The first entry in the second diary was a full two years after the last. As if Ryla had suddenly decided journaling was a good idea again. The writing was in three different colors and certain words popped off the page. Heart, pain, and never. Quin tugged a blanket around her shoulders as she concentrated on the words.
Dear Later Self,
It’s been two years since I bothered with writing. It doesn’t help anyway. Quin—though I love her to pieces—is still the best child. Sometimes I wonder if Dad and Mom would’ve rather had only one. Even after all this time, nothing I do gets their attention. I went to the doctor today because my heart started racing at school. So hard my chest was in pain. My whole body shook, and it scared the teachers and nurse.
When we got to the doctor’s, Mom told me not to make such a fuss. She told me I was being overly dramatic. I never tell them anything that isn’t serious because they’re too busy to listen anyway. I guess I can’t even have a heart attack right.
After the doctor looked at me a while, ran some tests, and gave me a shot to slow my heart down, he sat down next to the bed. He told Mom he thought my heart was acting strangely. He said it was necessary for me to come back in for more tests to figure out what’s at the root of the problem. We’ll see if they actually do. I’m not Quin.
Quin closed the book for a moment and grabbed a tissue. Her sister had been having heart problems that her parents knew about since she was in eighth grade, but Mom hadn’t remembered any of the early stuff. They’d gone to the dude ranch two years later and no one had told Quin that there was anything seriously wrong, even then. She hadn’t learned until Ryla was older that the problems would never go away. When she’d finally been made aware, no one seemed to make a big deal out of it, so she hadn’t either.
Paxton had left the attic open for her and she gathered her flashlight and headed for the ladder. Without him there to make sure she made it, she took the ladder slowly and caught her balance on the floor once she’d planted her feet again.
The exposed bulbs cast an eerie light on the softly colored canvases. Ryla had painted more in the last few years than Quin had painted in her life as a professed painter. There were probably hundreds of them along the walls. All of them would need to be cataloged if anyone else was ever to see them. She hoped Ryla mentioned them in her last diary, but she couldn’t skip ahead. It wasn’t like a website where she could just do a quick search for the content she needed, and she didn’t want to do it that way anyway.
A tall painting stuck out behind the stacked paintings along the wall and Quin carefully looked at each one until she’d pulled the canvases forward that had been leaning against the taller one. It was a self-portrait, but not. She had skin paler than Quin had ever seen, and her hair was a deep purple, almost burgundy. She wore a strange black robe like a monk and at her side sat Duggy. The painting reminded her of an updated version of the Mona Lisa since Ryla had almost no expression. Behind her were the usual waves and seascape that were in the majority of Ryla’s paintings, but in deep roiling greens to make it appear like the original painting.
Quin lifted it out from behind the other paintings, leaning it against the chair that sat near the one window. It was dark outside, but the chair was the only place not full of other paintings. She held the flashlight up like a spotlight to see the details clearer.
It had to have been one of the last ones Ryla painted. The brushstrokes were mature, but not only that, her skin was so pale it had to have been done after her last bout of heart trouble. She’d probably painted it downstairs and asked Paxton to bring it up here. Quin glanced at the back of the painting to see if Ryla had named it. On the top corner, she’d stapled a card that said, Mona Sister, Solitary by the Ocean.
“This belongs downstairs where everyone can see it.”
“I agree.” Paxton’s voice came from the ladder. His head peeked up from the hole in the floor. “Need help getting it down?”
“Sure…don’t you work?” She laughed, slightly startled that he’d come in and found her without her hearing. It seemed like he was there whenever she needed him lately.
“I do, but my team works well together. We have some who only do night hours, some only day. I prefer the morning so I can have my evening to myself. I need the time to decompress.” He was up the ladder in a breath, then stood back a few paces and stared at the painting. “It’s good. Though I never saw her sit for it. She must have done it when I wasn’t here.”
Maybe she’d assumed the date of the painting wrong. “When did she do these? I guess I assumed this one was from the last few months.”
“Most of these that I recognize were done over the course of a day. She told me that with the breeze off the water, she could paint several layers all in a few hours because the sun and wind would dry them. But there are a lot that I don’t recognize. She brought them up here without help.”
Quin touched the area of the waves near Ryla’s head on the painting. “She would have to be quite good, because if it dried too quickly, she would be stuck with whatever she’d already done. Watercolor can be a little more forgiving since you can add water once again, but she was using oils.
“I don’t know if she did it because she really enjoyed it or because she wanted to feel a connection to you.”
“Don’t say that.” Quin closed her eyes. “You have no idea how much it hurts that I put up a wall between us. I didn’t know. This whole time I was only looking to keep my parents and my life somewhat separate from this house and my childhood. My relationship with Ryla suffered because of that.” That was why Ryla had warned her about selfishness. For herself, she’d separated from everyone. She hadn’t considered what her choice would do to Ryla.
He took the painting and slowly climbed down the ladder. Quin followed and then led him into the living room. “I’m going to need to have it framed, but I think I’ll put it here.” She took one of her own pieces down.
“I could be wrong, and it’s your house… but I don’t think Ryla would want that. She loved that painting.” He scanned the living room, then pointed to a huge mirror above the fireplace. “But she hated that.”
Quin glanced up at the gaudy mirror her mother had put there to make the room seem larger. All it ever did was force people to look at themselves when they visited. “You’re right. That is exactly where it should go.”
“You want it gone right now? Even before you have that framed?” The side of his mouth crept up into a sardonic smile.
“I do.” Now that the idea was suggested, she wanted it gone. As he headed for the garage to get the ladder, Quin went around the room and removed all the pictures she didn’t want anymore. Pictures and paintings that represented pain, even if they had been dear to Ryla. She made it all the way around the room and got to the picture at the dude ranch. Ryla loved that ranch, but she didn’t want to see her sister clutching at her chest all day with Quin ignoring what she’d gone through. It was too close to life. Too close to reality. She took the picture down.
“I asked her about that one.” Paxton came back into the living room and set up the ladder in front of the huge mirror. “She said it was from a vacation you took as kids. You must have been…what…sixteen?”
Ryla had been fifteen, Quin had been seventeen. The ranch had been the worst family vacation ever. She’d hated it from the moment they’d arrived and begged their parents to go home.
“Something like that.” She felt Paxton had more to say and she wanted to know what it was, even if that something was going to hurt.
“She said that was the best few weeks she ever had. If she could’ve had horses here, she would’ve. Good thing for you, Duggy was the best she could do. Can you imagine if you had to find a home for a horse?”
Duggy was certainly better than a horse and much easier to take on a plane. “I am thankful for that.” And sorry for begging to leave the dude ranch. If only she’d known Ryla had loved it so much. That picture was one of the few times she’d even seen her sister on that vacation. She’d been gone from sunup to sundown, every day.
Paxton gripped the top of the mirror and his muscles flexed under the huge weight. The mirror slipped slightly and Quin rushed forward to catch the bottom of it. “Get out of the way.” He stated as if she’d just sat in the wrong seat. “I’ve got it. I don’t want this slipping and cutting you to pieces.”
She backed away a few steps as he slowly lowered it past the mantel then down the fireplace until it rested on the floor. “Sorry. I thought I could keep it from falling.”
He turned to face her. “I’m sure you could, but if I dropped it, it would fall away from me right at you.” His eyes warmed. “I would’ve hurt you and it would’ve been my fault. Thanks for doing this. I hated looking at that thing for years. Putting Ryla up there is perfect.”
He touched her jaw and her heart melted. “I’m still being selfish. I want her painting up because it’s good, and I hated that mirror.”
“Does this mean you’re staying? If you’re selling, it doesn’t make any sense to pay to have that painting framed and installed…”
She glanced up at him, wanting to be weak, to lean into him and accept his strength. But she had to learn how to do this on her own before she could accept help from anyone else, even him. If she didn’t, he’d be just like her parents.
“I don’t plan to stay, but I do want to make this house look and feel like home while I’m here. For as long as I’m here.” And she could admit that she wasn’t ready to think about leaving just yet.
“It’s a start. I’ll leave the name of a guy who can help you get this mirror out and he’ll take the painting to frame it.”
She didn’t want to hand it off to just anyone. “Are you sure? I could send it off…” But if she did that, it wouldn’t get back here in time for her to enjoy it.
“It’s your call.” He rested the mirror against the fireplace and held the painting up to look at it better.
“I’ll have your friend do it. If I don’t, it might get sent back here when the house is sold already. I might want to take it with me.” Not that she had anywhere big enough or prominent enough to put it.
“It’s settled then. I’ll talk to him tomorrow and have him stop by.”
After Paxton left, the house felt big and alone again, much like it did when she was young. Even with her parents and Ryla there, she was made to feel so different, so separate, that she rarely felt like part of the family.
She ate a small, solitary supper and glanced out the window at the lights in the neighborhood. So many others had families or friends, but she was there all alone. What did people do who had friends? Did they call other people? Did they reach out or just wait for others to notice?
Quin reached for her phone and sent off a text to both Paxton and Karla, Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to come over for a board game or something? She wasn’t sure what else to ask.
Karla answered within minutes. Just sent kids to their rooms for the night. Will be there in a few minutes. Paxton replied at the same time that he’d be right over.
How had she lived for thirty years and not realized having friends helped the loneliness? Then again, she’d also had a sister and hadn’t figured that out either. Coming back to Driftwood Bay really had been eye-opening.