When we stopped in front of the RV, he pulled away and went inside without even a goodbye. The abruptness of the exit startled me. Apparently he was even madder at me than I realized. I looked back at my RV, its windows dark. Mom had obviously gone to sleep. The thought of navigating to my bed in the dark seemed completely depressing in that moment. Or maybe it wasn’t that thought that was depressing me.
I took a single step toward my door when the one behind me opened. I turned to see Skyler reappear with his sketchbook in hand. Without a word, he walked toward the bench by the stream. I followed him.
When I sat, he said, “Which sketch did you see?”
“One you did of me.”
“What was brilliant about it?” He started flipping pages, a flashlight above the book, shining down.
“Your realism is incredible. But not only that, when I looked at it, I felt something.”
“What did you feel?” He kept flipping pages. My eyes could hardly take in one sketch before he was on to the next.
“Stop it!” I whisper-yelled, grabbing his forearm so he couldn’t flip another page. “Don’t angry-show me your art.”
His tense arm relaxed under my grip.
“I don’t want to see this just because you’re angry. I want you to want me to see it.” The page I’d happened to stop him on was a sketch of me. Not the one I had already seen. A different one. Me sitting with my own sketchbook, drawing Old Faithful. The only place Old Faithful could be seen on the page was on the drawing in my lap, because it was a full front view of me. “I’m sad you don’t trust me.”
He closed his eyes and his chest rose and fell. “I trust you. I don’t trust my art.”
I continued to study the page in front of me. “There’s so much emotion in my expression. You managed to capture the joy I was feeling that day and you drew this after the fact, from memory. I’ve never been good at people. And making them look so natural in a setting. I swear you’re a master of that.”
He laughed. “I forgot how good that felt.”
“What?”
“You believing in me.”
“I wish you could believe in yourself.”
“I wish the same for you.”
I chuckled a little. “We were always better at believing in each other, weren’t we?” I held up my finger. “Stay right there.”
He nodded and I ran to my RV and grabbed my sketchbook. I held it against my chest as I returned to my spot next to him. Then I held it out.
“Are you sure?” he said. “I can wait until after your interview in a few days.”
“I’m sure.”
As he turned back the cover, my chest tightened so much that it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I’d started a new book for this trip so it was only a quarter full. He hadn’t seen my work since he left and suddenly I felt like a kid again who needed his approval. He studied each of the drawings carefully. He smirked at the one of me throwing cactus needles at his retreating form. He knew that was him; it was pretty obvious.
“Your brain is like a well of creativity, I swear,” Skyler said in nearly a whisper.
The way he said it made it clear he thought that was a good thing.
“These are incredible, Norah,” he said. “You’re like a pronow.”
My chest, which was still tight, made my laugh sound strained. “Yes, a real pro.”
“I’m serious. You are amazing.”
My lungs expanded with pride.
He closed the book and set it on the bench on top of his book. “I’m sorry I got so angry about this yesterday.”
“I’m sure it was shocking to see me with the book. To seeme literally holding this secret you’ve been keeping for years.”