The Art of Rivers

by Janet W. Ferguson

  “The cottage.” She made a quick path toward the Jeep. “He’s been alone awhile.”

  “Someone’s at the cottage? Or the hospital?” He opened the door for her.

  A little giggle slipped from her cute lips. “My neighbor, Priscilla, is in the hospital, and I’m pet sitting.”

  “Now it’s coming together. Mrs. Kelly was always nursing some critter.” He circled the Jeep and moved into the driver’s seat. “A possum this time?”

  She nodded. “His name is Phoenix. At first, he creeped me out, but he’s really cute. I didn’t realize they were marsupials. Like kangaroos, but different.”

  “Definitely different.” Before he pulled out of the lot, he glanced over at Rivers. “What’s wrong with Mrs. Kelly? And when did you get sucked into another predicament?”

  “Time is kind of a blur since I got here, but just a day or so ago, an ambulance took her to the hospital. She’s having some stents put into her arteries. She acted like she’d be home soon.”

  He shook his head. “I think someone might have a rescuer syndrome. You seem to jump into a lot of messy situations.”

  Her eye roll was accompanied by a sarcastic smile. “Pot to kettle. Hello.”

  God knew he’d gotten himself into a number of predicaments trying to help people, so he couldn’t help but laugh. “Guilty.” He pulled out onto the main drive.

  “We’re more alike than I realized.” Her voice was almost a whisper, and the ride back passed with only the sound of the wind against the windows.

  Her words created a burn in his heart. If only they were alike. Rivers was everything good and light and wholesome, and she helped others from that pure place in her heart. While he’d been one of those “ruiners” as she’d called them, destroying not only himself, but others in his wake. The sooner he could summon the discipline to put the brakes on their emotional connection the better.

  God, give me the strength to do what’s right for Rivers.

  At the cottage, they both jumped out at the site of a taxi in Mrs. Kelly’s driveway.

  “What in the world?” Rivers tore across the yards. “Priscilla?”

  Cooper followed her, this woman who seemed to have no thought for herself. What if it wasn’t her neighbor getting out? It could be a drunk at the wrong address or something worse.

  But when they rounded the car, the driver held the door for Mrs. Kelly. Rivers offered her hand and helped the arthritis-ridden woman to a stand. Once they’d paid for the cab, it backed out.

  “Why are you home this late? And alone?” Rivers wrapped her arm around Mrs. Kelly’s waist.

  “They released me this afternoon. I had a friend lined up to drive me home, but she had car trouble. It was a really easy procedure though.”

  “What about your family?” Rivers asked.

  “My son’s in Europe. He’s a corporate pilot, so it’s hard for him to change his schedule.” She released a shaky breath. “Now he’s all in a tizzy about making me move into one of those retirement living communities over in Hilton Head if I don’t hire someone to help me at the house.” Her voice wobbled with emotion. “He thinks I need someone in here every day. Either plan might drive me crazy.”

  “Why don’t you stay with me tonight?” Rivers pleaded. “Phoenix will be fine, and there’s plenty of room. I can get you settled in, then go get my car at the gallery. It won’t take long.”

  “I don’t know.” Priscilla hedged, glancing between both houses.

  “Please. I’d enjoy the company.” Rivers wasn’t letting this go.

  Finally, Mrs. Kelly agreed. Cooper and Rivers got her and the possum settled, then headed back to the gallery to retrieve the Stink Bug.

  When they arrived, the lights still shone from inside the studio. Cooper exited the Jeep. “That’s odd. Gabby is particular. She’d never leave the place lit up.”

  “Maybe she’s cleaning my mess. I’ll run in and help.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I insist. It won’t take long, and I should apologize.” She set off toward the entrance.

  He always seemed to be following her. They reached the door and opened it to a cacophony of female voices.

  “She’s back!” someone chimed.

  “Let’s show her our work,” another responded.

  The women still sat at their easels. Gabby gave Rivers a hesitant look. “I hope you don’t mind, but we finished the project you gave us.” She lifted her canvas, which was covered in paint, a colorful heart in the center. “I mean, we dove in deep.”

  Other ladies held their paintings up for Rivers to see.

  A lump rose in her throat. “They’re beautiful.” She pressed her fist to her mouth for a moment as her gaze roamed the room. “I’m sorry I blew up at y’all.”

  “Now we know you’re human.” Gabby set aside her canvas, came to Rivers, and wrapped her arms around her. “It’s too late tonight, but they want to tell you their stories when you’re free.”

  “Of course. I’d stay now, but I have a houseguest.” Rivers addressed the group. “I’m proud of you, and I’ll come soon to talk with each of you one-on-one about your artwork, if you’d like.”

  After they said their goodbyes, Cooper walked Rivers to her car, where he caught her arm. Whispers of rain floated on the air, the green scent of it fresh and strong. “See, they forgave you.”

  Her lashes fluttered, then her gaze flickered toward him. “They did, didn’t they? And they did well.”

  “Yep. You are inspirational.” He couldn’t stop his arms from sliding around her and pulling her into a hug. Under the canopy of clouds, he wanted nothing more than to taste her lips again, but he was determined not to be the manipulator Shane had accused him of being.

  “This place, the art, the people, the sea, the struggle, and the faith—they’re doing a work in me. I just wish I knew where it was leading.” Her gaze zoned in on him, and her soft fingers brushed against his hair, undoing him. “Or what I’m supposed to do with you.” A sad smile crinkled the corners of her blue eyes. “I better go check the possum.”

  Chapter 27

  “LORD, THANK YOU FOR waking me up this morning. And for creating this coffee.” Davis slugged back the rest of the dark liquid in his mug.

  With a half chuckle, the best he could summon, Cooper readied the gallery for opening with Blake in tow. Working without Angelo struck a harsh blow. No one had heard anything from or about him, and they couldn’t spend more time searching. Ultimately, Angelo was responsible for his own choices. They’d move on. What alternative did they have?

  Davis turned to face them once he’d hit the rest of the light switches. His gaze locked on Blake. “Dang, you look casket-ready, bro. You still that wrung out?”

  A slight nod from Blake was all the answer he got. His skin had a weathered look, and his eyes drooped.

  Cooper thumped Davis on the shoulder. “He doesn’t need to be harpooned with the Grimm Reaper jokes.”

  “My bad. Call me a Nincompoop and get it over with.” Behind the counter, Davis grabbed a roll of paper towels and cleaner to begin the daily task of wiping down the glass doors and windows. “It’ll get better, bud. Just hang on.”

  “Yeah, yeah, this too shall pass.” Blake grunted. “I know the drill.”

  Blake’s pain was obvious, and Cooper hated it for him. Unfortunately, there was little anyone could do. The guy claimed to be working the steps and had even written a letter to the mother of his child explaining what happened years ago.

  “Stay hydrated. I brought a cooler with plenty of water and Gatorade. Help yourself.” Cooper had seen the VW outside, and fighting the urge to go speak to Rivers—or rather, wrap his arms around her—was zapping his strength. That and the fact that he’d spent the night reliving their soul-rending kiss. Okay, it was unbearably smoldering too. He’d probably disintegrate any minute and abandon his effort to keep his distance.

  “THE BROWN BLOB OVER half of my heart is my fear and anger.”

/>   In the bright studio lights, Rivers nodded and waited for Claudia to continue describing her gloomy painting. The older redhead had already been a heavy drinker when she’d witnessed a friend’s death in a freak accident involving some lawn equipment. Her drinking accelerated afterward and included more and more substances. She’d lost her marriage, custody of her two children, and all visitation rights ten years ago.

  “I hated myself for what I’d done, but I kept numbing because I didn’t know how to go back. Then it took more and more. At some point, I couldn’t stop without getting really sick.” She chewed the edge of her fingernail. “I started skimming money from the company I worked for, stealing from my friends and strangers, shoplifting...and other stuff I’d rather not talk about.” Her cheeks grew red, and a muscle ticked in her cheek. “Honestly, I’d say or do anything by that point. And I landed in jail.” She pointed to the canvas. “The red circle around the brown is my shame.”

  Rivers gave her a sympathetic nod and tried not to focus on the red—the color of her nightmares. “What about the rest?”

  “The blue outlining the heart is the peace of Re-Claimed and seeing the ocean nearby, and the purple background is for my King Jesus who is healing me. He gives me hope that, one day, I can reconcile with my kids.”

  Once they’d talked through Claudia’s painting and feelings, the woman left. A wellspring of emotions cracked open inside of Rivers, reminding her of why she’d gone into art therapy and warming forgotten places in her heart.

  Eagerly, she waited on the next resident. Yet, a prick of worry needled her. Her neighbor, Priscilla, had felt well enough to go home after breakfast, and she’d insisted Rivers go to the gallery to hear the ladies’ stories once she’d learned about how the evening had transpired. But Rivers had promised to come back at lunch. Would the older woman be all right by herself all morning?

  Cooper and Davis had kept busy up front “training” Blake, so she hadn’t seen much of Cooper, which was fine by her. Trying to process the kiss had robbed her of a night’s sleep.

  She was glad she’d come to hear the stories this morning, despite how the embarrassment over her outburst still gnawed at her conscience. The ladies of Re-Claimed had poured their hearts into their pieces of art, and Rivers ached with each one as they laid bare their souls and shared the nature of their wounds. Their haunting stories bore testimony to both the pain of their pasts and the viciousness of addiction.

  Their circumstances varied tremendously. This ferocious issue knew no boundaries. The enemy of the soul was a cunning one.

  A light tap on the studio door alerted her to another resident. Rivers made her way over to open it and found Gabby waiting with Star. A few sprinkles of rain splatted into the dirt beside the walkway where Star stood.

  Gabby’s gaze bounced between Rivers and Star. “You two need a referee?”

  “No.” Star was quick to answer.

  “We’ll only talk as long as Star wants. No pressure.” Rivers offered a genuine smile to the young woman. “I promise not to freak out.”

  One corner of Star’s mouth lifted. “I’ve heard worse.”

  The chime of her cell phone announced an incoming call, and Rivers picked it up meaning to silence the ring. She noticed Priscilla’s number lighting up her screen. “Excuse me, but my neighbor has been sick.” She accepted the call. “Priscilla, is everything okay?”

  “Oh, Rivers, I’m so frustrated.” Priscilla sounded rattled. “My son is insisting I go into this retirement home in Hilton Head. I’m not ready for that. I’d never be able to take Phoenix, so I thought maybe a woman from the sober living house would want to have a job staying with me. I don’t need a nurse or anything. If they could come for even a few hours a day, help me around the house, maybe he would leave me be. It’d be a win-win.”

  “Everything will be okay.” Rivers tried to soothe her neighbor. “I’ll ask around, and we’ll find someone. Until then, tell your son I’m next door, and I’ll check on you every day.”

  “Thank you, darling. I’m so fortunate to have a sweet neighbor who’s willing to be helpful to this crippled lady and her weird pet.”

  Once they hung up, Gabby raised her brows as if waiting to be filled in. Rivers explained Priscilla’s dilemma.

  “I’ll do it,” Star blurted. Then she cut a glance at Gabby. “If that’s allowed.”

  “Well, that hasn’t been part of our routine, but I’m open to considering new ideas.” Gabby tapped her fingers on her chin. “Seeing how you may not be up to the demands at the thrift store right now... I’d have to talk with this Priscilla and run it by Kev. We’d have to run a background check on you for that type of work, though.”

  “I understand.” Star shifted her feet.

  Rivers would stay out of the decision-making, but Star wouldn’t be her first choice. “Would you like to talk about the art for a few minutes?” Waving her toward the easel, Rivers took a step away. The decision over Priscilla’s care would take some cautious consideration.

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll leave you to it. Let me know when you’re finished.” Gabby eased out the door.

  Rivers rolled a stool over next to the one Star had plopped down on. She hadn’t taken the time to really look at this canvas. Black dominated the painting, the heart shape recognizable only by a faint white outline. Some tiny red streaks emanated from the edges. A few patches of brown muddied and crackled the inside. White also created a small square in the center with another tiny heart painted in red, as if it were locked in a box.

  Rivers held in a gasp. Her chest squeezed as awareness washed through her. She’d seen something like this before in abused children.

  “So how does this work? I talk first or you?” Star stared at the floor.

  “Either. I can tell you put a lot of thought into this. And again, I’m sorry for the way I lost control last night. This trip has been hard, but that’s no excuse.”

  Star’s glassy brown eyes rose to meet hers. “I’m glad you said what you did. I shouldn’t have railed you, but I don’t like hearing a bunch of bull from people who have their nice families and nice lives tell me how to live. I thought you were one of them.”

  Okay, that was close to an apology. “You never know what dwells in a person’s past or their heart.” She pointed to the shape on the canvas. “Want to tell me about yours?”

  “If talking’s supposed to help me”—she lifted one shoulder—“I guess I can.”

  “Sharing our stories can be freeing, and I bet you’ll do better than I did.”

  A competitive gleam lit Star’s eyes. “I’ll give it my best shot.” She swallowed hard and pointed. “Black is death. My dad died when my sister, Skye, and I were little girls. From an aneurysm, in his sleep, according to Mama, but I don’t know if that’s true. They were what you might call free spirits, traveling from place to place. We lived in a camper mostly.

  “Anyway, Mama had what we called the sadness that would come and go. I guess she was bipolar or something. But she was a pretty woman and could easily find jobs and get her way. They usually let us play in a back room or in a booth at a café where she worked or even in the camper parked in the lot. In one town, Mama met this preacher at a diner where she was working. He was there with his wife and adult son, and he invited us to his church.” Star shook her head. “I think she went because the son was nice looking. At first. They married a few weeks later.” Her gaze focused on Rivers. “That’s when we found out he was a monster.”

  Trying to keep her expression neutral, Rivers nodded, but inside, her breathing halted. So many children endured horrors that never should be imagined, and hearing their stories never got easier. “Only share what you feel comfortable with today. We can always talk again.”

  Star massaged her forehead with her fingers. “Mama tried.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “I guess one night she just gave up. Skye found her in the bedroom.”

  A pregnant silence followed, so Rivers ventured a guess. “S
he’d taken her own life?”

  “Yeah.” The single word came out with a scoff.

  “I can’t imagine how much that hurt you and your sister.”

  “Skye had a scholarship to college. She was leaving me, so I climbed out the window at sixteen and never looked back.”

  Rivers fought to keep her composure. “The walled off heart in the middle is how you’re protecting yourself?” And the anger she’d thrown around was a way to do that.

  “I guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks.” Star shot her a sarcastic look, but laughed. A real laugh that showed in her brown eyes.

  “Not so much. I held a full-time and two part-time jobs until I met Jordan.”

  “Your fiancé?” Star studied her.

  “Yeah.”

  “That stinks. I’m sorry about what happened.” She threw one hand toward the ceiling. “Sometimes I don’t get God, you know? Mama believed in Him, but I don’t know.”

  The confession caught Rivers off guard. “My dad says God doesn’t exempt the godly from hard realities. We live in a fallen world, but it’s temporary. He also says we can speak our questions to God and listen for Him to answer.”

  “That could take me a while, because I’ve got a lot of them.”

  Rivers smiled at Star’s honesty. “I can relate.”

  A clatter erupted into their conversation, and Cooper burst through the door connecting the gallery to the studio. “Did Blake come in here?”

  “No.” Rivers swallowed hard, fear caught in her throat.

  Star sprung off the stool. “Is he missing?”

  “He said he was going to the restroom, and we had customers up front.” Frustration furrowed Cooper’s brows, and he raked his fingers through his hair. “Davis is going to look for him outside.”

  Cautiously, Rivers stood and laced her arm across Star’s shoulders. If they’d lost Blake, would they lose Star, too?