Page 14 of Between Now and Forever

“Like me,” I say, my eyes on my toes so he can’t see the tears welling in my eyes.

He tilts my chin up, and his eyes are wet with tears too.

Seeing it tugs at my heartstrings and I hate my father in that instant.

James closes his eyes and when he opens them again they are clear and dry, but no less intent on mine.

He smooths a hand over my head.

“I wish what he thought didn’t matter so much to you. I wish I could get you away from him. I couldn’t help Mom; I was too young to help Phil…well, no one could help him.”

My heart squeezes at the mention of our brother who walked away from everything and hasn’t been in touch for years now. We both follow him on Instagram. He’s traveling the world and posting each new place he sees online, but he doesn’t interact with us—at all.

James takes my hand and presses our palms together. I smile up at him, a wave of nostalgia easing the sting of this moment.

“I’ll be okay, don’t worry. Today is going to be good, I promise,” I try to reassure the lines of worry that are bracketing his mouth away.

He nods resolutely.

“I know you’ll be okay. I’m damn sure going to make sure of it. I was going to wait until tomorrow to tell you this, but if you can get into art school, I’m going to pay the tuition.”

I freeze. I lean back and away from him and stare.

“Did you hear me?” he asks.

Yes. I scream in my head. But outwardly, all I can do is nod.

“Then what’s wrong?” He looks at me with a quizzical frown.

“I haven’t told anyone. How did you know?”

“What? That you want to go to art school?”

“Yes.”

He ducks his head sheepishly.

“I went into your studio,” he says.

“No, you didn’t.” I groan, my face in my hands.

“I wanted to see what you were working on so furiously on those Tuesdays you lock yourself away. And I saw the pamphlets.”

“Do you think Daddy knows?” I ask, immediately anxious. He would flip out and he would never let me go.

“No. But you’re an adult. If I pay and you can get in, what could he do?”

My excitement fades as the reality of our circumstances seeps back into the picture he’s painting.

“James, he’ll besomad if you help me. It’s not worth it. I have a job. I’ll work and save. Art school in New York City...it’s just a pipe dream.”

“It doesn’t have to be, Liz.” He says solemnly and my pulse ratchets up in my chest. Oh my God. He’s serious.

Don’t get excited when the odds are so stacked against you, Liz.

“There’s student housing and everything. And New York, I think, is more your speed than Winsome.”

I’ve never been, but I think anywhere would be more my speed than Winsome, so I don’t argue. And I want to drop the subject because my heart is starting to race in a way that scares me. Expectations, hopes, dreams are so dangerous.

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