half-dozen red velvet cupcakes—my favorite—the white icing covered with sprinkles. I flash back to my text-message conversation with Wyatt on the morning of my birthday, before my world fell apart. Looking up at him, I blink back tears.
“Double sprinkles,” he says quietly. “Just like you ordered.”
“You only promised me one.” I manage to smile.
“You don’t really think I’m going to let you eat cupcakes without me, do you?”
Raindrops suddenly start to fall. We run to the covered porch and sit on the top step beneath the eave, side by side. The rain comes down softly, clearing the air, making everything fresh and new again. “This is a much better gift than the minnow bucket you gave me last year,” I say with a laugh, biting into a cupcake.
Wyatt licks icing off his finger and sends me a sideward glance. “You know you loved it.”
“Yeah, right. Just what every girl wants.”
“You aren’t like other girls.” His voice drops as he says the words, stroking intimate awareness through me. Holding my gaze, Wyatt lifts the box. “You want another one?”
I laugh at him, my heart pattering like the rain. “You’re kidding.”
“I never kid about food, Lil, you know that.”
Shrugging, I say, “They are my birthday present, and I don’t want to be rude.” I smile and reach into the box.
Just as quickly as it appeared, the awkwardness between us subsides, and as dusk creeps in, Wyatt and I eat another cupcake, knowing that Addie will scold us for ruining our dinner if she catches us. Laughing and whispering like we used to when everything was easy.
I don’t tell Wyatt that Ty came to work for us, or that I found Winterhaven, Massachusetts, on the internet. I don’t mention the vision that gripped me less than two hours ago while we were painting. I let all of that go. I want to enjoy being just us . Right now, that’s enough.
Mom has enchiladas in the oven when I arrive home, but I’m not hungry after the cupcakes. She eats only a few bites herself before walking toward the door using her cane, explaining that she’s working on a sketch.
“You’ve been sketching a lot,” I say, anxious to stop her, to keep her here. “I’m glad your hands are feeling better. It’s been a long time since you’ve been able to do your artwork. More than a year, right?”
She opens the door and looks back at me, blinking too fast. “Something like that.”
“It’s weird that the arthritis either bothers your hands or your hips, but not both at once, isn’t it?”
She lifts a shoulder. “There’s no rhyme or reason to this damn disease.”
Crossing to her quickly, I say, “Can’t you sketch in here? You’ve been spending so much time out there alone. I miss you.”
“I don’t want to move my things,” she says. “I won’t be long.” Mom gives me a brief hug before stepping out onto the porch and closing the door.
Discouraged, I give Cookie his medicine, then watch television for a while, sitting on the floor and stroking his head. After he goes to sleep, I go up to my room, turn on my laptop, and look at the pictures on the Winterhaven website until I can’t hold my eyes open. I fall asleep curled up on my bed, strangely at peace as the images of Winterhaven flicker on the backs of my eyelids like a slideshow.
Sometime after midnight, I awaken to the sensation of Iris shuddering through me, as if she’s trying to shake me to consciousness. Your mother , she whispers. Something squeaks downstairs—a floorboard or a door—and I realize that I’m hearing Mom creeping into the cabin. She’s back. You can go to the workshop now .
But the thought of going out there in the dark and possibly falling into another trance disturbs me too much. I’ll find a way to sneak out to the workshop again tomorrow. Maybe I can figure out what’s going on then.
I try to fall back to sleep, but can’t. Instead, I lie awake for a long time, worrying about Mom and pondering the vision
“Double sprinkles,” he says quietly. “Just like you ordered.”
“You only promised me one.” I manage to smile.
“You don’t really think I’m going to let you eat cupcakes without me, do you?”
Raindrops suddenly start to fall. We run to the covered porch and sit on the top step beneath the eave, side by side. The rain comes down softly, clearing the air, making everything fresh and new again. “This is a much better gift than the minnow bucket you gave me last year,” I say with a laugh, biting into a cupcake.
Wyatt licks icing off his finger and sends me a sideward glance. “You know you loved it.”
“Yeah, right. Just what every girl wants.”
“You aren’t like other girls.” His voice drops as he says the words, stroking intimate awareness through me. Holding my gaze, Wyatt lifts the box. “You want another one?”
I laugh at him, my heart pattering like the rain. “You’re kidding.”
“I never kid about food, Lil, you know that.”
Shrugging, I say, “They are my birthday present, and I don’t want to be rude.” I smile and reach into the box.
Just as quickly as it appeared, the awkwardness between us subsides, and as dusk creeps in, Wyatt and I eat another cupcake, knowing that Addie will scold us for ruining our dinner if she catches us. Laughing and whispering like we used to when everything was easy.
I don’t tell Wyatt that Ty came to work for us, or that I found Winterhaven, Massachusetts, on the internet. I don’t mention the vision that gripped me less than two hours ago while we were painting. I let all of that go. I want to enjoy being just us . Right now, that’s enough.
Mom has enchiladas in the oven when I arrive home, but I’m not hungry after the cupcakes. She eats only a few bites herself before walking toward the door using her cane, explaining that she’s working on a sketch.
“You’ve been sketching a lot,” I say, anxious to stop her, to keep her here. “I’m glad your hands are feeling better. It’s been a long time since you’ve been able to do your artwork. More than a year, right?”
She opens the door and looks back at me, blinking too fast. “Something like that.”
“It’s weird that the arthritis either bothers your hands or your hips, but not both at once, isn’t it?”
She lifts a shoulder. “There’s no rhyme or reason to this damn disease.”
Crossing to her quickly, I say, “Can’t you sketch in here? You’ve been spending so much time out there alone. I miss you.”
“I don’t want to move my things,” she says. “I won’t be long.” Mom gives me a brief hug before stepping out onto the porch and closing the door.
Discouraged, I give Cookie his medicine, then watch television for a while, sitting on the floor and stroking his head. After he goes to sleep, I go up to my room, turn on my laptop, and look at the pictures on the Winterhaven website until I can’t hold my eyes open. I fall asleep curled up on my bed, strangely at peace as the images of Winterhaven flicker on the backs of my eyelids like a slideshow.
Sometime after midnight, I awaken to the sensation of Iris shuddering through me, as if she’s trying to shake me to consciousness. Your mother , she whispers. Something squeaks downstairs—a floorboard or a door—and I realize that I’m hearing Mom creeping into the cabin. She’s back. You can go to the workshop now .
But the thought of going out there in the dark and possibly falling into another trance disturbs me too much. I’ll find a way to sneak out to the workshop again tomorrow. Maybe I can figure out what’s going on then.
I try to fall back to sleep, but can’t. Instead, I lie awake for a long time, worrying about Mom and pondering the vision
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