Chapter 39
Thirty-Nine
Two weeks later, Ally sat at her kitchen table with a clear plastic sheet spread over the wood surface while she painted her most recent set of plant pots. Only now, she angled the thin brush away so she could press a hand over her eyes and not get paint on her face.
“Headache, again?” Her mom peered over from the sink, already filling a glass with water.
Ally gave a disingenuous laugh and squeezed her eyes shut against the dull ache in her brain. “Did they ever leave?”
“Oh, honey.” Her mother’s footsteps drew near. “Here.”
Ally opened her eyes to her mother’s outstretched palm, two white pills sitting in the center. More painkillers. Just about all she could do while she waited for her brain to heal from the concussion she’d sustained when Mark Farro’s men had rammed Sarah’s car.
The same day she’d lost Chip.
“Thanks.” She took the pills and the glass of water and then downed both in quick order.
“You’re over-exerting yourself.” A series of wrinkles lined her mother’s forehead, that look of concern Ally had gotten all too used to lately. “You’re supposed to be taking care of yourself, but you’re busier than ever. What with the Argyle job and the pieces for the wedding.”
“You sound like Laila.” Ally refocused on the pot before her, half-blocking out her mom, half-expecting her sister to develop some kind of telepathy and call to check on Ally for the millionth time.
Maybe her mom and sister were a little right. Ally did have a lot to do, but distraction served a higher purpose than lying in bed brooding. At least in this case, anyway.
Her physical injuries weren’t her only wounds. She was still heartbroken. Still reeling from the psychological trauma of having her life so nearly ended. The Argyle deal and making clay hearts for Emilia’s wedding offered a smidgeon of salvation.
In fact, she’d only signed the Argyle deal after negotiating to make all the pieces herself. She wouldn’t mass produce her designs. Not just yet, anyway. She’d create bespoke pieces priced a little higher and use this experience to get quicker at throwing pots on her wheel. The more she made, the more she could hopefully sell.
And as for Emilia’s wedding, well, that was one of the very few things Ally looked forward to. Not just the chance to celebrate, but the process of revealing her ceramic heart design—small clay ornaments on a string with Emilia and Blaine’s names atop an imprint of lavender sprigs. Her nod to their first date at Aggie’s lavender farm.
Even just imagining their reactions brought a smile to her face—smiling being something she didn’t do a whole lot lately.
“What am I supposed to do?” She leaned back into her chair and took a steadying breath, once again abandoning her work when she really needed to keep moving. “Stay in my room and think? Bad enough Blaine replaced me with Emilia at Oak Tree.”
“Now, you know he’s still holding a place for you there in case the Argyle thing doesn’t flourish. And it being my job to make sure you’re okay, I’m one hundred percent in agreement with the man insisting on your rest.”
Her mom stood at her side, as though looming might get her to pack away all the paints and do as told. Ally pitched forth a half-hearted side glare. “I love you, Momma, but I’m twenty-three now, and it’s past time we transitioned to me taking full care of myself.”
“Ally.” Her mother’s brows drew together, and she gave a warning shake of her head. “Everyone needs some help some of the time.”
“I know.” Ally reached out and patted her mother’s hand resting on the tabletop, being sure to soften her scowl in the process. “But could you trust me on this one? I’m where I need to be and doing what I need to do. I’ll be just fine.”
None of that was a lie, she was light years closer to where she wanted to be. The real shame was that it took her experience with Chip to show her the way. To show her who she really was. That she loved Harlow. That there was nothing wrong with being a small-town girl. Not for her.
Maybe the Argyle deal would provide enough money to travel, but she’d always find her way back here. Even then, Emilia wanted to line up more clients for Ally’s work, so making a consistent income from her art maybe wasn’t as far-fetched as she’d once thought.
Maybe she’d move into her own place somewhere closer to Main Street. She’d put more pieces into the local boutiques and build toward opening Harlow’s first art gallery.
Other small towns had them, so why not this one?
Dreams and direction. For the first time ever, she had both.
And still, some of her literal dreams included Chip.
Dreams where she awoke alone, feeling a piece of her missing.
Because a piece of her was missing.
But sometimes growth was about losing things too, right? Like how trees lost their leaves or children lost their baby teeth, all in the throes of moving from one stage of life to the next.
So she’d made the right choice, even if “right” didn’t stop the persistent gnawing sensation in her tummy through every waking hour. The pain remained. As did the tears. As well as the urge to call him and beg for another chance.
Warmth touched her cheek. More precisely, her mother’s hand turned Ally’s face, so she looked directly into those familiar golden-brown eyes. “I never wanted to be the reason any child of mine held back.”
Ally’s chest muscles constricted, halting her breath while intensifying the existing pain around her heart.
“Mom…you never were—” A laugh broke from her, and she shook her head, her voice husky and her eyes prickling. “Okay, maybe you were a tiny part of why I chose Harlow, but only because you and Dad did too good a job creating a loving home, yah know? What woman in her right mind would abandon a life that essentially feels like one, big, long, warm hug?”
“Oh, you.” Her mother’s eyes brightened, and she leaned in, pulling Ally into an actual hug. “The big, long, warm hugs aren’t going anywhere, but we’re not the only ones who’ll ever have them for you, my little one.”
Ally chuckled against her mother’s neck despite the reference to her dating life or, more pointedly, Chip.
Thankfully, her mother knew better than to push too hard when it came to love, so as much as her fondness for Chip remained, not once had she tried to push Ally his way.
Soft and predictable comfort seeped down to her bones, the release of tension working gentle tears free from her eyes. Even in the safety of this embrace, she wasn’t totally safe.
Harlow hosted a larger police presence, and all residents had orders to stay vigilant and report anything suspicious. The chance of new Syndicate activity kept her on edge, and the constant thoughts of Chip doubly so.
But she’d asked for this, hadn’t she? Well, not exactly this. Not the Syndicate. Not the heartbreak. But change.
And the universe had delivered that in spades.