I couldn’t help but smile and feel a surge of warmth from watching such a simple thing bring so much joy to the little girl and from the mother’s patience. It reminded me of my own mom and how often she’d let me explore the world on my terms as a young child.
She’d always sat back, letting me discover things for myself, watching and ready to help or answer my questions, but never encroaching. Her demeanor, how she handled me always made me feel so special and loved, and watching the little girl made me miss the bond and long for the day I might have it with my child.
I dreamed of sharing little joys with my child one day. As an adult, it was so easy to lose focus on what really mattered, lost in the pursuit of things that didn’t really matter. Children had it right. They so easily found joy in small pleasures, in the simple things in life. Children were able to recognize the simple pleasure of jumping in puddles after the rain or finding the perfect rock.
Something clicked for me at that moment. I could feel the tendrils of inspiration and the heat of creative spark I had found so elusive for years start to gather in me. The beginning of ideas that had been floating through my mind took root and grew.
I grabbed my notebook and pencil, wanting to get the thoughts onto paper before I lost them completely. Once I’d gotten every last idea down I found I couldn’t concentrate anymore. I knew I wasn’t going to get anything else done in the bookshop, so I decided to walk around and explore some of the galleries and shops in the area.
Everything was so charming and comfortable. I could see this place being home for me for longer than the year we had planned on staying. There were several galleries and shops with amazing artwork, most of it local and representing the San Juan Islands. I was blown away by a lot of the work I was seeing, and I chatted with a few of the gallery owners, just getting a feel for each one, making mental notes of places where I might try to see if they were open to displaying my work, once I decided what medium I wanted to focus on. I loved my mixed-media pieces which merged painting and sketches, fiber and knit arts, but I hadn’t created anything like them in the last couple of years.
As I continued to walk, I came across a small street leading down to the beach and decided to explore. The coastline here was so different from the long, sandy beaches of California I was used to, but no less stunning. Stone and shells instead of grains of sand, driftwood, and branches everywhere. I was enamored.
The wind whipped through my hair as I crouched down and began picking up branches made smooth by the water, fragments of sea glass, and polished rocks. As I held these things in my hand, a canvas appeared in my mind, slowly being filled in with these pieces of the island, vibrant shades of green and blue paint splashed across, all merging to create a thing of beauty.
My fingers reflexively wrapped around these things in my grasp before I slipped them into my bag. I could visualize so clearly how my first piece in so long would come together, and a sense of contentment ran through me, a feeling of being exactly where I was meant to be at that moment.
I stood back up and left the beach, making my way toward the shops and my car. I turned up a street I hadn’t been on yet, and halfway down I came across a little studio space with tons of natural, beautiful light. It was closed, but there was a flyer posted on the door letting people know the space was available for rent and how to contact them to set it up. I took a picture of the flyer with my phone as another idea came to me. I thought about the things I had picked up from the beach and then about the little girl from this morning.
As I looked in the studio window, a plan began to formulate. I had experience in teaching art classes from my time at the gallery back home. I wondered if there was a local art council or foundation I could work with in starting classes for children specializing in mixed-media art and using the studio space, if it was affordable.
I could do two sessions a week, one where we would explore different areas on the island for inspiration and find a few pieces from nature to incorporate into our pieces, and then a second session where we would use the studio space to work on the art. I would start a new group each month, and it would take the entire month to create one piece of artwork.
I even considered an art show every six months where we displayed the work created, and the show could be a fundraiser to help pay for the expenses of supplies, so the classes really were free. The more I thought about it, the more excited I got.
As I continued to look through the window at the studio, a lightness filled my chest as my pulse started to race. Energy built up in me, something I hadn’t felt in so long, years even. I felt like it was all about to vibrate out of my skin, that soon the frenzy inside me would be visible to anyone looking. I was on to something here, I just knew it.
It struck me then how strange this all was.
Seeing the mother and her child, the beach, finding the studio all on the same day.
A feeling of warmth and comfort came over me, making a home inside my body alongside the giddiness. It reminded me so much of what it was like on adventures with my mom and the thought crossed my mind that maybe, somehow, she was looking down on me right now, that she was with me in this moment and had a part in all of these pieces clicking into place.
I didn’t feel her presence the way I had Archer’s before I met him, I didn’t believe she was around and present the way he was. But I couldn’t help but want to believe that she was somehow responsible for all of this, for me being in this place at just this right moment.
Nineteen
Do I call him? Do I not? Do I just try?
I had spent the better part of the afternoon and into the evening contemplating—fighting with myself, really—over whether I should call Dan to talk about what happened today. Once the floodgates had opened, I couldn’t hold back the deluge of plans forming and then re-forming in my mind. I wanted to talk about this all, bounce thoughts off of someone. I wanted to talk to Dan about them.
Yes, I understood the ridiculousness of fighting with myself about calling my husband. But he wasn’t an easy person to get hold of on a normal day, and since this project began our communication had dropped to all-new lows for us. I checked the time again. It was nine o’clock at night. I figured things had to have calmed down by this point and it would be safe to call.
I bit at my thumbnail as the ringing continued in my ear and I waited for it to connect. Eventually the voicemail picked up and I listened long enough to hear Dan’s voice, missing the deep timbre in my ear before I hung up. I pulled up the messages app and started to rapidly type out a text.
Me: Hey, babe, how’s it going? I miss you and it’s been a few days. Call me when you get a chance? I have something I wanted to talk about. XO
As I waited for a response I wasn’t even sure would come, I debated what I wanted to do next. I could try calling again, but I knew if he hadn’t answered the first time he was either busy working or sleeping. I paused for a moment, waiting for the long-familiar tightness in my chest, the cold feeling that would flood my veins, sure signs that the sadness I normally felt at being so disconnected from Dan was about to set in.
Nothing.
My shoulders sagged with the realization that in the absence of my usual feelings when I was let down, I felt a void. Nothing had changed recently, so why were my emotional reactions changing? I racked my brain trying to come up with answers but was left grasping at straws.
I pulled up the contacts on my phone again, went to my favorites list, and let my finger hover over Jos’ name. I needed to talk to someone, but I wasn’t sure Jos was that person tonight. I didn’t want to hear supportive words.
I could just imagine what she would say when I told her what I had brewing: “Ros, fuck, that sounds amazing. Seriously. How did you not come up with this sooner? What are your plans and what can I do to help?”
No. I didn’t want to hear that right now, though I was sure on another day, a day I wasn’t feeling so confident and sure of my plans, I would want and need to hear her bea
utiful words of support and love. But today wasn’t that day.
Today I needed to hear doubt and questions. I wanted to hear all the obstacles and challenges that lay ahead of me if I took this path. Everything that could go wrong and wouldn’t work. I needed to hear all those things so I could work out how to overcome them all. As amazing and honest and blunt as Jos was, she was also undyingly supportive. I needed Dan’s brand of honesty and skepticism. His form of logic.
As I realized that nearly an hour had passed while I considered what I wanted and who I needed to talk to, it became obvious that I wasn’t going to get what I wanted or needed that night.
I slumped down into the couch and rubbed my closed eyes. Frustration, elation, anxiety, fear, and trepidation. All of these emotions were waging a war inside my head and my heart, taking over my body until I was practically vibrating with it all. I sighed deeply, throwing my head back.
The energy in the room changed, a calm washing over my body before Archer’s voice rang out in the room, deep, smooth, and refreshing as a dip in the ocean on a scorching day. No one had ever had this effect on me and I was ashamed and scared of this realization.
“Hello, Rosalind.” His voice sounded from across the room.
“Hi, Archer,” I replied, as I opened my eyes and forced some cheer into my voice and a smile onto my face.
I looked up at him as he fully materialized and sat on the sofa I’d come to think of as his. The smile strained my face, made it ache with the effort. Archer’s brow furrowed for a second before smoothing out. He sent a smile my way, but I knew in that moment he was on to me and my attempts to pretend like I didn’t have a million thoughts weighing me down.
“Care to talk about it?”
“No. Maybe another day, but not tonight.” I turned away from him, grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. “Want to choose?”
I offered him the remote without looking back, but I lowered it when the movie selections flipped across the screen. It was still jarring to see and remember that he didn’t need a remote, that part of his ghostly thing was being able to manipulate electronics.
Archer made a sound that sounded like a barely restrained groan of excitement as the movies scrolling by stopped suddenly on Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.
“Do you mind if we watch this?” Archer practically begged. The pleading look on his face made him look so young, boyish even. “I love this movie and I can’t remember the last time I watched it. The couple who lived here before watched these movies all the time.”
“Your favorite? Even more than Raiders of the Lost Ark? C’mon, Archer. Really?” I knew there was no way I’d deny him his favorite, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t give him a little shit first.
“Oh, Rosalind. I enjoy them both, but there is just something special about Last Crusade that I love.”
He said this with such earnestness, such vulnerability and openness, that an unfamiliar warmth flooded my system, heating me until I could feel the warmth in my cheeks.
“You know, I’ve never really considered why I love this one more than the others. I was alive when the movie begins, and I think that’s part of it. If I had been born a little earlier and into a different family, a different life, that could have been me. Indy’s relationship with his father reminds me of mine, the constant effort to prove himself as worthy of his father’s time. When I watch it, I can’t help but hope that one day our relationship would have begun to change the way theirs had at the end.”
He looked lost in thought as his voice trailed off. What was unmistakable was the now familiar note of melancholy in his voice, a remnant of regrets from a life cut so much shorter than it should have been.
A deep ache pinched in my chest for a heartbeat, an involuntary response that happened every time he was unable to hide the pain in his voice. I should have been used to this feeling by now, but I couldn’t help but hurt for him at all he had lost and missed out on, at the loss of the man he was and the greatness he could have been.
As the movie continued, I snuck glances his way, some unnamed thing in me needing to check on him, to make sure he was all right. While his body appeared more relaxed, his arm thrown over the arm of the couch and his back slouched into the corner, the tensing of his jaw and the rigid hold of his fist betrayed the emotion in him.
I needed to take his mind off this. I didn’t want him to leave with this cloud of anger and sadness hanging over his head. As we reached the book-burning rally in Berlin, I paused the movie, my decision made.
“Rosalind, is everything okay?” Archer asked.
“Yeah, it is actually. I’m ready to talk about what happened today.” Even I could hear the determination in my voice. I looked up at him and was flooded with warmth at his encouraging smile.
“I was in Eastsound today. I found the cutest little bookstore with a coffee shop inside. I loved it.” I turned more fully toward Archer, resting my head on my hand on top of the arm of the sofa, settling in to share with him. “I just hung out there for a while, drinking tea and watching people walk by. At one point, I saw this little girl. She was so cute and so enamored of her surroundings, of the nature around her. It was truly a joy to watch her picking up stones and sticks, seeing the happiness in something so simple.”
“It sounds like you had a good day, Rosalind.”
“I did, but that wasn’t even the best part. Something started to click and I don’t know, all of these ideas began of art I could create, canvases I could fill with art that combined elements from the island and my paintings or drawings. I’ve been to the galleries here, there’s nothing quite like what I’ve been envisioning today.” I stopped to take a breath.
“Rosalind, that’s fantastic! Are you telling me you got your inspiration back?”
“Yes, I think so. But this wasn’t even the best part of it all.”
“Okay, go on.”
“While I was walking around, I came upon this amazing little art studio anyone can rent space in. That’s when it all clicked!”
I looked up at Archer then and couldn’t help but smile. His body was closer to mine, and he leaned forward with his arms resting on his thighs, head in his hands, and the most beautiful smile on his face. He quirked his brow at me as though to say, Why did you stop?
“I realized I could offer classes for kids in the kind of art I make. I would do month-long classes with a couple of sessions a week, and the kids would create one work of art during that month. Then every six months I could hold a fundraiser art show displaying the work. And it would be totally free for the kids. I still need to do some more research and get in contact with the local art foundation here, but I think this is special and could work. What—what do you think?”
I uttered the last sentence with trepidation. In this short amount of time I knew Archer to be kind, but also honest. I had a feeling that if he found too many flaws with this idea of mine, I would likely walk away from it.
He sat considering me. At first, I couldn’t decode the look on his face, and it scared me. After a minute the biggest, brightest smile took over his face, and I sat back in awe of his beauty. His eyes filled with admiration and affection, and I couldn’t help it, my cheeks warmed and flushed pink under his gaze.
“I think it’s a great idea. I don’t know much about art or setting something like that up, but if there is any way I can help you, even if you just need someone to talk to, I’m here for you, Rosalind.”
The sincerity in his voice floored me, and I found myself speechless. I had no words for the support he was showing me, support I wasn’t certain I would find in Dan. I also had no words for how quickly this man had become a good friend to me.
No, not just a good friend, but the kind of friend that you only encounter a few times in your life.
It wouldn’t hit me until later that one day I was going to have to walk away from this man who was quickly becoming a part of me.
Twenty
“Well, hello, stranger,” Marie said to
me as I entered her kitchen and made my way over for a hug, a warm smile touching her lips and flour all over her hands. “Where have you been hiding your pretty face? You missed our last book club meeting.”
I returned her smile as I hung my purse over the back of a stool at the island and sat down. “I’ve been home a lot. Busy. I’ve got some stuff going on I want to get your thoughts on.”
It wasn’t a lie exactly, but it wasn’t the real reason I hadn’t been around for the last couple of weeks. I was spending nearly every night with Archer, which meant I was trying to catch up on sleep during the day. I hadn’t thought to ask him why he mostly only appeared at night, but it was something I noticed. Throw in the research I was doing on the art program, and I seemed to be busy all the time.
“So, what’s been on your mind?”
I described my idea to her, all the things I’d been planning. Every time I said the words out loud it solidified my plan and my confidence grew. I knew this was the right move, I just needed to figure out the last pieces to pull it all together.
Marie sat and listened as she measured out the things she needed for what she was baking. Her face and body betrayed none of her thoughts. When I was done, I just looked up at her, trying to anticipate what her reaction would be, if she would find fault with what I had shared with her. The emotions running through me were what I imagined I would have felt if I was having this conversation with my mother, trepidation and hope that I was on a path that would make her proud.
“And what do you plan on naming this organization?” Marie asked. I studied her face for a moment, but still couldn’t get a read on her or her thoughts.
“Wild Art,” I replied simply, unable to hide the joy and hope I held in this idea of mine.
Marie smiled then, that beautiful, familiar one that sent warmth and pangs of loss coursing through me at the same time.
“I love it, Ros. How can I help?”
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