Page 21 of Breathe Again

Willa did not emerge from the sunroom for over half an hour. She was one of those people who spoke to kids with a true interest in what they had to say. She asked open ended questions instead of giving them the option of one-word answers. She’d say things like, “What was the best thing that happened this week?” or “Tell me something funny,” and they entertained her with their answers. Most were not shy with her at all. It was a gift to make someone feel that what they had to say was worth hearing, and she had it.

Dinner was delicious. Italian night was an all-time favorite theme, one we repeated many times, with many variations, and would do so again. The men contributed by taking over the kitchen clean-up. While they did that, I set the kids up in the spare room, and started their movie for them before rejoining everybody in the family room.

Bex and Willa already had their drinks. I went to get mine, pausing to wipe down the counters, the guys always missed something. Set apart momentarily, I saw them as if from the outside.

They were beautiful, all of them, inside and out. Together they made a stunning picture. Conversation was easy and unforced, laughter and smiles plentiful. I loved them. They loved me. I knew they loved me. I joined them, but for some reason I still felt slightlyapart, slightly other. I could not explain it, but entering the picture, I felt like a blob of paint marring the canvas.

Barrett’s gaze returned to Willa repeatedly, as if magnetically drawn to her. There was a definite interest there, I hoped Willa would give him a chance. Rhys looked at Rebecca in a way I could only dream of. I don’t think I had ever elicited a look like that from Zale.

Maybe I’m just not that type.

Moody Chameleon

Mara

I read.

A lot.

I’m amazed mostly that the characters in my beloved books have such distinct personalities, complete with unique quirks and their own developed sense of style. I, myself, as a character am not fleshed out really. I couldn’t begin to define myself as a type, like cute and sassy, or classy and refined, or edgy and assertive. I’m some of those things but not all the time.

I’m broody really.

Andchangeable.

Like a moody chameleon. Camouflaging myself to fit in temporarily, to meet someone else’s need, to protect myself by hiding my true self, whatever that is I know instinctively it’s unacceptable.

I’m unacceptable.

I finished writing in my journal then flipped through the past few weeks of entries. Up, down, happy, sad, angry, despondent, they fluctuated more than the weather. I could not understand what was happening with my moods. Good thing I had my psych appointment today. I looked at my watch. Willa should be here soon. She wouldn’t be late for this. On that thought, the doorbell rang.

I looked to the front door and thought of what others saw when they entered our house. A house we’d moved into when I was almost eight months pregnant with Olivia, something I would not recommend! With our first baby on the way, Zale wanted us out of the apartment and settled into what he called our starter home. Twelve years later we were still here, not due to a lack of affordability, but because keeping Olivia’s environment stable and calming for her became our priority. Staying here did not upset me in the least.

Grey-blue board-and-batten, a sweetly peaked roofline, and beautiful stained glass topped every window, including the top third of our heavy front door. Huge square brick piers topped by tapered columns supported the roof that extended low over aspacious and inviting L-shaped porch. White trim, brick in multiple shades of earth and sand, combined with the grey-blue board and batten reflected the colors of the beach on a windy, storm-swept day.

By the water, hearing the waves and smelling the sea, was probably the only place I ever felt a true sense of peace. I loved that my house was a reminder of that for me.

Inside were light grey walls, exposed wood beams, heavy baseboards, warm, wide-plank wood floors, and subtle reminders of my favorite place scattered throughout. Driftwood spheres perched on tall wooden candlesticks, a kitchen backsplash shone in shades of sea and sand, a beautiful candle holder made of layered sea glass, a single grouping of transparent blue vases, an iron octopus with elegant legs that stretched up to support a tempered blue glass bowl on the coffee table, gorgeous eye-catching pebbled glass pendant lights over the sink and dining area, wide mouth jars filled partway with sand supporting well-utilized candles, and a bronze pelican with its gigantic beak open, ready to hold our keys, cell phones, and wallets, perched on a table by the front door, all grounded me in memories of my favorite place.

The front door opened into a small vestibule that widened out into an open space consisting of a large family room directly in front, furnished with wide comfortable couches and a white mantled fireplace, the kitchen and dinette extended to the right of the familyroom, and the dining room lay off the kitchen at a ninety-degree angle.

The laundry was situated behind the kitchen and led to the attached garage. Another door, an inside door on the other side of the family room led into a small hallway off of which was a full bathroom, two smaller bedrooms and our master with our spa-like ensuite, walk-in closet, and double doors opening onto the back deck.

A stained-glass door in the kitchen led to the sunroom addition Zale had decided to build to ‘house my jungle’ as he called it. Rhys built it, many years ago. Comfortable seating, a curvy, feminine desk topped with my laptop, scads of plants sitting on shelves and hanging from the cross beams, and this being my own personal space to work, I set my beach fetish free.

Built-in storage topped with cushions in one corner was Livvy’s spot. Square wicker baskets tucked beneath the seating held her toys and a bookshelf against the one wall housed some of her books.

In here was the indoor fountain, in here was the Zen Garden, in here, the stuffed whale, the plush seagulls with their long legs dangling from the shelves. In here was where I had corked bottles of sand and seashells collected on vacation. In here I had a large driftwood clock, a glass orb encasing a wave frozen in time, a framed map of Port Stanley on the wall, and pictures of us, mostly Zale and Olivia, on the beach, scattered across my desk, the bookshelves, and the side tables. A cafe table held the Zen Gardenas its centerpiece, and Livvy sat at it for hours raking lines in the sand. She always had the fountain on when we were in here, the sound of the water soothed her as well.

Outside, my gardens, now Olivia’s as well, were prolific. Beds of herbs and cut flowers, a butterfly nursery, a hummingbird garden, perennial gardens, and pots, too many pots to count, nestled into every nook and cranny, front and back.

Life.

Life and beauty all around me.

For me. For me to give to my family.

A family that included my beautiful sister Willa.

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