Page 35 of Take Me Please, Cowboy
“Sandy couldn’t have them.Summer knows more about this than me, but Sandy was pregnant a half dozen times but none of the babies made it to full term.The losses were devastating.Clyde became even more protective of her.”
The miscarriages sounded devastating.Ansley couldn’t imagine going through all that.And how awfully ironic that Sandy would have six miscarriages while her mom and dad have six healthy children.“I wish I’d met her,” Ansley said, meaning it.“I’m sorry I never did.”
“Not sure if you know, but Sandy and your mom worked for years to create a reconciliation between the Campbell brothers, but your dad wouldn’t have it.”
“My uncle wanted it, though?”
“From what I understand, yes.”
Ansley’s heart hurt.“It makes me sad.I don’t understand how one can go through life unwilling to forgive.”
“Your dad was deeply hurt.He felt betrayed.”Melvin hesitated.“Despite the difference in personalities, Clyde and Callen had been close.I’d say they were best friends, which is why your dad felt betrayed.”
“But if my dad had married Sandy instead of my mom, I wouldn’t be here.None of my brothers would be here.”She hesitated.“He probably wouldn’t have had a family.”
“Exactly.None of you would exist.And it’s a wonderful thing you do.”
*
Three hours later,Melvin showed up at the Campbell farmhouse, bringing a baked pasta dish for dinner and telling Ansley he intended to spend the afternoon with Clyde so Ansley could run errands or paint, or just take a long nap.She was free to do whatever she wanted or needed to do.
Grateful, Ansley gave Melvin the biggest hug, thanking him so many times that he patted her on the back.“This is what friends do,” he said.“Friends show up.”
Friends show up.
The warmth and conviction in his voice made the air catch in her throat and her eyes sting.She’d never needed neighbors before.She’d always had her family, but Melvin was right—people had to be there for each other.People needed community.
Delighted to have a few hours free, Ansley drove to the nearest grocery store, picked up fresh bread, eggs, cheese, and produce, including her favorite, apples.But instead of immediately heading home, she drove one of the old roads that paralleled the Yellowstone River, enjoying the sunlight and shadow dappling the river.Eventually she found a little pullout where she could park and have an apple, and maybe sketch.She always kept a sketch pad and charcoal pencils with her, and leaving her car, found a perfect spot to sit and draw.
It was wonderful to be outside, wonderful to stop thinking, wonderful to just be in the moment.The world fell away.Her worries faded.She spent nearly two hours lost in her work before realizing the time.She quickly packed up and returned to the ranch, finding Melvin and her uncle sitting in the family room together, watching TV.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Melvin said as he left.“I could tell Clyde enjoyed the company.”
The rest of the day passed in a blur of activity, the kind of activity that wasn’t memorable but filled the hours, and it wasn’t until Ansley was in her room for the night, that she realized she hadn’t checked her emails today.At first, there was nothing interesting, just questions and notifications for her account on Etsy, and then a request by someone on eBay asking if she’d consider accepting a lower price for her small Last Stand painting, the one of its historic square, and it had already been very affordably priced.Biting back frustration, she countered the offer and was just about to sign off when she spotted a message she hadn’t opened from a Marcia Brixley at The Bozeman Big Sky Gallery.
Ansley read the message, eyes widening as she reached the end.She’d been invited to be part of an upcoming exhibit in one of Bozeman’s biggest art galleries.
She sat up and reread the email, trying to process the information and not wanting to miss any of the details.The show would be in just three weeks.One of the original participating artists had a family emergency and was forced to drop out and Marcia, the gallery owner, wanted Ansley to fill the space.She’d heard about Ansley’s work through the Sterbas, who were old friends and customers, and was formally inviting Ansley to participate, if Ansley was interested.
If she was interested.Wow.
Wow.
Ansley jumped off her bed, pulse racing, feet dancing.She couldn’t believe it.This was huge.Huge.
She’d never been part of a show before.She’d never been invited by any gallery to hang any of her work, never mind be a featured artist.She grabbed her iPad and reread the invitation a third time, the pleasure sinking in.There would be an opening night reception with a cocktail party.Ansley was encouraged to invite any of her collectors—this made her laugh.She didn’t have any collectors.She’d only recently started a mailing list.But this show could change all that.The email ended with, “I hope to hear from you soon, with an answer either way.”
If it wasn’t so late at night, she’d call Marcia straight away, and then she wanted to call her mom and tell her, but again it was late.Ansley was so excited, and she wanted to celebrate, but with whom?
Rye came to mind.But then, he was always on her mind, even if she pushed him back, pushing him to the far corners which was where he waited, filling the silence and space, filling her heart with regrets.If he only lived closer.If they’d only had more time.If, if, if…
It was hard to sleep that night.
Ansley tossed and turned, her thoughts filled with the gallery invitation, the pieces she’d display, the significance of the show, of sharing with Rye.
At three o’clock in the morning, she gave up trying to sleep for a while and turned on her iPad to look at her available pieces which she kept track of in an album on her phone.
She’d need a number of significant paintings to show, as well as some works in a different price range.She’d love at least one big statement landscape like the one the Sterba law office hung on their conference room wall, along with several other oversized works.She had a number of smaller ones, but they needed to be framed.She’d have to do a lot of painting in the next few weeks, but she could, especially if she painted late into the night.Three weeks from tomorrow.Perfectly doable if she worked twenty-four hours a day.
