how Re-Claimed is helping the community, not hurting. I’ve planned them before with a gallery in Memphis. I could have some of my work sent over too.”

  “What petition?” Disgust laced Star’s voice.

  Oh, no. Rivers squeezed her eyes closed. Her foot was probably in her mouth and halfway to her stomach. She opened her eyes and slid her gaze to Gabby. “Sorry for bringing that up.”

  Gabby waved her off and focused on Star. “Just some neighbors who don’t understand us.”

  “There’s a thin line between them and us.” Star scoffed. “Hypocritical, judgmental people can take their petition and—”

  “Hey, let’s stay positive.” Gabby kept her tone upbeat. “My dad always says forgiveness is free, while trust is earned. I think the idea Rivers had for a gala is great. We have a wonderful and giving community, and the few frightened people may just need a human touch. Faces to put with Re-Claimed.” She stepped back. “You know, I’m going to run next door for one second to let Mrs. Kelly know what we’re doing. I’d like to find out exactly what she’s looking for in an assistant.”

  Rivers unlocked the door and grappled for any other subject to change the conversation.

  “I don’t want anyone looking at my face.” Star stalked inside, where she kicked off her flip-flops and then marched over to the donation bags. She scooped up two, then went back to her shoes and slipped them back on. “You’ll have to find another freak for your circus.”

  Rivers pointed to Star’s feet. “What’s up with that?”

  “Duh, I’m loading stuff in the van like y’all wanted.”

  “Your shoes?”

  “This is a nice place. I’ve cleaned houses, and I learned not to track in dirt.”

  “You cleaned?”

  “I’ve been a maid, a waitress, a telemarketer, a drycleaner, a greeter, a screen printer...I could go on for ages.”

  “But what do you want to do?”

  Chewing her lip, Star shifted the load in her arms before answering. “I’m a certified fitness instructor. One good thing that came from my crazy ex-boyfriend. Anyway, I like teaching Pilates and spin and aerobics. I can even do private personal training.”

  “That’s great. I could probably use some training.” Rivers gathered several bags and followed Star to the van.

  “You need to beef up a little, for sure.”

  A gale drove tiny raindrops and sand sideways, pelting them like needles. Rivers shivered. “I think this is enough for now. Let’s run next door.”

  They barely made it inside Priscilla’s before the bottom dropped. After quick introductions, Star bent down to pet Phoenix. “What’s your opossum’s name? My sister had one she called Princess Chuckles—dumbest name ever.”

  Priscilla’s eyes lit up. “You’re not afraid of Phoenix?”

  “There’s not a critter that my sister didn’t nurse back to health, so no. My mom always laughed and called her Elly Mae Clampett, whoever that was.”

  “We’re going to get along fine.” Priscilla smiled.

  Lifting a grocery sack, Gabby nodded. “I think I’ve collected any prohibited items, so we’ll give this job a trial run.”

  Star leveled a harsh gaze on Gabby. “What is that you’ve collected?”

  “Cooking wine, vanilla extract, an airplane rum bottle, cold medicines with alcohol, and an old prescription.”

  Star’s nose scrunched. “I’m not going to drink those.”

  Gabby pressed a fist to her hip. “Well, I’ve seen desperate people do it, so—”

  “I’ve needed to do some cleaning out for a while, and I’d love for you to help this crippled lady.” Priscilla took Star’s hand. “And so would Phoenix. Would you?”

  Star’s gaze fell first to the gnarled hand holding hers then to the animal. “I’d like that.”

  With everything agreed and plans for Star to come back the next day, Rivers, Star, and Gabby ran to the van and drove back to the gallery. The rain slackened slightly as they let Rivers out by her car.

  “I’ll see you—” Rivers froze. A dark figure on the ground beneath a large moss-covered oak caught her eye. “Wait.” She held up one hand, then jogged through the rain toward the lump, her heart surging to her throat as the outline came clearer.

  A body. “Call 911!”

  Warning bells reverberated in her head as she dropped to her knees beside the form, her gaze taking in Blake’s features. Was he dead? She threw down her purse. Her fingers found his neck, searching for a pulse.

  Nothing.

  No pulse. Not breathing.

  She shifted, straining for any movement under her fingers. Oh, God. Help.

  CPR. She had to bring back her training. Squeezing his nose shut, she forced air into his lungs, then moved to his chest.

  Press his chest. Give him breath.

  She held Blake’s face, tried to resuscitate him, and prayed.

  Chapter 29

  “DON’T YOU DARE LEAVE me too!” Screaming, Star fell beside Blake’s body.

  Rivers continued counting compressions and breathing until Davis, Cooper, and Gabby ran up. Gabby held syringes.

  “Slide back. I’ve got medicine that might help,” Gabby ordered. “I’ve called 911. He needs Narcan.”

  Rivers shifted away, struggling to catch her breath as Gabby moved in.

  Davis locked his arms around Star to keep the hysterical girl off Blake, whose lips were blue, his skin a ghostly white.

  One at a time, Gabby inserted a needleless syringe into Blake’s nostrils, releasing some sort of medicine, then she rubbed his sternum and called his name over and over. “Blake, come on. He’s not responding.” She started compressions.

  An ambulance’s wail mingled with Star’s cries. Another blur of activity began. Rivers stood in the rain, arms wrapped around he
rself as the paramedics worked on Blake. Within minutes they had his unresponsive body strapped to a stretcher, then loaded him in the back of the vehicle.

  “I’m taking Star and Davis in the van to follow the ambulance.” Gabby shook her keys. “Cooper, call Kevin, and get me an overnight sub for my ladies.”

  Dazed and drenched, Rivers stared as they drove away. Her heart raced and thudded beneath her ribcage. Through sheets of rain, the red of Gabby’s taillights mingled with the flashing ambulance beams. The red of sorrow and death. Blood. The crimson leaking from Jordan’s chest.

  “You did well, jumping in like that. It was all anyone could do. He’s in God’s hands now.” Cooper’s voice echoed through her consciousness.

  Or was it Jordan’s? Nothing seemed real. Not the mud where she stood or the rivulets of water slithering down her cheeks or the heartbreak she’d just witnessed.

  The day at the river in Memphis with Jordan swirled through her mind. Just an ordinary day. And suddenly not.

  And then Jordan was gone.

  “Rivers? Can you hear me?” An arm wrapped her shoulders, warm and solid. It turned and directed her. “Come inside and dry off.”

  She followed the nudges, but what she really wanted was to curl into the fetal position and sleep.

  Blinking, she tried to clear her head. What should be done? She couldn’t fall apart when people needed her, but she couldn’t seem to formulate a plan to help.

  Instead of entering the studio or gallery, Cooper led her up a set of stairs and into the loft. The ceilings angled with the roof, low and with naked beams. He set her on a small, weathered gray couch, the only place to sit other than his bed—barely three feet away. How did he live here?

  And how did he live with all the chaos and devastation that went on in his job?

  Sure, she saw a lot of grief and tough situations as an art therapist, but she didn’t live with those people all-day-every-day like Cooper did. Didn’t have to watch the glaring, unmerciful tragedies and so much squandered potential.

  After grabbing a blanket, he wrapped it around her shoulders. “I have a dry T-shirt or something you can throw on.” He opened the chest in front of the couch that appeared to serve as both a coffee table and storage for his clothes.

  He pulled out a blue shirt imprinted with a crab restaurant’s logo and a pair of gym shorts and handed them to her. “Too big, but it’s better than being wet. The bathroom’s behind the door next to my bed. I’ll leave you to change while I lock the gallery. We’ll just close for the day.”

  As he stood, the line of his shoulders sagged, as if sadness weighed them down. His expression looked dark and afflicted. The scene with Blake had rocked him too. And no wonder. Cooper knew the guy better than she did. He’d been working with him.

  While part of her wanted to hold Cooper and offer affection and consolation, the rest of her wanted to find her own little box to lock away her heart. She couldn’t allow herself to fall for Cooper and go through another nightmare like she’d just witnessed.

  She’d lost one man she loved already. She couldn’t go through that torment again.

  HE WAS FAILING MISERABLY. Two clients in such a short period of time. Sighing, Cooper switched off the gallery lights and placed a sign on the locked door.

  No one had heard what happened to Angelo. And who knew if Blake would make it. The guy hadn’t looked good.

  Rivers didn’t look good either. Another trauma to burden her wasn’t fair. As much as he’d fallen for her and longed to be with her, he needed to protect her fragile heart. Somehow he had to get her out of this chaotic world and back home. If only someone in her family could help her finish with the cottage. He sighed. Her father was probably tied up taking care of her mother.

  Maybe his family. His palms slicked at the thought of contacting them, but surely his mother and Aunt Brooklyn cared for Rivers, since she’d been engaged to Jordan. Was it worth reaching out to them? Would they even answer?

  Rivers shouldn’t bear her burden alone.

  Dad would be the most likely to read a text from him.

  With shaky hands, he pulled his phone from his pocket and searched for his father’s number. At least, he hoped it was still the right number.

  Rivers is in St. Simons cleaning out the cottage. It’s hard on her. Could Mom possibly help? Or Aunt Brooklyn?

  He struck out the name Rivers and changed it to Jordan’s fiancée. Not only to avoid seeming too casual about her to his parents, but also to remind himself. Rivers may have kissed him in a weak moment, but she’d planned to marry Jordan. It was Jordan’s death that drove her to St. Simons. It was Jordan who Rivers truly loved.

  Cooper breathed a prayer and hit send.

  He’d do well to keep reminding himself that he was not the man for Rivers. He wasn’t worthy and never would be.

  The phone sounded in his hand, and his breath caught. Just like that, Dad would answer? He checked the number.

  Gabby. She’d have news on Blake. His stomach dropped like a stone from a cliff. Something inside warned him of bad news.

  Chapter 30

  “KNOCK, KNOCK. IS IT okay to come in, Rivers?” Cooper stood at the top of the steps outside his studio and cracked the door. “I can drive you back to the cottage if you want.”

  Rivers pulled the door the rest of the way open, her gaze clearer than when he’d left her. Seeing her in his clothes, her damp hair hanging in soft strands around her face, dealt him with the second sucker punch in a matter of minutes. Gabby’s call hadn’t been the news he’d prayed for.

  “I can go to the hospital or fill in at the women’s Re-Claimed house.” She tucked one of the strands behind her ear and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “There’s no need.” He tried to keep his voice from cracking.

  “Why? I don’t mind helping.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and choked back a sob. Blinking, he shook his head.

  Realization washed over her expression, and her blue eyes filled with tears. “Blake didn’t make it?”

  “No. Gabby, Davis, and Star are on their way back.”

  “I tried.” Tears cascaded down her cheeks. “I did what I could, but...”

  He cupped her face and swiped the warm liquid with his thumbs. “He was already gone.”

  “But why did he leave? I don’t understand.” Her voice broke. “Star needed him. You guys were helping him.”

  He drew her to his chest and held her—maybe for the last time. Somehow he had to get her out of here. “I don’t think Blake meant to die. He just tried and failed to break addiction’s deadly grip. The ER doctor thinks he unknowingly took a dose of Oxy or Xanax that was laced with fentanyl, but they’ll do an autopsy.”

  “Oh, God, why?” The sound of her weeping and the quivering of her chest cut him through his core, breaking loose the tears he’d tried to lock inside. He wept along with her. It seemed Blake’s death ripped open a hole in her universe. Maybe revealing to Rivers the true risk of loving an addict.

  It was better she realize that now. Cooper pulled back. Brushing the hair from her face, he tipped her chin. “Let me take you home.”

  “No.” She sniffed and swiped at her eyes. “If I can find where I threw my purse, I can get myself home. Your people need you.”

  His people.

  RIVERS QUIETLY REMOVED another box from the hall closet, careful not to wake Priscilla, who was sleeping in the bedroom down the hall. The older woman had decided to stay at the cottage for the night. Her decision was more likely an attempt to provide comfort than because of an actual need for assistance.

  Rivers had continued cleaning out while Priscilla rested. Anything to distract herself.

  Phoenix seemed comfortable wherever he could eat and sleep. Her neighbor had agreed to hold a place for Star as her assistant, and they’d prayed the young woman would stay sober to do so after such a shock.

  At midnight, Rivers dropped to the couch with the journal. Did she have
enough strength left to keep reading the sad stories?

  She ran her fingers over the faded cover, then opened its pages. The journal entries were sparse as the girls grew up and later married, and Stella had stopped recording the dates. Many of the entries were less significant, but a few stood out.

  It hurts that the girls want to live with Betty, but I understand they want to go to prep school and start fresh. My sister is a wonderful caregiver, and this place holds bad memories for them. Betty asked me to come back to Atlanta, too, but I hate to show my face around town and ruin Pearl’s and Brooklyn’s chances in society life. With me there, my scandalous marriage would be all anyone talked about. They’ve promised to at least stay with me on the island every summer.

  Daddy purchased the gallery in town for me once he found out about my new hobby, and he even sent a truckload of paintings by Atlanta artists to get the business started. The gallery and painting give me fresh joy. I see God in each flower and sunset and sparkling wave. He is healing me of my loneliness and grief.

  Brooklyn and Pearl both had their babies, only two months apart. Pearl’s boy came early and was sick for so long. Finally he’s doing better, poor little thing, but I still worry for his health. The flurry of activity has been overwhelming, but a joy. I found a helper at the gallery and went back to Atlanta for three months. Times have changed, and the past seems forgotten in my circles. I love being a grandmother, and perhaps I’ll do better in that position than I did as a wife and mother.

  Brooklyn gave birth to the most adorable baby girl. Savannah is a delight. I see the sadness in Pearl’s eyes, though she does her best to cover it. She’s been unable to have more children, but she claims she will spoil Savannah as if she were her own.

  Jay reminds me more and more of Frank every time he visits. Not just in the way his dark eyes carry hurt, but in the way he spends hours alone with his video games if I don’t plan outings and lessons for the kids. He’s withdrawn and angry at the world, and I don’t understand why.