Page 49 of The Me I Left Behind

She loved color. Loved paints. Adored watching the pigment spread across a page in a sketchbook, soak into watercolor paper, or slide off the brush onto a canvas. She loved the chaosof color on a palette, dried up oils and fresh acrylics alike. When she was younger, she wasn’t so great at cleaning up her painting messes and often left the oils to harden and dry on the wooden palette. As she’d matured in her art, after she’d started taking classes in college, she got better at cleaning up—palettes, brushes, whatever… But nothing said art to her as much as the leftover drips and spatters on tables and floors and aprons and old shirts and even the walls.

To her, messy was good.

Probably why Max disapproved of her paintinghobby, as he called it.

Not thinking about him now.She was enjoying this too much to ruin it.

Ambling down the aisle, she let her fingertips glide over the tubes of paint, losing herself in the sensation of freedom. To be free and relaxed enough to let the muse flow from within and embark on a creative adventure.

But her mind did wander to Max.

The messiness of it all was what had ticked him off years ago. She’d set up a studio after they’d moved into their new house, when she was pregnant with Carol and not working, and taking a couple of art classes at the local community college. The lighting there was perfect, and she had plenty of space for storage and her easels. She’d taken the curtains down to tease the outside into the room, and worked with the windows open, until it got too cold for her to do so.

Max complained about the smells, about the windows being open, about her not cleaning up “properly” as he would say, meaning he wanted her to clean and put away every brush, any media she was using, every night, so that the room was fresh and tidy, neat and clean, just in case someone came by.

“I can shut the door, Max,” she’d told him. “It’s not a big deal. Painting is messy and sometimes projects can’t be disturbed for a while.”

A few days later, while she was out running errands and grocery shopping, he’d brought a moving crew in to pack everything into boxes. He told her he’d stored them in a storage unit across town until they had a better space for her. To her knowledge, those boxes were still there, somewhere—if they indeed still rented that storage unit.

She should find out.

The following day, Max set up his home office in that same room. That was the first time he’d shut her out with locks on the door.

“May I help you find something?”

Shaking herself from the memory, she looked up into the face of a tall man standing beside her, looking down and smiling. He had dark hair, blue eyes with crinkles at the outer corners, and a kind face. He also sported a slightly scruffy beard, which she’d always thought sexy. She guessed him to be about her age, maybe even younger. Glancing lower to his chest, she noticed the store logo on the artist’s work apron he wore.

“Oh. Hi. You work here?”

He smiled. A nice, wide smile that nearly covered the lower half of his face. “I do. What can I help you find?”

She dug into her bag for Chloe’s paper. “I… My daughter has this project for school. I need supplies, a variety, I guess. I probably should have brought her with me, but I was downtown now, so…”I’m babbling. Rambling.“The instructions are vague, so I was just looking around to see what struck me and….”

He took the paper out of her hand. “Ah. The second-grade selfie project. Mrs. Anderson’s class.”

She nodded. “How did you know?”

“She does this every year. And my daughter, Anna, is also in her class.”

“Really?” Maggie took another look.Should I know you?“I’m Maggie Oliver, by the way. My daughter is Chloe.”

He shifted the paper to his left hand and put out his right one. “Andy Ryan. Nice to meet you.”

“And you.” She took his hand. Warm. Quickly, she dropped it. “So, the project? It says mixed media, so I’m assuming we can use whatever we like. I was wondering about a canvas, or perhaps a heavy paper? What do you suggest?”

He nodded. “Kids seem to like to add on, and keep adding on, so I’d suggest something substantial—and also something they can easily handle. But really, anything could work. Poster board. Cardboard. And it doesn’t have to be flat. It could be 3-D.”

“I’m not sure where to start.”

“Well, what does your daughter want? The project is about her. I think it’s important that she pick the media to express herself. Don’t you?”

That was an excellent idea, of course. And one she should have thought of.

“You’re right. How late are you open? I could drop back by with her after school today.”

He grinned again. “We’re open until five.”

“Great.” Maggie glanced again at the paints and brushes.

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