“I’m proud of you.” Mom motions to a rock wall, and the two of us sit. Me two feet away from her. “I heard of everything you’ve done this summer and how you’re now studying under Hunter Gray. I can’t express the pride I have inside.”
I nod as she talks, but then I shake my head. “You shouldn’t have done it. Made the phone calls asking people to buy my work.”
Mom’s eyes widen. “Who told you?”
The Wicked Witch of the West. “It doesn’t matter. I wish you would have let me do this on my own.”
“Echo...” Mom clutches her handbag. “I don’t know how to make things better between us.”
A heaviness overtakes my lungs. “You can say you’re sorry.”
“But it’s not my fault—”
I throw up my hand, and she stops.
“Having bipolar disorder—no, that isn’t your fault, and you should never apologize for that. What happened that night between us—the night that left me scarred—I know you were hurting. I came over to visit you because I was hurting, too. We both lost Aires.”
Mom pales at the sound of his name, but I continue, “You made a mistake. You came off your meds. You were hurting, and I was hurting, and we both ended up in more pain. And here’s the truth...I used to think that all the hurt I had inside me was about that night, but it’s not... Forget that night. Let’s look at you, Mom. Just you. There were periods in my life that you were given a choice between me and something else, and the something else always won.”
“You don’t understand,” she interjects, not denying my words. “Those opportunities were life-altering with my art—”
“I’m not allowing you to sweep our past under the rug or dismiss me. It happened. I’m glad that you’re doing well, and I’m glad that your career has taken off, but I can’t be your daughter until you look me in the eye as my mother and tell me that you’re sorry. Mom—I deserved to be number one at some point in your life, at least once. Not second or third behind your art and your career.”
I suck in a breath and say what has to be said, even if it could be a stake to her heart. “And even if you do say you’re sorry, you have to be okay with whatever type of relationship we can figure out because this—” I gesture to us “—will probably always be complicated because you hurt me. Not just that night—not just physically—”
It’s so hard to say the words when they’re like leftover shards of glass in my bloodstream that were so small the hospital had to leave them in. “All those years...all the times you chose something else... You broke my heart.”
Mom presses a hand over her face, and a strangled sound escapes from her. I close my eyes, willing away my own tears.
“I’m sorry, Echo,” she says in a cracked voice. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”
Her words unravel whatever facade I’d been trying to maintain. Mom mumbles it again and because of her pain, my pain, I reach over and take the hand on her lap. She squeezes my fingers. I squeeze her hand back.
We sit like that—Mom holding my hand, me holding her hand back—for longer than I would have liked while still not long enough. There are so many good memories I have of my mother...so many more than the bad. But the bad are beyond bad. They were—what were Mom’s words?—life-altering.
Mom glances down at my scars, and I wonder what she sees. Our past? My future? Her mistakes?
“Do they still hurt?” she whispers. “Your arms? I’ve always wondered if the glass did something to the nerves that has kept you in pain.”
There’s still pain, just not the kind she’s referring to, but it somehow helps to know that she’s thought of me while we’ve been apart. “No, there’s no pain.”
What’s going on between us is a quiet acceptance of how life will always be—a give and a take. A phone call here and there. Visits over coffee as I grow stronger. It’ll be slow, it’ll be hard, and who knows if it will ever work. But as I look down at my scars I see the pattern I never saw before, and as I glance over at Noah, I see a love I never thought I could experience.
I’m the girl who jumps off cliffs into water. I’m the girl who is going to live not for her talent, but for the people in her life.
I turn to my mother and utter the only words that I can truthfully say. “I know that you never meant to hurt me.”
“I didn’t,” she whispers. “If I could undo it all, I would.”
“I know,” I whisper back.
The door to the patio opens again, and my mother moves so no one can spot the tear tracks on her cheeks.
“Echo?” asks Hunter as he stumbles into the middle of a family minefield.
I walk over to Hunter to give my mother the moment she needs. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” he says in a way that indicates he’s aware that everything out here is not okay. Then Hunter notices my mother. “Oh.”
Oh.
“You must be Hunter Gray.” Mom extends her hand to him as she joins us. All smiles and good cheer. Only a smidge of mascara near the corner of her eye indicates we were melting down over our past family drama.
“I am.” Hunter graciously accepts her hand. “You have no idea how honored I am to meet you, Ms. Emerson. I’m a huge fan of your work.”
“Cassie,” she says. “Call me Cassie.”
A wave of disorientation hits me. Mom’s been divorced from Dad since I was in elementary school. That’s been years and years and... “Hunter, can you give me a few more minutes with my mother?”
He surveys us both then makes direct eye contact with Noah. When Noah nods, it’s like the two of them have reached some sort of weird male agreement.
“Find me when you’re done, Echo,” says Hunter. “There are people who would like to meet you.”
Hunter leaves us, and before Mom can say anything, I drop the question. “Why didn’t you change your last name?”
“Because,” Mom starts then stops.
“Because why?”
“Because...” Mom studies Noah, then the ground. “Because...”
The silence becomes strained until finally Mom stares straight into my eyes. “Don’t ever do what I did. Don’t take for granted what you have because it can slip away. I thought this—” she flutters her hand at the gallery “—was important. This is what I defined myself by. I loved your father, but if you want me to be honest with you, I didn’t love him enough, and he knew it. That’s why he fell for Ashley.”
Her face falls, and it’s painfully clear that she’s forcing the smile. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I should visit the powder room, and I believe you have people to meet. Maybe we’ll meet up again before the showing ends?”
I nod slightly, and Mom pivots on her feet and heads for the door.
“Mom,” I call out the moment her hand is on the door handle.
She peers at me from over her shoulder.
“Thank you for answering my question...for being honest. Can I ask a random question now?”
“I’d prefer random.”
“If you had a friend who was going to lose a great opportunity because of you, what would you do? Would you take it yourself, or step back to let them have it?”
Mom steps toward me. “Echo, no. Whatever it is that you’re thinking, don’t. This spot with Hunter will change your life and your career. Friendships come and go. It’s the way of the business. Shots like this come along once in a lifetime.”
And I have my answer. “Okay. I hear you.”
Mom blows out a long stream of air then releases a forced smile. “Just so you know, in case you contact me again, I prefer conversations other than most of the ones we’ve had this evening. I don’t like talking about what hurts.”
Like she did when I was younger, she tucks a stray curl behind my ear and lightly pats my face. For a second
, I feel like I’m five as she gives me a genuine smile. “Enjoy tonight, Echo. You deserve it.”
As quickly as she swept into my life, she sweeps out. Mrs. Collins is right...locking up the pain has to be the worst way to live.
I blink, and it’s like the evening drops twenty degrees. Goose bumps form on my arms, and I run my hands over them. Mom said she did it wrong. Mom told me not to repeat her mistakes, but then she told me not to abandon the spot. A flood of nausea rolls through me. What am I doing?
With his eyes narrowed on me, Noah pushes off the wall. “Are you okay?”
“I need to talk to Hunter.”
* * *
A thousand handshakes later, one continual plastered-on smile, and a couple of not so forced laughs thanks to Noah, and I survived the evening...with a sold painting. A painting that’s still a work in progress.
Even though I’m dead on my feet, feeling as wound as a spring, and as strong as a jellyfish, I’m giddy. Very, very giddy.
I bounce on my toes, and Noah laughs one more time at me as I say goodbye to the painting of Aires. Its new home, once I’m done, will be in a gallery in New York City.
“Tell me we’ll go visit it,” I say again.
“We’ll go visit it,” Noah appeases me.
Hunter shakes the hands of a lingering couple, tells them goodbye then walks in our direction.
“Do you mind giving us a second?” I ask Noah. His response is a quick peck on my lips, and I watch as he exits to the patio.
I won’t make my mother’s decisions. I’m someone else. I’m who I want to be. And as I admire the painting again, I realize I’m eighteen, and Meredith is twenty-one, and I have a family, and she doesn’t.
“What did you think of the showing?” asks Hunter.
“It was great.” It was. “Is it always like this?”
“Yes. No. You’ve been to smaller shows, but the game is the same when your work is on the line. It’ll get easier with time, but you have to remember that it’s a business, and the smart people know how to play the game. That’s why I like the idea of you taking business courses.”
It’s the reason I like the idea of enrolling in business courses, too.
“I didn’t have time to contact the University of Louisville, but I’m still hoping to see if they’ll allow you to take your business courses online while you study under me for the year.”
My eyebrows lift as I brighten. Here’s something I hadn’t thought of. “You’re not against the idea of long-distance education?”
“No.” His eyebrows pull closer together as he assesses me. “Why would I be? With technology as it is, I don’t see the need for person to person. You can get the same effect online, through Skype, through the phone. There are a million different ways to connect now.”
“So...” Come on, Echo, you can do this. You are a risk-taker. “If, for instance, I wanted to go to college in Louisville, and I wanted to study underneath you for the year, I could do it?”
His eyes narrow in suspicion. “It’s not the same.”
“But it is,” I push. “I can send you photos of my works in progress, and we can use all that technology you listed. I mean, I won’t be working at your coffee shop, but I don’t see how I’m missing out there.”
“Did you knock my coffee shop?”
Maybe. “You like girls with fire, remember?”
Hunter goes silent, and I don’t like it. “I heard I’m taking Meredith’s spot.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“No,” I rush out. “I overheard it. Hunter, why are you pushing Meredith off a year? Why not just ask me for next year?”
He leans into me. “Because if I don’t snatch you up now, someone else will.”
Um... “What?”
“I want to be the one that discovered you.”
Okay... “You did.”
“But if I pushed you off a year, then someone else will figure out your talent, and then you’ll study under them. At that point, I’ve lost the prize.”
I’m a prize? Doesn’t matter. “I don’t feel right taking her spot.”
“Why not?” Hunter has that same annoyed set of his jaw that my father does when he’s ticked at me, but I’m not shrinking.
“Because she’s my friend. Because if you’re willing to work it out for me to take online business courses for a year, there’s no reason we can’t set up the same in reverse. Because while Meredith needs this now, I’m okay delaying this for a year. I’m not saying no to working with you. I’m saying that I’m not okay hurting people in the process.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “And if I tell you that this is your lone opportunity?”
My throat tightens, and I have to swallow to breathe. He’s offering everything I’ve ever desired. All of my dreams, all of my hopes are in his hands, but how can I live with myself if I hurt people—if I break hearts just like my mother shattered mine? “Then I’ll tell you I’m still not okay with hurting people in the process.”
Hunter tugs on his ear like he can’t trust what he’s hearing, then pivots away from me and starts down the hall. My stomach sinks, and I look to my feet, expecting to find it on the floor. The urge is to charge him and tell him I made a mistake. To tell him that I didn’t mean it. That my morals and values and everything that makes me, me, aren’t worth it. That my dreams are more important, but I don’t.
I stay solid in my spot, completely crushed, because I could never live with myself if I sold my soul.
“One year,” Hunter calls out.
My heart stutters. “What?”
He slowly strides back to me. “I’m only going to do this long-distance thing for one year, and that’s because I want you to focus on the business courses. I don’t care what your schedule looks like now. You wipe it clean, and you fill it with business courses. In fact, send the catalog to me, and I’m picking the courses for you. After that, you’re mine for the year. Do you understand?”
Do I understand? I smack my hand over my lips to stop the squeal and when I remove it, my mouth pops open with no sound.
“Breathe, Echo,” says Hunter. “I’m not going to have your boyfriend angry at me because you faint.”
The first sound that falls out of my mouth might be a “thank you” and by the expression on Hunter’s face, he’s not sure, either.
“So Meredith’s back in?”
“Yes,” he answers.
“Starting this year?”
“Yes,” he repeats.
I hug him. Not long. Very quick. And when he touches me, I jump back. “Thank you! Will you tell her? Tonight?”
Hunter pulls out his phone and begins scrolling. “Yes, but you and I are working out the details of this arrangement tomorrow.”
“No problem!” I say goodbye then race down the hall, running faster than I have in my entire life. Even faster than when I broke into school to save Noah from being arrested. I burst through the door of the patio, and Noah turns away from studying the night sky to focus on me.
“Meredith’s in the program, and I’m in the program and oh, my freaking gosh...” It hits me like a tidal wave, and my heart stalls. “I’m going home with you.”
Echo
Noah waits outside the car in the gallery’s parking lot as he gives me space to talk to my father, and I’m holding my breath in the passenger seat. I’ve told my father everything, from Noah and the charges being dropped, to my conversation with my mother, to my success tonight at the gallery, to the agreement Hunter and I reached.
Now there’s silence. It’s been silent for so long I look at the phone to see if the call was dropped. It wasn’t. Seconds are still ticking away on the screen.
“Dad?” I nudge. “Are you there?”
“Yes,” he says.
“I am. I don’t know where to start or what to say. That was a lot to take in.”
Yes, it was, and now if he could only imagine me living through it, maybe he’ll find some compassion.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “After talking with your mother, are you okay?”
A relieved breath escapes my mouth. I guess I’m not the only one who’s been learning things this summer. A year ago, my father would have lost his mind if I merely mentioned her, and now Dad appears to be letting the tyrant side of himself go.
“I survived,” I say. “It was weird and emotional and I’m a little scared of where we go from here, but it was good.”
“I’m here.” Concern ravages his tone. “If things get rough with her or if you need someone to intervene on your behalf—I’m here.”
And that’s all I’ve ever wanted from him. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me—protecting you is my job.”
I glance over to Noah, who’s watching the stars above. Maybe it was Dad’s job and, because he’s human, there are a few times he messed up, but somehow that job seems to belong to Noah now more than it does to my father. It’s also my job to protect myself as I’m hardly a damsel in distress. I’ve proven I’m capable of fighting some of my battles on my own, but it’s nice to know I don’t always have to.
“When you get home,” Dad starts, and now the disapproval is back in his voice, “I think we should sit down and discuss this opportunity in Colorado. I’d also like some further clarification on this situation with Noah.”
I wince. The urge is to lash out and let him know that I don’t need his advice, but for the millionth time I remind myself I’m no longer a child, which means I should act like an adult. Children yell. Adults talk. At least that’s the theory.
“We can talk, but just to let you know, my decision is made. I respect you, Dad, but this is my life, and these are my choices...not yours.”
A weighted sigh and a creak from the chair he’s sitting in. “You were easier when you were five.”