Page 13 of Artfully Wild
She mirrors my earlier look of confusion. “No, I hadn’t really gotten around to it, why?”
“Just…open it, Skylar.” She takes the book from me and I plant a soft kiss to her temple before leaving the store. Seeing that passage is something she needs to do on her own.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SKYLAR
“That looks horrible,” I say to my soon to be sister-in-law.
“It doesn’t look horrible. You’re just a perfectionist,” Avery claps back.
I move the lantern that she just placed a couple inches to the left. I step back to observe the camping display that we put together. It’s been three days since Jacob handed me the book and told me to open it. Three days since I read the page Sarah wrote on and immediately closed it, took it upstairs and placed it on my coffee table. I sat on the couch and stared at it, afraid to open it further. Afraid to see it, to believe that Sarah left something for me. Which doesn’t make any sense because why is this showing up now? Why didn’t I have it sooner? And why the hell was it on Henry’s shelf? How did it end up there? Clearly someone stashed it there and, based on her reaction when I brought it to her, it wasn’t Fran. So, how did it end up there and why am I so afraid of the pages carrying my sister’s words? I have so many questions and part of me is dying to curb my curiosity and read the book, but the other part is terrified to have them answered.
“I see no difference,” Avery says, pulling me from my thoughts. “All I see is an indent in the snow barely an inch to the right.” I roll my eyes and ignore her comment. I might be a perfectionist. Maybe. But I like to get things right, especially for this.
“Avery, I have to be picky. This matters. It has to be perfect.”
“Nothing is perfect, Sky. You of all people know that.” Idoknow that. And I know my brain knows that, but sometimes I can’t help myself. Things just have to be a certain way. They have to be right.
“I may know that, but my brain doesn’t. So, just roll with me, Ave, okay?”
She holds up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. What you say goes, boss. This is all you.” I roll my shoulders back releasing some of the tension. Some of it is physical from setting this up, but most of it is mental exhaustion. The short time in the storage room with Jacob has been likeGroundhog Dayin my mind since it happened—on a loop with no end in sight. I lost to Hudson at Scrabble during Sunday brunch because I was so distracted and even Mom noticed when I made no protest about the Christmas movie they decided to put on. Hudson tried his best to start a debate with me, but I couldn’t even get my head on straight enough for that. Adjusting my beanie, I stick my hands in my pockets, curling my fingers around the hand-warmers I shoved in there before I left the store this morning.
“Okay, I think it’s actually ready this time.” Avery wastes no time adjusting the settings on her camera as I grab the box of matches from my back pocket and work on getting the fire started while she gets the camera ready. She takes a few pictures, the shutter echoing in the open space before adjusting the foreign-to-me dials until she gets them to the setting she wants. Once the fire is lit and I am out of the way, she starts shooting pictures from different angles as she kneels on theground, one knee planted firmly in the snow, not caring that when she stands up there’s a wet spot on her jeans.
She gets close to the display, moves back a few feet, focuses the lens and takes more pictures. One thing I’ve learned about Avery is she really doesn’t care what positions she has to get into when she takes photos. As long as she gets the shot she wants, she doesn’t care if she stands up with mud on her clothes.
For me, that would probably be the most uncomfortable thing that I’d ever have to endure and I would have to immediately go home and change my pants. But I am not Avery and this is why she is the photographer, not me.
Truth is, I’m the worst at taking pictures, especially when it’s something for myself. Something as important as this. A few pictures to make the store look good enough to sell. I know my brother likes to try to meddle and keep me in business with his carvings and other contributions, but this is something that I have to do on my own. Well, alone but with Avery’s help. Something I have to do for myself. Move on and…I don’t know.Move on. Well, maybe. I wish it didn’t feel so difficult, and that my brain wasn’t so back and forth on the decision to move on or stay or do something else. I want to figure out what to do and it all seems impossibly out of reach.
We’ve spent all morning putting together a camping display outside at the campsite so the ski resort could get a good idea of the scenery that we have in Blue Grove. As much as my family has been to the resort, Nathaniel has very rarely come to Blue Grove outside of the festival every year, and it’s been a while since he’s visited.
We set up a tent, a sleeping bag, a few lanterns, and cooking gear that we displayed over a fire with sausage we bought from the meat market.
“So, what all is involved in the resort buying the store?” Avery asks, not looking away from her camera as she scrollsthrough the photos she’s taken thus far. She goes over to the fire and moves the pan an inch or so until it’s in the position that she wants.
I can’t help but laugh a little. “Who’s the perfectionist now?” She laughs along with me and continues taking photos.
“To answer your question, I’m not one hundred percent sure. But I guess they want to see the space and then if they want to make an offer, we go from there. I think they would keep it mostly the same, but they’d have a more effective marketing strategy, which I’m sure would bring more business into the store. And since Blue Grove is such a tourist area during the fall months, bringing in more tourists during the winter and after Christmas would be really beneficial, not only for the store, but for the other businesses around town, too.” I take a breath and know I’m explaining too much. But I’m afraid taking this jump isn’t the right direction, so breaking it all down is more for convincing myself than anything else.
“That’s actually really smart,” she responds. “I’m honestly a bit surprised they haven’t made an offer yet. You have a great space.”
“Yeah, that’s on me. They asked for pictures ages ago, but I’ve gone back and forth about selling. It was my dad’s whole life and part of me is ready to let it go and move on from it, but another part feels like I’ve put so much work into it that it’s mine now and I just don’t want to let him down.” I pause. “Plus, I practically grew up in that store and I’ve always loved it there. When I took over, I figured I’d help out for a bit and then he would take it back, but he seems so happy without having that extra burden to worry about.” With Sarah gone though, does anyone really need me here to alleviate that stress anymore? “But the idea of having the financial freedom to do anything is…it feels like a relief?” My emotions are a confusing mess of tangled yarn impossible to unravel.
“You don’t sound sure.”
“I’m not,” I admit. “But I figured I can at least talk about an offer and see what they come to me with, and go from there. I want to do other things like finish the RV and travel and paint, but there’s a part of me that feels like selling the store isn’t the way to do it? I just don’t know.”
Avery opens her mouth to respond and takes a second to think on her words before she says, “How’s the RV stuff going?” I don’t think that’s the question she really wanted to ask, but I’m glad it’s the one she did and we can move on from our conversation.
“Almost done. Axel has been really busy, but I think he just has a few more parts to replace. I’ve been helping him so that, eventually, when I travel and it breaks down, I can have some knowledge on how to fix it.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“Sophie won’t know what to do with herself when it’s done.”
“Does she join you a lot to help?”
