She hated that he’d been suffering silently. “She’s right. You should’ve told us. What’s going on with your art?”
“If I knew that, I would’ve fixed it by now.” His flat tone broke her heart.
Shelby didn’t know much about the creative process. Writers gotwriter’s block. Did artists get painter’s block? “Help me understand. What happens when you sit down to paint?”
He snorted. “Crap. That’s what happens.”
“Caleb. Maybe it’s not as bad as you think. We’re not always the best judges of our own work.”
“Trust me, it’s nothing I want framed and mounted in a gallery. I’ve had little blocks before but nothing like this. I’ve started dozens of pieces and they all end up in the garbage—right where they belong.”
“Maybe you need to be near your subject.” She hated the thought of them returning to the city, but she didn’t like seeing her brother so miserable either.
“This whole thing started when we were in the city. This struggle’s been going on for months. I hid it from Liddy and my gallerist.” He turned weary eyes on her. Caleb’s art meant everything to him. Enough that he’d left his home and family for it.
It obviously pained him greatly to be flailing. “Oh, Caleb. I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.” She couldn’t fix this. But she could pray for him.
His gaze sharpened on her, worry flickering in his eyes. “What if it doesn’t come back, Shelby? What if I’ve lost it for good?”
She shook her head. “Not possible. You’re an artist all the way down to your soul, brother. It’ll find its way out again. You’ll see. Does Dad know what’s going on?”
“You kidding? He’d just use it as an argument for why I should move back to Grandville.”
“You’re probably right. Still, he wants the best for you. We all do.”
Caleb forced a smile. “Sorry to be such a downer on Thanksgiving Day.”
“I’m glad you told me what’s going on. Well,” she added when he shot her a look. “I’m gladLiddytold me what’s going on whenyoushould’ve. And hey, maybe the Giants will win and salvage our day.”
He checked his watch. “It’s about that time.”
She smirked as she tossed the towel over his shoulder. “Too bad it’s your turn to do the dishes.”
Shelby leaned back against the sofa and groaned. “If I eat anything else within the next twenty-four hours, someone put me out of my misery.” Her plate sat on the coffee table, not a crumb of the pecan pie or a smear of whipped cream left behind.
“I’m not eating for a week,” Liddy said.
“I’m happy to keep all the leftovers.” Dad was working on his second slice of pie, Louie lying at his feet, head resting on his paws.
The Giants had come through for the victory, but that couldn’t eradicate Shelby’s concern for Caleb. He didn’t exactly have a plan B for his career. And Liddy had chosen to stay home with Ollie. He must feel so much pressure to produce, and Shelby couldn’t imagine that would help his creativity.
“What’s up with Louie?” Caleb asked. “He usually stares us down when we’re eating.”
“His appetite’s been a little down,” Dad said.
“Is he eating his food?” Liddy asked.
“Yeah, just not all of it. I’m sure he’s fine, but I’ll have to wait till Monday to figure out what’s going on. I called Patrick Ballard’s office yesterday to make an appointment, but Patrick’s out of town for the holiday weekend.”
Shelby had only been half listening to the conversation until she heard Patrick’s name. Her mind played back her dad’s words. Patrick was out of town? But Gray was having supper over there tonight.
“I can always take him to that vet in Cornelius. But Patrick knows his medical history, so I’d rather wait.”
“What about that emergency clinic in Huntersville?” Caleb said.
Dad petted Louie, who perked up at the attention. “If he gets worse I’ll give them a call. He seems fine otherwise.”
Shelby leaned forward in her seat. “Did you say Patrick was out of town for the holiday weekend?”
