“It’s not nearly as cultivated as yours,” Fern said with a wan smile. “I didn’t go to art school like you did.”
“Some things don’t need to be taught,” Sassy pointed out. “My grandmother begged me not to go to New York. She said the teachers there would try to talk me into taking me out of my work and if I came back an artist at all, I wouldn’t be as authentic as I was before.”
“Did your teachers talk you into that?” Fern asked, eyes round with curiosity.
Sassy lifted a shoulder. “They were critical. In some cases, overly critical.” So critical, the voices in her head that had led her to quit selling her work had spoken primarily in their tones. “My grandfather says that teachers are like doctors. Their word should never take the place of natural-born instincts.”
“He was married to Leolani?” Fern asked.
“The teacher,” Sassy confirmed. “Yes. One of the many reasons they are no longer married or speaking to one another.”
Fern peeled back the wrapper on her muffin, shaking her head. “Your family never stops being interesting.”
Too interesting, at times. Especially lately on the Colton side. “I have to see him tomorrow. Maybe I can talk him into donating one of his paintings.”
“He’s an artist like you?” she asked.
“The most eccentric one I know,” Sassy said. “He no longer sells his work. He dedicates most of his time to Indigenous rights. He took me to my first protest when I was four.”
“Do you still go to protests with him?” Fern asked.
“When he’s not being ornery,” Sassy maintained. “So, maybe once in a blue moon.”
Fern’s smile lightened the contours of her face like the sun after a rainstorm. Sassy was so pleased to see it. Her friend had had little to smile about lately. “Will you go back to art therapy when you’re released from the hospital?” she asked.
Fern thought about it. “I’m not sure.” She seemed to gauge Sassy’s reaction before she asked the next question. “Would you go with me?”
Sassy nodded. “I’d be happy to.”
Fern’s relief was palpable. Her smile, however, did not return. “I’ve been…having flashback episodes.”
Sassy’s back straightened against her chair. Concern struck her. “Are you okay?”
Fern bobbed a small nod. Uncertainty furrowed her brow. “I spoke to Ryan about it already. He told me to tell the investigators.”
“Do you think you can?” Sassy asked.
“I want to know what happened. The truth of it. Who and why. And the images…they’ve been weighing on me. It’s vague, but… I remember men in black masks. One was named Billy. He was the one who hurt me.” She passed a soothing hand over the blanket folded neatly across her thighs. “He broke my leg to keep me from running away. That’s it, really. It’s enough to make the nightmares worse.”
“I’m sorry,” Sassy murmured. She couldn’t contemplate what it must be like, wanting desperately to fill in the blanks in her memory and yet terrified of the images that filtered through. She wished there was a way she could make the process easier for Fern and had consulted Ava about it. Her cousin had simply said that companionship and constancy would go a long way toward establishing a safe bubble around Fern to cushion her from some measure of the trauma.
As if chilled, Fern drew the blankets up higher. “The investigators are coming to reinterview me tomorrow morning. Ryan offered to sit with me through it, but since he’s not part of the investigative team, they would only approve Ava being at my side.”
Sassy raised a brow. She dared anyone to stand between Ryan Colton and anything or anyone he deemed his responsibility. Fern fell so clearly under that umbrella, there was no hiding how he felt about her from anyone who knew him. She rearranged her feet to stand and accidentally knocked her purse over on the floor. “Oh,” she remembered. “I brought you something. I’ve been carrying it around, meaning to give it to you.” She rummaged through the contents of the cross-body bag and produced an item wrapped in bubble wrap. Standing, she passed it to Fern.
Fern cradled it between her hands. “You don’t have to keep bringing me things, Sassy,” she said as she unrolled it from its protective barrier.
“It’s from the gallery’s gift shop,” Sassy excused. “And it made me think of you.”
The piece fell into Fern’s lap—a small wood carving of a bear. Eagle feathers were draped across its thick, furry neck.
Fern took a slow, deep inhale as she lifted it. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Shouldn’t it be part of the auction?”
“I’ll replace it with other pieces,” Sassy pledged. “This one’s yours. Do you see the engraving on the side?”
Fern narrowed her eyes on the etching and tried to pronounce it.
“Shidziil,” Sassy corrected.
