December 27

RAMONA IN CHICAGO...

R AMONA’S RETURN TO HER CONDO, FOR SOMEPLACE SO FAMILIAR, felt strange to say the least. Barely a day back, and the place was eerily quiet despite the sounds of the city below. What was missing was not just the sound of the ocean that she’d grown accustomed to as a background noise, but the presence of Wookiee, who was thankfully being imminently returned by Carlos.

Ramona knew by instinct at the sound of the door opening that Carlos had arrived, and before the door had even opened a sliver, a blur of fluff shot through the narrow wedge and raced toward Ramona on the sofa, catapulting himself onto her lap in a flurry of licks and panting.

“I missed you too, Wookiee!” Ramona could barely keep up with the frenetic excitement of her dog, who jumped from the sofa cushion to her lap, down to the floor to race around the kitchen looking for his usual things in their usual places.

“And what about me?” Carlos stood with his big smile in the entryway, with long arms full of dog bed, and bags, and necessities. He kicked his foot backward to shut the door and moved toward the kitchen to set everything down near the island.

“I missed you too, Carlos!” Ramona’s smile spread across her face, and she stood to walk over to Carlos, navigating the path through the zigzagging of a still overexcited Wookiee. When she reached him, as the two of them hugged, she wondered briefly what all had happened in her home in her absence, and whether she really wanted to know.

Finally, she pulled back, processing all that was still unsaid. Ramona couldn’t help but acknowledge a surge of appreciation for Carlos, new respect for a not-so-little brother. He’d stepped in capably, covered for her, and even when difficult, protected her still.

“Chelsea... what was she like?” Ramona asked, after a beat.

“I don’t get to ask you first who’s Jay?” Carlos volleyed back.

Ramona smiled.

“Jay wasn’t staying at my house... or a guest at Ma’s party, Carlos...” Ramona poked him in the shoulder playfully, but firmly enough to get his attention.

“Chelsea Flint... you should look her up, Moe. She’s a really dope artist.” Ramona raised an eyebrow. As Carlos met her eyes, a flush came to his face. He was blushing. Ramona found it curious. Carlos usually wasn’t prone to self-consciousness.

“Did you—” Ramona cut herself off even though curiosity burned within her.

“Did you?” Carlos tilted his head toward her as if he expected an answer.

Ramona felt her face light up with heat as a flood of images from her time with Jay rushed to mind all at once. She hoped the answer wasn’t as obvious as it seemed. Suddenly, that big smile erupted again on Carlos’s face.

“I hope so,” he said. With that, some of the tension released from Ramona’s body.

“What else about her, then?”

“She said she paints best what she’s most afraid to lose.”

“Did she paint you?” It was an obvious question to Ramona. But standing there with Carlos in the kitchen, him with his coat still on even, she didn’t expect to see him so moved. The answer to her question was reflected in his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, tapping and scrolling until he turned the screen to her.

“See for yourself.” He held the screen closer to her so that she could see it. Ramona’s breath caught in her chest. The image of Carlos on the screen was as if he were captured inside there, so viscerally and raw that she almost forgot the real version of him was standing right next to her. The richness of the colors of him, the contours, the depth reflected in his eyes, it was almost as if she were having a conversation with someone about Carlos who knew him as well as she did, who saw him how she saw him and, even more, as the man he’d become—and who loved him. Ramona was transfixed and could barely pull her eyes away.

“She... painted this ?”

“Yeah, while she was here.”

“Where is it?” Ramona looked around the apartment.

“She gave it to me.”

“She gave you that ?”

Carlos nodded and Ramona released a soft “wow” under her breath.

CHELSEA IN MALIBU...

C HELSEA STARED DOWN AT HER HANDS, HOLDING THE SQUARE orange box with the horse atop, found outside on her deck in plain view. Once discovered, she’d brought it inside and proceeded to drop it on the counter of her compact kitchen island. The cardboard had become slightly warped from the moisture in the sea air, but thankfully the contents, as she inspected them now, were untouched. And the note, the note placed inside was important, because without it, this box would be a complete mystery to Chelsea. But instead, the note was its own sort of time capsule, containing a message from Joan to Ramona and identifying the intended recipient of the gift.

Chelsea felt a little like a voyeur, inspecting its contents, or paying attention more than the bare minimum to the note’s scribbled handwriting, signed by Joan. So, she quickly packed it all away and left it to sit again in its place on the counter until she could return it. And quite frankly, she had other things to do rather than to obsess about a box, or Joan, for that matter. She had images in her mind, swimming and swirling, overflowing from here to there taking up all of the space. She’d been cracked open, and her imagination was overflowing like a boiling pot. Today she’d work on the image in the pizzeria. Tomorrow, perhaps the room of candlelight and perhaps the next day, the frozen lake. Her canvas was already prepped and ready even before the day’s overcast managed to burn away. She mixed her colors, trying Carlos’s new blue in as many ways as she could imagine—mixed in grays and browns, and purples, even some of her versions of white. And maybe it was just the fact that she was still activated by him, still looking for him in everything, everywhere, that she did see the colors become brighter. She did see that perhaps she’d create gold again, that something would or could sell. But more than creating something she loved—she was using the language that artists used. This was in her heart.

Chelsea was so deeply involved in this that she barely noticed the music that started outside, not until it became distracting. She was so impatient to finish today’s work that she decided to ask Jay if he could possibly turn the sound down a bit, so that she could concentrate. And by concentrate, she really meant reliving the experiences that inspired her.

Chelsea slid open the door and walked out to her deck and descended her stairs leading down to the beach. “Hey! Would ya mind?” she shouted over the noise. When Jay looked up, Chelsea gestured to the speaker. His class participants milled about in their expensive gear, all tight and tailored spandex, tank tops, and belly buttons. Some arranged their yoga mats in carefully spaced rows on the sand. Others practiced poses that looked more like performance art than a stretching activity. When his attention turned to Chelsea, Jay looked as if he remembered something, and turned to make an adjustment on his phone. Immediately the noise level of the music lowered, leaving the dominance of the wind and waves.

“Ah, I forgot! I’d gotten used to—”

Chelsea finished for him. “Ramona?”

Jay lifted his hand to his eyes. The wind whipped the longer parts of his hair around. “Yeah... she was... hmm, she’s missed .”

Chelsea, thinking of Carlos, understood Jay’s response. What it meant. He’d spent time with her, gotten to know her. And now, she’s gone, and also missed . That spoke volumes. Chelsea missed Carlos. And Jay, evidently, missed Ramona. She wondered what a person like Jay did with those kinds of feelings, like Chelsea painted hers.

“I’m glad she stayed...” Jay said, and smiled, but his eyes did not look at Chelsea this time. She could see he was looking elsewhere, in his mind, remembering like she was.

“You going to see her again?”

Jay opened his mouth to speak, but was tapped by one of his class attendees, whose hair bounced to the right and left in a ponytail as she bounded up to him. Chelsea couldn’t hear their conversation, but noted when Jay gave her a pointed wave and turned around. What does he do with feelings like that? Chelsea wondered again. Feelings that swell up inside that make you want to fight to hold on past the changing of circumstances? Chelsea wondered what Jay would have answered, what she would have answered, and what fate would answer for them both.