“I need to get back too.” She gathered her photos. “It’s been a long day. And I need to call my sister and let her and my girls know I’ll be heading back soon.”
“So they’re staying with your sister?” He flipped the lights off and held the door open for her. Outside, the steamy air was quieter than before, as if the humidity were cotton in her ears.
She nodded. “She and her husband live on a farm in Alabama. Lots of room for kids.”
“Bet they’re having a blast.”
“Oh yes. Betsy sent me a photo today of the girls sitting on top of a cow out in the middle of a field. They had such big smiles.” She couldn’t admit it, but seeing Addie’s and Walsh’s carefree, easy smiles had been hard. Did they miss her at all?
Their feet made soft sounds on the leaves covering the path through the trees. Their only light was the moon, full, round, and unobstructed by clouds.
“It’s good they’re with family. Sounds like you don’t have to worry about them.”
“I’m not really worried.” She gave a small laugh. “Betsy’s good at everything. She probably figured out the whole mom thing in about five minutes. Five years in and I’m still trying to get it.”
He glanced at her. “Seems like it’d take a while to get the hang of parenting. It’s probably not something that comes naturally—giving up your wants and needs for someone else.”
They came to the bridge over the bayou, the water hazy with moonlight.
“You know you can stay longer if you want.”
She thought she’d heard him wrong. “Excuse me?”
“You can stretch out your retreat. Stay.”
She stopped where she was on the bridge. “What are you talking about?” When he realized she’d stopped, he backtracked. “What about those hundreds of people who apply for each session?”
He shrugged. “If you want to stay, we try to make it work. As long as there’s space, of course, and in this case, we just found out a writer had to back out of his session. He was planning to stay to the end of the eight weeks, so that spot is wide open. If no one here takes it, Casey will call the first person on the waiting list sometime tomorrow.”
“You’d have to know tonight?”
He nodded and looked at his watch again. “We’re talking about it at the meeting.”
“I can’t stay. They’re waiting for me.”
“Okay.” He said it so simply, so without care, it aggravated her.
She exhaled and pushed her hands through her hair. “Why are you just telling me about this now?”
“I didn’t find out about the spot until late this afternoon. I figured I’d see what frame of mind you were in before I told you. That’s the thing—it’s not a blanket offer to the whole group. A mentor has to make the case for one of the current artists. Why he or she should be asked to stay, how it will benefit them, how they’ve grown, how much further they have to go.”
“And you think I’m a good fit?”
“Wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t. I convinced the others to hold off on offering the spot to anyone until I talked to you.”
He turned his face toward the creek as if to give her a moment of privacy while she deliberated. She studied his profile in the moonlight, her mind swimming.
Could she? Was it possible? She’d just found her footing here, and leaving before she really even got started would be disappointing.
He turned back to her. “Keep in mind that if you stay, I’d expect you to work hard. I’ll help you put together a solid portfolio. You already have a decent head start, but we need to flesh it out. Show what you can do. And I may have some contacts I can share with you. Help you get your foot in the door at a few places.”
She clasped her hands together across her middle to keep them from shaking. “Why are you doing this for me? There must be other artists here who’d jump at the chance to extend their stay. Why me?”
He held up his hands, then let them drop. “Maybe it’s because I see a little bit of myself in you. Whether that’s a good thing or not is anyone’s guess.” He took a breath and leaned against the rail of the bridge. “Max couldn’t have known it, but he did me a favor when he asked me to keep an eye on you. The way you see things—your perspective—it challenges me to be better. To work harder. Maybe we can help each other.” He looked at her. “I think you’re a worthy artist. I think you need more time here. I want to give you that chance.”
Finally, he pushed off the railing. “Come on. I’ll tell them you need the night to decide. Just let me know in the morning.”
twenty
Betsy
Betsy stood over the kitchen sink Magic Erasing mud off the girls’ shoes so they could wear them to church. Whenever Jenna arrived, Betsy was sure it would at least be after the eleven o’clock service let out.
Jenna hadn’t given her a firm time, but Sunday was the day she was supposed to return, the day that had glowed red in Betsy’s mind for two weeks, since the minute she’d opened the gates she’d thought were shut tight. Having the girls in the house had required a delicate dance of exposure and protection. Life spilled on the rugs and countertops, laughter echoing off the walls, small dirty footprints on her kitchen floor. Some of it had felt natural, like slipping into a perfectly shaped second skin. But other parts had been almost unbearable, and she fought the urge to pull her gates closed again, lock them, and hide the key.
While Betsy scrubbed, Addie and Walsh zoomed around the house like they had wheels for feet.
