CHAPTER ELEVEN
Julia held her keys, smiling as she walked out of Conor’s apartment. She felt like she was floating. Filled with joy. And to think that only a few minutes ago, everything had been unraveling.
James had found her and tried to assault her.
She was having panic attacks.
She’d lost her job.
But all that trouble was behind her now. Wiped away with Conor’s kiss and the two words he’d whispered in her ear—why not?
She unlocked her door and went into her apartment.
A few steps inside, she looked at the painting of herself sitting on a beach looking at the ocean.
Her mind spooled back to when she was a child—to the place that provided the inspiration for the painting.
To the place she told Conor she wanted to go.
She was maybe eight or nine when her mother first started taking her to a cottage in Maine for summer vacations.
A distant uncle owned the cabin. She remembered the smell of saltwater and how the waves pushed and pulled at the shoreline, washing foam over the pebbled beach.
That was before her mother hurt her hand working at a factory and started taking Oxy.
Her memories of the days before Oxy were golden.
She’d painted the beach scene a few years ago to remind her of that time.
And now, for the first time in a long time, she felt like life could be good again.
She walked toward her painting, moved the coffee table out of the way, and shoved the couch until it was at a ninety-degree angle to the wall where the painting hung.
Then she went into her bedroom and put on a pair of paint-splattered jeans and an old T-shirt.
It took a few trips back and forth from her bedroom to set everything up.
She dragged an old bedsheet out, spreading it on the floor underneath the painting, and then brought out her brushes and paints.
She loved this painting, but it needed a little more added to it.
Her hand moved in sure, graceful strokes on the canvas. Barefoot, she moved around the canvas as she worked. She remembered her high school art teacher saying she was the best natural artist he’d ever seen. She smiled, wishing he could see her now.
Two hours later, she was done. She stepped back.
The painting now included someone sitting next to her on the beach.
He had long hair, wide shoulders, and his hands were braced in the sand behind him.
Only the side of his face was visible, but it was easy to see that he was easygoing.
Confident. And maybe a little dangerous.
She looked across her apartment, staring at the wall she shared with Conor.
A sense of calm settled over her.
She washed her brushes and put them away in the tackle box that held her painting supplies, thinking about all the things she needed to do before Conor picked her up tonight. Her eyes became unfocused as she worked a rag wet with paint thinner over the bristles of a brush.
He said he had to take care of some things later tonight, but that he’d pick her up around midnight.
No worries about packing—an overnight bag would do.
Once they got to a hotel or a bed and breakfast in Maine, they’d go shopping.
Even with all that being said, Julia felt like she needed to clean her apartment, deposit her final paycheck, and call her landlord to tell him she was moving at the end of the month.
This was the end of her time here. She was sure of it.
Conor said he had more than enough money for both of them to leave forever—if that’s what she wanted.
It was what she wanted. She had no ties here.
Not even a job. But Conor grew up and had friends here.
He’d come back to visit at some point. But for her, this was goodbye. She had it all worked out.
Clean the apartment.
Get out of her lease.
Move everything she owned into her car.
And be ready to jump on the back of Conor’s motorcycle when he showed up at midnight.
When Conor did come back to Brannigan, she’d come with him, get in her car, and drive away—with or without him. She hoped “with,” but that didn’t matter right now. Today, at this very minute, she was just excited to be leaving with him.
She put the paintbrush in its tray, closed her tackle box, and surveyed her apartment.
There wasn’t a lot to do. The apartment came furnished so all the furniture stayed. Her belongings only amounted to some clothes, shoes, a few pieces of jewelry, makeup, towels, linens, and maybe a few lamps. It fit in her car when she came here, it would fit in her car now.
She glanced back at her painting, turned, and walked toward her bedroom. Her thoughts jumbled between what she needed to pack and her excitement over leaving with Conor. She smiled.
Midnight couldn’t come fast enough.