Archer and I exchange a glance, wordless communication passing between us.
Hours later, after the painted eggs have been dyed and admired, peeled, and turned into egg salad for the crew next week, after everybody has settled in for their own entertainments, Piper finally comes to me to talk.
Archer and I are in the office, putting together my new desk, and we are trying to decipher instructions that look like English but may be some alien tongue that morphs and transforms as the reader reads.
Piper finds us there among scattered table legs and nuts and bolts. “Hey, Fin, can I talk to you for a second?”
“Of course.” I glance at Archer, who is already rising to his feet.
“I’ll take these out to Oliver and see if they make more sense to him than me.” Archer squeezes my arm as he passes into the house and shuts the door behind him.
“I’m going to New York,” Piper says once we’re alone.
I stand up. “Did Oliver put you up to it?”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “No. Well, sort of. But don’t worry, I’m going to stay with Mindy.”
“What do you mean ‘sort of’?”
“I haven’t been able to create anything.” She swallows. “Not for a while. What I was making with Ben was . . . it wasn’t the same.”
“Oh. Piper.” I move toward her, giving her a hug.
Her art is everything to her. More than mere self-expression. After the loss of Aria and Dad, she released all of her grief and frustration into her pieces. One of her first major sales was a sculpture of a woman, wrapped in a blanket, screaming. It was calledDespair. It still amazes me that she somehow made the metal look soft and liquid, the woman’s face barely perceivable between the folds of the blanket surrounding her.
She sniffs against my shoulder. “I love it here. It’s home, but it’s hard too.”
I pull back to look at her. “Is it because I’m too smothering?”
“No.” She chuckles, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’ve been enjoying the coddling, actually. But I could use a change of scenery. I think about Aria and Dad too much, see them around every corner, you know?”
I rub her shoulder. “I do. That’s hard. I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “It will be good for me. I need to get out there. New York is an inspiring city. Maybe it will shake something lose, help me move on so I can create again and not be so . . . stuck.”
“On Ben?”
She lifts a shoulder. “Yes. Not him, personally, because I’m over him. He was such an asshole, but I need to move on from . . .” She lifts a hand, unable to find the words.
“From the way he treated you?” I ask softly.
“Yes. That.” She nods. “And you should be nicer to Oliver. He’s not a bad guy.”
My mouth pops open. “What do you mean? I am nice. I’ve been playing nice when we work together, and I invited him for Easter.”
She smiles, a real smile, not the tight expression she’s been wearing like a mask for the past month.
I narrow my gaze on her. “Was this his idea? You going to New York?”
“Sort of.” One side of her mouth quirks up. “He offered to let me stay in his building.”
My eyes fly heavenward. “A building? He would have a whole freaking building to live in. Couldn’t he just have a penthouse or something like all the other rich assholes in New York?”
Her smile broadens. “Mindy offered me her spare room, rescuing me from the terrible fate of living in a mansion with servants.”
I laugh. “Not to mention the devil himself.”
“He’s not a devil. I know the devil, Fin, and Oliver is not him.” She lays her hand on my arm, soft and light, a butterfly touch. “But I’m sorry to leave you and Archer, even though you probably want some alone time. These walls are thin.” She wrinkles her nose, her brows lifting.