Page 14 of Muddy Messy Love

“How are you feeling?”

“About as good as I look.” I pad downstairs, nodding at the coffee pot Beth holds up in silent question. She slides the mug across the granite as I perch on a stool, and I cup it in my hands,relishing the warmth. Taking a sip, I moan. Coffee livens the deadest of souls.

Beth smiles as I drink, leaning against the island with a glint in her eye. I glance at my coffee and back to her, gaze narrowing. “What, did you poison it?” Given recent events, my sister turning into a murderous psychopath would be just my luck.

She chuckles. “No, but I do have a surprise for you.”

I tilt my head, willing excitement to spark. It doesn’t. “What is it?”

Her grin widens. “Come with me, and I’ll show you.”

She flitters down the hall, and I force myself to follow, halting outside the spare room, where she spins to face me. “Close your eyes.” She fans the air in front of my face, and I do as she says. The door faintly creaks, and the air freshens with a familiar trace. Hands land on my waist, and Beth guides me forward, stopping several paces ahead. “Now open.”

My gaze darts around the room from point to point like a pinball ricocheting around a machine. Tight knots tangle in my chest, and I meet her smile with one wide eye. “Beth,” I whisper.

What has she done?

She nods me forward, encouraging me to explore, and I take a deep breath, channelling calm. I drift towards the rustic timber bench spanning one wall—the same one I sat on in the garage last week—then finger my collection of clay tools laid out in perfect order. Crimped metal letters hang above, spelling out “STUDIO,” and below, tubs of colourful glazes line the shelf, straight and proud as though saluting. Fresh bags of clay rest underneath, and a familiar book, graced with cherry blossoms and filled with dreams, leans against the wall. Across the room, wire, pliers, snips, and my soldering equipment hang on a pegboard, adjacent empty racks of shelves ready to be filled.

“Oh,” Beth says, “there’s a kiln in the garage too.”

I spin towards her, my mouth agape. I’ve never owned a kiln. School always had one I could use. My throat tightens, and I resist the urge to knuckle my chest. “I don’t know what to say.”

Thanks, this is incredible, but something’s changed; I’m not ready and won’t ever be again?

I can’t hurt her like that. The work involved. The attention to detail.The cost.She’s considered everything down to a sweet little Bluetooth speaker in the corner. Music while working is as essential as light. My stomach cramps, the concrete lump inside reaffirming its presence and the creativity it crushed.

Beth raises her hand. “Before you say anything, I didn’t do this to pressure you. I know you haven’t worked since school, but I think having an outlet might help. You have a gift, Aves. Your teachers knew it—everyone did. I figured if it’s all set up, it might be easier to start again, but it’s entirely up to you.”

Sure, no pressure at all.

Near the speaker sits a photo of Jen and me with bright grins and linked arms, uniforms chequered and short. I pick up the gilded frame, and memories of high school rush in. The dusty blue floors in the art room where I spent my free time, and the grimy windows that still radiated perfect light. Mrs. Donovan’s kind eyes and enthusiasm. My first, second, and subsequent art competitions. Why do seven months feel like a lifetime ago?

Prize ribbons flicker in the light window breeze, pinned in a row under a shelf full of my early work. I rest the photo back down and move closer, skimming my fingers over the rough, grainy finishes. These pieces once spurred uncontainable pride—excitement and passion. But now they evoke…nothing. They’re juvenile at best, devoid of depth, and I am no longer that girl. Life has seen to that.

I turn to face Beth, and she stands fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve, smile now nervous and tight. Infused with as muchgratitude as I can muster, I pull her into a hug. “Thank you. This is amazing.”

Her slight frame relaxes as she sighs. “I’m so glad you like it. I worried I was overstepping, but I saw your sketchbook in the garage—that big open box—and I couldn’t resist. It was so hard doing this quietly too.” A giggle escapes her throat, the glimmer of youth softening her eloquent force. I don’t think a more beautiful sister exists. But a curious thought lingers, and I frown over her shoulder.

“This all seems kind of…permanent. I’m only here for now.”

Beth pulls away, holding my shoulders out at arm’s length. “I said you can stay here until you find your feet, and I meant it. That could take months or more. Until then, this is your home, and it should feel like it, okay?” She shrugs. “Besides, I enjoy having you around.”

Her words soothe a worry I didn’t know was there, and my lips pull into a smile. But reality soon whispers in my ear, like it always does. “But what if…” My voice trails off, and I look at my toes as they press against the vinyl-lined floor. She’s overlooking one glaring possibility. In a few short weeks, my residence might be among a mass of delinquent teens. A shudder rolls up my spine. How many more black eyes will I cop, or worse?

“That won’t happen.” Beth lifts my chin, forcing my gaze to hers. “I didn’t want to bring this up so soon after…” Her eyes flicker to my injury, and her brows descend. “Well—you know—everything. But I got a call yesterday. One I never dreamt of. The stars are aligning for you, Aves, I can feel it. You’ll have the best representation possible, and I filled him in on everything, so don’t worry.”

My brows furrow. “You found me a lawyer?”

Her smile glows luminous like the moon. “Did I ever. And he’s from a better firm than mine. Sometimes favours pay off in the strangest ways.”

I shake my head. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” With a satisfied grin and a twirl of her hand, Beth turns on her heel. “I’ll leave you to explore.”

And like that, I’m alone, surrounded by lost dreams, with hope sparking my heart. I wander the room with renewed purpose, willing the dead to rise in a whirlwind of glitter and light. But it soon proves a lost cause. There will be no miracles today. Guilt gnaws harder with every step, with each drawer opened and detail discovered. Fuck. She went to so much trouble and all for nothing. My eyes fall shut, but there’s zilch I can do. Love is never forced—it flows easy like the breeze. With a last glance and belly full of regret, quietly I slip from the room.

I eye the studio as if it might bite. Whether passing by or staring at the door, fighting the push to enter—the pull to not. While Beth’s said nothing, her hope radiates whenever I walk down the hall and spirals to disappointment when I bypass the studio to merely shower or wash our clothes.

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