“Thank you for telling me,” Daphne said as April stood to tie the canoe to the dock. “About Elena.”
April’s shoulders went a little tight, and she looked out toward the water. “Thankyou,” she said quietly.
And that was the end of it as they secured the canoe, then climbed onto the dock and walked toward the lodge side by side, garnering curious looks from the guests as they went.
Daphne couldn’t sleep.
After they’d gotten back to their cabin, she’d stood under the hot spray of the shower for half an hour, warming her skin andbones and blood. She’d washed her hair, finally, and even taken care to slide some gel through her curls. She’d brushed her teeth, gone through all the motions of getting ready for bed, all the while trying to slow down her brain.
Trying not to stare at April.
Trying not to wonder about April and Elena.
Trying not to ask questions.
But she had so many, most of which she wasn’t even sure April could answer.
Orwouldanswer.
April hadn’t said much since they’d returned to their cabin. She let Daphne shower first, then stayed in the bathroom so long during her own turn, Daphne nearly knocked on the door to check on her. Daphne had no idea how to act, so she’d lain in bed with Bob curled up by her side, staring at the ceiling fan going around and around.
Now, a couple hours later, the cabin dark and quiet, nothing but the sound of cicadas and April’s deep breathing, Daphne tried to keep her eyes closed, go through the lyrics of her favorite songs. She even resorted to counting sheep, watching fluffy white animals jump over fences in her head.
Finally, she sat up, drawing a soft mew from Bob as she grabbed her phone off her nightstand and tapped the screen. Then she stared down at the name of the only person she wanted to talk to right now.
Elena.
It was two in the morning. Elena wouldn’t be awake anyway. In fact, Daphne knew her phone would be in sleep mode. And besides the impracticalities of a middle-of-the-night call, Daphne really, really shouldn’t.
She knew that.
God, sheknewthat. She already felt pathetic. Stupid and sillyand naive and young—how could she not have known? How was shethe other womanand didn’t even know? Talking to Elena right now would only make her feel more ridiculous, because Elena always had an explanation for everything, which just made her want to talk to Elena even more.
Because maybe therewasan explanation.
She shook her head, then opened her nightstand drawer and threw her phone inside. It clattered loudly, startling Bob so much he jumped off the bed. Daphne froze, waiting for April to wake up too, but she simply murmured something that sounded weirdly like “None of your business, Penny,” then rolled over.
Before she could scramble for her phone again, Daphne threw off her covers, grabbed her bag, and slid on her shoes, then stepped out the door and into the cool night.
She ended upin the art studio.
She sat at the desk and clicked through the slides featuring tomorrow’s class plan on the computer, but she couldn’t focus, her mind whirling fast in every direction. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time. This unsettled and helpless. This desperate for something. Anything. She didn’t even know what. Maybe it was because she’d just told her entire story to April, but she felt exposed and alone, just like she had when she was fifteen and her mom found her sketchbook.
Like she was still letting someone else define the kind of life she was going to live.
She looked around at all the blank canvases waiting for stories to fill them, then stood up abruptly and went to the back cabinet, flinging it open. It was full of extra supplies—paints and brushes and charcoal and watercolors, as well as a few larger canvases forinstructor modeling. She grabbed one—a huge 24x30—carried it up to the front of the room, and set it on the instructor easel.
After that, she didn’t think. She simplydid, followed the spark in her stomach and let it lead the way. She gathered paints and brushes and pencils, a palette and a palette knife, cups of water, an apron. She tied her still-damp hair back, picked up a pencil, and started sketching on the canvas. She never erased, never stepped back to think. She felt like she was seventeen, standing in Ms.Hale’s classroom and sketching out two girls kissing for the first time, driven by pure fury and fear and hope.
Except in this image, there was only one girl.
And Daphne drew and drew until the girl took shape. After that, she mixed paints, color and texture and shading bringing the girl to life.
Bringing her back from the dead.
Chapter
Seven
