I walked the long way around the old brick buildings covered in ivy, avoiding the dorms, because even here on campus, I had to be careful. Now that I was pursuing my master’s, most of the people who’d been out to get me those early years had already graduated, but that didn’t stop my hyper vigilance and it didn’t stop my anxiety about walking past the campus dorms.
Inside the Cobalt building, I was hit by the comforting smell of paint and art supplies, and then everything finally loosened as I stepped into my art studio and released a heavy breath.
Ditching my sweaty shirt, I pulled my painting overalls on over my bra and threw my hair up into a messy ball on top of my head before Icrankedthe music. The playlist was gritty, with a pulsing base, and feminine rage lyrics, and I let it thunder through me like a war cry while I bounced around, shaking off the anxiety.
As I plopped down on my rolling stool and shovedmyself towards my almost finished art piece, I knocked over a cup that apparently still had paint thinner in it, and proceeded to coat myself,anda corner of my almost finished canvas.Shit!
I grumbled to myself and quickly cleaned everything up before I stared at the corner and rolled my eyes. So much for finishing my piece tonight.Great freaking work, Sara.
As I grabbed my brushes and palette and stood there, head tilted, staring at the piece, deciding on the final finishing touches, I suddenly felt overstimulated by the music and opted for a lighthearted musical instead.
Humming along, I eventually zoned out, falling into a deep flow state as I painted, letting all my worries disappear into the paint. Each line, each stroke, was a little part of my heart and soul, a little piece of everything I was, until it all blended together into something entirely new. Something beautiful and meaningful.
Dip, dab, stroke. Over and over again. The scrape and drag of the brush over the canvas, the specifically weird smell of the blue paint I was using—so incredibly familiar, yet something I’d almost grown to like even though it stunk a bit.
Until I suddenly realized what time it was. As I pushed back to stare at my painting, I forced myself to get up, knowing I needed to hit the road before I got too tired to make it home at all.
I reluctantly locked my studio up, really wishing I’d finished the piece first, but it was already dark outside. Halfway back to my car, a grunt in the darkness caught my attention, and I tensed, heart instantly pounding as I paused under the leafless trees.
Tightly clutching my bag over my shoulder, I blinked, frantically trying to get my eyes to adjust as I squinted across the parking lot. There was an echoing thud and another grunt, and then I realized with great relief that it was just Carmen. One of the few people who hadn’t gone out of their way to make my life a living hell these past few years.
She was struggling to load a large object into the back of a moving truck. “Carmen,” I called, hurrying across the parking lot. “Do you need some help?”
“You’re a lifesaver.” Carmen panted from above me. “I don’t know why I thought I could move this by myself.”
I lifted a corner and my eyes blew wide, realizing her cargo wasn’t just massive, it was freakingheavy.“Good God, how did you even get this outside by yourself?” I shoved hard, relieved when the object finally started to slide with me pushing and her pulling in unison.
“Determination?” She huffed, with a quizzical look, and extended me a hand, pulling me up into the bed of the truck.
We dragged the canvas-wrapped object towards the front before she secured it, explaining, “It’s mixed media, and I assembled it in pieces, not realizing how heavy it was getting.”
I laughed, dusting off my hands. “Yeah, I’ve definitely made that mistake before.”
“It’s my first commission.” She beamed and then rolled her eyes, adding, “Well, sort of. It’s for my aunt’s friend, but whatever.”
“Hey that totally counts.” I hopped out of the truck and grabbed my bag off the ground.
She grinned from above. “Long drive ahead of you, Devereux?”
“Eh, it’s just a few hours.” I shrugged with a laugh that was still a bit breathy from exertion. “Can’t complain.”
“Well, you better get to it, it’s getting late.” She pulled the rolling door closed and rounded the truck with a wave. “Happy Thanksgiving, Sara. Drive safe.”
Three hours into the drive home, I was definitely complaining.
I desperately needed to pee, but I didn’t want to stop at some sketchy gas station in the middle of the night, especially being deliriously tired and all. So, I did what any good driver would do to stay awake. I turned to the reliable power of Disney musicals, frigid air, andfloored it.
By the time I was finally cruising through the towering topiaries lining the entrance to Briar Rose Estates, my fingers were nearly frozen, and I was on my umpteenth loop oflet’s get down to business.
As I entered the massive roundabout, about halfway around the floral-landscaped turn, an imposing figure jogging on the other side of the stone fountain made me do a double take. My pulse spiked, but I shook my head, knowing it was late and I was probably just imagining things.
But when I drove past the sprawling estate just across the street from my parent’s manor, I couldn’t help but squint a little harder, just to see if therewasa car in the courtyard. There wasn’t, because of course there wasn’t. That obscenely large manor had been vacant for years now, its occupant just another ghost from my past.
My tires crunched over the pebbled stone as I headed down the long driveway and into the courtyard, before I rounded the winterized fountain, and drove beneath the porte-cochere back towards the garage. After parking my discreet school SUV next to the long row of Liam’s extra cars, I headed inside, wincing when my heavy bag slipped off my shoulder and whacked one of his Maseratis.Oopsie.
It was late as I quietly crept into my parents’ house, but the moment I stepped inside, I grinned, realizing half the neighborhood was in the kitchen. Dropping my bag in the grand marble entry, I made a much needed pit stop and then headed towards the warm sound of laughter.
“Da Vinci.” Cade, one of my older brother’s best friends, crooned, immediately draping an arm around my shoulders. “Welcome home, Gorgeous. Did you miss me?”
