As much as Alice tried, she couldn’t imagine the often-taciturn Harry wearing his heart on his sleeve, but she understood his sentiment about art. “Not that I’ve sold a heap of paintings, but the few I’ve parted with have left me equally exhilarated and bereft.”
“Talking of your work, I got your Clarendon homestead pen and wash framed. It’s come up really well. I’ve hung it in the office.”
Alice got a little shiver of delight that her painting had found a home. “Is it working hard?”
“It reminds me what will happen if I don’t keep on top of the house maintenance and the gardening.”
Her shiver flatlined. So much for her work having meaning. “That’s something I suppose,” she said morosely.
“Better than nothing.” His teasing faded and his face settled into worn lines. “When H died, our home collapsed around us. Grief grew as rampantly as the garden you’ve painted invading the homestead. For a while, it was tempting to stay lost in the vines and weeds.”
“And now?”
“We’ve pretty much got the grief garden under control. Finally having the kids settled helps. We still need to get the Roundup out occasionally for the weeds, but not as often.” His voice deepened. “Every day your sketch shows me how far we’ve come.”
A bucket of emotions tipped over inside Alice. She wasn’t sure if it was sympathy for Harry that led the spill or gratitude for him giving thoughts and feelings to her work. “I’m really glad it’s helping.”
“Yeah.” Harry cleared his throat. “You told me at Relay for Life that you hadn’t drawn for a while. “You’re too talented not to use that gift.”
She thought about talent and her mother’s push for her to return to the type of work she’d done for the Cahills. “Should we always do what we’re good at, even if it doesn’t fulfill us?”
“You don’t enjoy sketching?”
“No, I do.”
“I don’t understand …”
“Me neither. I’ve spent the last few years doing something people thought I should do. Something I’m talented at and generated some kudos in the industry, as well as paying the bills. Something my mother is very vocal about me returning to.”
“Something that stopped you drawing?”
“Something or someone. A bit of both I think.”
“Ah.” He nodded slowly, as if joining the dots. “The three-year relationship.”
Alice stared at him—part stunned, part horrified. “God, why haven’t I made that connection before? I always said I was too busy with work and Lawrence to draw, but really, I stopped because it became too hard.”
Harry’s mouth tightened. “He didn’t like you drawing?”
“I think it was more he didn’t like who I become when I draw. I tend to disappear into my own world where time doesn’t exist. Lawrence preferred me present in real time. I have a horrible feeling I let drawing slip away for an easier life.”
“I hope you start again.”
She smiled at him. “Already happening and it’s all down to you. Working with Holly’s helped me rediscover the joy, so thank you.”
“Does that mean you’ve forgiven me for the unfair way I asked you to tutor her?”
She paused, needing a moment to work out what he was talking about. “Oh, that? I’ve got many faults but holding a grudge isn’t one of them.”
“Phew! That’s good to know.”
“All this time you thought I was still pissed off?”
He shrugged. “I was just checking. You’re very good at letting me know when you’re not happy.”
“Am I?” Astonishment sat her back in the chair. “Generally, I suck at it. I wish I’d been better at it with Lawrence.”
“If it helps, I think it’s safe to say you’ve improved. A lot.”
Embarrassment heated her face. “Sorry. Recently, D—a friend’s been telling me to demand my rights. I didn’t realize I was practicing on you.”
“Happy to help. I think.”
She smiled at his dry humor, but at the same time wondered what it was about Harry that made her stand up for herself. He was a grieving widower so surely that meant she should be kinder to him, not confrontational. Was she more direct with him because he had an uncanny knack of noticing things about her she thought she’d hidden? That him giving voice to them made her acutely uncomfortable? Or was it the fact there was no chemistry between them so she didn’t censor herself for fear he’d walk away?
Her stomach dropped. Oh God. Was she one of those women who never asked for anything for fear of being abandoned? And yet she’d been abandoned anyway …
“Alice?” Harry’s voice sounded a long way away. “You okay?”
She nodded and bit into the brownie, desperate for the feel-good qualities of chocolate. It was a relief when Hunter and Holly tumbled through the door, chattering with the excitement of having ridden home alone.
The hotel events room with its white cloth–covered tables, fresh flowers and luxury afternoon tea stand looked like many of the medical conferences Libby had attended over the years. The irony wasn’t lost on her, given this weekend’s live-in workshop was called Heal Your Marriage.
“Nervous?” Nick’s hand shook slightly as he relieved her of an empty cup and saucer.
“Yep. You?”
“Same.”
“We shouldn’t be. It’s not like we haven’t sat down with a counselor before.”
But they both knew far more was at stake this time.
It was day two of the weekend workshop and just like the day before, they’d spent the morning with the group, learning and practicing communication skills. They felt clunky and odd to Libby and when she and Nick had tried using them in a conversation, they’d both dissolved into laughter. Although laughing wasn’t the aim, it had been the closest thing to normal she’d experienced with her husband in months. When they’d apologized to their mentor couple for cracking up, Liz and Jason had been sanguine, reassuring them that with practice, the
