The Art of Rivers

by Janet W. Ferguson

  They went to ready the easels and blank canvases, pulled out palettes and paint. These guys would be graduating in only a few weeks. They’d stuck it out and done the work to stay clean a full year. Davis hoped to remain connected in a paying position at Re-Claimed as an alum. He felt called to counsel others. His way of spouting out the truth was rough, but his style worked with some of the more difficult cases. He’d already started classes online which might help temper his approach. Angelo had applied for a position with a ministry to the homeless in Atlanta. He had a heart for those people others avoided. He should be hearing any day if he’d been accepted.

  Thank you, God.

  Cooper released a long sigh. It had been a hard and holy journey for both of them, but they’d made it to sobriety. Certainly not all of Re-Claimed’s clients did. In his line of work, he’d seen recovery, but he’d seen heartbreaking losses too.

  There were no good statistics, since people often came and went from programs without staying in contact, but for every person who turned his life around, another was lost back to his addiction.

  Blake came to mind. The guy hadn’t returned. Cooper tamped down that thought. He couldn’t reach everyone, and if he dwelled on the losses, he’d get bogged down in negativity.

  The bell over the door jingled, announcing an arrival. Cooper headed to the front of the gallery. Maybe they’d make one last sale today. If they sold a large painting, the gallery should make budget another month.

  He blinked, not believing his eyes. But there she was. All cleaned up, wearing faded skinny jeans, boots, and an emerald-colored tunic, as if she’d walked out of a J.Crew ad.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. Yep. Almost dinner time. The alarm must’ve gone off, and she’d taken him up on the offer.

  “Hey.” He closed the distance between them.

  “Hey.” Her forehead took a tentative lift. “I came here because I didn’t know where the dinner is served. And I didn’t feel like getting lost.” She shrugged. “Or eating by myself.”

  “I wouldn’t either.” But sometimes he longed for the quiet, true introvert that he was. “Perfect timing. We were about to close. The guys are setting up for therapy.” He motioned for her to follow him to the back. Good thing he’d already locked up the cash so they could leave now before she changed her mind.

  Once he reached the door to the studio, he pushed it open and waited for her to pass through.

  “Hey, Coop, tell Angelo my art don’t stink.” Davis turned, and the short, stocky man’s eyes widened when he saw Rivers. “Well, aren’t you hot as a two-dollar pistol?”

  Angelo’s head pivoted with astounding speed. “Shut up, Davis. You’ll scare the nice lady. She doesn’t know you from Adam’s house cat.” A smile lit up his amber eyes. “Welcome. I’m Angelo, and my obnoxious coworker is Davis. He has filter issues, but he’s okay, so please excuse his lack of couth.”

  “I’m Rivers,” she squeaked out.

  Cooper sucked in a breath. He should’ve warned everyone to be on their best behavior, but he hadn’t expected her to actually come. “She’s our guest for dinner. Y’all about done?”

  “Sure are, and I’m starving.” When was Davis not starving?

  “Finish up, and come straight over. I want to introduce Rivers to Gabriella and Kevin before things get too busy.”

  AND HE’D LEFT HER GALLERY in the hands of addicts.

  So far, not so good.

  Shadows from the overhanging oaks and the haunting sway of the moss swallowed most of the moonlight. Rivers followed Cooper down the dark sidewalk toward a towering square home. From what she could tell, the exterior of the large house was covered with weathered wooden paneling. Light escaped from the downstairs window panes. A breeze kicked up, stirring the humid air and sliding down her neck, teasing her hair.

  Up the front porch, she stayed close to Cooper, anxiety poking needles into her stomach. What would this be like? Why had God nudged her to come here?

  “It’s spaghetti night.” Cooper gave a casual smile before opening the door. “You mind Italian again?”

  “Anything is fine. Thanks.” Already the aroma of garlic reached her nose, and her stomach growled.

  “I didn’t get a chance to let everyone know who you are, so some might assume...” He paused, searching for the right word. “At first, they might—”

  “Assume I’m a new intake?” She got it. “No worries.”

  “The guys live in this house, the girls live in the one next door. My friends Gabriella and Kevin live with the clients, Kevin here and obviously Gabriella next door, as sort of house parents. They’re a brother and sister with a passion for the lost.” He turned the knob and waited for her to enter first. “The lost of all kinds.”

  What did that mean? Rivers swallowed with a dry throat and stepped onto scuffed teakwood floors. A black chandelier hung high above her head in the foyer. The walls had been freshly painted a soothing pale blue. From eye level upward, canvases covered nearly every inch of space.

  Cooper’s hand rested on the small of her back, and he pointed with his head. “Art therapy. We get a lot of donations to our collection. Some are sold at the gallery. Others that don’t sell—would never sell—” He shrugged and raised his brows. “Deck the halls.”

  Rivers took in the colors and shapes and different skill levels. “It’s a nice idea.”

  “Hey, hey, Coop. Who’s your guest?” A vibrant, deep female voice came from a side hall.

  Rivers turned to find two smiling faces greeting her. They had to be the brother and sister, their facial structure looked so similar. Their copper skin and matching light brown eyes shone below short dark hair. Both were tall. The woman had to stand over six feet, and she made a beeline to Rivers, hand extended.

  “I’m Gabriella.” Her strong fingers clasped tight. “And you look hungry. I hope you’re staying for supper. It’s spaghetti night.”

  “I heard.” Rivers found herself smiling at Gabriella. The woman had an earnestness that drew Rivers in right away. “I plan to eat with y’all.”

  “I wanted Rivers to learn more about our ministry from you two.” Cooper made a broad sweep with his hand. “About what we do here. She’s the owner of the gallery.”

  Kevin’s head snapped toward him, his forehead contorting. “What?”

  Cooper waved him off. “I’ll explain later.”

  “I’ll show her around.” Hooking arms with Rivers, Gabriella led her down a narrow hall. “You guys, go take care of business,” she called over her shoulder.

  Gabriella took Rivers into a room that probably once had been a large living area but now looked to serve as a chapel of sorts.

  They stopped and Gabriella leveled a heartfelt gaze on Rivers. “I’ll share my story if you’ll share yours.”

  Chapter 8

  THE LAST THING RIVERS wanted to do was share her story. Every nerve in her body recoiled, and Gabriella seemed to sense her apprehension.

  “How about, I’ll share mine. You wait until you’re ready.” The tall, muscular woman gave her arm a light pat. “This ministry—we call it Re-Claimed—started when Kevin and I were in a deep place of grief. A place we never wanted to be. A place we never would have chosen for ourselves...yet, God called us to it.” Gabriella used her free hand to swipe a tear that clung to her lashes. “Sorry, I cry every single time. Let’s sit.” She pointed to a couple of folding chairs.

  Rivers complied without speaking. There was nothing to say. She understood all too well the kind of place Gabriella had found herself.

  “My baby brother and I played basketball all of our lives. Won scholarships to Georgia.” She let out a chuckle. “Couldn’t get rid of that pest—Kevin—always wanting to meet my friends.” She sucked in a deep breath. “He fell hard for my roommate Tamara. I didn’t mind that much really. They made a good couple.” Her head shook, and her gaze drifted. “One winter, we got one of those unusual Georgia snows. A deep one too. We all went out, like college stude
nts do, found a hill, and had some makeshift sleds. Tamara smacked into a pine tree. The vertebra in her neck were injured. That’s when everything went south.”

  A pause hung between them like dense morning fog, as if Gabriella were waiting for a response.

  Rivers shifted in the metal chair. “I’m sorry.” Did she have to say more? She knew how quickly one moment in time could change everything—could start a waking nightmare. Her mother’s accident. Jordan.

  “Surgery followed.” Gabriella began again. “Excruciating pain. Oxy and other meds were prescribed. The Tamara we knew and loved changed into a completely different person. She’d never been a partier, but once they started her on those drugs, she’d do or say anything to get more.” A long sigh followed as she collected herself. “We tried to get her help, but when Tam couldn’t get the Oxy, she switched to heroin. Cheaper and easier to get.” Massaging long fingers over her forehead, Gabriella groaned. “Only a year after her surgery, her body was found in a drug house. Fentanyl had been laced into the heroin.”

  “I’m sorry.” Rivers grasped for something more to say. “Fentanyl?”

  “A synthetic, even stronger than heroin. Deadly.” Abruptly, Gabriella stood and whooshed out a breath. “That’s enough sadness. Let’s go stir up some hope. That’s why we started this mission. I became a nurse, and Kevin’s a licensed therapist. Not all of the residents make it, but some do.”

  Following her lead, Rivers rose. One thing still gnawed at her worse than her empty belly. “But how did Cooper become part of your ministry?”

  “Coop?” Gabriella leveled a wide-eyed gaze her way. “You don’t know?”

  “I haven’t known him long.”

  “Okay.” Gabriella gave a slow nod. “He won’t mind me saying, because he’s open about it. He was our first intake. Our first success story.”

  HOW LONG WAS GABRIELLA going to drag Rivers around? No telling what she was saying, or even worse, asking the poor girl.

  Cooper checked his watch for the fifth time. There was a good reason why he and Kevin had dubbed Gabriella with the nickname Gabby.

  The residents had the places set, the food arranged, and were prepared to take seats around the dining tables. The first year in this house, Kevin had remodelers move the center wall over a few feet so all evening meals could be served under this roof. Breakfast and lunch, the ladies and men were separate, but one family-style meal a day allowed Kev and Gabby to have time together.

  “And now that you’ve seen this side of the center, let’s eat.” The rich, deep tone of Gabriella’s voice flowed into the room, smooth and joyful as usual.

  Cooper searched for a view of Rivers. Yep. From the off-kilter press of her lips and the way her eyes darted from person to person, assessing them like a scared rabbit, ready to bolt at the first whiff of danger, he knew she was freaking out inside. Inviting her had been another of his stupid ideas.

  Idiotic move number five-zillion-one.

  He had to rescue her. Scrambling to her side, Cooper placed a protective hand on her back. “You making it okay?”

  One of her slender shoulders lifted. “I’m still standing.”

  “Attention, brothers and sisters of Re-Claimed.” Davis clanged a spoon against a water glass and spoke in another ridiculous attempt to sound like a reverend. He took his leadership role a little bit over the top. Or a lot over the top. “The time has come for you to claim a seat, and I will bless this humble but scrumptious ethnic meal of spaghetti and meatballs we are about to eat. Often wrongly attributed to the country of Italy, by the way, when its meatball and pasta origins are American.”

  Something about Davis’s stupid speech made Cooper laugh.

  Everyone sat, but Davis stayed on his feet and continued. “I hope you all had a blessed day at work and that you found something to be thankful for. You know, when you offer up praise, you pour heaping coals on the enemy.”

  He motioned dramatically. “Don’t ever be fooled. You are in a legitimate war. Satan prowls like a lion hoping to devour you. Satan will keep coming. He wants to scare you, to discourage you, to rob you of hope.” His voice rose in volume and strength. “But don’t you quit.” He raised his fist. “Resist the enemy. Your God is a Mighty Warrior. He has won the victory already. Draw near to God. Quote the scripture in Jesus’ name, and cry out to heaven for help.”

  He pointed to each person. “Lean on each other. Get on the J train, and let your freak flag fly—instead of staying in your train wreck. Be honest, people.”

  Taking a deep breath, he sat. “Now, bow your heads.” Before they’d all complied, he continued, “Oh, Lord, thank You for Your bountiful blessings and this food and this place and the people who contributed money so we can be here, and for Gabby and Kev and Coop for working so very hard for us. I mean really hard. And for those who prepared the meal. Amen.” Clapping his hands, Davis made a silly grin, similar to a donkey in a petting zoo begging for a carrot. “Did I ever tell y’all about how the seven worst years of my life were in high school?”

  “That joke was old the first time you told it.” Kevin rolled his eyes. “Let’s eat.” He lifted a bowl of noodles and held it toward Rivers. “Cooper has a guest, and everyone needs to stay on their best behavior.” One side of his mouth quirked up. “Make that better than your best behavior.”

  All eyes turned to Rivers, and she shrank in her chair, the tendons in her neck visibly tightening.

  Cooper took the bowl. “Want me to scoop some out for you? Say when.” He dropped clumps of pasta onto the plate. Someone hadn’t known to add a bit of sauce or olive oil to keep the noodles from sticking together. This meal might not look so appetizing after all.

  “Save some for the rest of us.” Davis again. “Although she does look like she needs a little meat on her bones. You...” He pressed his lips together, apparently realizing he needed to shut down whatever he was about to say. Maybe he’d learn.

  The sauce came their way, and Rivers took it, so Cooper threw a pile of pasta on his own plate.

  “You know, I don’t get it.” Davis was on a roll tonight. “Why do the ladies wear short hair or all that long, boring straight hair? I wish the eighties would come back. I’d love seeing some eighties hair. I mean some big, long hair all teased up high. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, tease up your golden locks.”

  “Aren’t you a party pants tonight?” Gabriella laughed. “You gonna sport a mullet then?”

  “I could pull it off.” Davis quirked a brow.

  “I have some chemically dependent hair.” A newer resident named Britt chimed in. “Not sure I could tease it, spray it, and keep bleaching it this blond without it all falling out.”

  “I could pull off some big hair back in my day.” Their oldest female resident, a meth addict, spoke up. She was the most recent intake but seemed to have settled well into the group so far. “No color here. I’m a natural redhead.”

  “That’s a big ole baloney sandwich right there,” Davis spouted, and everyone laughed. Maybe even a snicker came from Rivers.

  “Hey, hush your mouth. I have to cover a little gray now that I’m a woman of maturity.” Her chin lifted in mock defiance.

  The volleys continued around the table, good-natured teasing, thank the Lord. Because, some nights—okay, a lot of nights—supper wasn’t this peaceful.

  THESE PEOPLE WEREN’T so terrible, but she knew firsthand the havoc they could wreak in a person’s life. Rivers plucked up the last meatball on her plate with her fork and shoved it in her mouth. She had been hungry. Maybe even making-up-for-lost-pounds-hungry, because this was the best marinara she’d ever tasted, though she’d almost choked on a clump of noodles. Still...she was ready to leave. Emotionally spent.

  She turned to find Cooper watching her. He’d stayed close once Gabriella brought her to the dining room. Been protective. For that, she was thankful. Her thoughts drifted, and for a moment she imagined what he would have been like when he’d first become a client here. Alone. Addicted. Everyone in
his family hating him. His own fault, of course, but still. A tiny part of her heart pricked at the image it formed in her mind.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Tired.”

  “I was wrong to invite you here so soon. I could’ve taken you out to the Barbeque Shack or out for seafood.”

  “You aren’t responsible for me. Or my meals.” Although he seemed to have rescued her a couple of times already. “I think I’ll take off. Gabriella can show me the other house later in the week.”

  “Right. You should rest.”

  Her brows raised. “Are you going to start telling me when to go to bed now? Set another alarm?”

  Light flickered across his dark brown eyes as a smile crinkled the edges of his temples. “If necessary.” He stood and pulled back his chair. “I’ll show you out.”

  “No.” Her answer came out too firm, but she didn’t need him to baby her. “Finish your dinner.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and seemed at a loss for what to say. “Okay. See ya.” A momentary contorted twist of his lips hinted that she’d hurt his feelings.

  She didn’t owe him anything, though. Already she’d gone out of her way to understand what was going on and why. Wrenching away any guilt, she stood and circled her chair. “Thank you all for a delicious meal, but I have to leave.”

  “What?” Davis practically shouted. “You haven’t had any peach cobbler yet. I spent all day slaving in the kitchen and that’s the thanks I get?”

  “Be quiet, Davis.” Gabriella waved him off. “Boy, you make coffee nervous.” She turned her focus toward Rivers. “Thank you for coming, and I hope we see you again. You’re welcome any time.”

  “Right. Thanks.” Rivers made her exit before anyone else could try to talk her into staying. The people here brought to mind the kids she’d worked with in the past. She often wondered how they’d turn out as adults. So many of them had endured trauma. Some were bound to deal with addiction, despite receiving therapy. A screaming reality bludgeoned her. What about those children who live through ordeals of suffering or abuse and never have anyone help them sort through and process those emotions?