Page 10 of Lucy Loves Him Not
“I wouldcease to existif he caught us taking pictures of him,” I said each word gravely. I then dropped her phone into my purse, saying, “You can have this back upon departure.” She rolled her eyes.
I turned back to find he’d left the aisle.
“We missed what cereal he decided on,” Olivia pouted as she collected the fallen peaches and placed them back on the display.
Adam checked out shortly after he left the aisle, so we didn’t have to hide for long. I watched him leave the store, holding his paper bags in his arms as he thanked the cashier.
My sisters remained giddy and giggly as we finished our shopping, but I couldn’t shake this sinking feeling that I wouldn’t be able to escape Adam. Adam’s arrival in Sweet River didn’t just change my summer, but changed my life in ways I’d be discovering for a while like aftershocks from an earthquake.
That night I stayed up watching Nora Ephron movies back-to-back. I was halfway throughYou’ve Got Mailwhen Olivia shuffled into the living room from her bedroom.
“It is super late. What are you still doing awake?” she asked me, full of maternal concern.
“I have nothing at all on the agenda tomorrow. It’s not like I need to wake up for anything. Why not stay up watching Meg Ryan fall in love?” I was on the couch buried under a blanket.
“This simply means tomorrow can be whatever you want it to be. This summer is a blank page now. Why not paint? You love painting. Or take up running? You thought you knew exactly what this summer held for you, but now Annoying Adam has let you off the hook…What does Lucy want her summer to be?”
I chewed on my lip, thinking through Olivia’s wisdom. I did love painting and making things out of every blank page I found.
“Maybe you and I pick up Gracie and head to the beach tomorrow morning?” I said, my voice peppered with optimism.
“I’m actually booked tomorrow morning.” She winced apologetically. “I was actually coming out here to ask you to turn down the volume because I need sleep. I have my first meeting as a member of the Sweet River Historical Society tomorrow morning at 8:00 a.m.”
Olivia was off joining new societies with her summer while I was disappearing into Nora Ephron’s world and seeing how deep I could sink into the couch. “That sounds really fun, Olivia, and really you.” I picked up the remote and turned down the volume.
She turned toward the TV for a moment, hesitating. “It’s the scene when Kathleen is sick,” she said. “I love this part. Meg Ryan really knows how to make tissues adorable.”
She wound up curling up with me on the couch for the rest of the movie. Whatever came of the summer, at least I had her by my side.
Four
Iwoke up at 7:00 a.m. and took Olivia’s advice, deciding that I’d like to start walking in the morning sun. After taking care of Stevie, I threw on some leggings, put on my sneakers, grabbed a big bottle of water, and took a walk. As I weaved through my neighborhood and felt the cool, early summer morning air, I felt an itch to paint the colors in the sky, the colors blooming under my feet and along the fences.
Why not paint?Olivia had asked me last night. Why hadn’t I been painting more?
I was too busy, was my automatic response. An easy answer. Reflexive like skipping a track in my mind. But I made time for things that mattered to me, I always did. It was how I dedicated the summer to the festival.
Art mattered to me. But it also scared me.
I was rounding the corner back toward my house, my pace slowing. I hadn’t told anyone yet, but I had painted a landscape of the sun setting over downtown Sweet River. I finished it about a month ago. It hid in the back of my closet for a few weeks.
I loved that painting.I almost hung it over my dining room table.Maybe I should’ve,I thought to myself as I pounded up my front porch steps.
A week ago, our principal mentioned that the local children’s hospital was taking donations for their online auction. Immediately that painting popped in my mind. The painting had been my evening escape, like another kind of therapy—my break from the rest of the world, my own reacquainting with myself.
I came home after work that day, and without much thought, I plucked the canvas from my closet and drove it down to the hospital. To my surprise, they received it with open arms.
I kept checking the auction website because I halfway expected them to quietly never list it, having only accepted it feeling bad for that woman who thought she was a real artist with a real painting. That all my worst, secret insecurities about my art would be affirmed casually and by people I didn’t even know.
But they listed it.
When the auction began, it was one of the first pieces to go and for a price that made me gasp.
That night, with a momentary rise in my confidence, I secretly made an online shop to sell my artwork.
Weeks later, I hadn’t revisited the shop since that first night. I kept asking myself…Who do I think I am trying to pass myself off as an artist?This question continued to cycle in my mind as I turned the key in my front door.
Iwas standing in my kitchen making another pot of coffee when there was a light knock on the door. I knew that quick knock well because it never waited for an answer. It was always accompanied by Mom opening the door and saying, “Hello, my girls!”
