Page 47 of Close to Falling

I met Sarah while she was working at a local art gallery. All of this was starting to get big, and I needed an assistant. She took a chance and left the gallery. She was always at my place, and when Landon came to visit, the two of them hit it off. They’ve been married for five years now.

I grab my old sketchpad and skim through some of the pictures. I threw it away the night I gave up on everything, but Frankie got it out of the trash and saved it for me. Looking at one I did at the beach sends me back in time, and I smell salty water and remember the feel of smoke being blown into my mouth. I turn the page and see the one I was working on the night before Landon told me River was in prison.

I close the book and toss it onto my desk. I haven’t spoken to River in a long time. He got out of prison a while back. The boys still talk to him, and they will mention him. I don’t anymore. I’d like to say I’ve moved on. I’ve dated a little, but nothing ever felt right, and I didn’t want to waste anyone’s time if it wasn’t going anywhere. I dove into my art and put dating last on my list.

They say time heals all, but I don’t think I believe that. The pain from the past never goes away. It just gets easier to deal with, because like everything that’s repetitive, a person grows accustomed to it. River did a good number on me, but I don’t hate him for it. I needed help, and I couldn’t get it going back and forth to visit him in prison. He saw that first, and if anything, I owe him a thanks. Time doesn’t heal pain, but it does make things clearer. And I’ve realized how unhealthy we were for each other at the time. Frankie was right. We needed to grow into our own people, and I think I finally have.

Chapter Twenty

I was told to dress comfortably, but I’m pretty sure my sweats wouldn’t have been appropriate. I’m in a black tailored pencil dress with a deep V-neck. My hand is slid into one of my pockets as I stand in black matching heels. I’m not uncomfortable at all. My dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and my makeup is soft. Sarah says I look amazing, and I have to agree. And, seriously, I’m not that uncomfortable. I feel beautiful. I shake hands and make my rounds. I’m asked questions, and I answer them the best I can. Art isn’t something you can describe in my opinion. It’s a feeling more so, and somehow I make those feelings come out and onto a canvas. Frankie is dressed in a black button-up and jeans. It’s the best he can do, and it’s enough. Landon looks handsome in dark jeans and a royal blue blazer standing beside his wife who is in a matching blue dress. Ellie has come by and purchased a piece to hang in her office.

The night passes, and my art continues to sale. It’s been a big turnout, and one by one my loved ones call it a night. Sarah is the last to go.

“I’ll wrap up these, and then call it a night,” I tell her. “You go on home.”

“Are you sure, B? It’s a good bit of work.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Go spend time with Landon.”

“Okay.” Smiling, she grabs her clutch and kisses me on the cheek before she walks toward the door. I watch her as she turns around and looks around the place. Her eyes are wide, and her chest expands as she sighs. “We did it, B.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “All the hard work and late nights have paid off.”

“You’re going to great places.”

“With you as my assistant, I don’t doubt it.”

“You make the beauty. I just help get it seen.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll talk to you in the morning,” she says, blowing me a kiss before she exits. I slide my heels off and grab a full champagne glass that’s been left on the counter and toast it up.

“Here’s to many more years of this,” I say before taking a sip. I've never had a problem with alcohol, and I find a few glasses here and there to calm my nerves. The sweet bubbles slide down my throat. I set the glass back down and lightly twirl it between my fingers.

“I’ll toast to that.” I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear a man’s voice.

“Jesus,” I say, turning around. My heart literally sinks, my palms grow sweaty, and my throat closes.

“Hey, B,” River says, looking me over. I don’t speak. I’m not able to. Dirty blond hair that used to need a trim is buzzed short. He was getting big when I last saw him, but now he looks leaner. His green eyes roam around the art gallery, and he walks up to one of my drawings. Only art lights are on, casting soft glows on River and the work that’s still hung. I can’t look away. It’s as if I’m dreaming.“I always knew you could go somewhere with this,” he says, sliding his hands into his dark jeans. My eyes look down. A light brown belt is around his waist with a tucked-in sky blue button-up. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and tattoos cover his arms. He looks away from the art and back at me. He smiles, showing his dimples, and I didn’t even realize how much I missed them until I feel a painful ache inside my chest. My heart picks up beats, and I swallow as he walks closer to me. I feel my hands shake, and I’m thankful I already put my glass down.

I clear my throat. “How did you know about this?”

“Landon,” he replies. “It’s a big moment for you. I didn’t want to miss out.”

I scoff. “Finishing rehab was a big moment for me. Graduating from art school was also a pretty big moment,” I say, looking up, thinking of more big moments. “Oh, and getting my own studio goes up there with big moments, too, and yet you never appeared for any of them.” I cross my arms and lift my brow as my eyes land back on him.

He looks amused. “You’re still the same smart-ass girl.” I don’t reply. We haven't seen each other in nine years, but it no longer feels like it. I’m torn between wanting to slap him or kiss him. God, what those lips would feel like after all this time. Looking down, I take a breath, trying to clear my head of ridiculous thoughts, and slide my hands into the pockets of my black pencil dress.

“Well, you’ve come,” I say, making eye contact. “Now you can leave.”

“You want me to go?” he asks, looking inscrutable.

“I don’t care either way,” I reply, sounding indifferent, but feeling the total opposite. I take my hands out of my pockets and walk away from him. I forgot I don’t have shoes on, but who cares, right? My bare feet and I walk to the back of the gallery so I can start wrapping my art. I hear his footsteps behind me, though, and again I’m torn between being happy he is here and wanting him to go, because my life is okay right now, and I don’t need any drama. I pick up the bubble wrap and slide the scissors across it.

“Maddie,” River says, and I look back at him.

“Yeah?” I ask.

---