After lunch Alanna hurried to the studio. If she’d hoped for her swirling thoughts to calm when surrounded by her mother’s art, reality disappointed her.
Instead of peace, the longer she looked at the paintings, the more the belief her mom couldn’t have painted them confronted her. One more piece of the truth she’d built that threatened to crumble at a touch. If she probed too hard, she didn’t know what she’d find.
Life was supposed to be something she controlled. That’s why she’d left. But as each day passed, God stripped another layer of the protective veneer she’d applied so carefully. Every illusion she’d created that coming to the island was risky but could be a break disappeared with the idea she had been wrong.
Wrong.
The word stuck in her throat.
Tourists flowed in and out of the shop, but it wasn’t enough to still her roller-coaster thoughts. Each time she convinced herself Piper had it wrong, a wave of doubt assaulted her.
At five she had to escape. She turned off the lights and locked the front door.
“Where are you going?”
She stilled at Jonathan’s voice as her pulse picked up. “I thought you had a picnic. And rehearsal dinner.”
“I do and did. The bride had the rehearsal early. Wanted it in the same light as tomorrows wedding. And I forgot something important. Dylan needs a kite with the wind like this.” He held up a narrow package.
“Oh.” She fumbled the keys to hide. He couldn’t know she’d hoped he’d changed his mind and wanted to spend the evening with her. She couldn’t lean on Jonathan. Not when she planned to leave and he had no plans to move. Not when he had Jaclyn and Dylan.
“Are you okay?”
She couldn’t face him and his concern. He’d seen too much weakness already. She nodded, eyes on her keys. “Have a great time.”
Jonathan stood a moment longer then nodded. As he stepped away, she glanced up. He didn’t look back as he hurried toward Fort Mackinac. Why did she want him to so much? She grabbed her bike and pushed through the traffic until she could break free and pedal the rest of the way home.
The balance of the long weekend passed in a flood of tourists and avoidance. She didn’t see Jonathan but didn’t expect to between his picnic and wedding. Instead, she spent any moments not at the studio alone. After her experience with Piper, she couldn’t stomach trying to find people to ask what they remembered about the accident. Not yet. Besides, all the visitors kept residents busy as they made the island memorable. In the tight economy, everyone needed the tourists to come, stay, and return again and again.
She pasted on a smile when at the studio and tried to settle into a book when home. By Monday night, she tired of moping. Patience Matthews had told her to check in, so she would. Alanna shuffled through the junk drawer for Mom’s address book. After sifting through discarded keys, enough pens to equip Congress, and a stack of miscellaneous appliance guides, she finally found the thin spiral-bound book. Slipping to the Ms, she found Patience’s number.
“Mrs. Matthews?”
“Yes?”
“This is Alanna Stone.”
“Have plans for tonight?”
Alanna looked at the frozen pizza she’d pulled out. “Not really.”
“Good. Were getting ready to grill a few burgers and brats. Come on over.”
“Can I bring anything?”
“Just yourself.”
Alanna brushed her teeth then grabbed a gallon of lemonade and hopped on her bike. After zigzagging the island on roads most people would never discover, Alanna worked her way along Mackinac to the Matthews’s cabin. A dilapidated hotel stood next to it, looking like the perfect setting for a horror movie or ghost. She bumped across the grass to the porch. After leaning her bike against the rail, she climbed the two stairs. She and Trevor had spent many summer days playing along the beach in front of the house with the Matthews kids. Now they’d left, and the rocky beach held a few kids who tripped into the water then screamed and ran out. Alanna shook her head. Crazy kids. The lake wouldn’t be warm for at least a month. Even then, warm was a relative term.
The screen door bounced against the wall. “Alanna Stone.” Alanna turned to see Patience approaching her, arms wide open for a hug. She slid into the older woman’s arms and sighed. She felt safe, protected.
“It’s about time you got over here.”
“I’ve only been on Mackinac a week.”
“That’s an eternity, and you know it. How many days did you spend over here growing up? It’s practically your other home.” Patience pulled back and studied Alanna. “You carry the burdens of the world still.”
“Something like that.”
“Well, burgers are coming off the grill, so first we eat.”
Alanna followed Patience around the house to the backyard where a patio table waited adorned with a bucket of early flowers, platter of corn on the cob, and stacks of buns and condiments. The aroma of cooking meat colliding with early lilacs embraced Alanna. She inhaled and felt her muscles relax.
Earl Matthews pivoted from the grill. “Hey, girl. Still like them medium well?”
“Yes, sir. No mooing please.”
He grinned and pulled the last burger off. After a prayer, they settled down and ate. When they finished, Earl scooped up the plates. “I’ll leave you to catch up.”
“I didn’t mean to chase you away.”
Patience made a brushing motion. “Don’t worry. He has some DVD he wants to watch. One of those macho adventure movies.” Patience grabbed the lemonade and refilled their cups. “So tell me what’s worrying you.”
“Have you seen Mom painting?”
“Lately? No, she’s been gone.” Patience looked at her with lines between her eyes.
That’s not. . .’ Alanna tried again. “Has she done much painting around the island? You know, hauling all her paints and things around like she used to.”
“Some, but she also said she didn’t need to see it anymore since she’s painted so much. I think her arthritis has bothered her, too. Must make holding a paintbrush challenging.”
“Didn’t she worry about capturing the light?” Mom had prided herself on following in the Impressionist line of chasing the light and capturing the ways it played.
“I’m no artist. That falls to your mom and brother.”
“Right.” Alanna took a sip of her lemonade, the tartness puckering her lips even as it cooled her throat. “Does anyone talk about. . .”
“That day?”
Heat climbed Alanna’s throat. “Yes.”
“Only occasionally. Days like the anniversary. Guess you missed that, huh?” When Alanna nodded, stomach tightening at the thought, Patience slid her chair closer. “You could have stayed. Everyone else did.” She sighed. “You aren’t the only one that day impacted. We all hurt. You can’t have a tight-knit community like this without a death—especially tragic—impacting everyone. We’ve moved on. Even the Cadieuxs understand it was an accident. Exactly what happens when young men go crazy. They haven’t figured out yet that life isn’t guaranteed. The stunts I’ve seen.” She shook her head. “Unfortunately, that one didn’t end well.”
The truth echoed through Patience’s words. Running hadn’t solved anything. Instead, all the emotions of that day exploded inside with each new turn or person confronted.
As she rode home, she prayed. She needed to find the truth, whether or not it was what she remembered.
It was time to let the truth set her free.
Alanna spent Tuesday morning evaluating how many paintings she’d sold during the weekend. If sales continued at this steady pace, the Painted Stone needed more large art.
Alanna hated the idea her mother would ship more paintings while Alanna continued to believe they were frauds. The only alternative was bare walls, and that wouldn’t pay her father’s medical bills.
Several times she had picked up the phone to call, only to be interrupted by customers. This morning she sat in the shop with her e-mail application open trying to form the words for an e-mail.
Maybe that would make the tough questions easier to ask. At least then she wouldn’t have to hear the hurt in Mom’s voice when she took it as an accusation.
Mom, business has picked up. People have bought several paintings since I arrived. Which leads me to a question. . .
Alanna stared at the words. They would only make Mom defensive. She rubbed her temples as she considered how to rephrase the note.
The phone rang, and Alanna snatched it up. “The Painted Stone Studio.”
“This is Gerald Tomkin.”
She sighed and pushed back the thought that she should have let his call go to voice mail. “Good morning.”
“Now that the holiday weekend is behind us, I hope you’ve had a chance to consider joining the foundation board.”
The pounding in her temples intensified. “I’m honored. But I’m an attorney. Wouldn’t a CPA be more helpful?”
“You understand the island and its history. You’ll understand what we’re trying to do with the foundation better than some outsider who might have the right piece of paper. After all, you can’t get into law school without brain power.”
She bit back the urge to correct that fallacy. “I really don’t plan to be here long.”
“Mackinac will work its magic. I’m betting you stay.” His cajoling wore down her defenses. It wasn’t like she couldn’t continue via e-mail and teleconferencing after she left. If she wanted.
“You’re persistent.”
“Part of my charm.”
This sounded more like the man she remembered from school, convinced he was always right. . .and usually correct in that assumption. “All right. I’m happy to do what I can while I’m here.”
As for the rest, she’d wait and see how the meetings went.
“That’s all I ask. See you tonight at seven thirty.”
“What?”
He hung up before answering.
After the long weekend, the last thing she wanted was to spend the evening sitting at a table with people she barely knew and discuss business she didn’t care about. No, she’d imagined a night with quiet music, a bit of candlelight, and a heaping bubble bath—lilac scented to match the flowers emerging across the island.
A ding from her computer pulled her attention from the burgeoning pity party. “Let this be good news.” She crossed her fingers and moved the mouse to click on the envelope.
An e-mail from Trevor popped up, subject line reading Ready for more?
Increased ability to tell people no? Sure.
Added chances for true love? Certainly.
More peace and hope in her life? Absolutely.
But as she opened the e-mail, Alanna knew Trevor didn’t mean any of those.
Hey, sis. Mom mentioned this weekend the studio might be low on paintings. Especially if you’ve sold more. You have, haven’t you? I’ll get some up there ASAP. I’ve got three or four medium-sized canvasses ready to ship as it is. And with a bit of nose to the grindstone this week could have another three ready to go. TTYS. Trevor.
She read and reread the words, a heavy sensation cloaking her.
The words confirmed in black and white Jonathan’s accusations and her fears. What it didn’t do was explain why. Dread shrouded her at the thought. Could she fix this?
Alanna looked out the window, wondering when Mom stopped and Trevor started painting. No wonder something felt different. He would have the feel for Mackinac, but his perspective would differ from Mom’s. That would also explain the lack of geraniums. A guy wouldn’t notice that detail. No matter how much he trained himself to copy her style, he wouldn’t achieve perfection.
Jonathan walked by, and Alanna swiveled on her heel, hand to her face, and ducked beneath the counter. Maybe he hadn’t seen her. The last thing she could handle at this moment was talking to him. He’d see right through her when he asked how she was. He always could.
After the three-day weekend, she didn’t have the reserves to pretend this latest twist didn’t upset her. The rest of her family might not follow Christ, but she did—one good thing that came from leaving the island and heading south for college. She’d looked for friendship wherever she could find it, even in campus ministries. She hadn’t expected to find Christ at the same time. How could she reconcile what they were doing? Was it even possible? Her gut told her it wasn’t, which meant she’d have to confront them and figure out how to get them to understand why it mattered.
Alanna waited another moment. Surely Jonathan had continued on his way. After all, he’d had a busy weekend, too, with that wedding.
For years she’d imagined she’d marry long before her thirtieth birthday. Now she just avoided weddings. That was easier than seeing how close she’d inched to the date without even a boyfriend.
Boyfriend.
She puffed hair off her forehead with a breath. What a ridiculous word after a certain age. Namely anytime after college. Really, couldn’t someone come up with anything better?
And who said thirty made her an old maid? She needed to get her nose out of a book and into the real world. A world where women married later and later. She deflated. It might work for them, but she’d imagined life with someone to share it with before adding a couple of kids to their union. In fact, that someone had been the man on the other side of the window for too long. But like it or not, he was taken—it was time to slay that vision permanently.
Maybe then she could move on and find her Prince Charming.
And maybe one day he would stop looking like Jonathan Covington each time she pictured him on his white horse.
Alanna’s calf muscles tightened, and she groaned. Hiding here all day wouldn’t work.
She inched her way up until she could see over the top of the counter. Her gaze locked with Jonathan’s, where he stood looking in the window. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she sank back down.
Could things get worse?