Page 62 of Artfully Wild
Taking a deep inhale, she lets it out slowly and watches as it evaporates in the air. “Let’s watch some action movies or something,” she remarks with a smirk. My Sky is ever present and doesn’t let herself be down for long.
“You’re such a grinch,” I joke as I squeeze her closer to me and press a firm kiss on her temple. “But, I think you need to allow yourself to feel everything you were just feeling for one night. Let it all out. Gorge yourself on whatever you want and watch movies that let you remember the good memories you had with Sarah.”
“So, basically, you want me to wallow?”
“Yes, I want you to wallow because I don’t think you’ve allowed yourself to really do that. You threw yourself into work and into the store and I’m sure that’s what you needed at the time, a distraction from everything that you didn’t want to feel, but you never gave yourself the time you needed to truly grieve. I know you don’t need anyone’s permission to do anything, but if I know you, which I do, you sometimes need a little push.”
“This feels more like a shove.” Her teasing tone is still there, but I can see the thoughts unraveling in her head like a snag on a sweater. After a long and hard day, the last thing you need is that one thread to be pulled and the strings unravel until there is nothing left but an old pile of yarn.
“It may be, little sparrow, but you need to get out of the nest.”
“Oh, that was horribly cheesy.”
“I’m just preparing you for whatever Hallmark Christmas movie we are going to watch.”
“Where the main character resembles my brother?” she scoffs.
“Oh, you mean a rough lumberjack from a small town who only wears flannel type? And falls in love with the cute out-of-towner?”
“You just summed up the basic formula for a Hallmark Christmas movie.”
“Exactly,” I grin.
She rolls her eyes at me, but I can see something behind them that wasn’t there before. Not sadness, but acceptance.
“Fine,” she says, going a few steps ahead of me, but not letting go of my hand. She turns around and walks backwards, pulling me along. “Let’s go wallow.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SKYLAR
Inever knew wallowing could feel sogood.I should have listened to Lorelai Gilmore when she insisted she added it to Rory’s list after her and her first boyfriend broke up inGilmore Girls.Wallow should have been right at the top.
When we got back from skiing, Jacob made good on his promise to track down some candles—Camp had some in his office he gave to Jacob, making an exception since they consider it a fire hazard to willingly supply them in the guest rooms. Except I think he had to agree to some kind of favor to get Camp to hand them over. I didn’t bother to ask.
Once I was done bathing—meaning all the bubbles were practically gone and the water was lukewarm—Jacob helped me out of the clawfoot tub and gently dried me off. There was nothing sexual about it either, which struck me by surprise. He hadn’t tried to turn me on or get me to do anything. He just dried me off with gentle swipes of the towel and took care of me.
It felt different.
Nice.
When I walked into the room wrapped up in one of thefluffiest robes I’ve ever worn (I tried to steal one multiple times as a kid and never succeeded), Jacob, in a matching robe, looked almost bashful at the amount of food splayed out at the end of the bed. Our own personal buffet, similar to this morning, but ten times better. More food than I could eat in a week. Okay, maybe three days if Ireallytried. Either way it was a lot of food and I have no idea if he paid for it or traded in another favor to Camp to comp everything. Whatever he did, I’m grateful.
A little while later half the food is eaten. Most of the fruit bowls remain full except the strawberries and the bowl of melted chocolate next to them. There’s a plate of half-eaten fries between us with a burger we cut in half to share and plenty of water. But most importantly, a coffee carafe full of perfectly blended vanilla latte that he managed to get from some mysterious coffee place I don’t know about. I forget he’s been here off and on with his own family over the years and probably explored the town a bit more than I have. Sarah and I tried to be tourists one year, but we ended up liking the lodge too much to go out and explore. She had her books and I had the outdoors and our dad to keep me company. There were a lot of moments between us out on the wrap-around porch. We used to sit around the fire while he asked me about school and my friends, even though he knew I didn’t have many—he never viewed that as a bad thing. A lot of people at school tended to have more friends than I could count on both hands, but he always told me it was better to have a small circle of close friends.
“Too much drama, anyway,” he’d say. And then he’d go into long talks about inventory at the store and the new shipments he’d be getting the next week or the new products he planned to stock. He was always afraid he’d bore me, but I loved hearing about what he did every day, which is why I spent a lot of time in my store.
Inmystore?
Every time I have talked about the store with people orthought about it, I’ve always referenced it as Dad’s store. Because it was his.
My store.
Fuck.What if I’m making a huge mistake?
I sell the store…and then what? What the fuck am I supposed to do after it’s sold? After it’s gone? I mean I thought about theafterof the store, but it never really set in that it wouldn’tbethere anymore, which should have been obvious. All my life, it’s been there. It was the place I went when I wanted to get away. The place I went when I was happy. The place I used to avoid the grief of Sarah’s death.Myplace.
“My store,” I say out loud, testing it on my lips.
