She tried to send a text back—Thanks for checking in. Not having too much fun yet, but better than making drinks for Mrs. Rich.—but service had dropped back to zilch. It was probably part of the master plan of Halcyon: get a bunch of artists out in the middle of nowhere, cut off their lines to the outside world, and see what happened. So far for Jenna, what had happened was a whole lot of nothing.
Occasionally, she held her camera out and scrolled through the images. Halcyon provided a large-format Epson printer, and she had the option to print any images she wanted and discuss them with the group during the evening workshop. So far she’d avoided that, not ready for complete strangers to talk about her work like they could better explain what she was trying to say with it. And what was it with everyone here going on and on about what they were trying to say with their work?
Why do I care? She knelt to the ground, one knee pressing into wet dirt and soaking her jeans. It’s their art. Who am I to do anything but appreciate it? At least they were making progress. She, on the other hand, was at least half a mile away from the retreat center, alone except for two hawks circling above and huge fox squirrels rustling in the trees. The beauty around her was so new, so savage and raw, but she couldn’t capture it in a way that felt real. She was spinning her wheels, missing her girls, and waiting for inspiration to strike. And sweating.
Enough. She zipped her camera into its bag and headed back for dinner.
The dining hall was abuzz with chatter when she entered. Artists and mentors mixed together at tables in the long room and the screened porch at the front. By now she was used to not having her own mentor at her elbow like the others. It was fine. Everyone already had food on trays, so Jenna hurried to the buffet tables at the back and picked up a tray, filling a plate with grilled shrimp, wild rice, roasted asparagus, and salad. At the end of the line was a platter of brownies. It wasn’t chocolate bread pudding, but it would work.
Standing alone with a tray of food and a glass of iced tea in her hand, she felt like she was in high school all over again. All the cool kids were already seated at tables, talking, smiles on their faces. She found an empty spot at the end of a table and set down her tray. Before she could even sit, Casey appeared before her. Clad in different but equally as strappy and trendy yoga gear, she sat on the bench across from Jenna. “How are things going for you?”
“Good, they’re good.” Jenna arranged her food and drink and sat. “I mean, I’m still trying to find my footing, I guess.” She took a sip of tea.
Casey nodded. “I totally get it. It can take a little while to get used to the quiet and lack of distractions. We’re so wired for noise and activity that when life does slow down, we can feel a bit . . . disoriented. Does that sound about right?”
Jenna had paused with her glass in her hand. “Sure. Yeah. That’s it.”
“Mm-hmm,” Casey murmured, her chin in her hand, then sat up a little straighter. “I’ve noticed you haven’t said much in the workshops at night. We’d love to hear how you’re feeling, what you’ve learned so far. You may think it’s nothing, but even small steps are forward progress, you know?” She squinted and nodded, a perfect combination of pretension and encouragement on her face. Jenna wondered if she practiced that look in the mirror.
Just over Casey’s right shoulder, Jenna saw Gregory at a table with Yannick, the mentor she had seen hunched over a large sketch pad and a box of charcoals in various parts of the preserve. They were deep in conversation, but as Jenna watched, Gregory glanced her way. He paused for a brief moment, then turned his attention back to Yannick.
“Right, I know.” Jenna fiddled with her napkin. “I may. It’s just . . . Sometimes things make more sense in my head without me trying to mess it all up with words. Does that make sense?”
“Sure, absolutely. Just remember, we’re all in the same boat here. We’re all trying to connect to the passion, to that internal drive.” She stood and adjusted her slim black tank. “I look forward to hearing your insights whenever you’re ready.”
Then she glided away, her footsteps quiet and graceful. Jenna had met people like Casey before, back in Wyoming when she taught yoga at the colony, commune, whatever Betsy had called it. It was a place for creative, enlightened people to feel at home. They preached all the same things—connect to your passion, find your inner light, blah blah blah. While she’d loved being there—far from her family’s disapproval and lack of understanding—she always felt like she was standing on the rim of something deep, peering over the edge but unable to jump in like everyone else. Even as she taught yoga and heard herself say the words that went along with it, she felt removed, set apart from the hive-mind. She only jumped in deep when she was alone with her camera.
After dinner, everyone gathered on the porch with their work of the day. Canvases, notebooks, sketch books, and laptops filled the space not occupied by artists and their mugs of tea or glasses of wine. She found a seat close to the door, comforted by the nearby escape route. As everyone pulled out their work, Jenna stared down at her camera. She wanted to be assured by its presence, this little black box that served as her ticket to spend a couple weeks away with these people, these true artists, when she felt like
