The Art of Falling in Love

by Haleigh Wenger

  “Livvy, do you remember the summer Opa brought us here?”

  I point to the sign and slow as we pass it. The only other car on the road honks and swerves into the other lane to pass us. Grandma’s Treasure Trove. The miniature billboard with loopy cursive letters hovers over a building so small it could be called a shack if it wasn’t decorated so well. Wooden boxes filled with wildflowers line the rickety porch like gumdrops dotting a gingerbread house at Christmas. Yellow trims the door and the window boxes and round stepping stones lead up to the entrance in a whimsical trail.

  “Aw. It’s that little antique store. I totally forgot about that.” Livvy clasps her hands under her chin and pouts her bottom lip.

  “He let both of us pick out one thing, and we both picked those homemade bath bombs they had at the front counter. Oh my gosh—so relaxing, do you remember?”

  Livvy’s beaming, and it gives me a warm feeling deep in my stomach.

  No one speaks for a minute. Carolina looks out the passenger window and drums her fingers on the armrest in rhythm with the music blaring from her phone’s speakers. I stare straight ahead and tighten my hands on the steering wheel. We’re passing through middle-of- nowhere, Florida. We’ve been stuck on back roads and small towns with nothing much to see for hours now, with no sign of anything interesting appearing anytime soon. The tiny main streets with cafe signs and cotton fields are cool for the first little bit, but after a while, they all start to look the same.

  As soon as we cross the state line, we pass a sign for the world’s largest peanut statue, and Livvy and I both point to it at the same time. We laugh, and the corners of her eyes fade into her cheeks when she smiles. “How big do you think we’re talking here? I mean, how many statues of peanuts can actually exist in the world?”

  I shake my head at the thought of anyone making art centering around peanuts, but then again, I never thought before this summer that my medium of choice would be freshly packed sand. “Have you ever been to Alabama?”

  Carolina shakes her head firmly. “Nope. I never thought I would either. But it’s kind of fun, right? Sweet Home Alabama and all that.” I nod. Leave it to Carolina to make travelling one state over a big adventure.

  “Why are we really going, Claire?” Carolina turns to watch me while I fumble for an answer. “Because, like I said, I’m not dumb. I’m here, so you might as well tell me why you decided to run off to see Foster, if it’s not to beg him to take you back.”

  I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “I don’t think Johnny really cares about Foster, but I swear that’s why I’m going. I just want to help him.”

  Carolina groans. “Just promise not to let Foster break your heart again. I’m not sure we can deal with that.”

  I shoot her a sideways glare.

  “Seriously, though. I liked you two together. I just don’t know if he’s capable of being in a healthy relationship with all his family stuff going on. But, I’ll admit, you’re a cute couple.” She glances at Livvy, who shrugs.

  I shake my head. “Look how that turned out. I’m too scared to even tell him we’re coming because he’ll probably tell me not to bother.” Turning my head away from them both, I grimace briefly.

  “I’m just going to warn Foster, and then I’ll let the two of them work it out.” I say it with so much confidence that I almost convince myself it’s what is happening here.

  “Is that why we came all the way to Alabama? So, you could tell him something easily explained over the phone?” Livvy leans forward, her voice sharp.

  "You gave me the address, Liv. What did you think we were doing?" It takes all my concentration to not snarl at her. I'm working on forgiving her, but it's hard to forget how much damage her stunt did.

  She lifts her shoulders, unfazed. "If you seriously believe the only reason we're driving this many miles is so you can tell him something he already knows, you're delusional." She shakes her head. "Stop lying to yourself."

  Hot shame peppers my face. Livvy's known me my whole life, so of course she sees through me. Sees through what I don't dare admit out loud. I curl and uncurl my fingers against the steering wheel. My teeth grit in my mouth until I taste chalky bone.

  "I just miss him," I say finally.

  Livvy and Carolina are silent, but I press my foot harder onto the gas pedal. Hurry. The sooner we get there, the sooner I can ease the cracking, dying thing in my chest.

  Thirty-Five

  When we pull up to the address Livvy gave me, I can’t move. My brain refuses to send the signal to my legs to work and get me out of the car.

  “Why did we come here? This was such a bad idea.”

  I stare at the steering wheel as spinning dots pepper my vision. My stomach lurches like I might vomit any second, and I clutch a hand to my mouth. Carolina makes an annoyed sound and steps out of the car to stretch her legs. I open my door, but I don't join her yet.

  She glances at me over her shoulder. “It was a terrible idea, but we just drove six hours and Foster already knows we’re here, so get out of the car before I kill you.”

  I check the back, where Livvy is sleeping under a blanket of her own luxurious hair. I glance up at the trailer and see Foster standing in the doorway. His face is wrinkled up in supreme confusion. I think I see a hint of a smile playing on his lips, but I tell myself to ignore it. Absolutely ignore it. We’re not here for some sort of happy reunion. This is strictly business. And that means getting out of the car, doing what I came to do, and ignoring the hopeful feelings bubbling up in me. I definitely need to swallow those feelings and just get it over with. I walk toward the door with Carolina hanging back. She whispers something about tough love and handling things on my own. I glance behind me and see she’s retreated back to the car and is now pretending to hide from me in the comfort of the passenger seat. I deserve it for being such a scaredy-cat.

  Foster blinks at me, his eyebrows twisted. “This isn’t what I expected when I gave your sister my address.”

  I want to step close enough to close the gap between us. I want to touch his floppy blond hair and feel his warm sun-kissed skin under my hands. But I force a laugh instead.

  “Yeah, sorry for just showing up like this, but your cell provider said your number was disconnected.”

  The muscles in his jaw tighten, and for a moment, I think he’s going to start yelling at me for some reason. Then his face relaxes, and he nods his head in Carolina’s direction.

  “She still hates me?”

  I smirk. “She’s warming up to you, I think. But she mostly just came along for moral support.”

  He stands on his toes to inspect the inside of my vehicle. “And your sister is here?” He arches an eyebrow. He’s wondering, I’m sure, what on earth could have prompted the three of us to drive this many miles together.

  We stand in painful silence for another minute. My skin prickles at the memory of him. My hands still ache to reach out and touch him. I stare at the ground, at my feet, at the long, scraggly weeds sprouting up in every part of the yard. Foster directs his gaze at the air above my head and doesn’t waver until I clear my throat.

  “So,” I say, “the reason I drove all the way here is to tell you something I thought of while I was at home trying to forget about you.” My wry smile doesn’t do much to cut the severity of my words.

  The word “home” makes both us of twitch. Me because the beach is only my home part of the year and him…why does he? Because he knows it’s where he should be? I can only hope.

  “Oh yeah?” He sighs and bites his lip.

  But his offhand tone isn’t fooling me. I nod. “Yes. I drove all this way because you need to hear someone tell you you’re wrong.”

  “I’m wrong?”

  “Yes. You’re wrong if you think coming here and giving up is the right thing to do. You could have fought harder or told someone else about your brother. But you decided to run away with him instead, leaving behind your possible art career. Because it’s easier. Do
you care about your future at all?”

  I shift my feet as I wait for him to process what I've said.

  “You think I should come back to Florida? And just finish out the sand sculpting competition tomorrow? Like it's that easy.”

  All of the hesitation is gone from his voice, and it’s the first real glimpse of Foster I’ve seen since we got here. He’s stronger, filled with something like anger but with more purpose. I’m almost happy, but his words are all wrong. I pause and wrap my arms around myself. I’m not scared of much, but confrontation is my kryptonite.

  Foster moves his arm like he might put it around me, but then our eyes meet. He steps back and shoves his hands into his pockets. “If this is about the contest, I’ll take care of it, don’t worry. I’ll call Flagler and explain that I bailed on you.”

  I step back too. My lips tug down. My eyes burn, threatening tears.

  “I don’t need you to save me, Foster. I’m worried for you.” I can feel my cheeks burning red because it never occurred to me that Foster would think I drove all this way to beg him to take care of me. The idea of him thinking of me as weak and helpless burns through me with a mixture of embarrassment and scarlet shame. I shake my head and turn away from him and the front porch.

  “Never mind. I came to tell you what I think, but I can’t make your decisions for you. If you want to stay here and hide behind your white-knight status, that’s up to you.”

  He waits a long beat before exploding. “Are you serious? You honestly think that’s what I meant? I just want to help. It’s the least I can do after taking off with no warning and dropping out of the contest.”

  I shrug, my mouth tight. I can’t listen to any more of whatever he has to say. My whole body aches with the energy it takes to stand in front of him after he broke my heart for the second time in one summer. I'm slowly poisoning myself even being in his presence. I need to let go.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore.” I lift a hand to wave goodbye as I walk down the porch steps toward the car. This has to have been the worst idea I’ve had. And I’ve done a lot of dumb things this summer.

  Foster's steps sound behind me, but I keep my back to him.

  “Claire, if you think I see you as someone who needs saving, you’re crazy.”

  I frown. More insults from him isn’t really what I expected. He lets loose a low groan. He obviously knows he’s not making things better.

  “You’re the one who’s been saving me all summer. You convinced your parents to let me sleep at your house, you tried to stand up to my brother, and you shared your art with me. I owe you everything.”

  I cross my arms in front of my chest, but I still turn to face him. I inhale, searching for a response that makes sense. I look back at Carolina and see Livvy next to her, blinking like she’s just been elbowed awake. They stare me down expectantly. And even though there are people around us and so many unanswered things still hanging between us, it feels like the right time to tell Foster what I’ve been building up to all summer. If anything will change his mind, these words can.

  “Foster, I lo—”

  A booming sound from behind us drowns out my words. Someone is yelling now. I twirl to find the culprit and so does Foster. The yelling is coming from inside the trailer.

  And everything gets worse from there.

  Thirty-Six

  The trailer door bangs open, and Johnny appears in the doorway. The flimsy black metal door shakes as it slowly swings back toward its proper place. Johnny catches it in his hand before it hits him. Foster quickly turns toward his brother just as I take a leap backward.

  “Get off my property!”

  I recognize the words as the same he was yelling seconds earlier, now that the sound is no longer muffled by the door. I look at Foster to see if he’ll speak up for me, but he’s wide-eyed and silent. Carolina and Livvy are both ready at their respective car doors, hands poised to push themselves out and toward us if need be. I don’t want this to turn into some sort of backcountry brawl, though. I just want Foster to come back with us.

  I turn to Johnny, who’s a bigger, older, and meaner version of Foster. They share the same bright blue eyes, tall stance, and shaggy hair, but knowing what I do about the two of them, my brain refuses to acknowledge the fact.

  I swallow. “I’m here to talk to Foster."

  Johnny eyes Foster, silently challenging him. “Oh yeah?”

  I nod. “Foster belongs in Florida. His whole life is there.” I point to my car where Livvy and Carolina wait. “We’re his friends. We can take care of him when he gets back. You won’t have to worry if he’s okay or not.”

  At my side, Foster makes a throaty coughing noise. Johnny looks between the two of us. His lips pucker. “So you got it all planned out then, huh?”

  I ignore him and turn to Foster. Put a hand on his arm and try to block the whole thing out. Because what it really comes down to is the two of us. If I can just get him to forget about his stubborn belief in creating a family with Johnny, he’ll remember what matters. Art, love, the Florida sun––which is admittedly the same in Alabama, but without the beach that has such a hold on both of us. I can be his family.

  But he won’t look at me. He just looks past his brother and me. Johnny smirks, and if it weren’t for his hands balled into tight red fists at his sides, I might believe he was actually amused by all of this. By me trying to take Foster away from him.

  “We’ll take care of him,” I say again.

  Johnny sneers, distorting his features. “We’re family. Whatever you’ve got can’t beat that. The kid doesn’t want to go nowhere.”

  Foster breaks his silence by turning to his brother. “We’ll just talk for a minute.”

  Johnny turns from us and walks inside, slamming the door behind him with a thud that echoes over the ensuing silence between Foster and me. Foster’s scared of his brother, but now he can say whatever he wants. I’ll find some way to make sure Johnny can’t hurt him or manipulate him anymore.

  “Do you have everything you need?” I point to the backpack around his shoulders. He must keep it close to him out of habit. He’s so used to running he doesn’t know how to stop. But once he sees how nice boring, normal life can be, he’ll have to settle down. He’ll want to.

  “No.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Are you okay going inside? Do you want me to go in and look for stuff for you?”

  Foster sighs. His whole body seems to heave with the weight of the breath he releases. It’s got to be hard to leave family behind, no matter how evil they are, so I let him have his moment. Then it’s time for tough love.

  “Come on,” I say. “It’s better if we go now. He’ll probably be over it by the time we’re back in Florida.” I nod toward the house, where Johnny is undoubtedly skulking by a window.

  Foster shakes his head. He finally meets my eyes with his, which are now a clouded blue-grey. Even before he’s opened his mouth, I know what he’s going to say.

  “I’m staying.” He looks at me, eyes wide and begging to be understood. Begging to be forgiven for what he’s doing to me again.

  I can’t forgive him, though. After everything his brother has put him through, from never being there when they were growing up to stealing his inheritance to this, how can he choose him over me? Not just over me, but over art school, and over any kind of future. It doesn’t make sense. But more than anything, it hurts. I try to inhale, to stabilize myself, but my lungs have suddenly run dry. All I come up with is a heavy groan that vaporizes as soon as it reaches my lips.

  “Why are you doing this?” My arms flail helplessly in the air, like I’m trying to grab hold of the wisps of hope that haven’t yet evaporated.

  Foster catches my wrists. His hands are warm and strong on mine. “This isn’t about you.”

  I blink.

  “Not everything is about you, Claire. This isn’t another summer activity you can list on your resume, okay? Saving some local boy you found sleeping on the beach might b
e a good headline for you, but this is my life.”

  He’s breathing fire, panting, his eyes practically shooting sparks. I open my mouth and close it again, but he’s not finished. He’s not going to stop until I go.

  “It was stupid to think this thing between us could ever work. It was a dream—a nice dream for a few weeks—but this has to stop.”

  He sticks a shaking finger in my face. “Leave. Please leave.”

  “You are such a coward, Foster.” Now I’m trembling. “You can’t pretend this whole summer meant nothing. You can’t just throw it all away because you want someone to call family. It doesn’t work if he doesn’t actually love you!”

  A beat passes between us as I'm struck by the full weight of what I’ve done. In my desperation to convince Foster to choose me, I’ve said the one thing that will alienate him forever. I’ve gotten too close to the truth of it all, and in one fell swoop, I’ve burnt the only tie left between us.

  It’s over.

  He shakes his head, tears swimming in his narrowed eyes, and turns away from me. I watch as he puts one foot after the other—each step another dagger—until he disappears inside the trailer, leaving me standing amongst the weeds.

  I’m too shell-shocked to drive home, so Carolina volunteers. I think she’s been secretly itching to drive anyway because she immediately adjusts the seat, cracks a window, and runs her hands over the steering wheel. I’d roll my eyes if they weren’t drowning in tears. I held it together until we drove away from Johnny’s trailer, but a second later, the crying started. I may never stop. The drive home feels twice as long. It was late afternoon by the time we left Alabama, so half of the drive is beneath moody night skies. The crisp summer air should make me feel alive, but I'm hazy and sore. Just a shell.

  “You’re strong enough to move on from this,” Carolina says. She pats my shoulder awkwardly. I don’t meet her eyes, but I give her a half-nod. I don’t feel strong enough for anything. She drives to her house and gets out, promising to text tomorrow to check on me. I assume my place in the driver’s seat, but I can’t move. We sit in Carolina’s driveway for too long, with only the radio playing a song so quietly I can’t even make out the lyrics.