Chapter 11 #2
“No,” she quickly says. “I mean, yes. But only inside my head. I made her up. I almost always make them up, and I usually have a pretty good idea of what their story is when I start. But this time—she isn’t cooperating.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm? What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, a playful fire in her eyes.
“It means I’m not an artist and won’t even begin to pretend like I know what I’m talking about.”
“But?” she prompts.
“But…I don’t know. I was just thinking that in hockey, there’s a certain rhythm to the game that’s often the same.
And when you play it a lot, you get good at reading it.
At sensing where the puck’s going to go.
Where the play is going to happen. But sometimes my instincts will flare and tell me to do the exact opposite of what I would usually do.
And suddenly, I’m going a different direction, or passing instead of taking a shot.
I don’t always know why that happens. I’m sure I’m reading the game, but sometimes it happens so fast, I don’t always know what I’m reading.
I’m just…feeling.” I clear my throat, suddenly feeling a little sheepish.
“I know it’s not the same. But I think my point is that sometimes the exact opposite of what we usually do is the thing that works. ”
She bites her lip and gazes past me one more time. “So maybe I should stop trying to force her to feel how I want her to feel and let her tell me?”
“Maybe?” I say. “Or you could completely ignore me because I have no idea what I’m talking about.”
“No,” she says, cupping a hand around the back of her neck. “That’s good advice. I can’t force it.”
“I’m sure you’ll get there,” I say.
She takes a deep breath. “Thanks. So…the house? How is it?”
Instead of telling her, I flip my camera around and show her. We walk through the bedrooms, then into the kitchen and around the rest of the house. Finally, I head down the hall and take the stairs that are just off the kitchen to the bonus room above the garage.
“So, I saved the best part for last,” I say as I step into the room. I push the door all the way open and aim the camera at the large windows filling up the east wall. “I was thinking this could be your studio.”
I slowly pan the phone around the large, open space.
“You could paint over here by the windows where the light is best. The house has a southern exposure, but with the way the trees are situated in the backyard, you should get really good light pretty much all day long. Then back here on the opposite wall, there’s tons of space for storage.
I’m just brainstorming—you could use the space however you want. But you definitely have options.”
Sarah is quiet for so long, I start to wonder if I’ve said something wrong. I quickly flip the camera around so she’s seeing my face again.
“Hey,” I say. “You can totally ignore my suggestions. And if you don’t like the house or if there’s another space you like better, we can—”
“Carter,” Sarah says softly, cutting me off. “That’s not it. I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed. I’ve never had my own studio space—not like that.”
I shrug. “Well, you should. You deserve it.”
“Are you going to buy it?” she asks.
“I want to,” I say. “As long as you like it too.”
She bites her lip, and I can tell she’s struggling not to protest.
She doesn’t want me to ask her opinion on stuff like this, because she doesn’t think she has the right to one.
I’m not sure why. When it comes to her art, to her career, she is her own best advocate.
But with everything else, I get the sense she’s constantly trying to earn her keep and not seem like an inconvenience.
I see the value in being useful, and there’s a lot of talk about her staying in the States because she’ll be needed when Anna has her baby.
But I don’t think that’s truly at the core of why they want her to stay.
She’s family. They want her around because they love her.
Not just because she’s willing to babysit.
“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” I say, and Sarah swivels her gaze from her painting back to me. “I would want your opinion even if you weren’t going to live in the house. Just tell me if you like it.”
Finally, she lets herself grin. “Fine,” she says. “I really love it. Really, really, really love it.”
“Good,” I say, returning her smile. “That makes me happy. I guess I need to go sign some paperwork, then.”
She lifts her hands over her head in a celebratory cheer that’s completely adorable. “I’m going to see you in a couple of days, right?” she asks. “Is that still the plan?”
“Definitely,” I say. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Downstairs, it sounds like Shelby is back inside, so I turn and head toward the kitchen.
“Hang on,” I say to Sarah. “I think the realtor just came in.”
“I can just let you go,” Sarah says, but I shake my head no.
“Not yet. Just give me a sec.”
Shelby is standing at the kitchen counter, iPad turned on in front of her. She looks up and smiles wide as soon as she sees me. “Is she still on the call?”
Next thing I know, she’s plucked the phone out of my hands and is saying hello to Sarah, gushing about the house.
“I just know you’re going to love it,” Shelby says to Sarah. “Trust me. The bathrooms are incredible. And the kitchen! You two will be so happy here.”
“I already love it,” Sarah says.
“Have you seen the pool?”
“Oh, um, not yet, but I’m sure I’ll see—”
“I can show you right now!” Shelby says, standing and moving toward the patio door. “It’s almost dark outside, but the pool lights are on, and honestly, I think it looks more beautiful at night.”
I follow behind her, wondering what Sarah is making of this unexpected interaction.
“Okay, well, I’ll give you back to Carter,” Shelby eventually says. She eyes me, then looks at Sarah one more time. “You sure are getting a good one with this man.”
Shelby hands me the phone, and I carry it inside and into the primary suite off the kitchen so I can say goodbye to Sarah without an audience.
“Well, she was…enthusiastic,” Sarah says as soon as we’re alone.
“Sorry. She just grabbed the phone. Didn’t even really give me a choice.”
“I noticed,” Sarah says. “She seems nice.”
“Yeah, she is. She’s been helpful.”
She presses her lips together like there’s something else she wants to ask, but then she gives her head a little shake, and I sense the moment has passed.
Sarah confirms as much by stretching her arms over her head and stifling a yawn.
“Okay. I think it’s time for me to call it a night.
I need food. And my tiny sofa in my tiny apartment. ”
“No night on the town for you, huh?”
“Takeout and terrible television is more my speed these days.”
“I wish I could join you,” I say, “except I don’t think your couch could handle both of us.”
She laughs. “Definitely not.”
“I’ll see you in a couple of days,” I say, and she smiles.
“Goodnight, Carter.”
I say goodnight, then disconnect the call.
Two more days. Two more hockey games.
Then I’ll see her again.
I’ve never looked forward to back-to-back road games quite so much.