ChapterThirteen
Piper
I barely remember the rest of the drive to Oliver’s building. I go into my new room, shut the door, grab a pencil and sketchbook, and sit at the drafting table, where I stare down at the blank page. Creating is easy. You just have to take out your heart and let strangers stomp all over it.
Possibilities bubble underneath the surface of my mind, where they’ve been hiding under a wall of ice so thick they couldn’t rise. The ice has cracked. But it’s not gone.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. The first step is always the hardest. I sketch out a few rough lines.
No. I rip the page from the book, crumple it and toss it on the floor.
Keep going.
The pencil moves across the page, hinting at jagged lines. A dove with sharp edges.
No. Another page gets tossed to the floor.
A woman. She’s holding something in her hand. A bird? A… glass object? I hold the page up and blink at it.
No. That’s not it either.
Keep going.
Three more pages end up crumpled on the floor.
The idea is there, begging to be born, but the images aren’t matching the emotion I want to evoke. It’s like there’s this disconnect between my mind and the page. Frustration pounds through me. Another page gets thrown across the room, but the movement isn’t as satisfying as I hoped.
I thought I was ready. I really thought I had it this time. But anger is a lead weight tying me down. It’s like Ben is still pulling my strings.
I take a deep breath. I have to let go and let the creative process take over, like it normally does. I can’t let him win.
A few hours later, I toss the pencil aside and grab my phone. I’m losing my mind. It’s time for a break. I glance at the time. Seven. My stomach rumbles. I haven’t eaten since lunch, but I need to talk to someone—to get out of my own head for a minute.
I try Finley’s cell, but it goes to voicemail. We still have a landline at the house from when Fox Cottages was still in business, before Finley made the deal with Oliver to turn the property into a camp. Maybe Finley is working. She’s always working.
I dial the landline while standing up, stretching my limbs, and moving over to the sofa in the center of the room.
“Hello?”
The masculine voice startles me, and I almost drop the phone. I thought I would get Finley, maybe Archer. “Jake?”
I haven’t seen him since he was released from the hospital. He wasn’t really in a talkative mood then, and we could barely get him to give more than one-word answers to anything.
“Hey, Piper.”
This is already an improvement. Two whole words. Maybe I can get him to a compound sentence.
“You’re home.” I resist the urge to smack myself in the head with that Captain Obvious statement.
“I am.”
There’s a beat of silence, and a flare of panic spins through me. I wasn’t there when he needed more. More than once.
“How is New York? Mindy?” he asks.
I sink down onto the sofa, trying to relax my nerves. He’s asking me questions. This is good. He sounds good, if a little tired.
“Fine. It’s fine. Mindy is fine. Everything is fine.”