Artists all had a certain look, Jenna had always thought. It didn’t matter if they were painters, photographers, writers, whatever. It was something “other”—a little different, a little off-kilter, often out of step with the world around them. She’d had that look at one time, but she figured it’d been swallowed up by life and spit out in some vague, bland form.
She’d just settled on a metal glider when Casey walked to the center of the porch and cleared her throat, halting the hushed talk.
“I hate to break up the camaraderie, but I wanted to go over a few things before everyone goes their separate ways. I’m Casey Malone, one of the mentors here this summer. My drug of choice—that is, my art of choice—is the physical arts: yoga, Pilates, Barre.” She put one hand up around her mouth. “And for my own personal plug—I do yoga three times a day—a five-thirty sunrise session, eleven o’clock before lunch, and a six o’clock evening session. Anyone is welcome to join me, but I won’t be offended if no one does. End of plug.” Everyone laughed and she took a small bow.
“Now, your other mentors are Lane Michaels, oil and acrylic painting. Denise Trimm, creative writing. Yannick Bello, charcoal and pencil drawing.” As she said each name, the mentors raised their hands and smiled. “And our last mentor is Gregory Galloway.” She looked around, eyebrows raised. “It seems our resident photographer is missing. Big surprise.” Nervous laughter rose in the room. “If he shows up, I’ll just let him introduce himself.” Casey was smiling, but the undercurrent of annoyance wasn’t buried deep.
“You may have already figured this out as you’ve been chatting, but all of you are here for varying lengths of time, something that sets this retreat apart from others like it. Halcyon exists for eight weeks every summer. Some of you are here for just a couple of weeks and a few of you are staying the entire two months as a sabbatical. Regardless of the length of your own personal retreat, I know I speak for all the mentors when I say we’re excited to have you here.
“Unlike most of your real lives, there’s not much of a schedule at Halcyon. You’re free to do your thing however and whenever you want. The preserve is magnificent and you may find all the inspiration you need right here. However, we’re only a few miles from the coast, so if you need more, don’t be afraid to venture out.
“We do encourage you to come here to the porch every evening at seven. It’s where we discuss our work, what we did or didn’t accomplish during the day, or any problems we’re having. It’s a workshop atmosphere where everyone is respectful and encouraging. We’re here to support and offer constructive feedback, and most people find this is the most helpful part of the retreat.”
Then she asked everyone to tell their names and what they hoped to get out of the week. Jenna always hated icebreakers like this. They reminded her of the week in college when she lost her mind and thought she might actually want to join a sorority. Five grueling days of prim parties, saccharine conversation, and ridiculous icebreakers where one by one, girls explained through tears how their future happiness depended on having a certain arrangement of Greek letters tied to their name. All except for Jenna, of course. After the second day, she called her mom and told her she’d have to accept having just one daughter follow her footsteps into sorority life. And it wasn’t going to be her.
There were no tears in this group, but even still, everyone had a good answer. Most of them had a specific goal for their time at Halcyon—work on a novel, learn how to use a new medium, finish an MFA thesis. As each of the other artists spoke, Jenna thought about Addie and Walsh and what they thought of her. What they’d think of her when they were teenagers, then grown women. How she’d measure up. She thought of how sometimes she wished she’d made different decisions, decisions that had taken her to other places, other lives.
“Jenna?” Casey prompted.
Jenna looked up. It was her turn. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but then she noticed a man standing at the top of the stairs, just on the other side of the screened door. He hadn’t been there a moment ago, and judging by the rest of the faces turned in her direction, she was the only one who saw him.
“Anything?” Casey asked.
“Yeah, I, uh . . .” She glanced back at the door where he still stood. His gaze sliced through her protective layers like a scalpel and made her forget everything. “I’m not sure why I’m here,” she finally said.
While a few people in the room smiled, some looked at her with scrunched eyebrows, concern crossing their faces.
“We appreciate the honesty,” Casey said. “And I have to say, figuring out why you’re at Halcyon might be the whole point to your time here.” She turned to the rest of the group. “I want each of you to remember, not everyone gets a chance like this. You’re the lucky ones, so soak up all you can. The time goes fast.”
As she spoke, the man pulled open the screened door and climbed the last step onto the porch. Wearing black jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black leather jacket despite the heat, he looked as out of place as Jenna felt. At the top of the steps, he crossed his arms and leaned against the porch railing.
“Gregory Galloway, everyone,” Casey said.
He nodded, arms still crossed. The dull roar outside from cicadas and tree frogs seemed even louder for how quiet the porch was. A single sheet of paper blew off a table and coasted to the floor. No one moved to pick it up.
“So
