When you’re overwhelmed, step down, and take a break. Leave the canvas. Because if you don’t—if you keep seeking the Muse when you know she’s vanished—your work will only suffer. The Muse will eventually return. But you must give her a bit of space once in a while.
Something about being at the gallery always set Noelle at ease, even while her insides churned. Tonight, she was visiting Joy’s paintings after hours in the newly renovated upper room. The layout echoed the downstairs gallery—long, dark wall, benches in the center to sit and analyze the paintings as long as people wished. Polaroids weren’t good enough tonight. She wanted to see the paintings in person.
Two days had passed since the kiss, and Noelle remained as frustrated as ever. She hadn’t heard from Adam, and the more time that passed, the less she expected to hear anything at all. Moving from painting to painting, she breathed in the rich quiet of the space, a hush similar to a library, tranquil and restorative.
Noelle reached the end of the wall and checked her messages out of habit. Nothing. She replaced her phone and sat on the bench across from the painting of the ship lost in a storm. Noelle had no idea what had transpired since that day on Adam’s end of things, and part of her didn’t want to know. Since their talk, that kiss, she’d hidden away in her little cottage, her little gallery, her little life. Oblivious to the repercussions of the kiss or its effects on certain relationships. Occasionally, she let herself presume, pictured a furious Laurel calling off the wedding and a distraught Adam wondering what to do next. Mostly, she wondered whether he had let the kiss alter his thinking, done something as drastic as broken up with Laurel and “chosen” Noelle. If so, he would already be at her door.
Sure, he had called her a few times afterward, and part of her wished she’d had the courage to answer the phone. But committing enough to leave an actual message? Coming to see her at the cottage? Pounding on her door to be let in? Refusing to leave until they’d talked? That hadn’t happened. And Noelle wasn’t about to do anything to coax that into happening. The ball was not in her court. She didn’t have a fiancée to consider. She wasn’t even sure what her reaction would be if she did see Adam at her door.
She had to extract him from her mind. But the ghost of his memory lived in every single nook of the village. He’d been in every room of her cottage, including the art room, talked to Mr. Darcy a dozen times. He’d been in the pub, the gallery, the bakery, even the church. So it became a challenge, selectively dislodging him from familiar places. But she had no other choice. He’d already made his.
Back at the cottage, Noelle stepped in front of the Cornwall seascape Joy had painted and wished herself into it. The picture drew her in again like a magnet, as it had the day she opened the letter in San Diego. She craved the ocean more than ever. She remembered some children’s book she had read when she was about ten, where the main character actually walked into a painting, made friends with the wildlife, explored a beautiful new world.
Peering more closely at the brush strokes in the painting, Noelle almost heard Joy’s voice again, instructing her on technique. “Watch the brush transform the colors, blending them to make new ones. And if I’m not satisfied with that color, or if I make a mistake, I wipe it away with my rag and try again. And in the end, no one will ever know.”
Why can’t life be as simple as hopping into paintings or blotting out mistakes with a stroke of a rag? Noelle thought as tears blurred her vision, turning Joy’s oil painting into a watercolor.
As she stood at the sink peeling carrots for supper, an idea germinated. She couldn’t get the Cornwall coastline out of her mind. An escape to the sea. She abandoned her carrots and found Mr. Lester’s cell number. She hated to bother him on a weeknight, but it couldn’t wait. She wanted to inquire about the cottage in Cornwall. Last she recalled, the tenants were moving, but she couldn’t remember the details.
“It’s available,” he confirmed when she asked. “I haven’t found someone to lease it yet but have had some inquiries about renting for the summer. Nothing concrete. As of now, it’s unoccupied. Why?”
Thrilled at the prospect, she told Mr. Lester her desire to visit the cottage, perhaps stay for a week or two, a brief vacation. He gave her the cottage address and directions.
She hung up and smiled at her temporary solution. She couldn’t sit in this cottage day after day and wait for life to happen. She had to move, get out, get away.
She started packing and making arrangements, including courtesy phone calls to Mac then to Frank, so neither would worry about her. For the first time in days, she controlled her own destiny. She decided not to bring Mr. Darcy along. Too cruel, placing him inside a tiny cage, inside a noisy train. He would be much happier at home, with Mac checking in on him.
A mere two hours after first considering such an insane idea, Noelle stared out the window of the train, watching the shadows of trees pass by. She didn’t want to drive. She wanted someone else to take her to the coast. Plus, she, Gram, and Joy had traveled by train those couple of times they’d visited Cornwall. The glow of a stunning full moon came into view when the train veered slightly southward, illuminating the patchwork English countryside.
As Noelle peered up at the moon, a vivid image appeared of two innocent fifteen-year-olds, lying on a blanket at midnight and staring up at the sky. Noelle had spent all of that particular day with Adam, at the river with a picnic and later, walking the grounds of the estate to soak up the glorious sun. They’d said goodnight hours before, but what sounded like hail on her bedroom window had awakened Noelle in the middle of the night. Confused, she slipped out from under her covers and tiptoed over the lacy pattern of moonlight on the floor.
Peering down cautiously, she spotted Adam waving at her. She unlocked the window. “Are you crazy?” she shout-whispered down to him.
“Come down!” he shout-whispered back, releasing the remaining pebbles he’d planned to throw.
She clicked the window shut and slipped on the silk robe lying on the back of a chair then stepped into the fuzzy slippers Joy had given to her for her birthday. Careful to avoid creaking steps and creaky doors, Noelle snuck out of the house, tiptoeing carefully past Joy’s room then Gram’s room, and found Adam sprawled out on a blanket, wearing jeans and a jacket, staring skyward.
“Are you drunk or something?” Noelle asked, standing in front of him.
“Not drunk. Couldn’t sleep. Have you seen this moon tonight? Stunning.” He munched on something as he spoke and patted the empty side of the blanket. “Wait.” He sat up, wriggled out of his jacket, and handed it to her. “You look cold.”
“I am.” She put on the jacket, and his leftover warmth radiated through to her skin.
He lay back down and patted the blanket again. “C’mon.”
Excited, Noelle lay down beside him. She inched as close as she could to him, shoulder to shoulder, and looked up. Probably the roundest, most angel-white moon she’d ever seen. So bright it almost hurt her eyes.
Adam passed her a crisp. “Okay, I’ve always wanted to know,” she said as she munched. “Where is this ‘man’ everyone keeps talking about?”
“Are you telling me you’ve never seen the Man in the Moon?”
“Don’t laugh at me. I’ve tried. I’ve looked and looked, but I don’t see anything. No eyes, no nose, no mouth. Only a bunch of dark shadows and craters. This must be some kind of idiot test or something.”
“Try looking for a cartoon man, not an actual man.”
Noelle squinted and explored the vast circle with her eyes. “Nope. Can’t see it.”
Adam sighed and rolled toward her at an angle then pointed in her eye line toward the sky. His face was inches from hers. “There. Big eyes. Nose sort of in the center. Lopsided mouth.”
Suddenly, like magic, the features came into view. “Two big eyes at the top—they’re not the same size, and they’re sort of off-center, but I think they’re eyes. And a sort of nose.”
Adam snickered and reached for another crisp. “Cool, huh?”
“Very cool.” Proud of herself, she pointed upward. “But to me, it’s not really a cartoon face. It looks like it’s been painted. A dab up there, a splotch over there.” She lowered her hand and smiled at the moon, glad Adam had tapped on her window. “Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
Either the gentle clicking of the wheels on the train tracks or the memory of a drowsy summer evening made Noelle’s eyelids grow heavy. She leaned her forehead against the cool window, wishing to stay on that blanket in that moonlit moment just a little bit longer.
Noelle hooked the last of her hanging clothes onto the rod inside the narrow closet then padded over to the kitchen for a cup of tea. She needed some comfort after the long journey. Her bare feet slapped across the linoleum floor as she made her way from the back bedroom through the compact living room then took a quick left for the tiny kitchen. It stood nearly as small as Noelle’s first college apartment kitchen, she mused. This one only had a half-sized fridge and no dishwasher, with faded yellow and white wallpaper. Surprising, that people as wealthy as Gram and Aunt Joy had owned a modest, two-bedroom cottage. Perhaps, though, the simple, unpretentious cottage life had charmed them. No servants, no elaborate meals to plan, no fancy entertaining. Just the salty sea breezes and crisp fresh air.
Even at nearly midnight, she wanted to sit on her porch and linger in her coastal surroundings. Noelle slipped on her shoes and a light jacket then carried her tea out to the porch and sat on the swinging wooden bench. Because of the luminous moon, the craggy coastline’s jagged cliffs became eerily visible. And further, the twinkling movement of the sea, which she heard in shushing waves. She imagined Aunt Joy setting up an easel on the porch, or maybe further down, on the hill above the ocean. All those years ago.
Still, a hundred miles away from anything recognizable, she thought of Adam, where he was, what he might be doing. She couldn’t help it. She pictured him struggling with sleep, punching at his pillow and shifting positions every two minutes. Or perhaps he was somewhere outside, contemplative, looking up at the same bright moon. Or maybe he was snugly comfortable in his familiar position next to Laurel. Sound asleep, pretending nothing had ever happened at all.
“Stop!” Her lip quivered. These questions without answers were precisely what she’d been fighting against. The entire reason she’d boarded that train in the first place. She splashed the remains of her tea into the nearby grass and walked back inside, wondering how many hours of sleep she wouldn’t be getting tonight.
Noelle had no idea the sea breezes would be so strong. Or so piercing. A far cry from the balmy California weather, even in July. Fighting to gather her whipping hair and maneuver it into a tight ponytail proved an interesting challenge.
After a restless night’s sleep, a heightened sense of energy filled her, and she made a decision to take control, to banish all thoughts of Adam or Laurel. She wouldn’t allow them even in the fringes of her mind today. To that end, she had stuffed some items into a tote bag and headed for the cliffs a few hundred feet from the cottage then walked along the edge to divert her mind with the glories of the sea.
Maybe tomorrow she could venture down to the actual beach where Aunt Joy had painted Noelle as a little girl. She’d spotted a steep-looking pathway that cut into the rocks of the cliff, but it looked rather dangerous. Today, though, she found an ideal spot, a fourth-mile west of the cottage. Several rocks jutted up around her at random, adding character to the landscape. Through the brilliant sunlight, she viewed the colors of the sea, the pale greens and navy blues crested in white foam.
With her phone, she snapped picture after picture. She remembered the Scottish novelist Rosamunde Pilcher had set many of her novels in Cornwall. Gram had owned an entire collection of those books, and Noelle often passed the rain-soaked summer days in the library, reading about the romance of the sea. Seeing the coast in person, Noelle knew that even an author’s brilliant descriptions couldn’t do this place justice.
After snacking on a ham sandwich she’d tucked away in her bag, she snapped more pictures. Before long, Noelle’s eyes had dried out from the relentless wind. Needing a break, and a hot shower, she gathered her things and trudged back to the cottage. Rather than walk along the cliffs, she took a different path that led to a neighboring property, a detour.
At the cottage next to hers, an elderly woman hunched over in her yard, picking weeds. The woman paused and waved with her free hand, and Noelle waved back. Though she’d hoped not to speak to another soul the rest of today, Noelle wanted to be friendly. They were neighbors, after all.
“Good morning,” Noelle yelled over the wind, drawing closer to the woman. Mercifully, the wind died down as she reached the cottage.
“Hello.” The woman smiled and offered Noelle a withered hand. “Lovely to meet you,” she said, her voice raspy but warm.
“You, as well. I’m Noelle Cooke.”
She pointed to herself. “My name is Helen Michaels.”
Helen. Something rang familiar for Noelle. The woman in that picture, inside the album. The woman standing with Joy and Gram at this same cottage, all those years ago.
“Are you next door?” the woman asked.
“Yes, that’s me. I came last night.”
“First time in Cornwall?”
“Yes. Well, no. I was about five years old when I first came with my grandmother. And my aunt. She painted me at the seaside, but I don’t really remember it. I think you might actually have known her. Joy Valentine?”
The woman’s mouth parted in surprise, and she smiled. “Oh, how lovely. Yes, I knew her. Not very well, mind you. She sometimes came to the cottage alone, liked to keep to herself and paint. Well, except when her husband came with her, on occasion.”
“Husband? You mean John?”
“I think that was his name. It’s been so long ago.” Her face turned wistful, as though revisiting past images in her mind. “Such a pity.” Helen tsk-ed.
“Pardon?”
“About her husband. Killed in such a horrible accident. And leaving her with that baby to tend.”
Noelle crinkled her forehead. “I’m sorry? Baby?”
“Oh, yes. I have the image in my head, clear as day, your aunt waddling around the property with a beach ball for a belly. I always felt so sorry for her, poor dear. Being a single mother.”
“Single mother?” Noelle kept repeating everything the woman said, but she couldn’t help it. Surely, she had mixed Aunt Joy up with someone else. Maybe even Gram? But she seemed so sure.
“But Aunt Joy never had any children,” Noelle said emphatically. “Are you sure? Could it have been my grandmother? Her name was Rachel.”
“No, I’m sure. It was the artist. Months after her husband passed away. In fact, I brought her tea once, came to her cottage for a little chat. And there she sat on the porch, in front of her easel, the palette perched on top of her large belly. I was bold enough to give her a warning not to sniff too much of that paint. It wouldn’t have been good for the baby.”
Noelle’s heart raced at the implications. Where is the baby now?
“I was sorry to hear of your aunt’s passing last year,” Helen said. “I read it in the papers.”
“Thank you.” Noelle stepped away. “I’m afraid I need to go. Very nice meeting you.”
Noelle entered the cottage, stripped down, and stood in a steaming-hot shower, still stunned by this new information. She went through all the possible scenarios: Helen was a raving lunatic; Helen had mixed up Aunt Joy with another woman… another artist. Or Aunt Joy had gained a great deal of weight, leading Helen to assume a pregnancy. Noelle couldn’t think of another option except Helen was right, and Aunt Joy had indeed been pregnant but hidden it from the world. But why?
Still, Noelle went there. Just for a minute. She stepped out of the steamy shower and combed through her wet hair, playing with the possibility that everything could be true.
Perhaps the baby died. Or maybe Joy had to give the child away. She’d been a widow, after all. Maybe raising a baby on her own had been too much to bear. Especially with its features constantly reminding her of John.
Noelle tried to push away the resentment, finding out such a personal secret from a stranger named Helen. Why didn’t Aunt Joy trust me with this?
Surely, Aunt Joy would have referenced the pregnancy more directly in her journal entries. Those sacred pages where she revealed all her other secrets. Maybe Mac would know. Then again, perhaps not. He apparently hadn’t known what was locked behind that bedroom door all those years. Some secrets Joy had kept only to herself. A baby was likely one of them.
Late the next morning, Noelle remembered to bite the bullet and call Jill, a welcome distraction from yesterday’s bizarre talk with Helen. Noelle had waited much too long to call, especially with Jill’s daily voicemails. Her Adam issues weren’t with Jill. And she couldn’t afford to push away her closest friend.
After lunch, she thought and walked out the door to find the local market. At the nearby village, about a half mile away, she purchased ingredients for a nice meal—chicken, snow peas, French bread, and homemade chocolate cake for dessert.
Back at the cottage, after putting in the chicken to bake and getting the vegetables ready, she decided to start on the cake. A giant feast for one. She could save the leftovers for tomorrow. But while she snipped open the plastic bag of cake batter, her cell rang from inside her purse.
“You’re there!” said Jill. “I was all prepared to leave my hundredth message. I’ve had more of a relationship with your voicemail than with you lately!”
“I’m so sorry I haven’t called you back.” Noelle moved to the living room and plopped on the sofa, running her fingers along the floral pattern. “I’ve… been busy.”
“Bollocks. You’ve been avoiding me. At least be honest. We’re close enough friends for that, aren’t we?”
“Yes. We are.” She sighed and said again, “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want an apology. I want to know you’re okay. I’ve been worried sick about you.”
“I am. I’m okay,” she said, half-believing it.
“I’ll bet you haven’t left your cottage in days.”
Noelle hesitated. “Well, I’m not actually in Chilton Crosse. I’m in Cornwall.”
“Good heavens! Whatever are you doing all the way out there?”
“I don’t know. I came on a whim.” She suppressed the tremble in her voice. “I felt a little lost. I needed to get away…”
“Well. The fresh sea air is probably good for you.”
“Have you heard from Adam?”
“Not a word. Or from Laurel. Or from you. Why did everyone suddenly go radio silent?” Noelle sighed. “You’ll be sorry you asked. It’s bad.”
“I can handle bad. What I can’t handle is silence. Start from the beginning.”
And so she did. From her noble intentions about breaking things off with Adam, to their revelations under the tree, to the kiss. In all its beautiful, gut-wrenching detail. And finally, about who had seen them together.
“Laurel? Are you positive?” Jill gasped. “Couldn’t it have been somebody else?”
“No. I’m sure. I’m surprised she didn’t call you.”
“She knows you and I are friends. I’m sure she knew my loyalties were with you. Now, back to that day. What in hell was she doing there? Following him?”
“I guess so, or she probably came looking for him on her own at the village, found my cottage, saw Adam’s car in front then started investigating. After all her suspicions, she probably wanted to see for herself. And boy, did we give her something to see.” The shame stuck in her throat as she said the words. “I never thought I’d hear myself say this. Jill, I’m the ‘other woman.’”
“You are not the other woman. He kissed you.”
“But I kissed him back. And it was—”
“Great?”
“Incredible.” Before Jill could relish in that image, Noelle added, “But wrong!”
“Well, maybe, but you stopped. And you removed yourself from the situation. You had a conviction, and you followed it.”
“This is all my fault.” Noelle rubbed her temples, watching tears splash into her lap.
“No. It isn’t. It’s the universe’s fault for having such shitty timing. You two should be together. You were made for each other.”
“I think so, too,” she whispered. “Have you heard anything? About the wedding being on or off?”
“Not yet.”
“I love him, Jill.”
“Oh, darling,” she said, her voice full of compassion. “This is bloody awful. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“That’s the stupid part. There’s nothing I can do. It’s too late for us.” She sniffed away the tears. Hearing everything aloud only made it real.
“I’m curious,” Jill said. “What’s the answer to Adam’s question? In hindsight, why didn’t you try? You both had all these emotions, spent all those summers together. I mean, you can’t tell me that one stupid misunderstanding was the only reason. You had four long summers together to try.”
“I think we were both too scared, maybe? Or too young? Or it was never the right timing? It’s a mystery.” The timer buzzed. “I’ve gotta get that. I made chicken. Not that I feel like eating it anymore.” She pushed herself off the couch and headed for the kitchen.
“I’m sorry for making you talk about it.”
“It’s okay. I needed to. Maybe I can start to move on.” She turned off the buzzer and clicked on the oven light. “Thank you, Jill. For not judging me… about Adam. The kiss.”
“Sweetie, I’ve done too many regretful things in my life to judge anyone. Besides, you went with your heart. There’s nothing ever the matter with that.”