Page 62 of Truck Off

Lina turns to me with a wide, victorious grin on her face. She’s never looked more beautiful. Then she shoves her stick at my chest, forcing me to grab it. “Sorry, Pollyanna. No answers for you today.”

She spins on her heels and heads out of the game room without a glance back. I hear my brothers hooting and hollering, but I don’t pay them any attention.

I can’t take my eyes off the direction Lina vanished. She may have left, and I may have lost. But tonight was progress.

I’m one step closer to getting that second chance. I feel it deep in my bones.

Chapter 15

Wearing me down

Lina

“Oh, honey, how about this one?” A woman who looks to be in her early forties smiles up at the man next to her whom I assume is her husband. She beams as his smile grows to match hers.

“I like that one. It’d look great over the dining room table.” He motions with his hands as if to frame a location on a wall. “You know the spot I’m talking about?”

“I do.” She turns back to the painting they’re admiring. A look of confirmation covers her expression. “And the colors are just perfect. Can we get this one and the smaller set over there?”

She points to a set of three small square paintings of abstract wildflowers in a meadow. It’s a set I painted in soft watercolors last spring just as the wildflowers bloomed in the field next to the trailer.

It’s not always easy, but I try like hell to capture beauty even in the ugly. There’s nothing beautiful about my home. Most people would never even look past the rundown, broken trailer to see the speckled field of pinks, purples, blues, and yellows.

But I do. In fact, most of my paintings are of the nature surrounding my troubled home—the field of wildflowers, the sparkling lake, the seasonal shift in the trees, or the ever-changing sky. I paint it all, and it wipes my mind of the reality of my life.

“We’ll take these,” the man says as he hands me the larger painting while his wife collects the set of three. “I take it you’re the artist?”

I meet his gaze, and all I see is admiration and respect. It’s a look I wish I got everywhere and not just when I sell my work at a street festival like this one.

If there’s one thing I’m confident about, it’s my artistic ability. Dad always said I was born with a paintbrush in my hand. Painting and sketching are something I’ve done since my earliest memories.

Despite my natural talent, I would have loved to have gone to college for fine arts. I had my eye on the Columbus School of Art and Design throughout high school, but even with financial aid, I couldn’t make it work. The private school tuition was just too steep.

So I had to settle with whatever education I could get from my high school art teacher, which means I’m mostly self-taught.

I’m sure a trained professional could see the flaws in my work, but art enthusiasts like those who frequent these summer art festivals don’t seem to notice. If they do, they don’t care.

Even if they did, it wouldn’t stop me from painting. I love it too much. It always brings me calm, even when my life is nothing but chaos.

“I am.” I smile as I take the painting from the man and set it on the table behind me.

“Your work is amazing and unique. Each one evokes an emotion. It’s all really beautiful.”

“Thank you.” I have to force a smile. This is the part of selling my work at events that I struggle with. I don’t take compliments well.

To hide my discomfort, I focus on wrapping up the first painting. If I keep busy, hopefully they won’t notice. Thankfully, they keep the small talk to a minimum as we finish up the transaction. It’s been a good day so far, but this sale turns it into a great day.

I mostly sell the smaller pieces at these events, especially in smaller cities like Chillicothe. They’re cheaper and easier for people to carry out. Selling a large piece like this is rare, but when it happens, it makes my entire summer. I can rest assured that Dad will have all the medication he needs for the next few months and plenty of groceries stocked in the kitchen. If I’m lucky, there will be enough left over to fix the damn water heater.

“Sorry, we’re late.” Jayla says as she and Lucy make their way around the makeshift counter. “I had to park four blocks away.”

“You’re fine.” I feel my smile turn more genuine now that they’re here to provide a distraction. “I still have plenty of time to set up.”

Jayla usually takes care of the customers while I restock or organize the shelves as we sell items. But for this event, I agreed to do two art classes for the kids. She’ll run the booth for me while I teach a bunch of kids to love art as much as I do.

“Where are you setting up?” she asks.

I point to a row of tables underneath a pavilion not far from my booth. “Just over there. I won’t be far if you need anything. And I can always send Lucy over to help too.”

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