by Caroline Lee
And hadn’t been able to paint a dang thing.
“No,” she finally said, simply.
But her foster brother shrugged and stepped into the room, pulling the door closed once more. “Fair enough. We’ll hang out in here instead.”
He sank cross-legged to the floor, putting his daughter on her back in between himself and the small single bed where Okie currently sat. Reaching over with one long arm, he snagged a bucket of toys and upended them around Lacey. The baby immediately grabbed a squeaky giraffe toy and shoved half of it in her mouth. For some reason.
Okie watched blankly, the baby’s normally adorable antics unable to raise even a bit of a smile in her heart.
Jason focused on his daughter, cooing at her, wrestling with the toys a bit, and Okie watched numbly. She’d been numb for days. Saturday had broken her again. Her heart, maybe? That was silly—her heart was still pumping. She could feel it, hear it in her temples.
But something else inside her had shriveled up when she realized Nick had lied to her. When she realized how different they really were from one another. He didn’t understand art and beauty the way she did, and no matter how many awesome conversations they’d had, no matter how many video games they’d played, no matter how many movies they’d watched together… If he was so fundamentally different from her that he didn’t know how to get inside and really live art, then maybe it was best they not be friends.
Still, that pain had eaten a hole in her, until her stomach was just an empty pit. Maybe because she hadn’t eaten much of anything else since Saturday. How was Rajah doing? Probably eating four times as much as her, honestly.
No matter how different from her Nick had turned out to be, she had to believe he wouldn’t mistreat her cat. Jamal wouldn’t, at least.
Three days of no texts, no teasing, no emails, not even about her paintings on her websites.
And she hadn’t been able to even pick up her stylus without wanting to cry.
Nice Nick. Not Nice Nick.
“If I’m broken, does that mean I can’t paint anymore?”
She hadn’t realized she’d asked the thought out loud, until Jason looked up. His serious expression softened somewhat as his eyes skimmed over her, and she dropped her attention to the baby on the floor, currently trying her best to reach a rattle shaped like Cookie Monster.
“I don’t think you’re broken, Okie,” Jason said gently. “And I don’t think anyone else does either. Especially Nick.”
At his name, her eyes slammed into her brother’s, then away once more. “I think I’m broken.” Isn’t that all that mattered?
“You’re not broken, Okie. Your brain is different, but it’s not broken. And having a fight with Nick—whatever it was that you fought about—isn’t going to break you either.”
She stared down at her knuckles, white where they wrapped around her tablet. “How do you know?” she whispered.
“Because you’re stronger than that.”
At his gentle tone, she peeked up at him, and saw only compassion in Jason’s face.
“You survived in that house longer than I did. You didn’t understand—and they didn’t understand you—but you didn’t break. You didn’t lose who you were, who you are. You didn’t lose yourself to meds, or drugs, or the pressure from everyone else. You’ve lost yourself to your art, yeah, but your art gave you yourself. Made you who you are. You’re not broken. You’re just full of art.”
Smart heart. Part of the art.
Something crept inside her stomach and began to patch the empty hole.
“I’m not broken.” She tried the words out on her tongue. “I’m not broken. He didn’t break me.”
From his spot on the floor, Jason stretched out beside his daughter so he could tempt her into rolling with the squeaky giraffe. “You’re not broken, Okie. You’re too strong to break—you bend.”
Bend. Bending oak, Okie bends.
Belief breaks, Okie bends? Oak bends, belief bends, bubbles burst, but broken bubbles bend.
It didn’t make any sense, but she suspected most of the things in her brain didn’t make much sense either.
Except art. Art had always made sense, and she understood it. Was art what was even now filling her from her stomach up? This warm sense of…being stitched together, somehow? Like maybe she had broken, and now was healed?
No, she was too strong to break. She bent.
“Nick lied to me.”
It was the first time she’d talked about what had happened over the weekend, and Jason was quiet for a long time, focused on his daughter’s frustrated grunts as she tried to reach her toy.
Finally, he said, “I’ve worked with Nick a while. Not directly, but I’ve known him. He’s not a particularly friendly guy, but then, neither am I. He has his friends, and they value him.” He scooched a little farther away, so the baby had to wiggle more, stretching for her giraffe. “And I can’t imagine Reggie and Jamal, and even Andrew and the Westons would value his friendship if he was a habitual liar. If he lied, he must’ve had a reason for lying. Or maybe he didn’t think it was that big a deal. Or maybe it started out as something else, and snowballed into a—Good job, baby!”
He interrupted whatever he’d been rambling about when Lacey finally rolled over and grabbed her toy. While he cooed over his daughter, Okie thought about what he’d said. Nick had done his best to describe his reasons for lying about the site, and while they weren’t good reasons, she understood why the site was started. But why hadn’t he told her the truth right away?
Friends told each other the truth.
Sighing, she stared back down at the tablet in her hands. She watched, as if from far away, as her fingers called up the unfinished portrait of Lacey sitting on a mythical throne. Besides the baby’s cute expression, the rest had come from Okie’s imagination, and that’s what she needed right now.
She wasn’t broken. And she might not even be bent anymore. She was hurting, and missing Nick, but the art was filling her once more.
While Jason played on the floor with his daughter, Okie picked up her stylus, and allowed the art to spill out.
Smart heart. Part of the art.
As he did every day he was expected at his desk in the office, Nick went for his morning run, made himself a breakfast of bacon and avocado, poured his favorite coffee into a travel mug, and stopped at his overlook.
No tourists today. He was a little late—the sunrise had already hit McIver’s Mountain and the best light of the day was past. Now it just looked like a mountain…none of the magic Okie had helped him see.
He’d stopped here every morning this week hoping to see her. Hoping, maybe, she’d come here, knowing he would be here. Hoping she wanted to see him.
She hadn’t.
In the four days, twenty hours and thirteen minutes since they’d last spoken, he’d thought of her almost constantly. He was sleeping poorly because he was up late, tossing and turning and reliving all the things he should’ve said to her from the beginning. Then as soon as he woke up, he was bombarded with memories of their time together.
He cupped the travel mug between his palms to stay warm, wishing she was there. Up until he’d met her, staring at McIver’s Mountain had been his morning ritual to center himself, to find peace. But now, without her, it seemed…stupid. Looking at mountains without her just seemed stupid.
Thank God she hadn’t left yet. He probably had Jason to thank for that, for talking her into staying. All Nick knew was that her truck was there in the apartment parking lot each evening, and Rajah was still at home in the nest of cushions Jamal had made him, fit for a king.
Jamal was under strict orders to text Nick as soon as he heard a peep from Okie, even if it meant Nick speeding home to be there when she came for her cat. But as of yet, she hadn’t.
Surely she wouldn’t abandon her cat to them? No matter how much Jamal liked the lazy thing, Rajah was still Okie’s cat. And Okie’s truck was still in the parking lot.
&nbs
p; Therefore, logic said that Okie hadn’t left yet.
So how come he’d felt this dull panic in the pit of his stomach ever since they’d parted on Saturday?
He sighed, and put the mug down on the hood of his truck, which he was resting against. The coffee hadn’t tasted right all week anyhow. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was making it wrong, or if it made his stomach churn because…well, because his stomach was churning all the time.
He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t let her leave without figuring out some way to show her how he felt about her. And that meant figuring out how he did feel about her.
It wasn’t until he’d lost her that he’d really started thinking. She was the best friend he’d ever had, but she was even more than that. She was beautiful, in her pixyish way, and she made him smile a lot more than he was used to, which was basically a miracle. But it was more than that. When he was with her, he felt…whole. Now that she was gone, there was a part of him which was missing.
He still couldn’t figure out how to articulate that, but he’d spent last night and this morning pondering what it could mean. Why he felt like this without her.
And he had a sneaking suspicion…
Staring out at McIver’s Mountain, Nick pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
“Engineering. This is Andrew McIver, how can I help you?”
Nick took a deep breath. “Hey, Andrew, it’s Nick Norego.”
There was a moment of silence, as if Andrew was waiting for him to speak, but Nick couldn’t quite figure out how to ask. Finally:
“Hey, Nick. What’s up? What can I do for you?”
“Listen, um… Remember how we were talking about your property? And how you didn’t want people just traipsing across it?”
“Yeah, the mountain, right? We were talking about how the ranch does tours, but I don’t.”
“Yeah.” Nick took a deep breath. “I was wondering if you’d let me go for a hike up there? I want to show a friend something.”
“A friend, huh?” Andrew was chewing on something, but Nick could still hear his smirk. “Sure, yeah. Anything for you, buddy.”
Good. Now Nick just had to figure out how to get Okie up on the mountain with him.
CHAPTER TEN
On Thursday afternoon, Okie got an email. As soon as the notification popped up, her hands began to shake, because there was his name: “From Nick Norego.”
She’d spent the last two days sitting on her small bed in what had once been Lacey’s nursery, bent over her tablet, losing herself in the details of the painting of the baby. It still wasn’t done, but all the tiny little tweaks had been an easy way to focus on the art, and forget about the way her heart felt.
Like it had broken in half.
But now, seeing his name, seeing that he was trying to reach her…it sent a desperate surge of something through her. Half-longing, half-terror. Absolute terror. Maybe he was done watching Rajah? Maybe he was just emailing her to tell her he never wanted to see her again?
So yeah, her hands were still shaking when she opened it.
Okie, I’m sorry. I know that’s not good enough, and I’d like to apologize in person. Could you meet me at our overlook tomorrow morning? I’m taking the day off, and I want to show you something. –Your friend Nick
Our overlook.
Okie re-read that part a few times. Our overlook.
She liked the sound of that, especially since she knew he was the one who went there every day. But by calling it “our”, was he showing her he missed her? It was hard to guess, but that’s what she thought at least.
She stared at the email for a while, before realizing she needed to reply. How would she reply? It wasn’t a question she’d go meet him—if he wanted to see her, she would be there. She wanted to see him too, but after her words on Saturday, she’d been certain she’d ruined any chance of that. But if he was offering, and apologizing…
Her fingers were no longer shaking when she replied.
Okie-dokie. Nine a.m.
Which is why she was sitting on her truck’s still-warm hood, swinging her legs back and forth in the morning chill, staring up at McIver’s Mountain, when she heard another truck pull up. As she watched Nick climb out, she had to smile a little at the uselessness of both of them driving here from the same apartment complex. But he hadn’t offered to drive her, and she hadn’t wanted to ride with him anyhow. Until she heard what he had to say, she wasn’t sure if they could be friends again.
Nick seemed to take his time getting out of the truck and grabbing a messenger bag, then slinging it over his shoulders. When he straightened, she swore she saw him take a deep breath.
Was he nervous?
When he stopped in front of her, Okie jumped down off her truck.
“Hi,” she said, figuring she could be the one to start the process.
“Hi,” he replied.
Then he stared at her shoulder, his chest expanding and contracting like he was hyperventilating. Okie stared at him, wondering what was wrong with him. He’d been the one to invite her, and here he was, acting like…like…well, acting like her.
The thought made her smile again, and he glanced up to see it. She watched his shoulders loosen, and he offered a small smile back.
The awkwardness was broken.
“Look, Okie…” he began, then turned to face the mountain. He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you, and I…I want to make it up to you.”
Was she ready to forgive him? Okie shrugged. She was ready to let him try, at least. “Okie-dokie.”
When he turned back to her, there was something like hope in his eyes.
Hope hope help home. Hope! Hold hands.
She tamped down on that last thought, but when he gestured to her to follow him down the embankment, and up another path which led towards the mountain, Okie wondered if she should try walking beside him. Should she let their hands brush against one another in the hopes he’d take the hint and hold hers? Or would that be too unbearably embarrassing if he didn’t want to?
They walked in silence for a while, and the awkwardness eased. Okie took deep breaths, staring at the beauty around her. As they climbed, the Rhododendron bushes got thicker and more exciting. It was easy to imagine why the “experts” on Nick’s website thought this was where Bigfoot lived—the whole place was overgrown and mysterious.
But of course, The Real Bigfoot was totally fake.
Not real. Fake. Not real.
From up ahead of her, Nick finally spoke. “I’m sorry I lied to you about the site, Okie. I started it as part of the Bigfoot prank last year, but once it got so much traction, the Westons wanted to keep it going. It’s pretty good publicity, to have people thinking Bigfoot lives around here—it draws tourists.”
It drew me here, after all. But neither of them said it.
He just took a deep breath, still staring at the path ahead of him, and continued. “I haven’t added anything fake to it, not since we started. Just those first pieces of ‘evidence’—the fur and the dung Jamal collected, and that fake footprint. But when I forgot about the site, others started uploading their photos and evidence, and I’ve just been…I guess I’ve just been overseeing it all since then.”
The sun was now streaming in between the gnarled Rhododendron limbs, and Okie lifted her face to feel it on her skin. Nick hadn’t outright lied, not since he started the website. And it was done as part of a prank, a joke.
Now, all the evidence posted was from others. Other believers.
“When I found out the site was what brought you here, I wanted to say something, to tell you it wasn’t real. Ha! The Real Bigfoot isn’t real.” Nick climbed over a downed tree in the trail, his laugh sounding a little bitter. “But you believed, or at least I thought you did, and I suddenly realized what that website meant to some people. I’d always hated that I couldn’t just delete it, that the Westons found it useful…but suddenly, meeting a belie
ver, I saw the value in the website, and I…I was pretty darn conflicted, I’ll tell you that.”
Nick lifted a branch out of the way to step around it, and handed it back to Okie. For someone who didn’t like getting out into nature, he was doing a pretty good job leading the way into it. This path wasn’t nearly as well-maintained as the paths on River’s End Ranch. McIver’s Mountain must be private land.
She wasn’t sure if she should reply to Nick, so she just kept her mouth shut.
“I’m sorry I lied to you, Okie.”
They came to an opening, and stepped out from the Rhododendrons into scrub, then from the scrub into an open meadow. Nick was breathing heavily from the climb—or maybe nervousness, but he turned to her. "I'm sorry.”
Then he reached out and took both her hands in his, and Okie resisted the urge to flinch away. This was Nick. She couldn’t flinch away from Nick, not ever. She stared at his chin instead, watching his chest expand with each breath.
He was waiting for her to say something. Okie thought about his apology, then examined her own chest, her own heart, for her feelings.
Nick hadn’t exactly lied, he’d just omitted the truth. And it seemed like he had a good reason for doing it. At least he’d considered it a good reason. He hadn’t told her the truth, because he didn’t want to hurt her, by telling her what she believed wasn’t true.
She was still hurt by that realization—that what she’d believed wasn’t true. But she couldn’t be hurt by his part in it.
So she squeezed his hands. “Thank you.”
And she saw his smile jerk his lips upwards. “You forgive me?”
It was hard to meet his eyes—hard to meet anyone’s eyes for too long—but she did. “I understand why you did it, and I appreciate the apology.” A deep breath. “So yeah, I guess I forgive you.”
His smile grew, then collapsed once more. He squeezed her hands this time, his usual stoic expression back on his face—thank goodness. He was much easier to read, to understand, when he wasn’t throwing facial expressions all over the place.
