Chapter 39

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Bess

W e spent the rest of the morning in the kitchen, then in the studio, gently baking pinecones, then mixing paints and dipping the cones into different colors.

There were no teachers around, although Ilme made an appearance. She seemed in higher spirits after some promising leads from two other art schools and a gallery that wanted to display her work. Seeing our pinecones, she praised Celia, making her glow from pride.

For the first time, I felt at ease in the art studio, enjoying the experimenting without the nervous feeling I’d had during the earlier art classes. I wasn’t being judged for what I created. I was part of the creation, like an active spectator.

“Is this what it’s supposed to be like?” I asked as Charlie picked up a dried, pink pinecone, examining it by the window. “Art. Creativity. It feels more fun like this.”

I’d spent a while browsing Pinterest on his phone, looking for the right technique for attaching the cones together to create a sculpture of sorts.

“You should always work at the edge of your ability. So that it’s not too easy or too hard. That’s the key to achieving the state of flow.”

“Maybe the edge of my ability is googling pinecone wreaths. Everything else we did before stressed me out.” I glanced at Celia, playing with a piece of wire. “It’s more fun to work together.”

He smiled. “Not quite so egocentric.”

Everyone else was working solo, many in secret. The only other people sharing the studio with us were Harry and Matthew, both painting on large canvases on the opposite sides of the room. No peeking was allowed, but Celia had checked out both works-in-progress and reported her findings to both us and them. “The other one has lots of color on it,” she piped up at Matthew, who sneered.

“One hour to go!” Harry called over to Matthew, waving a paintbrush. “I’m done, how about you?”

We worked together, Charlie asking Celia’s thoughts and opinions, letting her make the decisions, gently culling the unfeasible ideas, reminding her of limitations like gravity. Leonie did a walk-through, taking ‘behind the scenes’ pictures, but I barely heard her enthusiastic commentary, or noticed Miranda and her posse arriving. I was too engrossed in the act of creation.

Half an hour later, we’d fashioned a rather gravity-defying spiral of pinecones in pastel rainbow tones that kept falling over.

“We’ll have to attach it to something,” I said, peering at the high ceiling. “One of those beams, maybe? We need a ladder.”

“Look at you thinking big!” Charlie grinned at me, supporting the fragile structure with one hand. “Can you hold this? I’ll go find one.”

“Where?”

He shrugged, giving me that carefree smile that said he’d find a way. After a few minutes, when my arms were starting to ache, he returned with a paint-splattered step ladder and we managed to tie our creation to one of the beams using a bit of fishing line. I stared at it, astonished. Despite trying to manage Celia’s unrealistic ideas, we’d achieved exactly what she had described—a gravity-defying display of magic, like a pastel hurricane in the freeze frame. The pinecones were attached to each other with a strong, fine wire that allowed us to turn and shape their formation. Celia had arranged the colors from purple to warm pink, then to softer shades of mustard, oatmeal and mint.

“That color transition works,” Charlie concluded. “Good job, Miss C!”

He high-fived the girl and we stepped back to examine the installation from a distance. Matthew and Harry appeared, circling it, making appreciative comments. A few minutes later, the rest of the ladies arrived, setting up their finished sculptures and paintings around the studio.

Leonie clapped her hands at the front. “Welcome to our final Rubie Ridge Showcase! I’m so excited. Let’s pop the champagne. We also have some grape juice for those who are not drinking or”—she glanced at Celia—“who are a little too young.”

As the cork hit the ceiling and fizzing flutes were passed around the room, I stepped closer to Charlie, feeling inexplicably proud and happy. It was only a silly art show for a silly art class, but I felt elated. Energized.

“Is this what work feels like to you?” I whispered. “I mean?—”

“On a good day,” he answered, somehow understanding my vague question. “It feels like I’m channeling something, watching it all come together.” He pinned me with an intense look. “You’re part of it. You’re always there. You finesse and tweak and fix it. When you’re there, I know it’s good. I know we didn’t overlook something. You’re my secret weapon. But…”

“But what?”

He lowered his voice. “But you’re more than that. You’re a creative. And it should feel like this, for you.”

A few days ago, I would have dismissed his comment. I would have argued back, convincing myself and everyone around me that I was just a Production Assistant. A cog in the machine. But now I wasn’t so sure. Something in me wanted to fly a little higher. I wanted to feel like this again. I’d never be Charlie, but maybe I could find my own path. Maybe I could do it safely, on the side of my job. Take on a more creative challenge as a freelancer or something.

We raised glasses, listening to Leonie’s elaborate speech about creativity and imagination. I took a little sip, trying to swirl the bubbles in my mouth so it was safe to swallow. Nope. There was too much air that would get trapped in my stomach and cause pain. I tried to stop Celia, my fellow non-burper, from drinking her fizzy grape juice, but she kept dipping her tongue in it, too curious to stay away.

“I have three prizes,” Leonie announced, lifting three envelopes. “The first prize is a week’s paid art retreat, much like this one, here at Rubie Ridge. And then I have two-hundred-dollar vouchers, sponsored by the wonderful Rockies Art Connection, your art material supplier. Let’s vote!”

Butterflies erupted in my stomach as she handed out voting cards and pens and the participants started circling the room, scribbling down their top three choices.

“Let’s vote for us!” Celia bounced on her heels.

We couldn’t vote for ourselves, obviously, but managed to agree on our top three choices after careful deliberation. Harry’s landscape painting of vibrant red and yellow fall foliage was impressive, as was Miranda’s Pinterest-worthy color splash, but it was Matthew’s line drawing of falling leaves that took my breath away. Unbeknownst to us, he’d drawn Celia, dancing among the leaves. She looked so happy and carefree, arms outstretched and eyes sparkling. He obviously had incredible talent, unmatched by anyone in the room.

“It’s me! It’s me!” Celia could hardly get over her shock and excitement.

“You can have it,” Matthew whispered to the girl as we stepped closer. “Take it home with you.”

I shook my head in shock. “We couldn’t.”

“She means we’re delighted and honored and will cherish this gift,” Charlie countered, shaking Matthew’s hand. “Thank you.”

Matthew smiled back a little cautiously, his eyes flicking between the two of us, quite possibly wondering about our relationship dynamic. Welcome to the club, I thought, my cheeks warming.

We returned to our own artworks, sneaking chocolates from a tray on the middle table as Leonie counted the votes. After I banned Celia from approaching the chocolates for the third time, she sent Charlie in her place, securing two more treats.

“Matthew’s going to win,” I said as Leonie looked up from her papers, beaming.

“He is good,” Charlie agreed. “But we’re great. We have the best story. And the cutest kid.”

I frowned. “It shouldn’t be about that.”

“Awards are never about true skill or achievement. Especially if it’s an audience choice. That’s a popularity contest, and you’re on the winning team.”

I huffed at the thought. Bess the Buzzkill. I’d never been popular. Not at school, on social media or at work. Appreciated, maybe. Depended on. And I’d always thought that was enough.

Clutching a little card, Leonie stood up and I held my breath. “Okay. In the third place, with eleven points, we have Angie Hutton with her delightful clay birds.

I swiveled to locate Angie’s beaming face. Her birds were cute, but not nearly as cute as her smile and her blond ringlets. Maybe Charlie had a point. Angie was chatty and seemed to be friends with everyone. We clapped as Angie received her gift card.

“In the second place, with fifteen votes, is Matthew Kendrick with his drawing, titled ‘Falling Slowly’.”

Multiple emotions rushed through me. I loved the title as much as the subject. But second place? How could it not be the winner? I was still processing as Leonie waved the last envelope. “And the grand prize goes to… you guessed it, our little family of artists, Charlie, Bess and Celia Wilde, for the pinecone sculpture titled ‘Spinny Rainbow Hurricane Unicorn’.” She stifled a laugh, turning to Celia. “Are you, by any chance, responsible for this title?”

She nodded in earnest, and the entire room erupted in laughter and applause.

“Here you go, Miss Wilde.” Leonie handed Celia the envelope.

I opened my mouth to correct her on our last name, but Charlie pre-empted my urge, squeezing my hand. “Let it go.”

Celia didn’t seem to mind the last name. Granted, she couldn’t yet spell her actual one, either. I swallowed my corrections and smiled, listening to the cacophony of applause and congratulations. Tears rose to my eyes, despite everything. If this was a popularity contest, it was the first one I’d ever won. And it was all because of Charlie.

“What is it, Mommy? What did we win?” Celia tried to open the envelope, and I grabbed it from her.

“It’s a trip. For one person, I think.”

Leonie stepped closer, lowering her voice. “It says for one adult, and we don’t really host families or kids here, but your daughter is welcome to join you, free of charge. I’ll make a note of it.”

“We can come back here? Another time?” Celia’s eyes widened to saucers as she whipped her head from side to side, trying to stay on top of the conversation.

“Yes dear, we’d love to have you back.” Leonie smiled, then stepped back to the front of the class and raised her voice. “Thank you, everyone. This concludes our official program here at Rubie Ridge. Enjoy yourselves until tomorrow. Kick back and relax. Consider visiting the Cozy Creek Fall Festival. It’ll be on until nine o’clock tonight.”

“Bunnies and cotton candy,” Charlie whispered to Celia, elevating her excitement to floating-off-the-ground levels.

Again, my throat clogged up, tears burning somewhere behind my eyes. I’d prided myself on being independent, keeping my heart and my daughter safe. But in one week, Charlie had pulled the foundation from under me. I was falling. Slowly at first, but now I was gathering speed, hurling down faster and faster. How much would it hurt when I hit the ground?