The Art of Second Chances

by Coleen Patrick

  I stopped resisting my sister, and my hip bumped into Reed. Carefully, he twirled me around and guided me forward.

  Then the music shifted tempo to something slower. All I could think about was Zac, and our slow dance at Chloe’s cousin’s wedding last year.

  My pulse sped up. Whether it quickened from fear or hope, I didn’t know. Being on a break from Zac was brand new territory for me, and far too ambiguous. I didn’t know what to do with this kind of break. If anything. This was not the change I’d considered for our relationship.

  I closed my eyes in an attempt to minimize the suckage. It didn’t work. Hideous blackness seeped into every empty space inside me. Soon, there’d be no light.

  Reed spun me and my head swirled, but only until he pulled me closer. He was warm, solid, and I looped my arms around his neck, holding on like he was an anchor.

  We swayed to the music. Then I stopped thinking. My head, my heart, my veins seemed to be muddled with farm fresh air, hay, and Reed. There was so much newness surrounding me that it cancelled out the familiar. New. Or neo in art terms. Neo transformation. Maybe that could be the name of my art movement.

  We continued slow dancing, even when the music switched to something a little more upbeat.

  “I think we’re supposed to stop.” I lifted up on my toes, so he could hear me over the music.

  “Whatever.” His hands pressed into my hips as he leaned closer. “There’s no formality here at Cow Bell. We can do whatever we want. You said so yourself.”

  His breath was near my ear, and then, his lips grazed my cheek. I shivered.

  We can do whatever we want.

  My mouth was next to his, and we stood like that for I didn’t know how long, a tiny fraction of airspace the only thing separating our lips.

  Then I moved, or he moved. Whatever. It didn’t matter. Because once we started kissing, I didn’t want to stop.

  Song after song played, and we stayed there, on the dance floor, kissing. At some point, there was hollering around us, but the only thing I cared about was keeping our lips together.

  “Grace, I think you should call my mom,” Chloe said.

  I rolled over on my cot, squinting at the sun streaming through the dozen or so spaces between the wall boards, without regard to sleeping bodies, or minds submerged in a gray funk. I guess caulk was a no-no at Happy Hills. I sat up. “What’s wrong?”

  “I feel all clammy, like I’m sweating.” Chloe threw off the thin cover she slept under. “This is definitely PTSD. My heart seems to be pounding, too.”

  “Yeah?” I got up and walked over to the small, plastic trash can in one corner. I pushed it next to her bed, near her head. Then I picked up my duffle bag, stuffed my clothes in from the day before, and zipped it shut.

  “What are you doing? I think I’m dying. Get my phone.”

  “I’m not calling your mom. Besides, there’s no service here. Sit up. We’ve got to get on the road. It’s going to take us six hours to get to the beach from here.”

  “Fine. I’ll call my mom myself then.” Chloe whined but uncurled her body. Slowly. “Oh, oh no . . . another symptom.”

  I lifted the trash can and held it in front of Chloe like a feedbag. Then she puked. Like she’d done three times before in the middle of the night.

  “Sorry, Chlo, but the only disorder you have right now is a hangover.”

  “Impossible. I didn’t drink.” She paused for a gag over the trash can. Then straightened, very slowly. “False alarm.”

  “Yeah. You did. That punch is called, Donkey Punch, and the main ingredient is moonshine.”

  “Moonshine? Isn’t that illegal? Are you sure?”

  I nodded.

  “Donkey punch. Oh crap. Well, who feels like an ass now?” Chloe groaned and bent over the trash can again.

  Me.

  I didn’t even drink and I felt crappy. I didn’t want to be doing whatever I wanted. I didn’t want to be on a break. I wanted Zac back. The way we were.

  I wished I’d never made that U-turn to the farm. Being impulsive sucked.

  Chloe barfed again.

  Once her stomach was empty, the miracle of ginger ale and saltines cured Chloe from her ailments from the night before.

  They did nothing for mine though.

  Chapter 12

  Gorgeous Gorge, Collage

  A few hours later, Chloe and I were on the road, heading for the beach.

  “I didn’t see Reed when we left,” Chloe said. “Did you two say your good-byes in private?”

  “What are you talking about?” I glanced at her, then back at the highway. She was laughing at me.

  “Playing dumb isn’t a good look for you. I saw you making out in the middle of the dance floor. I was one of the people who lugged that big tin of water over to you both.”

  I zeroed in on my phone. Still in the console. Quiet. I’d actually left Zac a message for him to call me. I needed to talk to him. I didn’t know what that would do, but I had to try something. I wasn’t used to not talking to Zac. Especially when I felt so out of sorts.

  “Don’t be mad, Grace. It wasn’t my idea. Besides, there was no way I could lift that much water over your heads, but I guess I did have my hand on the tub on the way over.”

  “I’m not mad.” Reed and I kissed for a long time on the dance floor, so long that, apparently, the only way anyone could get us out of there was by pouring a very large tub of ice water over our heads. A twitch tugged at the corner of my lips. I set it straight.

  What was that about?

  “So you feel better?” Chloe asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, yesterday, you were feeling hurt by Zac’s spoiled brat remark. You were feeling second to Jenny.”

  “I didn’t kiss Reed for revenge,” I said, but once the words were out, I started second-guessing myself. Maybe I had. I did kind of feel some sort of satisfaction. I wanted to fix things with Zac, but I couldn’t help but notice there was a part of me that didn’t want to erase kissing Reed. I didn’t feel guilty, not really and I wasn’t sorry about it either. Because for so many weeks, I’d felt like an afterthought to Zac. It was nice to feel wanted.

  Which brought me back around to wondering if I’d done it out of revenge. It was confusing.

  Maybe Zac had been right the other night on his porch. Maybe I was a brat looking to get her way. It wasn’t lost on me that, not that long ago, my friends and family were complaining that I didn’t express myself. But I couldn’t help but recognize how I bailed on art after one rejection. Was that a bratty reaction from not getting my way? Was I always supposed to take every hit? I didn’t know.

  “Okay,” Chloe said. “So Reed was more of an unexpected diversion?”

  “I guess.”

  “Well, Cow Bell was definitely a diversion for me.” Chloe pushed her seat back and propped a foot on the dash. “I had no idea the amount of hurt I was in for when Taylor broke it off with me. It wasn’t until I saw you mooning all over Reed the minute he walked into the cabin that it all came crashing in on me. I guess I tried, in some way, to let my feelings out with those romance movies, but dancing like a wild woman got me there faster.”

  “And don’t forget the Donkey Punch.”

  Chloe swallowed carefully. “I’ll never forget the Donkey Punch. Now, I have even less than zero interest in drinking.”

  “By the way, I was not mooning when I first met Reed. I thought he was my sister’s boyfriend.”

  Chloe raised an eyebrow, obviously unconvinced. “So then why do you think you kissed Reed?”

  “I don’t know.” I slid my hands to rest at the bottom of the steering wheel. “It was definitely unexpected, and I don’t know, maybe a distraction.”

  “And fun?”

  “Yeah, okay. It was fun.”

  “So we both had fun. Unless Zac finds out. Are you going to tell him?”

  “Zac and I broke up last night, Chlo.”

  “What?”

&n
bsp; “Yeah, he called me when we got to Cow Bell. He said we needed to take a break.”

  “God, I’m sorry,” Chloe said, and the car suddenly felt unnatural quiet. “I guess the whole Reed thing doesn’t even matter then. Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know.” A few hours of fun and I was left with . . . what?

  There was no me and Zac, not right now, anyway. And there was definitely no me and Reed. I didn’t even say good-bye to him. He was nowhere to be found when we left the farm. He probably wanted it that way. I did. Honestly, not having to tie up our night in Cow Bell was a relief.

  “Oh, look.” Chloe pointed at a sign on the highway. “The Natural Bridge is only a few exits away. Let’s go.”

  “Really?” I asked, not feeling her excitement.

  The Natural Bridge would have been one of the first stops on our proposed fantasy family road trip years ago. It was essentially the first touristy type of stop heading west out of Hickory Bend. I always wanted to do that road trip. My whole family had at one time. Then my dad left, and road trips were off the radar. Except for the part where my dad did his own trip last year. I guess it was every man and woman for themselves.

  If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there. Reed’s voice echoed in my head.

  This time, the quote felt like a challenge—a challenge to be confident about my direction, my choices. So, I put on my blinker and moved to the right lane. “Natural Bridge, here we come.”

  Chloe clapped. “You see? This is what road trips are supposed to be like.”

  “What? Hangovers and natural monuments?” I smirked.

  “No, random fun and unexpected events. Yesterday morning, you would never have predicted that, by the end of the night, you’d be making out with a stranger on a hay strewn dance floor.”

  I chewed on my bottom lip. “So you wouldn’t call me impulsive? You’d say last night was more of a random fun thing?”

  “Impulsive? You?” Chloe looked at me with wide eyes. Wide laughing eyes. “Girl you are far too neurotic for that, and I mean that in the most loving sense of the word, because of course I have my own neuroses and I can recognize.”

  “Oh. I’m feeling the love, Chlo.”

  “Come on, Grace. You know what I mean. I’m talking about your internal Supposed To list.”

  “Explain, please.”

  “Parents stay together. Sisters remain close. You fall in love with your best friend. He falls back. He continues to assure you he’s in love with you and doesn’t shack up in an empty house with his ex. And you get into the art program. All the shit that’s supposed to happen.”

  I focused on the lines on the road, then took a big breath, holding the air in my cheeks, as if I were a puffer fish in defensive mode.

  But she was right. One of my go-to defenses was trying to put everything back where it was supposed to go.

  Lightheaded, I blew out the air in my inflated cheeks. I even tried to contain my freaking air.

  Chloe patted me on the shoulder. “It sucks when what you think is supposed to happen doesn’t.”

  “Yes, it does.” I grabbed Chloe’s hand and squeezed it before letting go. “But sometimes it’s not bad, like realizing your BFF is not all chocolate-popcorn-lemme-braid-your-hair-I-love-you, but instead has a kind of awesome and pretty accurate no bull detector.”

  “That I do, ma’am.” Chloe tipped an imaginary hat in my direction.

  Then neither of us said anything for a bit, and I focused on the repetitive thump of the tires on the highway.

  After a few minutes I said, “So Reed was one of those ‘not supposed to happen’ things, I guess.”

  “If you’re being literal, but you know what I think?” Chloe picked up her sunglasses from the dashboard and put them on, sliding them along her nose with one finger. “Everyone should add kissing a random hot guy in a barn on their supposed to do list.”

  The Natural Bridge was huge. The gorge underneath weathered by Mother Nature seemed to command the setting, pulling all talk and chatter into its void. The effect was quiet serenity.

  Chloe went off to explore while I sat on one of the benches, next to a wall of rock that seemed to touch the sky. The weight of the silence, the heavy rock, the water around me, it all pressed in.

  Birds tweeted. Water trickled. The sun shimmered through the trees.

  I reached for my bag only to remember I didn’t have a journal with me. After the CU rejection, I stopped taking one everywhere. I squashed my urge to doodle or sketch on demand, because it wasn’t fun anymore. In every pencil stroke, I could hear the judgment, you’re not good enough, and I felt the sting of rejection all over again. Was not wanting to feel that pain denial?

  I wasn’t sure. I traced my finger on the flat ledge of the rock wall. I wanted to be stronger, but at the same time, I wanted to run away from it all. How could I block out the negativity, the rejection, and get back to my carefree doodling life of before?

  My phone rang and I jumped. I fished it out of the side pocket of my bag, figuring it was Chloe calling me over to see more wonders of nature.

  But mostly, I hoped it was Zac. Except it was an unknown number.

  “Hey,” a male voice drawled after I answered and something pinged in my gut. “It’s Reed.”

  “Hey.” My hand automatically went up to smooth my hair back, out of my face, as if he could see me.

  “So we didn’t get to say good-bye.”

  “Uh, well, I didn’t know where you were.”

  “Yeah, I had deliveries at dawn.”

  “Wow, you had to get up early, and after being out so late.” My thoughts were now firmly zeroed in our dance floor make out session. Heat pressed behind my cheeks.

  “S’okay,” he said, his words punctuated by a repetitive tapping sound in the background. Maybe it was his foot. Maybe he was nervous, too.

  “Yeah,” I said, not knowing how else to respond to what he said. All of it was so out of the realm of what I knew, what I did. Maybe that was why a part of me felt okay, because I really didn’t know what to think about Reed. Although, with each mile I left behind after leaving Happy Hills, I thought I’d take it all back if things could be okay with Zac and me again.

  “So how are you?” Reed asked.

  “Fine. Um, Chloe wanted to stop at Natural Bridge, so we’re seeing the sights, stuff like that.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Mm-hmm. I actually thought of that Lewis Carroll quote you said yesterday—about how any road will take you there.”

  “So, are you saying you don’t know where you’re going?”

  “No.” I stretched my legs out in front of me, carefully. “Kind of the opposite. Taking control. I think. I just thought of the quote, or of you. I don’t know.”

  Reed cleared his throat, and I slapped a palm to my forehead for saying I’d thought of him.

  “Well,” I said. “Thanks for calling.”

  “Sure, but wait. I wanted to let you know that you can call me if you need any advice.”

  “Advice?”

  “Yeah. With your art stuff, or whatever. I know we didn’t talk about it all that much, but I have some experience with applying to art school.”

  “Okay,” I said, drawing out the word. My knee jerk reaction was to tell him I had nothing to say on the art topic, but then I glanced at the rock wall, where I could see the faint heart I’d traced in the sandy dirt. I was so confused, with everything, but I knew that wasn’t a reason to abandon it all. I wanted the courage to figure out my dreams. I didn’t want my life to be a series of unsolved mysteries. I didn’t want to be afraid all the time. Didn’t want that faint heart to be mine. I needed to figure out how not to run away, how to be bold. Or at least, bolder.

  I pushed my finger deeper into the heart’s outline. “Hey, do you carry a sketchbook with you everywhere you go?”

  There was silence, and I pulled my phone from my ear to see if I’d lost the call.

  “Yup. I usually keep
one in my car.”

  “I used to.” I let out a stream of air I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “But I’m thinking of doing that again.”

  “Good.” His voice sounded quieter, almost closer. “If it makes you happy.”

  “I think it does.”

  “Well then, you have your answer. Besides, if you ask me, if you’re taking any road, might as well keep the journey a pleasant one.”

  I laughed, surprising myself with how relaxed I suddenly sounded. “Wow, that Lewis Carroll quote is versatile.”

  “It’s sure getting some mileage with us.”

  Then there was silence again.

  “So, uh, if I ever need help with art school applications…”

  “You can call me. Sounds like a plan,” Reed said, and I swore it sounded like he was smiling. “And Grace?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Good luck with everything.”

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  We hung up, and I exhaled. Talking with Reed was, well, weird, and then not weird. I didn’t have experience with random make out sessions, but this had to be the most amicable resolution ever.

  Hopefully, that could carry over to Zac.

  Chapter 13

  Seagulls and Tapioca Cheese on a Sand Dune, Plaster

  A few hours later, Chloe and I rolled into the Outer Banks. We drove over a bridge, where seagulls circled and squawked, then onto Highway 12. We passed souvenir shops, drive-thru convenience stores, and cars with surfboards attached to the roofs.

  At a stoplight, I dropped one hand from the steering wheel and flexed my neck. A huge billboard for the Plein Air Painting Expo loomed above the intersection. It was this week, taking place at the pier near milepost 16—not all that far from the house where we would be staying. How did I not hear about this?

  Because you’ve been ignoring any and everything that has to do with art.

  I squirmed in the driver’s seat. Plein air. I knew that term. In French, it meant outdoors. I guess it was a big art festival on the beach. Interesting.