Do you see this, Gram? All these people? All these readers gathered together for the love of books? You did this. I hope you can see it. It sure is a beautiful sight.
She caught Gray’s eye across the room, watched his handsome face light with a smile. And just like that, everything was right in the world.
Shelby was on cloud nine after the successful day. And the next day was also a busy one at the shop. On top of their fabulous in-store sales, the preorders for Phoebe’s upcoming release were flooding in. November was shaping up to be their best month of the year. The success brought a modicum of relief. A feeling that maybe, just maybe, they could turn this shop around.
But as she pulled up to Dad’s house late in the afternoon, she had afeeling she was about to come crashing back down to planet Earth. She had to tell her family about Gray and her. They’d agreed not to sneak around, and she didn’t want her loved ones finding out from someone else. Gray had wanted to tell them together, but it would go down easier this way. She hoped. Also, she wanted to spare Gray from any darts they might sling his way.
Dad and Caleb had been very protective of her back when Gray left. They’d seen her at her lowest. When someone devastated the person you loved, it was difficult to forgive the perpetrator. She got it. But there were extenuating circumstances, and hopefully they’d see that. Surely they’d give him another chance when they realized how much she cared for him.
She didn’t need their permission; she was a grown adult. But she was close with her family and wanted to keep it that way. She wanted Gray to have their acceptance. Wanted him to have the sense of belonging he deserved. Maybe that was a pipe dream, but that was what she hoped would happen—eventually.
As she exited her car she spotted Caleb in the backyard and headed that way. He was hunched over an easel, which depicted the landscape in front of him. The painting was done in an impressionist style, swaths of color hinting at the image of a sunset glimmering on the lake’s surface.
It was so unlike his modern city paintings, which were beautiful in their own right. But this one evoked a sense of peace and also a feeling of playfulness. “Whoa. That’s stunning, Caleb.”
He didn’t even lift his brush. “Thanks.”
“Seriously. It’s amazing. You’ve clearly got your mojo back.”
“Yesterday Liddy suggested I go back to my roots—back to when I first loved painting. Remember all those landscapes I did in high school? I can feel that fire inside again. I’ve been working on this for two days and I don’t want to stop.”
“I can see why. You know I love your cityscapes. But this is... Wow.You have to put this in a local gallery. It’ll go for a pretty price. Or better yet, can I afford it?”
“I don’t even care about the price right now.” He added a splash of periwinkle to the sky. “It just feels so good to be inspired again.”
Shelby studied the painting, watched him work a minute. How did he do that? Just add splashes of color, seemingly so random, and yet it all came together in such a wonderful way?
“I was afraid I’d lost my passion for good. I’m so relieved to feel unblocked again.”
“I’ll bet.” Would he remain unfettered after this piece? When he tried his hand at another cityscape? She didn’t vocalize the thought. No reason to steal the joy he’d finally recaptured.
“My work has sold so well in the city. I can hardly complain when I’ve been able to make a living as a painter—so many artists would give anything to be in my shoes. But, Shelby... God’s honest truth? I’m sick to death of painting cement and glass. I’d rather paint a poker-playing dog on a velvet canvas than eke out one more cityscape.”
She chuckled. “Maybe you won’t have to sink quite that low. Seems like you’ve found another direction.”
“Sure feels like it.”
A minute later he stepped back, studied the canvas. He did his paintings in stages. He’d work awhile, then take a break. Come back to it with a fresh eye. He put down his brush and began packing up.
“Done for the day?”
“I’m losing light.”
True enough. Once he had his paints and the wet canvas in hand, she grabbed the easel and they headed inside.
Shelby got invited for supper, which Dad and Liddy cooked while Shelby reveled in the pure sweetness that was her nephew. Caleb seemed more his old self now that his painting was back on track. Shelby got it. Herworries over the bookstore had been all-consuming. She felt a similar relief after these past two extraordinary days.
But art was surely even more precarious. It wasn’t a spreadsheet with numbers to add and subtract. Creativity was fickle. You couldn’t quantify inspiration. You couldn’t manufacture it—and you sure couldn’t buy it.
She was glad Caleb seemed to have it sorted out—at least for the time being. And selfishly, she hoped his good mood would make her announcement more palatable.
After supper they settled in front of the TV for the last college football game of the regular season between Notre Dame and USC. Dad was a fan of Notre Dame, but no one else cared who won so the rest of them chatted quietly throughout the game.
Ollie was down for the night and it was getting late. Shelby would tell them at halftime, then go home. The two busy days at work had worn her out.
When the game clock wound down and the station went to commercial, Shelby braced herself and dove right in. “There’s something I need to tell you guys.”
Dad, who’d been just about to retrieve another Coke, sank back into the recliner, his dark brows pulling together. “What’s wrong?”
