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ONCE SHE’D RESTED AND then cleaned out a closet, Rivers eyed the old brown envelope on the table. She’d been avoiding the emotional landmines that possibly waited in their yellowed pages, but something told her she should wade on in. As if the past held a key to a locked door.
With hesitant fingers, she opened the letters addressed to Brooklyn and Pearl’s mother.
Dear Stella,
You and your wealthy daddy don’t understand the way I came up. It was hard times, most nights nothing but cornbread for supper and a beating with a belt. Sleeping with the cold wind blowing through the cracks in our shotgun house.
I work hard every day and in the evenings, too, keeping you and the girls well fed and dressed nice. So, I have some drinks at the club. You knew that when we met. Why do you keep hounding me? Drinking helps me relax before a performance.
It’s not like you’ve never had a sip of wine. Stop being a baby.
Come back to Savannah and act like a wife.
Frank
~~~
STELLA,
You wanted to get married. You decided we’d have kids even though you knew I played the clubs at night. Now, you have the twins—women have children every day. It’s not like you’re in a shack in the country. Don’t play the martyr.
Frank
~~~
DEAR STELLA,
I heard our sweet Pearl was in the hospital. I didn’t realize how sick she was. Can you please forgive me? I promise I’ll help. I’ll stop drinking. I can stop for you and the girls. This time will be different, I promise.
Love always,
Frank
~~~
STELLA,
You keep telling me I have a problem, but I’m nothing like my daddy. It’s not my fault that blond came onto me. I didn’t go after her, and things weren’t what they looked like. Yes, she kissed me, but that was all.
You always blame me. You’re always looking for something to be angry about. It’s no wonder I have to drink. You push me too hard.
Frank
~~~
DEAR STELLA,
I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t even have that many drinks after the show, so they must have made them strong. You know Vick and his sense of humor. I promise I’ll change. I don’t care what that policeman said. I never meant to hurt you or the girls. It was an accident, and maybe Pearl and Brooklyn got in the crossfire.
You know me. You know I’d never deliberately injure a child. I pray they’re not hurt too badly. This is the last time, I promise. Just let me come home. You’ll see.
Love always,
Frank
~~~
RIVERS TOSSED THE CORRESPONDENCE back onto the envelope they’d been stored in for so many years. Under the letters sat a news clipping about a one-car accident on a Thanksgiving Day. Frank and the woman with him had died after crashing into a tree. Maybe the blond, maybe another woman, but obviously not Stella. The death certificate indicated that the wreck hadn’t been long after that last envelope was posted. He hadn’t kept his promise.
The one-sided correspondence painted a vivid, bleak window into Stella’s life. The scenes Rivers imagined twisted her insides. And she hadn’t even opened Stella’s journal yet. What nightmares had been recorded there? No wonder Pearl and Brooklyn separated themselves from Cooper. The twins had already endured having a parent who’d broken their trust, who’d physically abused them. Then they’d endured such a great loss due to a son. One they’d raised with good husbands at their sides. One they’d taught right from wrong.
Rivers understood what Stella had gone through. A familiar ache grasped her chest.
She’d get back to the matter at hand, before she got sucked down too deep. Turning her attention back to the piles of old scarves, purses, and costume jewelry, she searched the cabinets for a container or bag to store them in. No luck. Those items could be let go. The letters and the journal she’d give to Cooper. Maybe reading them would help him understand his mother, aunt, and grandmother better—why they’d shut him out after the accident.
They also might break his heart further. Guilt might push him over some precipice, causing him to start using again.
She squirmed at how much the idea of Cooper landing back in the clutches of addiction bothered her. The heaviness of it was like a boulder mashing against her chest.
The cool wind through the open windows cleared the cottage of some of that musty closed-off staleness houses got when they sat empty and unused. A lot like this morning’s art session had freed something inside of her stale soul.
She sucked in a deep breath of the salty air. The birdsongs and sounds of nature invigorated her. God’s creation had that effect.
She’d have to ask Cooper or Gabby where the best place to donate was. The Stink Bug couldn’t carry much, so maybe a charity that picked up. Of course, Cooper deserved to have first dibs on the bigger items she discarded. He might need them, especially when she sold the gallery. Or, duh...They might need used furniture and castoffs at Re-Claimed.
Oh, some smaller things would be perfect for art therapy. Her adrenalin pulsed as creative ideas came alive in her mind. The fabric, buttons, feathers, paint, yarn, and seashells would make a great mixed media project. Maybe the costume jewelry too. Not everyone enjoyed painting on a canvas. In fact, that process intimidated some children. These ladies weren’t that young, but sometimes a person got locked into the age when a past trauma occurred.
She froze. Was she really going to try to help those people?
The atmosphere shifted in the room. Darkness seemed to stalk her thoughts as if to consume them. She imagined herself exposed and fragile in front of a group of recovering addicts—the raw issues and the devastation that went along with addiction.
Stop. Rivers rose to her feet. Grappling with the dilemma required prayer, not wallowing. Maybe it was time for some music too. Her lips lifted when she felt that almost physical tap on her heart. And, yes, dancing.
She grabbed her phone and cranked up a tune, setting the music to shuffle. Her feet moved to the first song, a slow one, full of praise.
Great choice, God. The Lover of Her Soul knew she needed to stretch after sitting on the floor for so long, sorting through the past.
After a few pliés and lunges, she broke into twirls and spins and kicks like a child. Her voice strained to join the worship song. When that tune ended, another faster one began. Bouncing around the room, she belted out the words to the theme song from Trolls. “Can’t Stop the Feeling.” Dance. That was what she needed. To shake off all the negativity clawing at her.
~~~
HE SHOULD’VE STOPPED watching her ten minutes ago because the food was getting cold. But Rivers hadn’t answered the doorbell, and Cooper couldn’t break his gaze from the window—and her dancing inside.
Would she want him to interrupt?
Yeah, because standing here spying on her is not creepy at all.
As it was, he already couldn’t take his mind off this woman. The rescue at the beach. Her caring for Star. The intense painting at the gallery. The horrible-joyful-mournful singing this morning. And again now, her voice was blasting through the open windows. But add in this dancing...this beautiful, strange, passionate dancing.
His whole body shuddered with emotion. The mix of ballet and modern dance. It was crazy, stirring, her form willowy and flexible. Rivers had told him her father had taken her to dance lessons until her mother’s accident. Too bad she hadn’t been able to pursue that dream, because she had talent. But what did he know other than he couldn’t take his eyes off her?
Well, one other thing he knew...he’d love to sketch her. If he could somehow capture the kinesthetic control and fluidity of her movements. The arc of her muscles. And curve of her lips.
Stop. Don’t go there.
Her voice hit a squeaky high note at that moment, and a small laugh escaped his lips. Man, she sang badly. And loud.
The music changed to a new song, a love ballad, and she suddenly plummeted out of sight. A guttural sob shredded his trance.
“No. Why? Why?” Rivers wailed.
She must’ve hurt herself. Heart pounding, Cooper’s fingers found the door knob, and he barreled inside.
She knelt with her face in her hands.
He dropped the meals and sank to his knees beside her. “What happened?”
Her watery blue gaze lifted to meet his, and her torso shook. “This was what we were going to dance to. Our first dance as man and wife at the wed—” Her head plunged, and the weeping began again.
His whole being grieved along with her over the loss of her fiancé. Jordan had been like a brother to him before Savannah’s death. Cooper’s arms strained with the desire to pull her to his chest. To comfort her, even though he had no right.
