I have always been cautious with my paintings. I am a perfectionist by nature and refine and edit until they are perfect. But not that night. That night I tore through the canvases, strokes flying. I didn’t care if the paintings were complete, didn’t want them to be perfect. They weren’t supposed to be perfect. They were supposed to heal me, to give me courage, to set me free.
I let myself feel the thing I thought I shouldn’t. It welled up inside me and took over my mind, my body, my brush. Anger. Not only that Adam had left me, that he was sacrificing himself, us, our family, but also about everything in our marriage that had ever been tough, every time I’d wanted to stand up for myself but hadn’t, every time I had wanted to speak my piece but held it in. For the first time, I didn’t feel guilt, just pure, unadulterated, hot rage. This stroke was for all the times Adam came home and didn’t ask if he could help with the kids. This one was for the times he looked disapprovingly at a pile of laundry on the floor when I had cleaned up after babies all day. These were for using my toothbrush, leaving the toilet seat up, refusing to leave his dirty shoes by the back door.
I felt it all, all those emotions I had buried so deep. And when I was done, I cried. Not a cry of fragility, but of cleansing. I knew my husband wasn’t perfect. Admitting that to myself made me feel a little better. He was a good man, a good husband. But he wasn’t a saint, and neither was I. My only prayer was that the perfectly imperfect world we had created together would continue to spin.
AS THE SUN ROSE,bright and bold and beautiful, I heard Caroline’s panic-laced voice calling, “Sloane!”
“I’m up here,” I called, yawning.
She appeared in the doorway, clad in a short silk and lace nightgown.
“You’re wearingthatto sleep alone on a boat?” I asked.
She grinned at me. “You scared me to death.”
“What did you think? That I’d jumped or something?”
She shook her head. “Not jumped. You wouldn’t kill yourself and leave your children. But maybe swept out to sea in your grief like in a Victorian novel?”
She finally looked down around my feet. “Oh my gosh. Wow.”
She sat down on the deck of the boat, crossing her legs in a very unladylike manner for someone wearing a tiny nightgown. “Caroline, honestly,” I said.
She gasped, ignoring me. “These are amazing. The best paintings you’ve ever done. For real.”
They were all shades of gray, silver, and a little white. Not as much black as I had expected. That was how my life felt now. Less dark, a little brighter, but still completely devoid of color.
“Pain will do that to you, I guess.”
“Girls,” I heard Emerson groan. “It’s like six a.m.” She stopped in her tracks and picked up the first painting I had done. “Whoa.” She held it to her chest. “This one’s mine. Sign it now. I’m taking it to my room.”
I laughed. “You can have it. You don’t have to hoard it away.”
“Get your bikinis on,” Caroline said, clapping. “We have big plans today.”
“I’ll get breakfast ready,” Emerson said. She pointed to me. “You keep painting.”
“Then I guess I’ll drive,” Caroline said, as if that weren’t a foregone conclusion.
“Should we check in with Mom and the kids?” I called to Caroline.
“Later!”
I stretched my shoulders and wrists. I had one more painting in me. The brushstrokes became less precise as Caroline cut through the waves. But that was the beauty of it. This was the painting that would always remind me of this trip, my sisters, and how they saved me, pulling me out of the sea when I was certain I was drowning.
Thirty minutes later Caroline was expertly docking in front of some tennis courts and a gazebo while a very taut, tan twenty-something boy grabbed our lines and tied us up.
A large sign read,Private Club. Docking for Members Only.“Caroline,” I whispered, “what are we doing here? You aren’t a member of this club.”
She looked toward heaven like I was dense. She and Emerson were already out of the boat and held their hands out to me.
“She’s a beauty,” the boy on the dock said.
Caroline put her arm around me and said, “She is, isn’t she? She’s my sister.”
I rolled my eyes. “I think he meant the boat.”
“Ah, yes. Well, she’s a beauty too.”
