“We’re going to make firefly jars!” I exclaim excitedly.
They all look between themselves and then back at me with confused looks on their faces.
“Can anybody tell me what fireflies are famous for?” Mom asks them.
Rachel throws up her hand and gets out of her seat, flapping her arms at her side. “They buzz around like this and have glowing butts.”
Everyone giggles, including me. “Alright, alright. Rachel is right, they do glow.” I pause for a beat before pointing at the supplies I’ve laid out on the tables. “What you have in front of you is glow in the dark paint. You can dot it around the inside of the jar or make patterns, that’s totally up to you, but it dries quickly so make sure you know where you want to put it before you do.” My gaze settles on Clayton before I say my next sentence. “When they’re dry, you can take them home and put them in your bedrooms so it’ll look like little fireflies are in there.”
He doesn’t lift his head but there’s no hiding his small smile that makes me want to do a happy dance where I’m standing. The slight show of emotion may not feel like anything to anybody else, but to me, it’s everything.
They all get started on the project and I watch everyone as they draw patterns on their jars with the glow in the dark paint. Once they’ve finished, Mom and I place them on the window ledge to dry so they can take them home before I call them all over to the beanbags.
I flop down into one and tuck my legs underneath me. “Did everyone enjoy today’s session?” They all nod and smile. “Great! I did too, it was awesome to see you all working together. Speaking of working together, we need to decide on the joint gallery piece. I know you all have your own pieces to show the guests you’re bringing, but I wanted to do one main piece.”
There’s a show of hands and I point to Ben, one of the older students.
“We should draw space aliens invading Earth!” he cries out.
Heads swivel in his direction before whipping to the other side as Jessica, another one of the older students, counters, “No, we should do a magic land.”
“I’m not drawing unicorns or pink fluffy things!” Ben scoffs back.
“I like unicorns,” Izzie interjects.
And that’s the start of all the arguing. I stand up and watch them for a few seconds before lifting my fingers to my mouth and whistling to get their attention. “You can all get your points across, there’s no need to argue.”
“I don’t want to draw unicorns,” Ben says, crossing his arms over his chest in a huff.
“And I don’t want to draw stupid slimy aliens,” Jessica says, sticking her tongue out at him.
As I’m about to try and calm the situation, someone clears their throat and I raise my brow as I look over at who it was.
“We… We could paint the people that are coming,” Clayton says nervously.
I tilt my head to the side. “That’s an incredible idea, Clayton,” I praise him, making him blush. I see Mom beaming out of the corner of my eye. “Is everyone okay with that?”
There’s a few murmurs of “yes” and “yeah,” most agreeing—apart from Ben who sulks as he slumps down in his beanbag.
“Okay, you don’t have to draw everyone that’s coming, let’s limit it to two people. If you’re brother and sister, that means you have four people to paint,” I say with enthusiasm.
Everyone starts talking between them again and I let them get all of their excitement about who they’re drawing out of the way.
Clayton taps his bean bag and Izzie scoots over, leaning into his side. I frown at the serious looks on their faces. Deciding to get a little bit closer so I can hear their murmurs.
“You can draw Dad, Izzie, I don’t mind,” Clayton says quietly.
“And Edward?” Izzie asks.
Clayton smiles slightly. “Yeah.”
Izzie starts to perk up, but then the smile drops from her face. “But… who will you draw?”
Clayton’s face screws up. “I… Maybe I can paint Nana and Amelia?”
“Or Mommy—”
“Miss J said family that’s coming,” he snaps and pulls away from her.
“But...”
He sighs, his eyes misting over as he swallows and pulls Izzie into him again with an arm around her shoulders. “Sorry, Izzie, I didn’t mean to be horrible. Amelia is family, I’ll draw her,” he reassures her for some reason.
Izzie looks up at the ceiling then taps Clayton’s leg excitedly, forgetting about her moment of sadness. “You can draw her making our favorite cookies!”
I smile at her excitement; I can tell that there’s a story behind the conversation that I was privy to, but it’s not any of my business.
“Try and keep this to yourself so it can be a surprise on the night,” I say to everyone. “It can be our little secret to reveal in two weeks on gallery night.”
I wait patiently on the cobblestone path with the other parents for the children to be let out of their art class. I can see Izzie from here through the black-framed windows, and when she notices me, she jumps up and down, waving frantically with a silly smile on her face.
I lift my hand and wave back, eliciting an even bigger smile as she sits back down and turns to face whoever is talking. I crane my head to the side, trying to see who it is but with all of the parents blocking the way, I can’t see a damn thing.
The elusive Miss J is becoming more and more a mystery, and I’m itching to see who the woman is that has both of my kids under her spell.
I turn away from the window, catching the eyes of several parents, though not one of them speak to me. I let it go, not minding that I keep myself to myself as I pull my cell out, making myself look busy, when in fact, I have nothing to reply to. Which is unusual because there’s always something I could be checking or responding to.
The sound of children’s squeals come through the door as they open and I spot Matilda handing them off to their parents. Izzie comes flying through the door and Matilda stops her with a hand to her shoulder, crouching down and whispering something to her. Izzie nods and steps back, looking around for something and then heading back inside before coming back with Clay by her side, both of them dragging the box of jars behind them.
I step forward, crouching down and picking the box up off the floor before standing back up.
“Wow! What are these?” I ask, looking down at them both.
Clay shrugs and Izzie jumps up and down on the spot. “They’re jars, silly Daddy!” She giggles and turns toward Matilda, shaking her head as if to say, “how does he not know this?”
“Oh.” I look down and pull one out, marveling at the painted patterns on them. “This is really good.”
“That one’s mine!” Izzie shouts, her face full of pride. “I made them for Clay, they’re firefly jars so he can use them for nightlights.”
I move my gaze to Clay and watch as his face heats, the red creeping up his cheeks. He finds it difficult talking about the fact that he can’t sleep without a light on and no doubt is embarrassed by it. I can’t remember the last time he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night because of a nightmare, he never tells me what he dreamed about, no matter how much I push him to tell me. Several times I’ve woken up to him having slipped into bed with me, one of his nightlights clutched to his chest.
I wink at him, trying to ease his embarrassment slightly then turn toward Izzie. “Did you make me one?”
“You don’t need one, Daddy.”
“What? Of course I do!” My hand flies to my chest in mock outrage and her eyes widen as she looks from the jars then back up to me and Clay.
“Erm…”
“You can have one of mine, Dad,” Clay tells me.
“Woo!” I throw my fist in the air, my lips spreading into a wide grin.
He chuckles and the red starts to fade as I peek into the box, mumbling about choosing just the right one to go in my bedroom.
I hear Matilda’s chuckle and I turn to face her, smiling and sa
ying, “Thanks,” as I tilt my head at Clay and Izzie, signaling that it’s time to go. “Did you have a good time?”
“Yeah! Guess what? We’re draw—”
“Don’t tell him, Izzie! Miss J said it’s a secret!” Clay shouts, pulling the car door open and jumping into the back seat with a stern look on his face.
“Oh.” Her face falls and I run my hand over her hair.
“Clay,” I warn him before turning my gaze back to Izzie. “It’s okay, pumpkin, I’m sure whatever you’re going to be doing will be amazing.”
“You’ll see at the galy night,” she says, perking up as she climbs into the back next to Clay.
“Gallery night, Izzie,” Clay huffs. “Say it right.”
“She’s still learning, Clay. Don’t hound her for getting it wrong.”
He huffs long and slow, shaking his head and opening his book up, immersing himself in the pages and going off into his own little world.
Jasmine Thompson—Everybody Hurts
Sara Bareilles—Breathe Again
Demi Lovato—Warrior
I’m locking up the studio for the day when my cellphone rings. I hand Mom the keys to my car and signal that I’ll not be long before I answer the unknown number that is flashing on the screen.
“Hel—”
“Harmony…” Gerry’s voice slurs over the line; he’s been drinking.
“I told you not to call me anymore, Gerry.”
“I know, but I miss you. We were good together.” He hiccups.
I roll my eyes. “Go to bed, Gerry. If you say anything more, you’ll regret it in the morning.”
“No, the only thing I regret is ever giving you up.”
I’m taken aback by his comment, I’ve not heard anything from him since he received the divorce papers six weeks ago. “Giving me up? That’s not how I remember it going down, Gerry. You cheated on me, and apart from that, you gave me years of verbal abuse about my career. You made me feel like—”
He starts laughing but it doesn’t sound joyful, it sounds menacing. “Your career? After I received the asset papers, I researched your little studio.” He laughs again. “You’re kidding yourself that you’re going to be this huge turning point in their lives, that they’re actually going to learn while they’re running around throwing paint everywhere. You need to start getting serious about a career, that’s not a real job,” he jibes, digging a proverbial knife in one more time.
I wince at his words before recovering myself, I won’t let him do this to me anymore. “You know what, Gerry? If you actually took the time to learn about what it is I did and came to the old studio, maybe we’d still be together and you wouldn’t be this… person. I have a real job, I always have.”
“I came once,” he sneers.
“You did. But you also agreed to try and understand what it is I do.”
“And I did, didn’t I?” he deadpans.
“You came, but you left your try.” I clear my throat. “You stopped trying, Gerry.” My voice starts to sound choked up so I pull the phone away from my ear, my heart breaking in two. “What happened?”
He sighs dramatically before slurring, “I couldn’t be a placeholder for him.”
He spits the last word out with such venom that it shocks me. How could he ever think that?
“Gerry, I—”
“Don’t baby me, Harmony, I always knew I was the rebound. I was content with that at first, thinking you’d forget about him and eventually love me the way you did him.”
“I did love you.”
He scoffs. “But you weren’t in love with me, were you? You were happy enough with your consolation prize, but you never looked at me the way that you did with him.” He pauses. “I know you’ve got a place on the right side of the tracks, I bet you fell right into his arms again, didn’t you?”
“Stop!” I shout down the line. “Just stop it.”
“I was never good enough. You left me and ran right back into his arms.” He laughs bitterly. “Don’t come back to me when he throws you to the side again, just like he did the last time.”
Before I can reply, the line goes dead and I’m left standing in front of my studio wondering if every little thing he said was the truth.
What if he was a placeholder? The rebound that I would never love the way I did with him?
No, he’s wrong, he was never a placeholder. Was he?
I startle as a hand touches my shoulder and I spin around, wide-eyed.
“Are you okay, Harm?” Mom asks and I paste on the same forced smile I have been giving her for the last few weeks.
“I’m fine, let’s get home.” I walk past her and climb into the car.
She follows and gets into the passenger side before I start driving toward her house.
I pull up to the familiar house but I can’t go inside. My hands stay clutched onto the steering wheel as I stare ahead, not able to move.
Mom turns toward me as she gets out of my car. “Want to have a glass of wine before bed?”
I hesitate; Gerry and my conversation weighing heavily on me. It feels like a giant weight is sitting on my chest and I could do with sorting through my feelings on my own.
“Dang it, I left something at the studio. You go in and pour us a glass, I’ll be back soon,” I reply, giving her a small smile.
Her brow creases as she frowns. “I could come back with you to keep you company?”
I shake my head. “No. Thank you though.” She sighs and starts to close the door until I raise my voice to catch her attention. “Mom?” Her head reappears as she ducks back into the car. “Was… Was Gerry a rebound?”
I can’t look at her as she climbs into the seat, reaching for one of my hands. “You loved Gerry when you married him, both your dad and I saw it. That’s why we let you go.”
I tuck my hair behind my ear before looking up at her. “I might’ve loved him, but was I in love with him?”
She lets out a long sigh. “Being in love and loving someone are two different things, only you know your feelings, hon. You were both so young, but you vowed you were in love with him and who were we to stand in the way?”
“I thought I was at the time, I guess age gives you a different perspective on things.”
I inwardly cringe at the thought that I used him as a rebound, but I know I loved Gerry, especially in the beginning. He helped me through the rest of my college years and kept me above water.
“Age will make you wiser but when you’re finally old enough to realize that you have regrets, you can’t get your life back. All you can do now is change things while you can. You have to move on, sweetheart.”
“I guess you’re right. I just… I feel bad that I made him feel like I didn’t love him like I loved...”
She purses her lips. “What happened to your relationship with Gerry was not your fault. Don’t let him have you thinking that way, he’s on the defensive.”
I nod. “Thanks, Mom. I’m going to go and… get that thing now.”
She wraps her arms around me saying, “Don’t let it get on top of you,” before she climbs out of the car.
I turn the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life and my mind going blank. I don’t know where to go, but I know I need to clear my head so I point the car in the direction of my studio, hoping it will give me the same sense of peace that it always does.
I drive toward my destination, feeling a wave of emotion take over me as the darkness of the tunnel looms ahead. The familiar ache of what could have been sears through me like I’ve been branded with a hot poker and I have to physically rub at my chest to stem the pain that flows through me.
I haphazardly park and throw open the door to the studio, but when I’m standing inside, I don’t feel the satisfaction that I should by being here. Ever since Gerry called earlier, I can’t stomp out this primal urge to chase the past. Perhaps I should listen to it?
I fill a crate with canvases, paints, chalks, and paintbrushes, hastily locking the
door with one hand as I leave. And without putting any more thought into it, I point my car in the direction that my heart is screaming to be.
When I arrive, it’s dark, the only light coming from my headlights. They give the area a shady ambience, conveying how I’m feeling being back here. Nothing feels beautiful about this place anymore.
I drag the crate of art supplies out of the trunk of my car and sit in front of the hood so I have light for what I’m about to create. I need a creative release.
I pull out the paintbrushes and bottles before squirting out a few dark, gloomy colors into a palette. This won’t be a colorful, happy painting, it won’t be how I normally decorate a canvas; with care and love. I need to let my emotions take over and spill out onto the surface; I know it will be a messy swirl of turmoil.
I begin roughly painting the landscape in front of me, pouring my heart, soul, and unshed feelings onto the canvas, thinking about the last time that I was here. It hurts so damn bad, but why am I letting it get to me so much?
Maybe it’s not the situation I’m letting get to me, maybe it’s the fact that I’m unhappy in my choices and I’m digging up past experiences, looking for an excuse as to why my marriage failed?
I wanted it to work so badly, but I guess wanting it wasn’t enough.
The rough edges of the drawing only fuels my emotions and I spiral out of control. The paintbrush drops out of my hand as I feel rain drip onto my hot skin. I look up at the sky and realize that in actual fact it isn’t raining, it’s unwanted tears. Tears that display the turmoil going on inside me, a turmoil I can’t voice out loud in the fear that I’ll learn that the breakdown of my marriage was my fault. But it wasn’t, I know that deep down. I tried, I tried so goddamn hard! I didn’t force him to cheat, nothing I did warranted being told I wasn’t good enough, yet it still happened.
I always treated him with no less than he deserved. I cooked, I cleaned, I took care of him in the best way, but it was never enough. I wasn’t enough. He’s using my past to excuse his behavior toward me and it’s not fair that he’s bringing it all back up.
Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks Series Book 1) Page 13
