"Right. I don't forget stuff easily. Have you always painted?" He stepped around so he could watch me put the first brush strokes on the canvas.
"I've always made art." I rolled my shoulders to loosen them, trying not to show that the question got to me.
"Let me guess, you started with finger painting," he said, as if that was a bad thing.
"Actually, I started by sticking sticks into balls of mud." I glanced at him, then back at the canvas.
"You started by playing with balls?" He laughed softly.
"And sticks," I said. "Don't forget the sticks."
"Never." His voice made me glance up at him again. He seemed to have something specific on his mind, but he blinked a couple of times and pushed it away.
"You and Riley have been tight for a long time?"
"We've been inseparable since forever," he said. "Might as well have been twins. I don't remember a time when I didn't know him. Probably isn't one. Our mothers were friends before we were born. Fathers too."
"You knew Coral Clarke?" I asked gently. As if that hadn't happened a lifetime ago.
"Not really." Connor adjusted his arms. "She lived up the mountain. Came into town for school."
"Do you remember her?" I didn't know why it mattered, but I was curious. So many years later, her death still caused ripples. I saw that in Gavin Clarke and Josiah’s haunted eyes. Josiah was the town pariah, Gavin, the town charity.
"I don't know." Connor's eyebrows dipped. "Sometimes I think I do. But I was a kid, so I might be, I don't know, imagining it, because I've heard about it for so long. Like, you hear something often enough you start to believe it, you know?"
I nodded slowly. "I get that. Do you remember when she died?"
His frown deepened. "I remember the town being in an uproar. Everyone was whispering about it, but no one would talk about it out loud. It was like… If they did, it'd be real. And no one wanted it to be real."
"I suppose they wouldn't." That made sense. No one would wanted to accept the death of a little girl, especially as tragically as that. In a small town where everyone knew each other, they all would have known her and her family.
"They probably didn't want to upset the kids in town," I said. "Adults are good at knowing what's best for us, or thinking they do." I rolled my eyes to show that I was speaking sarcastically, even though it was clear enough he'd pick up on it.
He snorted with what sounded like bitterness to match my own.
"That's for fucking sure. They like making decisions and assuming everyone is all right with them. And if we're not, they don't give a shit."
"I'm sure your parents give a shit," I said, guessing that was what he was referring to.
His brow smoothed out and he straightened his body. "Yeah. I have to get to work. Enjoy your…art." He waved a hand toward my easel before turning and stalking away to the platform to greet today's round of zip liners.
"Thanks," I called out to his back.
It seemed I hit a nerve without meaning to. That went both ways, so I turned to the view and focused my attention on painting the forest, the sky and the platform to one side.
On the platform, I painted a single figure facing away from me. Dressed in a khaki shirt and dark jeans, over worn boots. Dark hair and an ass I could bounce a coin off.
As I worked, I got to thinking about what I said about sticking sticks into balls of mud. That was where it started, but it grew from there. While I cleaned my brush, I found myself looking around for fallen branches, pieces of discarded wood that could have been put together to make something unique. A large chunk of bark could have been a turtle shell. A branchwhich looked like an antler. Another could be a unicorn horn. A fallen log was perfect as the body of a unicorn. As for the legs…
I shook my head and went back to painting. Something I could do while sitting down. I had to ignore the longing to pick up the pieces and stash them in the back of my car. Focus instead on what was in front of me. Connor helping a young woman into the harness. She was laughing, her hand on his shoulder. She seemed to miss his disinterest entirely. He adjusted the harness, showed her where to put her hands and gestured for her to step off the platform. She shrugged and disappeared down the line in a squeal of excitement.
One by one, the tourists climbed into harnesses and stepped off the platform. Some hesitated, looking nervous. A couple stepped back to let others go first, but eventually took their turns.
No one fled back to the buses, which was fortunate because they were gone, waiting for everyone at the other end. Even if they weren't laughing the way they were with Riley and Seth, they still seemed to be having fun. Most talking to Charlie, while Connor was all business.
I finished the rough draft of my painting as the last of the tourists whizzed away, and Charlie and Connor started packing up.
He said something to her before she nodded and climbed into one of the trucks to drive away.
