Close To Falling

by Paige P. Horne

  “Whatever you say, Mrs. Davis.”

  “Thanks.” She’s all smiles, and I love her.

  ***

  Sweet rhythms flow through my studio speakers, calming my mind and relaxing my soul. There’s just something about soft music that soothes a person. I’m feet propped up on my drawing table, charcoal gray fingers, and closed eyes. I’ve made up one piece today, and I’ve thrown one piece away today. I’ve walked back and forth across this fucking room forty times, and I’m getting nowhere and nothing done. The music pauses before the next song plays, and I hear my phone ringing. I flop my feet down and make my way to the living room. I have no idea where the damn thing is. I look around the room, listening for it. I hear it again, and my eyes go to the couch. I grab the throw pillow and see a lit up screen that reads Frankie.

  “Hello,” I say after I pick up.

  “Hey, B, thanks for the honey.”

  “You’re welcome, old man.” I grin because I know that drives him crazy.

  “Who are you calling an old man?” he questions with a grunt.

  “No one,” I say. “That was the TV.”

  “Huh.” I can tell he is grinning, too.

  “Well, happy birthday,” I say. “Did you see Landon the other day?”

  “Thanks, and, yes, I did. Boy did well.”

  “Yeah,” I agree.

  “Everything good with you?” he asks like he does every single time I speak with him. I can’t blame him for making sure. I scared my boys, but that was a ton of therapy and a lifetime ago.

  “Good my way,” I reply as I pick the pillow up off the floor and put it back on the couch.

  “Good,” he says.

  “Yep, what about you?” I ask because he drinks too much beer and doesn’t eat like he should.

  “I’m fine, kid,” he answers. “Well, I’ve got to hang up now. My water is boiling on the stove.”

  “Bye, bye, Frankie.”

  “Talk soon, B.” He hangs up, and I put my phone down. I don’t have the heart to call the man out on the water boiling. Even though I know, for one, he has a cell phone. He can walk and talk. And, two, the man doesn’t boil water. He eats takeout every night. But talking isn’t Frankie’s thing, and that’s okay. I think the only reason he has a cell phone is because Landon bought it for him. I make my way back to my studio and try for round whatever.

  ***

  Outdoor lights are lit and candles are placed on the table made from an old church door I got Frankie to build for me. Family and friends surround me as stories are being told and everyone chats about their week. It’s my birthday, and I’m no longer in my twenties. It is what it is. Foot propped up in my seat, I rest my chin on my knee and twist my tea glass in front of me as my eyes roam across the filled chairs at my table. Ellie grabs my attention as she laughs at her wife imitating their daughter, Bell. Apparently, she threw a fit today because she didn’t get a purse she wanted.

  “The girl is six,” Sam says.

  “And she acts twenty,” Ellie continues. Adopting was the best thing that ever happened to those two. It keeps Ellie from being a workaholic, and oddly, it chills Samantha. Adabelle is the most precious thing, when she isn’t throwing fits, of course. My eyes go to Frankie, and I see he is getting tired. The man has a good drive, and I want him to get back safely.

  “Frankie, wanna crash here?” I ask.

  “Nah, I’ll be fine driving,” he tells me. I nod and stretch my arms out in front of me, a big signal to anyone who knows me I’m ready to call it.

  “You tired?” Landon asks. He’s surfer boy tan and all grown up. I miss his child-like face sometimes.

  “Yeah,” I say, reaching over and touching his hand. He smiles and flips his palm up so he can squeeze my fingers.

  “Let’s head out, guys. The birthday girl is tired,” Landon says, giving me a wink. Sarah picks up dishes, and Landon gives my hand one more squeeze before he stands and helps.

  “I’ll get these tomorrow,” I say to them.

  “No, tomorrow you will be in that studio all day coming up with more artwork,” Sarah says. Landon gives me a face, like uh-oh.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I reply, taking a sip from my glass, trying to keep the smile off my face.

  “We need to be heading home anyway,” Ellie says as she moves her chair back and puts her napkin down.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” I say, planting my feet and then standing.

  “Anytime, Maddie.” She smiles.

  “Thank you for having us,” Sam says. “Sometimes, it’s nice to remember we are not only mothers, but women, too, who need adult conversation.”

  “Well, I’m so happy you both made it. Kiss Bell for me,” I say as I hug both of them.

  “Of course,” Ellie says. I look over at Frankie after they walk out.

  “Good birthday?” he asks, and now that our guests are all gone, he can pull his pack out and light a smoke.

  “It’s no barbecue, but it’ll do,” I reply, taking a seat beside him. He chuckles as a red flame burns from the end of his filter after he lights it. “You should quit.” I scrunch my nose and wave the smoke in a different direction than my face. He moves his cigarette away from me.

  “There’s a lot we should do, isn’t there?”

  I snicker. “You got me there.” I look down at my watch and see it’s past ten.

  “You got a thirty-minute drive.”

  “Kid, I’ve been driving longer than you’ve been alive. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Well, I can’t help that,” I say. He takes a hit and looks at me.

  “I know the feeling,” he then replies with a soft smile, and I know he does.

  ***

  B.B. King tells me the thrill is gone as my hand has a mind of its own. Creativity flows out of my fingertips and onto the paper. This is my last piece, and I will finally be finished. I’m proud of my work, and I can’t wait for the world to see it. After hours of drawing, I sign the bottom and put my charcoal down. Rubbing my fingers and looking over all my pieces, I grin and line them all up along the wall. I’ve come far with my drawing. When I got out of rehab, I rented a place in the city and started taking art classes. My teacher told me I had something, and she entered some of my pieces into different contests. I won a good bit of them, and that’s when I had people actually interested in purchasing my work.

  I met Sarah while she was working at a local art gallery. All of this was starting to get big, and I needed an assistant. She took a chance and left the gallery. She was always at my place, and when Landon came to visit, the two of them hit it off. They’ve been married for five years now.

  I grab my old sketchpad and skim through some of the pictures. I threw it away the night I gave up on everything, but Frankie got it out of the trash and saved it for me. Looking at one I did at the beach sends me back in time, and I smell salty water and remember the feel of smoke being blown into my mouth. I turn the page and see the one I was working on the night before Landon told me River was in prison.

  I close the book and toss it onto my desk. I haven’t spoken to River in a long time. He got out of prison a while back. The boys still talk to him, and they will mention him. I don’t anymore. I’d like to say I’ve moved on. I’ve dated a little, but nothing ever felt right, and I didn’t want to waste anyone’s time if it wasn’t going anywhere. I dove into my art and put dating last on my list.

  They say time heals all, but I don’t think I believe that. The pain from the past never goes away. It just gets easier to deal with, because like everything that’s repetitive, a person grows accustomed to it. River did a good number on me, but I don’t hate him for it. I needed help, and I couldn’t get it going back and forth to visit him in prison. He saw that first, and if anything, I owe him a thanks. Time doesn’t heal pain, but it does make things clearer. And I’ve realized how unhealthy we were for each other at the time. Frankie was right. We needed to grow into our own people, and I think I finally have.

 
; Chapter Twenty

  I was told to dress comfortably, but I’m pretty sure my sweats wouldn’t have been appropriate. I’m in a black tailored pencil dress with a deep V-neck. My hand is slid into one of my pockets as I stand in black matching heels. I’m not uncomfortable at all. My dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and my makeup is soft. Sarah says I look amazing, and I have to agree. And, seriously, I’m not that uncomfortable. I feel beautiful. I shake hands and make my rounds. I’m asked questions, and I answer them the best I can. Art isn’t something you can describe in my opinion. It’s a feeling more so, and somehow I make those feelings come out and onto a canvas. Frankie is dressed in a black button-up and jeans. It’s the best he can do, and it’s enough. Landon looks handsome in dark jeans and a royal blue blazer standing beside his wife who is in a matching blue dress. Ellie has come by and purchased a piece to hang in her office.

  The night passes, and my art continues to sale. It’s been a big turnout, and one by one my loved ones call it a night. Sarah is the last to go.

  “I’ll wrap up these, and then call it a night,” I tell her. “You go on home.”

  “Are you sure, B? It’s a good bit of work.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Go spend time with Landon.”

  “Okay.” Smiling, she grabs her clutch and kisses me on the cheek before she walks toward the door. I watch her as she turns around and looks around the place. Her eyes are wide, and her chest expands as she sighs. “We did it, B.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “All the hard work and late nights have paid off.”

  “You’re going to great places.”

  “With you as my assistant, I don’t doubt it.”

  “You make the beauty. I just help get it seen.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll talk to you in the morning,” she says, blowing me a kiss before she exits. I slide my heels off and grab a full champagne glass that’s been left on the counter and toast it up.

  “Here’s to many more years of this,” I say before taking a sip. I've never had a problem with alcohol, and I find a few glasses here and there to calm my nerves. The sweet bubbles slide down my throat. I set the glass back down and lightly twirl it between my fingers.

  “I’ll toast to that.” I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear a man’s voice.

  “Jesus,” I say, turning around. My heart literally sinks, my palms grow sweaty, and my throat closes.

  “Hey, B,” River says, looking me over. I don’t speak. I’m not able to. Dirty blond hair that used to need a trim is buzzed short. He was getting big when I last saw him, but now he looks leaner. His green eyes roam around the art gallery, and he walks up to one of my drawings. Only art lights are on, casting soft glows on River and the work that’s still hung. I can’t look away. It’s as if I’m dreaming. “I always knew you could go somewhere with this,” he says, sliding his hands into his dark jeans. My eyes look down. A light brown belt is around his waist with a tucked-in sky blue button-up. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and tattoos cover his arms. He looks away from the art and back at me. He smiles, showing his dimples, and I didn’t even realize how much I missed them until I feel a painful ache inside my chest. My heart picks up beats, and I swallow as he walks closer to me. I feel my hands shake, and I’m thankful I already put my glass down.

  I clear my throat. “How did you know about this?”

  “Landon,” he replies. “It’s a big moment for you. I didn’t want to miss out.”

  I scoff. “Finishing rehab was a big moment for me. Graduating from art school was also a pretty big moment,” I say, looking up, thinking of more big moments. “Oh, and getting my own studio goes up there with big moments, too, and yet you never appeared for any of them.” I cross my arms and lift my brow as my eyes land back on him.

  He looks amused. “You’re still the same smart-ass girl.” I don’t reply. We haven't seen each other in nine years, but it no longer feels like it. I’m torn between wanting to slap him or kiss him. God, what those lips would feel like after all this time. Looking down, I take a breath, trying to clear my head of ridiculous thoughts, and slide my hands into the pockets of my black pencil dress.

  “Well, you’ve come,” I say, making eye contact. “Now you can leave.”

  “You want me to go?” he asks, looking inscrutable.

  “I don’t care either way,” I reply, sounding indifferent, but feeling the total opposite. I take my hands out of my pockets and walk away from him. I forgot I don’t have shoes on, but who cares, right? My bare feet and I walk to the back of the gallery so I can start wrapping my art. I hear his footsteps behind me, though, and again I’m torn between being happy he is here and wanting him to go, because my life is okay right now, and I don’t need any drama. I pick up the bubble wrap and slide the scissors across it.

  “Maddie,” River says, and I look back at him.

  “Yeah?” I ask.

  “Can you hold up on that for a second?”

  I sigh and put it all down. “River, what do you want?” I ask, sitting down on the small couch and rubbing my temple. I close my eyes, but it’s brief because his words cause me to look up.

  “There is just so much I want to say to you.” I watch him as he pushes off the wall. “I’ve gone over it a million times, but now that you’re in front of me…” He trails off, slightly laughing as he drags a hand over his mouth. “I can’t seem to find the words,” he says more to himself than me. He looks away, finding a spot on the wall while I sit with a pounding heart. His eyes dart back to mine, and he sighs. “I miss you, B,” he says quietly, his lips hardly moving. My eyes are glued on his face, shifting between his eyes and mouth as he speaks. “Tell me that after all these years you still miss me, too, baby.” Resting my elbow on my thigh, I cast my eyes down, trying to think of how to respond to that. Rubbing my fingers over my lips, I look back up.

  “That was so long ago,” I say. “So much has changed, River. I…just…” I don’t know how to answer his question. Tell him I missed him, and it could give him the wrong idea. Tell him I didn’t, and I would be lying. His face lights up as though he has realized something, and he sighs and looks down.

  With a half-smile, he says, “You’re seeing someone.” Like, duh, you wouldn’t still be single after all this time.

  “No,” I say too quickly, and then I mentally kick myself for sounding so available and lonely. “I mean, I’m not in a relationship right now, just a casual date here and there, but that has nothing to do with this. I just can’t go back down that road. I’m a different person now.”

  I see the relief on his face. “I know we can’t go back to the way things were. Honestly, I don’t want to. We were just kids who fell in love too young, but that love never died on my end.” His eyes are filled with truth, and his lip lifts. “You know, before all this shit got so messy, we used to be friends.”

  “Is that what you’re suggesting? That we be friends? How would that work, River?” I ask, thinking he’s crazy.

  “Easy. I want to be in your life again. If we can’t be together, then I’ll take friendship over nothing at all. Come on, B. You used to ride my handlebars and pretend like you were flying,” he says, showing me his dimples again. “Remember campfires at the beach and catching lightning bugs in the front yard? We used to stay up all night talking, and then we got older and you would tell me how you wanted to run away and be more than a small-town girl.” His smile is contagious, and I find myself smiling back. “Before the drugs and the parties, we were good friends.”

  “It’s playing with fire, River.” I shake my head at this crazy boy.

  “You’ve always been known to stand too close to the flames, B. You haven’t gotten any burn marks,” he says, looking me over.

  “Yes, I have,” I reply solemnly. “I’ve got scars so deep, they no longer appear on the surface.” The light in his eyes dies and regret takes its place, but that wasn’t his doing. “My choices were my own, River. I’m not blaming anyone
. I’ve been through enough therapy to know better. I’m okay now.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” he says with relief in his voice. “Come on.” He grins. “You know you missed me just a little.” I smirk and let out a sigh. My eyes go to the ceiling, and I suck in my bottom lip.

  “Just friends?” I ask, looking back at him. “Nothing more.”

  “Only friends,” he confirms. “Unless you want to make out from time to time, then that’s cool with me, too.” His shoulders shrug, and he looks like a kid up to no good. Who am I kidding? This is River Dawson. He was never up to any good.

  “River.”

  “I’m kidding, B.” He tries not to smile. “Just friends.” He holds up his hands.