The Hometown Hoax (The Hoax Series)

by Heather Thurmeier

  Huh.

  Maybe that wasn’t the best one to start her portfolio with after all. Not horrendous, but certainly nothing special either. It lacked that certain indescribable quality that turned a painting into a masterpiece. Pulling it from her portfolio case, she set it aside on the floor, out of the way so she could focus on the others.

  The next painting also seemed to lack something that set it apart. She felt the same about the next three. No wonder galleries wouldn’t give her a job—her cityscape paintings were boring.

  After flipping through the whole portfolio, she was left with only four paintings that she thought had merit. All of them happened to focus on people—playing in the park, walking a bunch of dogs, eating a hotdog, and cuddling on a park bench while children played on the swings. These ones had heart and substance. They told a story. As good as she thought these paintings were, they weren’t enough. Four pieces did not make for a sufficient portfolio to show prospective galleries.

  Her sketchbook still sat on top of the dresser where she’d left it when she’d gotten back from camping. She hadn’t looked in it since, not wanting to be reminded of her time with Logan. Now it beckoned to her, begging her to reach for it. All week Logan had told her how much he loved her drawings, but he wasn’t an artist so what did he know?

  One of the last pages she’d used had been the moonlit night they’d sat on the dock and talked. She’d been so comfortable with him that night. Everything had felt so right between them, so easy, as if each of them made up a half of a whole when they were together.

  That night she’d learned about his gym. He’d taken a risk opening it and then had to shut it down because the city was too hard, too challenging, and he’d struggled as long as he could. But instead of completely giving up, he’d made a new plan, switched gears and thought of something different he could do to make his dream a reality.

  Logan was a survivor. He persevered where others would’ve given up. He’d tried to help her figure out how she could too. Instead of listening, she’d brushed him off. What if he was right? What if what she needed was a new twist on her art career?

  Comparing the moonlit night sketch to her Empire State Building painting, the two pieces were about as different as they could possibly be. One was warm, comforting, and so full of emotional depth that it practically oozed with the sounds of nighttime creatures and water lapping at the shore. The other was cold, hard-edged, flat, and silent.

  She’d been so in love with the idea of being in the city that she hadn’t realized how little love there was in her cityscapes. She’d thought she’d captured the essence of the city in each painting, but all she’d done was draw a picture of a building. Her pictures from home were all heart and storytelling. Each one gave her a tiny peek into life in Cutter’s Creek—a life that was full of warmth, love, hospitality, and community.

  Damn it. She’d been so stupid.

  Without thinking too deeply about how much she might make a fool of herself, she called her top gallery and asked for another meeting. He’d asked to see other work and now she could offer that to him. With her appointment scheduled, she carefully selected the best drawings from her week back home and added them to her portfolio.

  A spike of excitement shot through her. This time she wouldn’t fail.

  Logan stood on the side of the gym clapping and cheering the fifth graders on as they tried to dribble basketballs up and down the court before taking shots at the net. Most balls rolled away or were kicked by clumsy feet. Almost none made it into the basket, but he didn’t care. They were learning the sport, having fun, and getting some much needed exercise in their otherwise stationary school day.

  It had been two weeks and he’d settled in nicely to the new school. Sure, it wasn’t as good as having hours he created, but it wasn’t terrible either. School ended at three and then he was free to do what he wanted for the rest of the day. Of course, most days that had consisted of a workout then lazing around his small apartment trying to figure out how to get Tessa back. So far, his plans totaled zero.

  The buzzer rang signaling the change in classes. This batch of kids would leave and he’d get a new one. Every thirty-five minutes the same thing happened.

  “Okay everyone,” he called, clapping his hands to get their attention. “Toss the balls back into the bins and line up by the door.”

  The children did as they were told while he stood in front of the doors where they’d file out and the next class would file in. “What do you have next, Michelle?” he asked one of the girls near the front of the line.

  “Ugh. Art. I hate art.”

  “Really? I thought that was usually one of the favorite subjects at school.”

  “Maybe if you’re good at art, but if you suck, like I do, then the class is the worst.”

  “I’m positive you don’t suck at art, Michelle. What are you guys doing in class right now?” he asked, while also waving at the last few kids to hurry up. They had to go as a group to their next room. He couldn’t let them leave until he had each one accounted for.

  “We’re drawing birds,” Tom said. “Really stupid birds.”

  “Yeah, they wouldn’t let us draw anything else. Just birds,” Robby added.

  “Try your best. It’s the heart you put into your drawing that makes it special, not the perfect technique.” With the last two kids now in line, he opened the door and shooed them down the hall to their next class. “See you next week.”

  As he reset his gym for the next group, he thought about the kid’s bird art. They had to be better artists than he was. He could barely draw a stick bird. There’d been a couple of birds in Tessa’s book. They’d been great, of course. That girl could draw anything and make it incredible.

  An idea hit him like a basketball to the forehead. Maybe he should take the advice he’d given the kids and put his heart into a few drawings of his own. He’d managed to lose Tessa by showing off her private sketchbook to Zack, so maybe he could win her back by showing her one of his.

  The rest of the day went by in a blur of children coming and going from his gym. He was with it enough to instruct them and make sure none of them hurt themselves, but while he stood clapping and cheering, his mind was formulating a plan. By the time the last bell rang for the day, he had a list of supplies he needed and immediately went to Zack’s hobby shop.

  He searched the aisles, finding each of the items he needed and was headed to the checkout when Zack wandered up.

  “That a gift for Tessa? Hoping to win her back with art supplies?” Zack asked.

  Logan wanted to share his plan and get Zack’s opinion, but if there was one thing he knew drove Tessa crazy, it was the town people finding out about her life before she did. He wouldn’t make the same mistake.

  “No. These are for me actually. I thought I might do some drawing this weekend.”

  Not a lie, but not the whole truth either.

  “I thought you weren’t an artist.”

  “I’m not, but I’m trying to be.” He paid for his supplies and said a quick goodbye, making plans for the following week to meet up to watch one of the games on the big screen at the bar since he still hadn’t made it there yet.

  Back at his apartment, he set up all his necessary supplies, grabbed a drink and a sandwich, and got started. He’d work all weekend if he had to.

  Tessa wouldn’t return his calls and he had no idea if she’d read his texts. Surely she would open a couriered package. When she did, she’d open the cover, not only to his sketchbook for her, but to his heart, his life—everything he wanted to share with her. Hopefully it would be enough to start a conversation with her. After that, he’d do anything to earn a future with her, even if it meant giving up everything he was building in Cutter’s Creek. He loved it here, but it wasn’t the same without her and with total clarity he knew he’d do anything if it meant getting her back.

  He’d even move to the city because with her there he’d always feel like he was home.

&
nbsp; Tessa tried not to fiddle in her seat while Darren Pembroke of Pembroke Gallery looked over her new and improved portfolio. It had taken a week to get another appointment with him. This was it, her last chance. If she couldn’t do it with two meetings, she’d never get a third.

  “These are great. I’m impressed with your skill and technique.” Darren looked up from the portfolio case. “I do have one concern.”

  “What is it?” she asked, sitting on the edge of her seat.

  “I don’t understand why you didn’t show me these drawings before. They’re far superior to the work you showed me last time. Why didn’t I get to see these at our last meeting?”

  What could she say? She hadn’t shown him because she thought they were crap and because she was trying to dump her old small town life for a new big city one. She couldn’t tell him the real reason she’d kept them from him. What if it made him distrust her judgment on what constituted good work over bad? “I was recently back home in Cutter’s Creek and that’s where I did most of those. They simply didn’t exist at the time of our first meeting.”

  That sounded good.

  “All of these were done recently? How long did each one take?”

  What was the right answer he’d be looking for? She had no idea so went with the truth. “Some were as little as thirty minutes. Those ones usually have less detail. The others took closer to an hour.”

  “That’s truly astonishing. With that kind of output, you could fill a gallery space within weeks.” His eyes seemed to sparkle with a hint of excitement.

  “I suppose I could. A gallery this size I could probably fill in about three weeks, if I was asked to.” Her hint wasn’t exactly subtle.

  “I think we could do that. I have an opening in a month. I think we could definitely get these framed in that amount of time if you can produce the work.”

  “I can get started today. I’ll grab a map and hit the city, sketching as I go.”

  “Oh no. I think there’s been a miscommunication.” Darren shook his head and sat back, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t want to see anymore cityscapes.”

  “Oh… Okay. What would you like to see?”

  “I want more like these—landscapes, small town life, nature. All of it is great. I don’t want any tall buildings, concrete sidewalks, or yellow taxicabs. Can you do that?”

  Could she? The more she looked at her sketches from home, the more she liked them. They gave her a sense of peace and tranquility, and made her feel like she was surrounded by the warmth of invisible arms hugging her. Could she capture the spirit of home while still living in the city? Would her memories be enough or would she have to visit home more often as a business trip for inspiration?

  “I’ve got another meeting in five minutes. Why don’t you take some time to think about my offer, the timing and the kind of work I’m looking for and get back to me?” He stood from the table and offered his hand.

  She stood and shook it then quickly gathered her things. “Great. Thank you so much for the offer. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  Tessa walked out with her head in a fog. She’d had no idea her landscapes would be so well received, and by her top gallery no less. This was the opportunity she’d been waiting for, if she could make it work. She’d wanted to escape life in Cutter’s Creek, but it seemed that wasn’t meant to be. It was her home, her inspiration, but surely it didn’t mean she had to live there to draw it. She could finally have everything she’d wanted—live in the city and be a successful artist.

  She grabbed a coffee and found a table on the outside patio to sit and revel in her gallery offer. Finding a clean sheet of paper and a charcoal pencil, she closed her eyes and put herself back on lookout point. It didn’t matter if she was sitting in Manhattan. The views of the Appalachian Mountains were forever burned in her brain in rich detail. She’d been immersed in that setting since birth. She thought about the wind on her face, warm and comforting like Logan’s touch. No. She didn’t want to include him in her thoughts.

  Colors. The colors of the mountain range changed throughout the day. During the bright sunlight-filled morning there were hues of greens and brown, like when Logan and her hiked to the lookout. Other times there were purples and dark blues, like when they watched the sunset over the treetops and the shadows lengthened from twilight to darkness. What did the trees in Cutter’s Creek look like in today’s dying light?

  Her heart suddenly ached at the thought of her hometown.

  Opening her eyes to release the memories, she put her pencil to the page and drew, trying to block out everything else around her and focus only on the landscape she wanted to create. More slowly than usual, the picture took shape. It was a little rough around the edges, but it was there. With more practice, she could totally draw scenes from back home while still here.

  She sipped her coffee hoping the feeling of triumph and satisfaction at having completed her first landscape while in the city would hit her soon.

  Traffic whooshed by mere feet from her chair since she was basically sitting at a table on the sidewalk. But that was part of the charm, right? Everyone else didn’t seem to mind the vehicle exhaust that went along with an afternoon coffee break, nor did they mind the heat radiating off the pavement, or the constant white noise of traffic and conversations. If she listened really hard, she could hear a bird chirping in the distance.

  A passerby bumped her table and her coffee sloshed out of her cup and onto the corner of her newest sketch. Well, that one was only for practice anyway, she thought, carefully dabbing up the liquid. A brown stain remained. This was totally what she wanted—bustling city life where no one paid attention to her. Her heart sank.

  If she had everything she wanted, why did she still feel like a part of her was missing? If being in the city was this amazing experience, why did she miss the quiet tree-lined streets of Cutter’s Creek when she’d tried so hard to get out of that town? Why wasn’t she happy?

  Chapter Twenty

  A package leaned against the door to Tessa’s apartment. Ignoring it for a minute, she let herself in and went straight to her room, dumping her portfolio onto the bed. She’d dragged that thing around all day while looking for different, inspirational sketching areas to work, but had finally conceded defeat and came back to the apartment.

  Retrieving the package, she checked the name to see what bed to put it on this time. Her roommates loved to shop online. There were constantly packages waiting at their door. Either they somehow had endless amounts of disposable income, or they had enormous credit card bills.

  To: Ms. Tessa Cutter.

  Huh. She hadn’t ordered anything.

  From: Cutter’s Creek.

  The return address wasn’t a house or business. It was simply the address of the post office. Weird.

  Placing it gently on her bed, she paced around her tiny room, eyeing it as if it might detonate. What if it was from him? But if it was, why wouldn’t it have his address on it? Was this another trick? What if it wasn’t a trick but a gift? A “we miss you but we’re happy you’re following your dream” gift from the town? It was the kind of thing they’d do.

  Perching on the edge of the mattress, she ripped the paper to find a decorative box. It was beautiful with a cream colored background covered in purple irises. Without hesitating, she lifted the lid, suddenly eager to see what was inside.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she pulled out a light blue book, Our Story written across the cover. Leaning back against her wall, she set the book in her lap and flipped it open.

  The first page made her giggle instantly. Two terribly drawn cars were on the side of a winding road. They looked like they’d been drawn by school children, yet somehow she knew they hadn’t been. It was as if she could feel Logan’s presence on the page, specifically crafting each tiny detail, like the way she’d worn her hair that day and the color of the mystery fluid leaking from her car.

  She bit her lip to stem off the tears threatening to fal
l and flipped the page. This one depicted a girl with her naked back visible; a curvy W attached to two stick legs highlighted the girl’s ass. There were bubbles in her hair, and a spider on her back. She laughed and shivered at the same time, reliving the memory. The stick man in the picture had one hand on her butt while the other slapped at the spider. An additional line clearly illustrated his enthusiasm at the predicament he’d found himself in.

  Logan hadn’t done himself justice. His real stick was definitely bigger. Girthier.

  “I can’t believe he did this for me,” she said to herself. While his artistic talent might only be at a third-grade level, his effort and dedication to the project were clearly over the top. The project must’ve taken him hours to complete. Each page was a like a new gift intended only for her with moments they shared together. By the middle of the book, tears flowed freely down her cheeks and she stopped bothering to wipe them away.

  He was an amazing man. And she’d left him. She’d thrown away the best thing in her life because he’d tried to do something nice for her and she’d overreacted. Yet, he’d still gone to the trouble of making her this incredible gift. She didn’t deserve him, but damn it, she loved him.

  Everything about him was more than she’d ever hoped to find in a man. He was attractive, kind, and funny. He could make her more annoyed and angry than anyone else, but he also made her happier and more at peace than she ever remembered being before.

  He’d been patient, and persistent. She loved him. Every single thing about him. And she’d screwed it up. Was it too late to get him back?