“Could you meet for coffee after work?”
Amy agreed, if the girl would come to meet her in McKinney.
Briana was waiting for her at the Coffee Yard. She stood up when Amy entered—a young, beautiful woman with a lovely smile. “Thank you so much for coming!” she gushed, and enthusiastically shook Amy’s hand. Amy smiled and fondly remembered being that excited about her life.
They talked a bit about Amy’s background in art, and she heard herself telling the timeworn tale of how she’d wanted to be an artist but had chosen a family instead. But she noticed that where she used to speak with disappointment about that, she now spoke with happiness. She better understood that life took you on journeys you never planned.
“I really loved how you depicted women,” Briana said. “What was your message with these paintings?”
“My message?”
Briana nodded. “They look like they have a central theme. I was wondering if your message to society centered on women.”
Amy laughed. “I hate to disappoint you, but there is no message to society. The scenes just amused me.”
Briana nodded. She waited for more. When Amy sort of shrugged,feeling guilty that she didn’t have a theme for this eager young woman, Briana said, “Sure…But you must have been inspired by something.”
“Yes, I was,” Amy confirmed. “I was inspired by how ridiculous and fun my family can be.” She grinned.
Briana looked dissatisfied with the answer, and Amy didn’t blame her. She wished she could speak of art like a scholar, but the truth was, she just liked it. Still, she dug in her brain to come up with something for the intern. “I suppose I was remarking on how life is truly what you make it.”
Briana brightened and jotted that down.
Amy was inspired by her idea and continued. “That happiness comes from within, and while your happiness may not be anyone else’s, it is yours, and it’s important to be true to that.”
“Ilovethat,” Briana gushed.
That night, Harrison called from Miami, and Amy recounted the interview to him.
Harrison laughed. “I call bullshit, Amy Casey.”
“You’d be right,” she said, laughing, too. “I had to come up with something.”
“What’s your competition?” he asked.
“Some Texas landscapes. Lots of bluebonnets and cacti. Some abstract portraits of people. Someone entered oil paintings of tables with fruit, and the light was fantastic. And then the Bossy Posse.”
“One of these things is not like the others,” Harrison said.
“Right?” She worried about that. Did she need to be more like the others to win the prize? Should she have stuck to her impressionist view of gardens and dogs? “What about you? What’s going on?”
“I leave for Scotland tomorrow,” he said.
Amy knew he was going, but still, his leaving disappointed her. He already seemed so far away. Now it would feel like another planet. “Well, safe flight,” she said absently.
“Thank you. But you know I’m not actually the pilot.”
“You’re not? I could have sworn you said you were a pilot.” They talked a little longer, but Harrison got a call from “totally annoying Clay,” and promised he’d call her before he boarded the next day.
Amy put down her phone and drew her knees up to her chest. It was supposed to snow again tonight, and the air felt heavy. Everything with Harrison was going exactly how she thought it would go—the love they had sparked was slowly dying.
It would never be the same as it had been. How could it?
29
Harrison had booked a flight two days before Christmas, and therefore joined the madness of the holiday travelers heading home.
That proved to be a huge mistake. He went through security to the sound of Christmas music and babies crying. He entered passport check with families gathered around the corridor bars, blocking the walkways. He stood in line to board his flight, listening to the sound of laughter and holiday cheer all around him. A cry went up from the crowded gate, and he turned to see Santa strolling down the corridor with two elves, handing out candy canes. He smiled to himself. It reminded him of the Bossy Posse.
