When his mother left and after his marriage fell apart and his life crumbled around him, he’d stood in this very spot night after night until he could sleep without seeing the carnage of crushed metal and glass that his wife and her drinking had left behind.
And now, when his head and heart were confused by thoughts of Aja mixed in with his worries about his father’s future, Jackson was here again.
He glanced down at the box he’d pulled from his truck before he’d settled in this sacred spot.Open it when you need a little happy.A quiet snicker escaped his lips. “Now would be a time for some of that.”
He put his coffee cup to the side and stood, walking toward the door to turn on the porch light. Once it was on, he rushed back to his station on the stairs.
He lifted the lid on the top. When he looked inside, there was a folded note atop the tissue paper concealing the contents of the box.
He gently removed it as if it were something precious, protecting it from any harm. He carefully opened it to see Aja’s neat and curvy cursive across the page.
Dear Jackson,
There was something so beautiful about watching you create your art in front of me. I’ve never seen a man look more at peace or more natural as when I watched you put pencil to paper. I still have your rendering of me put away for safekeeping. I thought I would have it made into a larger piece to display in the great room. But then I realized I didn’t want to share the small piece of you that you allowed me to see with anyone else.
My wish for you is that you should always look as serene as you did that day, sitting at my kitchen table, doodling on a paper. Whatever troubles find you today, may you lose them in a moment of your own creativity.
Be happy.
—A
Jackson let his thumb trace over the last word of the letter, so touched by Aja’s words he almost forgot to open his gift. He folded the note, placing it inside the lid next to him, and peeled back the tissue paper inside the box.
The breath caught in his chest when he realized what was inside. There was a high-quality charcoal pencil set and three sketchbooks of varying sizes all filled with textured, toned tan paper inside.
He opened the medium-size book, his hand shaking as he slid his fingertips across the blank canvas, and marveled at Aja’s ability to always know how to take care of the people around her.
He didn’t know how she knew this was exactly what he needed—the feeling of the pad in his left hand and the weight of the pencil in his right were more soothing than any balm he’d ever had.
He sketched on the dimly lit porch. He didn’t need a subject in front of him, his muse guiding his hand with each instinctive stroke. A few moments in and he already recognized the soft shape of her eyes and the gentle slant of her chin. His pencil whirled over the paper until a face that was unmistakably Aja’s stared back him.
He’d spent years with his wife, and she’d never been able to appreciate his need to let his thoughts wander while paper and pencil took him to places and people he’d never seen. Yet in a matter of days, Aja had seen through to the very center of him, and if her thoughtful gift was any sign, she didn’t have a problem with what she saw.
“I never could understand your fixation with the night sky.” His father’s deep baritone cut through the chill and wrapped around him like the warmth of an open fire. “Even after I bought you that telescope and put it on a tripod by your bedroom window, it still wasn’t enough to keep your butt inside the house at night. I’d still find you curled up in a blanket on that chair. What troubles you this morning, Son?”
Jackson lifted his head to greet his father, hoping the smile he fashioned would ease the worry he saw settled in the man’s eyes. “It’s early. You should be sleeping.”
“I’m a father. When my children suffer, so do I. Are you really this bothered by my engagement to Sophie?”
Jackson let his head hang, glancing back at the rough sketch in his hand. What kind of son would he be to cause his father so much distress? “Daddy, I never said I had a problem with you and Mrs. Eames.”
“You didn’t have to. Your silence said plenty. I knew you wouldn’t be thrilled about me marrying again, given how I know you feel about relationships. But I didn’t think you’d be so bothered you couldn’t sleep through the night.”
“I’m not.” Jackson laughed at the disbelief on his father’s face. “I swear I’m not, Daddy. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
His father made a show of groaning as he took his time to sit on the steps next to Jackson. “Something or someone?”
Jackson didn’t bother to hide behind the excuse that was waiting on his tongue. Instead, he handed his father the sketch he’d been working on.
“That’s a beautiful likeness of Ms. Everett. I’m sure this will be right nice when you’re finished with it. What kind of trouble could this lovely young lady cause you?”
Jackson glanced briefly at his father, then dropped his eyes back on the page.
“Oh, that kind of trouble,” his father answered, patting Jackson on the leg as he spoke.
“Daddy, how did you know when you were ready to let go of everything you believed to be true about yourself?”
“When it became more important to hold on to Sophie than it was my past.”
