The Art of Second Chances

by Coleen Patrick

  Joy’s laughter subsided, a little bit, and I turned back to my left.

  Reed shrugged, that annoyingly crazy twitch playing at the corners of his lips again. Only this time, I also noticed his dimples. “Your Cow Bell awaits.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but somehow something inside my gut understood, and fluttered in response.

  Traitorous.

  Cow Bell was a bar. Well, it had a bar, anyway. It stretched along the wall of what was basically another barn. There was hay on the floor, too, so yeah, Cow Bell was a barn bar.

  “Cheers,” Chloe yelled, holding up a plastic cup between us.

  A barn bar, where they apparently didn’t card. Not even for sixteen year olds.

  “You’re actually going to drink?” I asked. To my knowledge (and it was fairly solid when it came to my BFF), Chloe never drank alcohol. Sure, the PTSD stuff was a little out of character for her, but she was still Chloe. So Chloe drinking? Bizarre. Her personality demanded sober.

  “No. It’s not alcohol. Just punch.”

  I shot her a dubious look, and she shoved the cup under my nose. It smelled like red punch, nothing else. Maybe Cow Bell did have softer drinks for the under twenty-one crowd. “Okay, okay. I get it. You’re not drinking. Fine. Whatever.”

  “You need to loosen up, Grace. Dance. Do something. It’s spring break.”

  The music shifted to a faster tempo. There were whoops and hollers, and liquid splashed on my shirt.

  “Hey,” I said, but she just raised her cup higher and let out an answering holler.

  Chloe was awake and out of her blah funk. This was a good thing.

  A herd of people rushed to the center of the room to dance. For a line dance. I scooted backward, intent on watching it all from a safe distance.

  I backed into someone, tripping all over feet before righting myself. “Oh, sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Alice.” Reed threw one arm over my shoulder.

  “Alice? You’re quoting Lewis Carroll again?” I asked a little too brightly—my lame attempt to cover up the nerves that were going haywire where he was touching me. From the second I learned Reed wasn’t attached to my sister, some embarrassing attraction to him breached the surface. Admittedly, it probably had been an undercurrent before, but now it was all out there, and I felt exposed and trapped, like one of those flying fish that soars out of the water only to find itself flopping in the bottom of a fishing boat.

  Plus, I was shocked. How could I be attracted to a guy other than Zac? Especially a guy who’d been attached to my sister only hours earlier. Sure, their relationship had only existed in my mind, but suddenly finding Reed appealing freaked me out. It was like my impulsive decision to drive to Happy Hills had wiggled loose a recklessness I’d thought I knew how to control.

  Or maybe that was where I was in denial. Because I certainly couldn’t seem to control my insecurity (my confidence had seen better days). And worse, noticing Reed was hot brought up the Jenny issue. I found myself comparing Jenny to Reed. Could Zac be thinking the same things about Jenny? I didn’t know. I couldn’t call Zac. I had zero phone service.

  I slid out from under Reed’s arm.

  “You looked a little lost standing here on the edge of the dance floor, kind of like Alice falling into the rabbit hole.” He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

  “You were watching me?” Heat climbed up my neck. Because I sounded like I was flirting. Now I could add desperation to my potent cocktail of rogue emotions swirling inside me.

  Reed’s toe tapped to the beat of the music, and I felt a tingle on my side. A vibration that didn’t seem to want to stop.

  My phone.

  I reached into my pocket and checked the screen.

  Zac.

  In an instant, my entire body felt weak, my muscles shaky with relief. Two tiny lines indicated I’d received some spotty service.

  “I gotta take this,” I said to Reed and ran to the door. I had a boyfriend. Or at least I hoped I still had a boyfriend. I loved Zac.

  “Grace?”

  “Zac,” I said, sounding kinda wheezy as I pushed past a crowd near the door and stepped outside. The music behind me was loud, and I could barely hear him. So I moved further away, into the cool darkness. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yeah. Where are you?”

  “I’m with Chloe, and Joy. At Happy Hills farm.”

  I heard what sounded like a sigh. “Well, why didn’t you tell someone? My mom was expecting you at the house this afternoon. She called your mom, and she didn’t know why you weren’t there. Everybody tried you. How come you didn’t answer your phone?”

  “I didn’t get any calls, except this one. Cell service is spotty. I--”

  “Grace, you could’ve at least called. If not me, then someone.”

  If not him? What did he mean by that? It sounded like something he would say if we weren’t really connected to one another—like we weren’t each other’s first line of contact, like we were only friends. Or worse, only neighbors. Which was something I was afraid we would downgrade to if we ever broke up.

  If. If we ever broke up. I held on to hope.

  “I’m sorry, Zac. It’s all been so weird-”

  “I know.”

  I was about to explain to him how dramatic Chloe had been and how she was now finally feeling the pain of her breakup with Taylor. Of course, I was also thinking about the things we said in his backyard the night before, but that wasn’t where I was going right away.

  “Look, Grace. Things have been really stressful lately—for both of us. I just think we need to chill, take a breather…”

  “A breather?” I held my own in. My heart squeezed.

  “Yeah, Grace. It’s been…”

  My phone crackled. Zac’s voice split.

  “Zac?”

  “Don’t want to talk…stop…I know it sucks…take a break…”

  He was breaking up with me. I felt tears pushing at the back of my eyes.

  And then, as if my phone knew I couldn’t take anymore, it dropped the call.

  Chapter 11

  Donkey Punch on the Dance Floor, Mixed Media

  I ran back into Cow Bell, pushing through the crowd to find Chloe. She was in the middle of the dance floor, focusing on her feet and laughing. Because she was too occupied learning the steps, she didn’t notice my crumpled face, or the unshed tears clouding my vision. Then the chorus of the song pounded through the speakers, and Chloe got swept into the line, leaving me to get knocked to the side, near the end of the hay-covered bar.

  I swiped away my tears.

  “Grace, you okay?”

  I shifted around to find myself almost up against Reed—and in his minty fresh air space. I backed up and boosted myself onto a bar stool. It was a little too soon to know his gum preference.

  “Hey,” my sister’s voice buzzed in my ear. “Chloe said you came to visit because Zac is with Jenny Oliver. Is that why you were asking me about her last night?”

  “Zac’s not with her. At least he wasn’t when I left.” I dropped my arms and head onto the bar, and a stick of hay poked into the soft skin on the inside of my elbow. I pushed it aside. “He broke up with me. He said we needed a break.”

  My sister’s hand pressed on my shoulder. Again tears prickled but stopped at my sister’s consolation. Was Reed right? Was Joy trying to connect? Did she actually want to have a working relationship?

  I lifted my head and a guy in a cowboy hat behind the bar pushed a shot glass in our direction. Joy reached for it.

  “Time to dance.” She lifted the clear liquid to her lips and tossed the drink back.

  “Uh, I thought you didn’t drink anymore.”

  Joy flashed me her standard you are clueless expression. “I don’t drink, Grace. This is a drink, and a natural one at that. Are you going to dance or not?”

  I shook my head, watching as Joy folded herself into the crowd. I faced the bar again. Reed was still there, onl
y now he had a full shot glass in front of him.

  “So, is that not alcohol?”

  He picked it up, twirling it a little in his fingers. “Oh no, it is.”

  “Well, why did she say it’s natural?”

  “It’s moonshine. Made right here at Happy Hills. Guaranteed to knock you on your natural ass if you aren’t careful.”

  I actually got all tingly when Reed said natural ass. How pathetic. I shoved aside my shady reaction. “So, what was it you were saying earlier today? Something about my sister wanting to connect?”

  “Yeah?”

  I nodded toward the dance floor.

  “So she asked you to dance,” Reed said. “I don’t know if you are aware of this, but in some cultures, dancing could be considered a way to connect.”

  “Really? Did Thomas Jefferson tell you that?”

  “No, I learned that in middle school. Painful lesson.”

  A corner of my mouth pushed up, and I wanted to slap it down. “Joy’s way to connect is still the whole Europe versus American converter thing.”

  “Okay. Whatever you say.” Reed lowered the shot glass. It was still full.

  We were quiet then, and I found myself counting the beats in the music drumming out of the speakers.

  “I’m sorry about your boyfriend,” he said.

  I shrugged, but tears pooled again. I tried to fight back my sadness, because I didn’t want Reed’s pity. I had enough of my own. Because even though I’d been embarrassingly paranoid and jealous over Jenny Oliver, in some way, Zac had chosen to spend his time with her.

  “His loss,” Reed said.

  “Whatever.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “You don’t know me.”

  “Let’s see. You’re sixteen, a sophomore. You got your official driver’s license a couple of months ago. You like to draw—and paint. You had your artwork at a show last year. You did an ocean mural at your mom’s café, Zen, where you also work after school and on the weekends. Uh…wait, you also work on the school paper and the Ecology Club. Your best friend is Callie…”

  “Chloe,” I said, feeling my heart beat hard at the bottom of my throat. I didn’t know if it was freaking me out to think about my sister mentioning she had a sister, let alone talking about me, or that Reed knew—no remembered—all that about me.

  “Chloe. That’s what I said.” Reed winked. “And you’re a vegetarian. Most of the time.”

  I shot him a curious look.

  “Oh and you broke your hand trying to climb a pine tree.”

  “My pinky,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Zac was firmly back on my mind now. My stomach churned. I didn’t want to think of him. I wanted to forget about how he called me, Pinks. Forget about his sexy, short hair, and that he’d said he wanted me only days before. And his kisses. That the kind of break we were suddenly taking was completely unexpected, the worst kind. That maybe my ridiculously paranoia pushed us to this place. Or worse, that maybe I had a really good gut sense about things, and Zac wanted to be with Jenny. Most of all, I didn’t want to think about what this break would mean for our friendship, let alone our relationship.

  I wanted to forget it all. I reached for the shot glass still in front of Reed. But when the liquid sloshed over my fingers, I let go, and watched the glass slide a little in the puddle I made.

  I didn’t want to drink. That would be impulsive. And lately, I’d been doing too many things on impulse.

  From my peripheral vision, I thought I saw Reed’s eyes widen a bit. That annoyed me. Like he was in my business again.

  I squinted in defiance and…licked my finger. Then I coughed a little. Yeah, you show him, Callahan. “That’s like liquid fire.”

  Reed patted my back.

  I leaned away, pushing at his arm.

  “Sorry.” He raised his palms. Then he reached into the pocket of his button down shirt. “Here.”

  He produced one of those pink flowers he’d showed me earlier.

  “You carry flowers around?” I swallowed, trying to erase the taste of Happy Hills moonshine. I took the flower.

  “They’re blooming right outside the door. I was going to paint it.”

  “You paint?”

  He nodded but didn’t elaborate.

  I rolled the stem between my fingers. Noting colors, lines, curves. But I didn’t want to think about anything art related. “It’s a bluebell, right? Um…Martin Virginia. No, that’s not right.”

  “What? The scientific name?”

  “Wait. Don’t tell me.” I held up a finger, scrunching up my face as I tried to remember our conversation. The flower was a bluebell. I remembered that because I thought the name was odd considering the flower was pink. “It’s not Martin, but something closer to a number. Tens? Virginia. No, it’s not Virginia. Wait, I think I got it, Tens Virgin…”

  I was lost in thought, trying to think of the rest of the word.

  “Tense virgin?” Reed grinned, his eyes practically twinkling with amusement.

  Fabulous. The theme of my life. My cheeks throbbed from a massive blush attack. “Virginica. I didn’t finish what I was saying. Tens Virginica.”

  “Mertensia Virginica,” he said. Barely. He was laughing too hard. Practically clutching his stomach.

  “Right. That’s what I said.” Something about his laughter made my blush subside. Small favors. I studied his jaw. Angled, hard, but totally on board with supporting his happy dimples.

  For the millionth time, I thought of Zac and Jenny, and I realized I was starting to compare the Reed thing (whatever it was) to the Jenny thing. Like Jenny, Reed was attractive and smart. Plus, he apparently liked to paint flowers. So something creative lurked underneath his scholarly cowboy exterior. Smarts, creativity, and good looks. In this case, a terrible trifecta, because I felt something strange, magnetic, as if him talking about the things I liked made him all the more interesting.

  Was that what Zac felt with Jenny? Because smarts and looks aside, Jenny was passionate about the very thing Zac loved, journalism.

  “How can I compete with that?”

  “What?” Reed plucked at his shirt as if he needed to cool down.

  “Sure, I do some photography and graphics for the school paper, but I’m definitely not considering a career in journalism. Not that I even have a clue about a possible career. Unlike, Jenny. I bet they’re having an amazing time. Both of them all wrapped up in their smartness, hotness, and journalism…ness.” I waved my hand in the air. “Journalismness? Probably not a word.”

  “I don’t know,” Reed said. “I’m not really into journalism.”

  “Me neither, I guess.” I noted a shimmer of leftover tear near his eye. The day wasn’t a complete bust. I learned I could bring a guy to tears.

  I gave Reed his flower back.

  “No, you keep it.”

  “But what about your painting?”

  “There are lots more where that came from.”

  “Oh. Lots, huh? So what else do you paint, besides flowers?”

  “Fences.”

  Behind us, the music changed to something louder. I wasn’t sure I heard him right, so I leaned toward him. “What?”

  “I paint fences.” He propped his left elbow on the bar. “That’s one of my jobs. When I’m here.”

  “Okay, but you just said you wanted to paint flowers.”

  He shrugged.

  “Am I missing something?” I tipped my head to the side. He was so close now that I could smell him again. Soap, mint, and what could only be Reed’s skin. Maybe. It was unfamiliar, but definitely not unpleasant. A loopy sensation spread to my middle. I felt warm.

  “Well, I wanted to ask you the same thing, but you made it clear that the topic of art was off-limits.”

  “You can talk about your painting stuff, if you want.”

  “Oh I can, can I?”

  “Okay, so don’t then. Do whatever you want.”

  “You really are going to give art up because of one rejection?”
>
  I threw my hands in the air. “What is this, therapy?”

  “Maybe.” He laughed.

  “Well, I’m going to do whatever I want, and in this case, that means I plead the fifth on the topic of art.” I drummed my finger on the bar. My mind swirled with thoughts of my CU rejection, my Zac rejection, even my sister rejecting my weekly phone calls. Was I in some kind of denial? I didn’t think so. Or was that proof that I was? “This is all such a joke.”

  “What is?”

  I shook my head, maybe a little too hard this time, and my hand shot out and landed on Reed’s knee.

  Thanks, equilibrium.

  “Sorry,” I said, but I was a little slow to react, so my hand stayed there longer than necessary. Reed actually picked up my hand, but instead of putting it back on my own side, he splayed his palm and fingers against mine.

  Then he gave me my hand back, but not before heat unfurled deep in my middle. Something good? Kind of, because rejection slunk away. I felt no pain, no heartbreak. Zac’s pronouncement seemed a million miles away and didn’t hurt in the slightest.

  And that good, coupled with the beat of the music and the stomping of feet on the dance floor, turned into a sweet, peaceful numbness coursing through my veins. And it had nothing to do with moonshine.

  My sister appeared between us, her face shiny with sweat. She grabbed a hand from each of us. “You two need to dance.”

  I tugged at my wrist, which was firmly wrapped in my sister’s grip. Again, I saw the tattoo. The edge of the capital V curling over the L stacked above it.

  “What’s this one?” I pointed at her tattoo with my free hand, hoping to distract her from making me dance with Reed.

  Joy let go of me and glanced briefly at her hand. “Life and vitality.”

  I considered asking her the symbolism, but I thought of the sex book and her empowerment speech. I wasn’t about to get sucked into that lecture again, so I nodded, saying yes to dancing. “I don’t know any line dances.”

  “You’ll learn.” Joy pressed her hand into my shoulder and pushed me toward the dance floor.

  Reed stretched his arms over his head in a pose that suggested anything goes. He was the picture of confidence and ease. “I think we can handle this one, Grace.”