Chapter 3
Three
JACKIE
I try to cool down the whole way home. Of course he asked about Maia. He always had a huge crush on her, but never confessed his feelings, as far as I know, anyway. I’m not sure why his interest bothers me so much, but it does. As I drive home for our weekly dinner, I take big, deep breaths until my heart-rate settles down, and I am able to think clearly again.
Joe Lawrence was always around our family when I was growing up. All of us, from Gianna down to me, adored him. He was not quite a de facto brother, but he was close. When he left for the military, though, we lost touch with him. The disconnect happened so gradually, that I don’t think any of us noticed it at first; but over the years, we have definitely missed him. I have missed him. Seeing him today gave me such a surprise, but it also filled me with so much joy, that I could hardly breathe. But then he had to go and ask about Maia .
I pull up to my parents’ house and park. With another deep breath, I get out of the car. Stepping into my childhood home fills me with so many different emotions. I love the cozy, chaotic vibe, but I also get overwhelmed when everyone descends on me with questions about what I’ve been doing this week. They come home to visit and share family meals regularly, but I’m still living here.
Like clockwork, Gianna and Maia swoop into the entryway to get me and pull me along to the living room. Our dad is sitting in his recliner dozing, while the news plays on low from the TV. Sounds from the kitchen let me know that our mom is in there, working on the next meal. Sabina is nowhere to be found. Everything is exactly as usual. It’s like we’re stuck in some nineteen-seventies sitcom. Comforting and overwhelming at the same time.
Once Gianna and Maia have pulled me down on the couch, Maia says, “So, what’s new this week?”
“Meet anyone yet?” Gianna asks.
I ignore her question, knowing that I actually have something to tell them today. “Well, actually you’ll never guess who I ran into today at the hospital.”
“Who?” Gianna asks, already distracted from her earlier line of questioning.
“Joe Lawrence,” I say as casually as I can.
“What? Are you serious?” Gianna exclaims in shock. “Joe Lawrence! What a blast from the past. What’s he doing back in town? We haven’t heard from him since… gosh, I can’t even remember the last time.”
“He lives here now. He said that he works for the fire department,” I say.
“Wow,” Maia says softly. “I guess I can tell how much we meant to him.”
Something about the way she says it rubs me the wrong way. I shift on the cushion between them. Not wanting to talk to them about Joe anymore, I get up and head to the kitchen. I hug my mom, and she hugs me back.
“Did you have a good day?” she asks.
“I saw Joe Lawrence,” I say, maybe a little too nonchalantly, as I snag a green bean out of the pan in front of her.
“Joey? Oh my gosh! How is that dear boy doing? We haven’t seen him in so long! It’s been… years,” she says, with a nostalgic tone in her voice.
“He seems fine,” I say, then change the subject quickly. “Sabina didn’t wait for me today. I feel like I let her down.”
“Oh?” Mom says, now the one trying to sound unconcerned, but I notice her eyebrows and forehead narrowing. “It’s okay, dear. That’s too bad. Just… keep trying, and… maybe next time.”
“How much time until dinner is ready?” I ask.
“Another forty-five minutes or so,” Mom says.
“I think I’m going to go for a quick run, if that’s okay,” I say.
“That’s fine, dear,” she says.
I change quickly and slip out the garage door so my sisters don’t see me leave. I head toward town, lost in thoughts about Joe and the past. I don’t even notice that I’m near Violet’s studio until I’m right out front. I can see that Violet’s inside, so I open the door. I’m hesitant to bother her, but I really want to talk to someone.
She sees me, and waves. “Hi, Jackie, what brings you in?”
I cross the small space to where she is. “Just out for a run. I’m trying to get out my rage,”
“Rage, huh?” she says.
“Well…okay, let’s just say ‘just general irritation,’ ” I say, trying to laugh it off.
Violet sees through me, though. I can tell by the look on her face. “I was just getting ready to put on some music and paint; want to join me?”
“Oh, I don’t want to bother you,” I say.
“You asked me to give you painting lessons, didn’t you?” Violet says. “Consider this lesson number one.”
Without waiting for a response from me, Violet gets to work setting up another paint station, complete with easel and canvas. I stand awkwardly off to one side, feeling oddly excited by the whole thing. I’m not the most spontaneous person, so an impromptu painting session feels like something way outside my comfort zone.
“Okay, so for this exercise,” Violet begins, “I like to put on jazz music, and then I just paint my feelings.”
“Um, that sounds great,” I say. “But I have no idea what you mean. I just paint my feelings…? ”
Violet laughs her light and airy infectious laugh. “Sorry. I forget myself sometimes. So, what I mean, is that basically, you just use big brush strokes or small ones, or you make shapes or dots or lines or squiggles… anything, really. Try to let the music and your feelings guide you. There is no wrong way to do this,” she says, handing me a paintbrush. “Trust me, Jaq… just give it a shot.”
I stare at the canvas in front of me. On the tiny table next to me, there is an array of paints and a jar of water. Violet turns on some jazz and sets to work on her own canvas. I watch her for a moment. It’s extraordinary to see her paint. She seems to be lost in the movement of her brush, as she literally brings sound to life in vivid color on her canvas. I don’t think I’m going to be able to do that. But doggone it, I’m going to try it anyway. Who cares if I’m actually lousy at painting? Violet won’t judge my effort.
I dip my brush in some red paint. That seems fitting for my mood right now. There is a trumpet that seems to be wailing over all the other sounds. It feels like the scream that I’ve had stuck in my throat since Joe asked about Maia. I paint a big red squiggly slash across the canvas, and it feels like the trumpet music is spilling out of my hand through my paint brush, releasing my scream.
Some kind of power surges through me. I feel…I don’t know… good . I let myself get lost in the music and in the splashes of color that I dash across the canvas. I add a midnight blue color to the red. Then some purple. The effect is that of a bruise. Something about the image strikes me as poetic. Not that anyone else would be able to see what I see, but I don’t care. This isn’t for anyone else; this is for me.
I don’t know how long we paint, but by the time my canvas is filled with color and the music fades, I feel better; a lot better actually.
“Wow, that looks amazing,” Violet says, making me jump. “I love your use of color.”
“Uh, thanks,” I say. Her praise makes me self-conscious.
“Do you want to do another one?” she asks.
I wipe my hands off on the paper towel laid on the table. Picking up my phone, I gasp. “I can’t,” I say with a squeak. “I’m late for dinner. I have to get home asap.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll call you later.”
I wave to her as I take off. Even though I’m twenty-eight years old, being late for the weekly family dinner is still unforgivable on this one day a week. Even though I’m pretty sure I’ll get a talking to once I get home, I still feel good from my painting session. I can see why Violet loves art. Painting just that one picture gave me a sense of release and well-being that I hadn’t known was possible from something like art. I can’t wait to pick up a brush again.