Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Isabella
PRESENT DAY
After spending hours in front of a million eyes and speaking to a million ears, the boys finally get to drive me home. Home . A place I now associate with different four white walls, and a completely different continent. One cold and isolated with my thoughts and myself. No matter how many people romanticize France, especially Paris, it will always remain my worst nightmare. Not because of the romance part. I’ve had my fair share of French hotties, but the distance and how out of place I felt, and still feel, is too much. Here, in Road Haven, this home is beyond anything I could feel. It has my mom.
I won’t say I have the closest relationship with her, since I never allowed us to, but I for sure would die if anything was to happen to her. I haven’t seen her in so long that I can sense myself losing my shit the moment I set my eyes on her. We’re now only a few minutes away from the house, one among others on the street. I’ve missed this. Driving around town with my boys, acting as if we own it. This time, it owns me.
“Why here?” Colin’s voice flushes my ears during our long and silent drive. Fifteen minutes of nothing but my inner voice narrating everything that’s happening on the streets.
The leaves wash away with the wind as we move past them. The buildings had slowly decayed as time passed by and I realized how fast the town was aging. Just then, my eyes set on the one and only diner in town, Lily’s Diner. Founded by Dan Lawson’s great-great-great grandmother. It’s easy to say he’s stuck here with such a family inheritance. It’s still bright out, but the red neon colors of the sign illuminate just as much as it does at night.
“What?” I finally look away from the window and land on his back. He’s in the driver’s seat, smoothly spinning the wheel to take the last right turn of the block.
“Why are you looking to recruit in Road Haven? Is there even someone here to recruit?” he asks.
“Yeah, that’s true. Of all the places to go, why here?” James peaks in excitement as he shifts a little to face me from his seat. I almost yell at him to look at the road, but that’s the least on my mind.
“Travis,” I bluntly say. More like, I whisper.
I know what they’ll say as soon as the name registers in their brain. They won’t be pretty words, but I can take it. I’ve already prepped my heart and mind for the harsh words I’d be getting from Travis himself, so what’s a few more from Colin and James?
They both look at each other with a look I can dissect easily. Honestly, it wasn’t as surprising to know he was the artist behind all those paintings. He was bound to be great at something, and that thing was painting and drawing. Not that it was never something he did back then. He was my first taste of art.
“I know, and it’s fine,” I quickly say before they can even breathe.
“Wait, does he know you’re here?” James asks, his eyes fixated on me.
“Of course, he doesn’t. Do you think we would have been able to see her at the airport if he knew? She would’ve been long gone with him by then,” Colin says in an amusing tone. I’m pretty sure he’s smirking behind that stupid remark of his.
“It doesn’t matter if he knows or not. I’m only here for business, remember?”
“Business. Right.” James straightens himself and focuses on the road.
“Okay, so let’s assume he doesn’t know. How do you think he’ll react to you being here after deliberately shuttering his heart, Miss Businesswoman?” Colin asks. I’m so close to knocking him out at this instant, but I withhold the will to. I guess some things just don’t change around here. Colin is still insufferable and says everything on his mind.
“Call me that one more time,”
“Chill, he’s just messing around,” James interferes. “But I’m also curious.”
“I expect nothing from him, except for his signature and a deal. Then I’m off.” I almost believe it myself.
Of course, that’s not all I want from him. I want to see him again, see his hypnotizing eyes, play with his fluffy blonde hair, and hear his voice. All again. I don’t deserve to even think about it, but I crave it more than anything. It’s like the air in Road Haven drags me to think of him, and it’s annoying.
The good times stand next to his name, shielding me from the bad ones to come flooding me, and it only makes me wish for more. Though I can’t.
“Strictly business,” I murmur, turning back to the window to admire more of the nostalgic town. Nothing falls short or missing as I tick the boxes. Roads upon roads, lights illuminating the houses we rush past, and in the season we’re in, I get to see colorful blooming flowers caging said houses. If I were to search for Star Hollow, this place might pop up, but it’s not Stars Hollow, it’s Road Haven. The second-best place I can’t ever despise. Well, at the moment, I do, but that’s just a fluke.
I sigh, wondering about Travis’ whereabouts.
If we were back in the golden days, he would be hanging out with one of his friends, but it’s no longer that time. I don’t think I know him that well anymore to map out every step of his day.
As we pull up to the house, I see a figure that looks like my mom. She stands in front, fidgeting and probably as nervous as I am. Or more.
“Oh, my baby!” she yells as I get out of the car. Her arms are open wide, heading towards me. This feels like a scene cut out from a hallmark movie, shimmering all over my body. I’ve missed her so much.
“Hello, Mom,” I say, my voice slowly muting as tears build up in my eyes.
“How have you been?” She wraps her arms around me, taking in all the moments she has missed these past years. And I take in all her ages, her birthdays, and the warmth I had missed.
“I’ve had good days,”
“Hello, Mrs. Kirby.” The boys greet in unison.
“Aw, come in here. It’s great seeing the three of you together again.” Her voice vibrates in my ear as she enlarges the circle to welcome my best friends. This is indeed home.
I’m doing this. I’m here. All my efforts in getting here can’t go to waste. I must do this. I can do this. Just three knocks. Only three, and we’ll be done. I stand in front of Travis’ new home, questioning my existence. Why is this so fucking hard?
“Okay, let’s do this,” I whisper to myself, building up all the courage in me to knock on his door. I slowly lift my hand, formed into a fist, ready for anything.
Is he even home? I can’t believe among all the information I dug up from my mother, I didn’t ask about his usual activities and the time he does them. It has only been a day since I touched down, and I’m already at his door. I couldn’t get any more desperate than this.
I knock three times, hoping he doesn’t open this door. I knock again. This time I kind of wish he did. Maybe he isn’t home.
He really has made a nice living for himself. The Travis I knew wouldn’t even dream of living in a house like this, even less, a few houses away from his mother’s. He would’ve taken the first chance given to him and left, but now he has his own home, his own purpose, and I couldn’t be any prouder. Envious, but prouder.
After standing there for about ten minutes without a response, I decide to leave. I can wait for one more day. Besides, I need more time to prepare myself for the confrontation. He’ll ask questions. I know he will. Some of them, I wouldn’t be able to answer, but others, I might have to. So, maybe it’s for the best if I leave now and come back when my words are better constructed to be delivered to him.
As I walk down the last step from his front porch, a realization hits me. A large space separates his house from the next, and I assume it could be a lead to the back of the house. He could be there.
And I’m right.
A long trail of cement leads me to a small outbuilding. It could be a garage, but the various personas painted on the front tell me otherwise. This is art itself. Cartoon characters and other figures take over the space in beautiful shades of color, and it draws me in. It’s Travis’ house alright.
“Wow.” My jaw drops at the sight. I really can’t let him slip off my fingers with this one. He’s super talented.
My hands lean forward towards the handle, and temptation is all I can feel. I know I shouldn’t, but…
A quick look. That’s all I need. A look, then I’m gone. And if he’s in there, that’ll just be a plus.
I open it, and soon, I ascend from the ground. Everything I have ever seen in my life cannot compare to what’s before me at this moment. Nothing can. The ashy tote bag hanging on my left shoulder almost falls off as I lose balance, trying to navigate through the space.
His cave.
His land.
His everything.
That’s what’s before me. Pieces I have never seen before and worth millions. Some, no matter how much I hate to admit, I’ve seen before. Madison couldn’t have shown them to me because the public didn’t have access to them. I was there when they came to life. Three of them, to be exact.
I vaguely remember the days, but I’ll never forget the looks he had on his face while painting them. There is one day in particular I don’t think I’ll ever forget, even if I try to. How did I never recognize him through these paintings? They’re mirrors of Travis.
I slowly walk towards the large and clearly unfinished painting at the end of the room. Though it is yet to be done, it holds so much power. And most of all, life. It’s a splatter of life through colors, and I can’t help but wonder why he cut it short.
As I approach it, something in me snaps, and I lead my right hand towards it, eager to feel every stroke and color.
“What’s going on here?” A voice I know so well stuns me as I’m near. My eyes immediately shut as soon as I hear it, soaking in every breath taken from it.
I turn around, and it’s him. “Hi,” I mutter.
He—He no longer has the fluffy, eye-catching color in his hair anymore. That’s the first thing my eyes set upon. His hair. He dyed his hair. The hair I enjoyed playing around with. He dyed it.
Don’t cry in front of him, Isabella. You can’t break down, now.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he expresses, hesitant to approach me.
“I’m here to see you, Trav—is,” I save.
“Why?” His eyes wander around the room, clearly confused by my presence, and I don’t reproach him for that.
I ignore him as I roam around the workspace, then back at the same painting I can’t seem to overlook.
“Your paintings are incredible,” I finally let out.
My opinion about his work wouldn’t matter to him now, but it’s important to me he knows how I view them. “They’re even better in real life, full of who you are as a person.” I continue.
I stare at the splatter of life. Maybe that’s how he should title it . Even though it still has its colors, I can tell it’s older than the rest. Craftier, but somewhat better. “I like this one. It’s rich with emotions, but I still can’t figure it out quite well.” My fingertips play with the edges, risking everything in line. I can’t stop myself. It’s that amazing. “What is it about?” I ask.
He sighs. “Seriously, why are you here?” He doesn’t let it go. Frustration masks his face as his eyebrows lift. I hate this.
“I’m—”
“You have no right to be here.” He stands tall. “This is my house, my workspace, my life. What makes you think you can just walk in here and fickle them?” his voice slowly raises. We’ve begun.
I’ve had a lot of answers, words, phrases, and ideas planned ahead of this moment. So many right words I can put to use right now, but all I say is, “I’m sorry,”
There. I have uttered those two words, and although they are necessary and justified, they are not enough. I hurt him, more than I should’ve, but it was bound to happen. And now, that’s all I’m allowed to say to him.
Before I can say anything else, a loud and irritating ringtone echoes. It’s his.
“Hello, Mom.” He sounds defeated. “Yeah, sure, I’ll pick him up on my way.”
I can’t help but wonder what’s going on in his head. I bet this is far from how he imagined seeing me again after that night. “Bye, love you,” he says before hanging up.
“How’s your mom?”
“Living,” he bluntly answers. “So now what? Are you back for good?”
“I’m back to convince you to work with us.”
Straight to the point. That’s good. I internally nod, agreeing with myself.
“Ha,” he scoffs. “Why isn’t that surprising?”
“Why are you so against putting your work up for auction? Most artists will kill for that,” I say, straightening my posture. The composed Isabella is back.
“Well, I guess I’m not most artist,” he says as he moves away from the door—where he had been standing since he walked in—and goes to sit on a wooden stool behind a clean canvas.
“Please, Travis. This is a good deal,” I insist. If I continue to keep a focus on this fucking job, I can distract him from what’s really eating me out. The fear of hearing the words I ignored that night.
“Are you doing this to spite me?” Travis spreads his legs a few inches and places his arm in between, staring at me. He has grayish pants on, accessorized by dry paint, and a black shirt molded on his chest. My eyes subconsciously stoop down to his lower body. No. No. Not the time for that.
I clear my throat. “I’m here on business.”
“Business?” he chuckles. His tone alone fails to reassure my plan, and I look down. “Fuck business,” he growls. “You know what? Since you’re here, why don’t I finally say what I had to say six years ago, huh? That seems to be business enough.”
Everything but that.
“No,” I rush to say. “The past is the past, Travis. I’ve moved on.”
His head quickly motions to me and I notice from my peripheral vision as I keep my head down.
“Not for me. What you call the past has been my life ever since. There’s no past for me, Isabella. I’m living it.” His voice deepens and becomes a little louder, just like before.
“What are you talking about? It’s been years. We had a moment together, and that ended. People move on from things like that every day. Why can’t you?” I lose my composure, and I finally look him dead in the eye.
“Was that all I was to you? A moment?”
My eyes fall back to the ground as I stand still, keeping him away from noticing the glitter in them.
“A moment. Seriously, Bella?” he continues. “That painting you find so rich with emotions,” he says as he points at the splatter of life behind me. “For hours, I slid my brush on that canvas, thinking of one thing. One person. You. The weekend before you broke up with me, I had started it,” he begins. “I’ve never gotten to finish it. It sits there like a trophy, never forgotten and always in my sight. So tell me, does that look like a moment to you?” he asks, his voice breaking the more he goes.
I—I don’t know what to say to that.
“Maybe you’re right. There could only be moments for you to throw away that easily.”
“You know that’s not what I meant. I’m only doing my job here, please.” I take a deep breath and collect myself. “Everything you’re saying right now, you’re saying it to Isabella Kirby, not—” I pause. “Not Bella.” Tears quickly form in my eyes, and I can barely hold them in anymore.
“Right. Bella doesn’t exist anymore.” He says it with a sudden belief in a lower voice, and it breaks me in two. He believes what he just said. I no longer exist to him.