by T. I. Lowe
“For some reason, August came home on a mission for you. I’ve never seen him so crazy about a chick. You’re special to him, for sure. . . . Can I ask you a favor?”
She wished she could give the young man the world on a silver platter for all of the life storms he’d already had to live through. “Anything.”
Tucker scanned the yard before settling his focus on Josie. “When my brother gets back, will you go fishing for him?”
“With him?”
Tucker shook his head. “No. For him. Let my brother know how important he is to you.” He reached out and nudged her knee. “I know you care about him just as much as he does you, and y’all already wasted enough time. August taught me one line of French. Told me if I didn’t learn any more, at least I had to know this phrase.”
“What’s that?”
“La vie est trop courte.” The words rolled off his tongue, showing he’d given it much practice.
“Translation?”
“Life is too short.”
“Ah, I should have guessed. That sounds like your brother.” Josie snickered but quickly grew serious as she reached out her hand and grasped Tucker’s forearm briefly. “Thank you for sharing about how you became a part of the Bradford family with me. I’ll hold that close to my heart forever.”
“Good, good. Now we need to figure out what bait we want to use.” Tucker rubbed his palms together and helped Josie strategize the most important fishing trip of her life.
Later on, as Josie headed back to her truck, Tucker called out, “I almost forgot to give you this!” He came jogging over with a canvas wrapped in brown paper and handed it to her.
“What’s this for?”
“I don’t know. August asked if I would make sure you got this. It was on my list for tomorrow, but since you’re here and all.” Tucker shrugged. “Okay, let me know if I can help with the fishing trip.”
“Just what we already went over will be great.”
Tucker tipped his head, much in the same fashion his older brother was known for, and made his way to the abandoned mower and fired it up.
Josie took a moment to watch the young man, thinking August had done a stand-up job in raising him. Once Tucker pushed the mower on a track behind the firehouse, she climbed into the truck and headed out.
Curiosity followed her all the way home, but she refrained until making it to the small table on her deck. With trembling fingers, she carefully tore the brown paper away to reveal a sentimental memory from her youth.
An antique birdcage sitting on a wooden table took up most of the canvas with clues tucked into the details to hint at the complexity of it. She traced the paintbrush serving as the hinge on the open door of the cage and the paint pallet that made up the bottom of the cage. The pale-yellow bird with a crown on top of its head clung to its perch even though the door was wide-open. A key sat on top of a mound of sand just outside the cage.
As Josie grasped the canvas a little closer, her hand landed on a piece of paper on the back. Flipping it over, she hiccuped on a sob at what she found.
You’ve always held your freedom. I simply wanted to help you unlock the door. Step out of the cage, Jo. ~August
“I’m trying,” she whispered to the note as a waterfall of tears set a path down her cheeks. It was time to grow up and stand up for what she wanted.
26
“This is like Where the Wild Things Are, neon edition,” August muttered as he watched kids run around squealing and laughing while heavy bass music piped out from the camp sound system. The night was painted up in vivid disarray on the recreation field in the midst of a neon color party, but August wasn’t feeling it.
“Why’d you come back from your trip so cranky?” Carter asked as he sidled up to August, where he was squirting more glow-in-the-dark color onto the tops of several sets of drums. As soon as he stepped away, a couple of kids came at the drums and attacked them. With each pounding from the drumsticks, splashes of neon dotted them along with August and Carter.
“I ain’t,” August grouched. He moved over to a long clothesline they set up and refastened a few crooked camp flags. They were set up for campers to paint with the neon paints, but most of them had yanked the flags down and were wearing them as capes while they chased one another with Super Soakers filled with glowing paint.
“This is killer!” Tucker yelled out as he ran by with his own flag cape billowing behind him.
“Yeah, but those black lights are a pain in the backside.” August pointed up to the portable poles that held the lights even though Tucker had already disappeared among the sea of glowing figures.
“No, you’re being a pain in the backside with this attitude. Seriously, did they try wooing you to move to New York or did something else happen while you were there?”
“They’re always trying to woo me to move up there.” August adjusted a pole that was starting to lean again. “We need to figure out a better game plan before the next neon night.”
“You’re not considering leaving us, are you?” Carter crossed his arms over his glowing chest.
“Nah, man. I promised Tucker I’m here to stay.”
“You don’t sound so sure about that.”
August waved a hand, brushing Carter’s concerns away. “I just have a lot on my mind. No worries.” He moved back to the drums and dumped more paint on top of them.
“She’ll come around,” Carter yelled over the loud music. “Just be patient.”
August huffed. “I used to think I was the most patient guy in the world.”
Carter chuckled. “Seems Josie Slater went and stole that from you.”
August agreed 100 percent, thinking that one last ace up his sleeve had ended up as another fail from where he stood. If sending her the painting he’d kept hidden all those years hadn’t done him any good, then to continue the chase would only prove that he was a glutton for punishment.
Mad with Josie and mad with himself, August left the glowing festivities and skulked off into the dark to head home. Too keyed up to sleep but too distracted to paint, he went straight up to the loft to at least straighten it up a little. After washing the few dishes in the sink and tossing out some trash, he moved to the small living room to find another mindless task. The only thing to catch his attention was the stack of books Dalma had given him.
Plopping on the couch, August decided to go through them page by page just to feel near Josie. Tracing the scrolling loops of blue on the title page, he missed her to the point of pain. He continued the self-torture until the epilogue and was about to close the book when he felt the need to flip just one more page. It was a blank extra page in the back with no colorful drawings, but what it did hold had August blinking several times and then rubbing his eyes to make sure it wasn’t his imagination. When her delicate handwriting remained, he gave in to temptation and read her words.
Blessed with a happy childhood where my parents took pride in loving each other and loving me even more. They realized the potential in my doodling even before I did. Cultivating it through art classes, camps, trips upstate to galleries until my little glimpse of a dream became my passion.
Age seventeen, I was on the cusp of adventure, prepared for my life to merge with my dreams. And what a life I’d lived so far, untouched by the bitterness that struck so many other lives. I’d counted myself one of the lucky ones who coasted through childhood unscathed. Accepted to an art program, I would be heading toward my vision of happiness with a certain enigmatic man by my side. His vision so in tune with my own. He’d been in the periphery of my life from as far back as I could remember, but I was finally ready to share the spark I’d kept hidden in my heart with hopes of it igniting the idea of us. Together, side by side, claiming a life of vivid color and wonder.
Then the spark faded in one momentous storm. One that came out of nowhere and destroyed my bubble of happiness. I had no idea how delicate that bubble was until it was destroyed. In the wake of losing the bright, colorful life of m
y mother, only shadows remained. Creeping in to underscore any color. It consumed me for a while, and when I somehow managed to reemerge from a dark bout of depression, smudges of it never washed completely off. It took months, years, even seconds sharp as shards of glass, before I woke up and realized he had continued painting his life with adventure and dreams without me.
August read the note three times before placing the book on the coffee table. Elbows braced on his knees, he stared at it while coming to terms with the message it relayed. He’d learned early in life how to keep his emotions in check for Tucker’s sake, so he’d never been one to shed tears, but something in her raw honesty had his eyes and nose stinging.
Sniffing, August swiped the book and headed out. The clock in the truck read three in the morning, declaring it too early for a confrontation, but he drove over to the beach house anyway. He made himself at home on the back deck and waited for the first rays of day to show up.
Just shy of two hours later and before the sun was up, the door creaked open. “Ain’t this a fine surprise.” Dalma wrapped the fluffy robe tighter around her tiny frame before taking a seat beside August on the daybed swing.
He flipped the book to the page and showed it to her. “You knew what you were giving me.”
“Yes.”
August closed the book and set it between them. “I didn’t realize she battled depression.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, dear. She hid it well from most everybody.”
“But not you,” August pointed out.
“Because I pay attention. Something these new generations don’t know how to do.” Dalma shook her head. “But back to our girl. Josie’s made this whole thing with you more difficult than she should, but you deserved to know why. It’s her story to share with you, but I was beginning to worry she wouldn’t ever get around to it in my lifetime. Call me selfish, but I wanted to witness your HEA.”
“HEA?”
“Happily ever after,” Dalma said slowly while giving him a duh look.
“Well, ain’t nothing happy at the moment.”
“Young man, your life made you grow a thick skin from the very beginning in order to survive it. Josie’s didn’t. She lived a pretty sheltered life behind that counter at the diner. Losing her mother flipped the light off inside her for a good long while. She got some help to turn it back on, but when it comes to you . . . well, you represent the world she thought would be hers. Can’t blame her for being scared you’ll vanish again.”
August scrubbed his palms down his face, the sleepless night catching up with him. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve told her that over and over and over.”
“Josie didn’t think her mother was going anywhere either.”
“Dang it. When you put it like that . . .” He raked his fingers through his hair while casting his eyes to the dark water slowly rolling out with the tide, which was exactly what Josie had been waiting for him to do. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You do absolutely nothing. It’s that young lady’s turn. Make her come to you.”
August looked at Dalma out of the corner of his eye. “That sounds too much like playing games. I’m not about that.”
Dalma snickered. “Games can be fun. I just love when the hero or heroine in a romance novel makes some big gesture to show the other how much they love them.”
August didn’t have anything against big gestures, so he asked, “How about in exchange for more books, I buy you breakfast?”
By the time they’d loaded up the books, the cab of his truck resembled a mobile version of the little lady’s living room.
The week-ending festivities at Palmetto Fine Arts Camp were geared up with everyone in a celebratory mood. The second week of camp went off without a hitch just like the opening week. It was almost perfect.
“The special-effects makeup booth is a big hit,” one of the camp counselors said to August in passing.
August looked over to where a makeup artist was applying a scar to one of the camper’s foreheads. He nodded his head and tried to take it all in as music began pumping through the speakers. Vendors lined the circle in front of the fine arts buildings. The coloring-book facades were slowly coming to life after two groups of campers had contributed, with color from his paint session as the backdrop.
The entire scene emanated the vibe of a big party and the kids running around seemed to thrive in it. A twinge hit his stomach with knowing someone else who would thrive in that environment, too, if she’d just get over herself.
Several colleges had booths, offering kids information about their fine arts programs and scholarship opportunities. Various artists and musicians also had exhibits and demonstrations set up. They were all hands-on and the campers were eager to participate. August spent the day exploring the booths with several art students and even tried out composing music through pieces of fruit that were wired to a computer program.
He and Carter didn’t want to just offer kids a week of exploring their gifts. They also wanted to direct them to paths leading to a future. He knew Josie would love that aspect of the camp if she were there to witness it. She should have been there to help make decisions for the art department and leading the sessions he had always envisioned her teaching.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder, so he turned to find Theo looking up at him expectantly from underneath the brim of his navy sun visor. “Yeah, man?”
“Carter said for you to get your tail over to the amphitheater. The performance is about to start.”
“That was my plan,” August retorted and kept walking in that direction with Theo following beside him. “What? You my escort?”
“Carter said to make sure you got there.” Theo shrugged, fiddling with the walkie-talkie he proudly carried at all times. They explained that his assistance could be needed at any time and for him to never be caught without it, but it was more to keep a close eye on him as they’d promised his mother and Josie. “I’m just making sure.”
And sometimes Carter would give Theo a task such as the one he had at the moment to keep him busy, so August decided to just let the guy do his job without giving him any more lip. By the time he made it to the amphitheater, the place was packed, so he had to take a seat near the back.
Large fans were set up around the perimeter, adding a muted hum to the atmosphere while pushing the humidity and mosquitoes away the best they could. August sat behind one and as it made a rotation, the words from Freda, their events emcee, onstage kept being washed out.
“Our first performance is . . .” The fan moved over again and whispered into August’s ear. He watched on as Freda moved off the stage and a punk band set up. He’d caught a few jam sessions of theirs during the week. The boys liked to serenade the camp most evenings after supper, too. He stretched his legs out in front of him and draped an arm along the empty chair beside him, knowing he would enjoy this last hoorah from them.
After they rocked out a few cover songs, a familiar blonde began lugging easels onto the stage. August suddenly sat up, nearly knocking over the fan, as a blushing Josie Slater hurried offstage. She was back in a flash, carrying two blank canvases as Dalma followed her with a cart full of paint supplies. Dalma placed the cart beside the easels and turned to give the audience two thumbs up before shuffling offstage.
Once they had everything arranged, Freda introduced, “Our next performance is a little unusual, but I’m sure you will all enjoy a paint-off!” The emcee’s ecstatic voice beckoned the audience to join in with whistles and loud applause. “Now, I would like to introduce our first artist, Miss Josie Slater.” Freda gestured toward her, making Josie fidget while her hand clung to a paintbrush for dear life. Freda walked over and handed Josie the microphone.
After taking several long inhales, Josie held the microphone to her lips. “Good evening.” She paused to clear the hoarseness from her voice. “I, umm . . . I’m here tonight to challenge the great August Bradford to a paint-off.” The crowd erupted at the mention of his
name.
Freda retrieved the mic and spoke rather loudly, “August Bradford, get your handsome self up here!”
August eased to his feet and moved toward the stage. Josie had a gravitational pull set up just for him, and he couldn’t get to her fast enough. He climbed the steps and came to a stop beside Josie.
“Now for the rules of this paint-off. Artists have five minutes to create something. If Josie wins, August has to offer her the art assistant position again and go on a date with her.” Catcalls rang out, interrupting Freda. She was good-natured about it and grinned until they quieted down. “And if August wins, Josie has agreed to eat a mouthful of sand.”
August reined in the laughter threatening to bubble out, covering it with a cough. He spoke out of the corner of his mouth, “What are you doing?”
“Fishing,” Josie answered with a good bit of poise, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to toss her over his shoulder and run away with her.
Tamping that idea down, August grabbed a paintbrush. “So we just go at it?”
“Whoa! Not so fast. We need some inspirational music.” Josie nodded to the band behind them and the boys launched into a cover of “Wipe Out.”
August let out a rumble of laughter. “You planning on wiping out this time, Miss Slater?”
“Not a chance, Mr. Bradford.” There was a determined gleam in her blue eyes, and it was all he could do not to toss the paintbrush and wrap her in his arms instead.
Freda held a stopwatch up and yelled, “Go!”
Both artists scrambled to take their places behind the canvases and slipped into the seriousness of the challenge. August smirked while adding strokes of translucent watercolor to the canvas, knowing his sidekick had put a lot of thought into the challenge. Even the detail of what song she had the band play emphasized it.
The five minutes flew by with August languidly working on his piece while he watched Josie paint with fervor out of the corner of his eye. The woman shone so bright he couldn’t look away.