And here she sat in week five, trying to get herself back on track a little at a time, and there was now a glimmer of hope that all would eventually be okay. Of course nothing had the same shine to it, but she was getting by. She could see that the life ahead of her would be clean and smooth, not exactly the place she longed to be, but not horrible either.

It felt good to be out with Carmen, and deciding there was no time like the present, Sarah turned to her and sighed, laying out the series of events that led up to the moment they now inhabited. Knowing that Carmen would have a million questions, she did her best to spare no detail. Once everything was out on the table, she turned to her expectantly and waited.

Carmen looked thoughtful, maybe even a little confused. “And what did you say?”

Sarah shrugged. “There wasn’t a lot to say at that point. She made her feelings clear. She didn’t see a future.”

“And so you—”

“Walked away. Cried a lot. And here we sit.”

“Yeah, but is it possible that something freaked her out and she’s scared?”

Sarah took a deep breath. “Maybe. But that’s not the point. In the end, she has to want to be with us. Grace shouldn’t be a liability to anyone.”

Carmen nodded, mulling this over. “I’m sure you’re doing the right thing, but there must be a part of you that wants to know what changed her mind. Michael, if you don’t stop hitting your brother with that stick, you are going to lose all bike riding privileges for fifteen days.” Michael, wide-eyed, obliged and dropped the stick mid wallop, and instead picked up a handful of dirt and dumped it over his brother’s head. “That’s better,” Carmen muttered to herself.

“Do you really think so?”

“Well, I’m going to have to give him a bath now, but—”

“No, about letting her walk away. Do you really think I’m doing the right thing?”

“Quite honestly, no. I was just trying to be nice. I miss the spark I saw in your eyes after Emory hit the scene. It was like this breath of fresh air to see you so happy all the time. I understand why you’re upset, I do, but in the scheme of life, sometimes you have to fight where love is concerned. God knows Roman isn’t perfect, and some of the things he does make me want to shake him violently, but I love him. Do you love her, Sarah?”

“That’s not what we’re talking about here. What’s love got to do with it?”

“A lot, Tina Turner, it has a lot to do with it. Everything, in fact. Love doesn’t come in a nice neat little package. It’s rough and it’s messy and there are always going to be issues. But if it’s real, you don’t give up.”

“Can we not do this? Emory is a part of my past, and I have to do what I can to focus on the future.”

Carmen sighed and stood up. “I love you and I’m here for you, but sometimes you frustrate the hell out of me. I just want to see you happy.”

“Happy seems a bit lofty at the moment. I think I’ll settle for just getting by.”

Carmen looked at her squarely. “Make sure you’re doing the right thing.”

“I am,” Sarah murmured. “I am.”


*


Emory stepped back from the large canvas and studied the blend of blues. The texture wasn’t quite right, but she knew how to resolve the problem. She reached for a brush a tad thicker in diameter and set to work emphasizing the rounded edge of the saxophone key until the shape filled in just as she saw it in her head.

She’d been painting for three hours, and her neck was starting to tug. Arguably, this was edgier work than she’d ever attempted before, but she acted with the kind of abandon germane to someone with very little to lose, and that’s exactly how she felt.

Her phone had been vibrating incessantly from the nearby stool it rested on throughout the day, but she’d paid little attention. It beckoned her once again, and she decided to finally take her sister’s fifteenth thousandth call or it was possible she would never go away. “Hi, Vanessa.”

“Well, it’s about damn time. Do you know I’ve been trying to get you to answer this phone for a week now? Have you gotten my messages?”

“I’ve gotten them. I’ve just had other things on my plate.”

“Like what? We’re family. I called your office and they said you were indisposed. When I pestered them further, they gave me Lucy who told me you’d taken a leave of absence from the company. Is this true?”

“It’s true.” Emory sipped from her cup of coffee. “I’m in Napa, taking a little time for myself. Surely that’s something you would understand.”

“It’s just not like you, Emory, you’re a workaholic. Is this about Mother?” Emory thought she detected a hint of compassion, a rare commodity where Vanessa was concerned.

“Nope. Just about me.”

“What are you doing up there? Are you with someone?” she practically whispered. “I forget her name. Susan, or is it someone new by now?”

“I’m by myself,” Emory bit out. Which was precisely how she wanted it. She’d been in Napa, more specifically Calistoga, for several weeks now. The slower pace was exactly what she needed to gain some perspective and lick her self-inflicted wounds. She spent her days painting and reading books, either at the small house she’d rented or on the property of some of her favorite wineries. She kept mostly to herself, but enjoyed the anonymity the small tourist town offered.

The nights were admittedly more difficult. It was in the later hours that her thoughts drifted to Sarah and Grace and the future she’d grown to hope for. It had been idealistic of her, she knew, and in the end, where had it left her? In the midst of a—what exactly was this? A mid-life crisis? A re-examination of her place in this world? Who the hell knew?

“Why don’t I come out and spend some time with you?” Vanessa offered as if talking to a not so intelligent child.

“I’d rather drive a dagger into my skull.” Whoops. Too honest?

“Excuse me?” Vanessa sputtered. Her enthusiasm deflated like a popped balloon.

“Just a joke.” A lie. “But I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be here, plus you have the girls. I’d hate to take you from them. Stay right where you are. All the way in Colorado.”

“You’re acting strange.”

Emory had to agree. All of a sudden, she was quite comfortable saying anything and everything on her mind, and that had the makings of a perfect storm. “Hey, Vanessa, someone’s at the door. Better run. Door people hate waiting.” She ended the call just in time. Another minute and she might not have been so nice.

She looked to Walter who sat dutifully at her feet. “That did not go well,” she said. “I think it got five degrees colder in here when she called. What do you think?” His tail thumped wildly in support.

She carried the brushes she’d been working with over to the small sink in the kitchen and set about cleaning them thoroughly. She’d gotten paint all over her cutoff overalls, but it wasn’t like she minded. It had been a productive session.

The brushes had been her birthday gift from Grace, and she handled them with the care she would a newborn child. She knew from the brand name that they had been fairly expensive, and the gesture was not lost on her. There had been a small note attached to the wrapped package, and despite her heart’s protests, her mind thought it a good idea to play the words back in her head several times a day as some form of sick torture. “Happy Birthday, Emory. I hope your dreams come true. Maybe one day, you’ll want to use these again. Love, Grace.” Along with them had come a canvas from Sarah, another expensive purchase.

She thought a lot about Sarah and the hole she’d left and wasn’t sure how to get her old life back on track, hence her sabbatical. She needed new surroundings, a different routine, and some space from the people she knew if she was ever going to allow herself to heal. However, she couldn’t deny that the existence of Sarah and Grace in her life had kindled something within her, a renewed outlook on what her life could potentially be. And even if she couldn’t have them, she refused to discount what they had done for her soul.

Since she’d been in Calistoga, she’d fallen down the rabbit hole and rediscovered her love of painting, and it was not lost on her that this never would have happened had she not met Sarah. There was something that felt so very right about picking up a brush again, almost like coming home. Emory lost herself in her creations for hours at a time, shocked when she glanced up at the clock.

Her work, now that she was older, seemed heavier, soulful. She thought back to her first night in town and the moment she’d set to painting for the first time in years. The result of that night’s effort sat unassumingly against the wall in her bedroom. She’d stared at it, transfixed, for hours the following day with virtually no memory of painting it. It was like her hands had taken over, needing desperately to re-create the face that had the ability to make her feel so much.

Having had time to think, she’d resolved herself to the fact that all had worked out how it was supposed to. Sarah was from a place of warmth and was incredibly likable, representative of all things good. Her family was tight-knit and loving. Emory had been out of her depth.

But no more.

If nothing else, she could at least learn from Sarah. Emory vowed to herself that she would continue to grow and explore who she was and had the potential to be. The first step had been to take a step back from Global Newswire and gather her bearings. She’d lost perspective, she understood that now, and her life was becoming the Owen cliché. Fortunately, Lucy had been more than understanding and even applauded her decision when they’d met about it over coffee.