Chapter 23
Artemis
“Let your imagination sail on the canvas of creation, for here, every craft is a voyage of wonder.”
—Eloisa Hobby
Artie was on a mission.
For the last four days while Mom and Gran had holed up working on the quilt, Artie and Orion had been racking their brains for an art project they could make with the creepy dolls, but nothing was gelling.
Then last night, Artie had a spectacular dream about the creepy dolls and got a bonkers idea. She couldn’t wait to tell Orion about it. In her stunningly lucid dream, the dolls arranged themselves in an artistic way that fired her imagination. Now Artie knew exactly what she and Orion could do to win the recycled art contest.
If they won the category, they’d split the five-thousand-dollar prize. And there was always a chance they could win the hundred-thousand-dollar grand prize. Too bad she had to comb the island to find her new friend instead of texting her.
Stupid lack of cell phone service.
She called Orion’s landline from the B she felt a little lightheaded.
It felt weird being here.
Surreal.
As if perhaps, like Alice in Wonderland, she’d fallen down a rabbit hole. Except there was no Mad Hatter at this tea party. Just Eloisa with the kindest of eyes.
“You’re going through a tough time,” Eloisa said, a statement, not a question.
“How do you know?” Artie asked.
“You’re fifteen. The world is topsy-turvy when you’re fifteen.”
“It’s not just that.” Artie drew a circle on the tablecloth with her finger.
“Oh?” Eloisa’s voice was so light Artie barely heard her.
Artie didn’t know what possessed her. Perhaps it was the amazing crystal rainbows shining over Eloisa’s face, or the awesomeness of an Arnold Palmer and, frankly, the most delicious cake she ever put in her mouth, but the next thing Artie knew, she was telling Eloisa everything.
She spilled her guts. About her dad getting murdered, his gambling addiction that caused them to lose the house in Dallas, her gran being swindled out of her life savings by a sweetheart scam, meeting Orion, getting pulled under the water by Wicked Martha, Mom kissing Orion’s dad . . .
All of it came tumbling out.
Eloisa listened and nodded and poured her more Arnold Palmer and gave her another cake.
When finally Artie finished, Eloisa met her gaze with a steady, unfaltering smile as if it would all be okay. “Goodness, you’ve been through a lot in such a short amount of time.”
“I’m sorry,” Artie said. “I shouldn’t have told you my life story.”
“You needed someone to listen.”
“You’re pretty good at that.” Artie ran her hand through her hair, combing out the tangles she got riding on the scooter.
“I’ve been around a long time, and I’ve heard lots of stories.”
“I’m just so mad, you know? No one thinks about how their actions affect me. I’m supposed to just grin and bear it? That’s not me. I’m not a sidelines girl. I enjoy being in the ring.”
“I can tell that.” Eloisa smoothed her napkin in her lap.
“How do I stop being so pissed off at everyone?”
“That is a big question. Asking for help is a point in your favor.” Eloisa canted her head and studied her.
“Okay, so what do I do?” Artie rubbed her palms over the tops of her thighs, nervous that she revealed so much to a stranger.
Eloisa’s genuine smile made her feel better. “Anger management is a tricky thing, my dear.”
“Tell me about it.” Artie exhaled and slumped back in her chair.
“It’s important to remember that it’s okay to get mad. Anger is an emotion just like any other, so it’s neither good nor bad. It just is.”
Artie sat with that a moment. “When I get mad, it feels like there are two fists inside me just pounding on my rib cage, trying to bust right out of my chest.”
“That’s very descriptive, and it’s a positive sign that you recognize what anger does to you physically.”
“My jaw gets so tight I feel like I could spit nails.” Artie cupped her jaw with both palms.
“Anger comes from hurtful experiences, but it’s also important to recognize when you’re using it as a shield. Like curse words.”
“Yeah, I do have a foul mouth.” Artie grinned. “Ticks off my parents and Gran. Well, not my dad anymore.”
“Which perhaps is why you use words you know will upset people?” The woman sat perfectly still, waiting for Artie to process the question.
“Maybe.”
“You might not want to admit this, but do you think you use anger to keep others at a distance?”
A stranger’s question felt like deep insight. Artie would have gotten huffy if Mom asked the same question. “Could be . . .”
“I’m not saying that anger can’t be helpful in some situations, but if you can’t control it, you risk alienating those you love.”
“And getting in hot water.”
Eloisa’s smile deepened. “That too. The trick is to learn how to control and release that energy productively.”
“Yeah? Like how?”
“Like counting to ten—”
“Tried it. Doesn’t work.”
“Have you tried taking deep breaths while you count? There’s a cool trick to that. Breathe in as you slowly count to four, hold your breath to the count of seven, and then exhale to the count of eight.” Eloisa demonstrated the technique.
“Never tried it.”
“Let’s try it now,” Eloisa suggested. “Breathe from your abdomen, not the top of your lungs. Doing this will focus your mind on something other than what sparked your upset. Take control over yourself instead of letting situations control you.”
For several minutes, Eloisa and Artie breathed together, and Artie instantly felt calmer.
Artie liked the technique. She hated being controlled even if it was by her own emotions. “Okay, thanks for the tip. What else you got?”
“You have a thirst for knowledge. That’s good.” Eloisa looked Artie squarely in the eyes. “Pause before you speak. Think before you act. Pay attention to your triggers so you can recognize them ahead of time and cool off before things get heated.”
“Yeah, yeah. Easier said than done.”
“It gets easier the more you practice self-control. The fact you’re asking for help means you’re ready. Remember, it’s important to take time out for yourself. Pick a time and place where you’re totally alone. This is for moments of inward reflection. That way, when the angry feelings rise again, you’ve got a built-in safe place inside you that will keep you calm and grounded.” Eloisa made it sound so simple.
Artie eyed Eloisa and got the strangest feeling this woman held the secrets of the universe inside her. “Like what exactly?”
“Meditation for one.”
“Blech. I don’t do sitting still well.”
“The deep breathing I spoke of . . . and exercise. Whatever you like, running, weight lifting, swimming, any physical activity will do. Exercise takes your focus off your feelings and grounds you in your body.”
“I like exercise. Moving sounds more doable than sitting cross-legged with my eyes closed for hours on end.”
“And journaling. Try putting your feelings down on paper. It gets them out. You can symbolically let go of the emotions by destroying the writing afterward.”
“Thanks for the tips,” Artie said and polished off her Arnold Palmer. “That was great.”
“I’m so happy you could join me. I hope I helped a little.”
“You did.” Artie bobbed her head.
Eloisa’s smile overtook her entire face. “I’m so very glad.”
Feeling immeasurably better than when she walked in, Artie bid Eloisa goodbye and left the pavilion. Outside in the sunlight, she blinked and remembered why she’d come to the building. She’d been looking for Orion to tell her about the creepy doll art project.
Hopping on the scooter, she motored back to Crafters’ Corner. The place was livelier now. More guests in shops, restaurants, and at the beach.
And then she saw her friend’s beautiful purple hair.
Orion sat at a patio table in front of the ice cream parlor. Beside her was a gorgeous girl wearing pink, heart-shaped sunglasses. Their heads were together as they split one big milkshake with two fat straws, and they were giggling, as if sharing a great joke.
Anger was a sudden fist, punching Artie right in the face. She wanted to hop off the scooter, race over, and demand Orion pick a friend. It was either Artie or the chick with the bad taste in eyewear.
But for the first time, she caught her anger before it overcame her. She touched it. Stayed with it. Counted to ten as she took ten long, slow deep breaths and directed the scooter toward the B&B. She felt her jaw unclench and her muscles relax.
And then she met the feeling that lurked beneath her anger. The thing she desperately tried to cover up with anger and bravado.
Fear of losing control.