When I returned to the gazebo, there wasn’t quite enough light from the twinkle lights in its rafters to work on my commissions, and based on the subtle haze and muted colors around me, the sun’s ascent was still only a promised whisper.
I’d hoped to complete this commissioned painting for the enchanting Mrs. Debbie T. Hand before sunrise, but if I didn’t,it was no cause for distress. The day ahead would be full of light and opportunity.
The weathered gazebo in the middle of the Bay Springs town square had become my preferred shelter for two types of creation.
One was straightforward yet whimsical, often pleasurable, and financially lucrative.
The other was… necessary. Vital.
Painful.
Cathartic.
I twisted the dial of the headlamp’s settings to a warmer, broader light and turned back to my canvas. Yes. That would do.
This—rising before the sun and painting or drawing in a weathered public gazebo—was probably not exactly what my therapist had in mind when she suggested I take complete control of one part of my day.
But it seemed to be working, and I found new appreciation and understanding in the sunrise every day.
Time passed in me and around me until I eventually blinked back into the world. Some part of my subconscious had recognized the signs that my veil of Zen was about to shift.
“I could have been anyone, you know.”
The deep rumble of Vinh’s voice filled the circular space, and my shoulders followed the cue of my quiet mind, relaxing completely at his presence.
Surveying the canvas critically for a moment, I realized it was complete. I set my painting supplies on the nearest built-in bench before helping myself to a deliberate lungful of air and smiled up at my older brother.
“Dirty chai,” he explained as he passed me a paper cup. The smile he wore was more reserved than mine, but just as warm as the beverage I cradled in my hands.
“Thank you. And yes, you could have been, which would have been interesting. I’ve quite enjoyed getting to know the townsfolk.” I took a deep inhale of the chai, which always smelled like Christmas to me, and took a slow sip before regarding my brother over the cup. “Nevertheless, I’m glad it’s you.”
He sat and sipped his own drink, probably a dark roast coffee, and eyed the row of canvases propped up on the other bench seats. “You finish the cat painting?”
I removed the canvas from the easel and carefully turned it toward him. “I did.”
He studied it for a full minute before glancing up at me. “Your best yet, I think.”
I nodded, always glad of his opinion. “I think Mrs. Hand will be pleased.”
It was a painting of her four cats on an elaborate Mardi Gras float, a myriad of purples, yellows, and greens splashed around the edges to frame the scene.
“I’ll probably make a print of it available on my Etsy store, with Mardi Gras coming up soon.”
“Not a bad idea.” He studied the other canvases again. “What else have you been working on?”
After a long sip of my chai and a short search of my memory, I frowned. “I’m not really sure.” Claiming the seat beside my brother, I set my drink between us. I’d French braided the unshaved side of my hair before leaving the cottage early this morning—very early—and had trekked to the gazebo with a bundle of plastic-wrapped canvases under my arm, my other supplies in a bag over my shoulder.
But what came next wasn’t so clear.
I removed my headlamp and unbraided my hair, sighing in relief and then shivering as my dark strands tickled my shoulder.
“Are you cold?”
I glanced at my black-and-grey cargo sweatpants—ones that I’d transformed from pants to shorts with two clever zippers at some point since arriving—and my form-fitting Ari’s sleeveless tank. Bree had been wearing the same one yesterday, and I wanted to be twinsies so bad that I’d worn it today even though she probably wouldn’t wear it a second day in a row.
I needed to make her a couple more.
“I’m fine, especially now”—I picked up my chai— “that I have this drink.” I took another sip and slumped back with a sigh. “It’s good, but I don’t know if it’s as good as the ones from Caffeina. So unfortunate. But at least it doesn’t have the lingering taste of unsavory business practices.”
