Page 31 of Losing Forever
More dirt than grass covers the lawn, and the shrubbery consists of sparse bushes in need of water. The garage door is open, the inside filled with old carpet, broken cabinets, and ancient appliances.
Two male workers carry a toilet through the garage and chuck it into the dumpster. It lands with a bang as loud as thunder.
Another worker stands by the side of the house, smoking and talking on his phone.
Clattering draws my attention to the open front door. Is Braylee inside with all these men? This is why Noah wanted me to take her. And I scared her off. At least I’m here now.
I hurry inside. Broken tile leads to trash and debris-covered cement floors. The wall from the kitchen to the family room is half down, the drywall stripped with the beams still in place.
I spot Braylee talking to a man who looks older than the other workers. He’s short and round in the middle.
Braylee shows him something on her iPad and gestures to the back wall of the house, which leads to another dirt-patched lawn.
The man nods and listens as she speaks. I’ve never seen her this engaged and confident. When the two are finished talking, the man walks off toward the garage, calling to someone named Hector.
A canvas bag rests on the counter in the kitchen. Braylee takes it and shuffles down a hallway, stepping around debris.
I follow her to a bedroom and lean against the doorframe, watching as she removes large colored squares from the bag. Each is painted in a different color.
In a casual voice, I ask, “What are you doing?”
She flinches. Her wide eyes collide with mine. “Geez, Grayson. You scared me.”
“Where’s your friend? You know, the one who drove you here?”
Ignoring my question, she holds the paint squares to the wall. “Your presence isn’t necessary. I’m handling things fine.”
“I can see that,” I say with admiration.
She must note it in my tone because she glances at me for a long moment. “Can you hold these against the wall?”
“Sure.” I walk over and take the samples from her.
When I place them on the wall, she steps back and studies them.
“I like the blue,” I say. The pale shade reminds me of her eyes.
“I do, too. It’s a great color for a master bedroom. It promotes serenity and can help insomnia. But the green is earthy and natural. It’s the most balancing color and can help reduce sadness or depression. In this case, it’s a better match to the style we’re going for—mid-century modern with lots of wood accents.”
“So the green then?”
Her lips twist with thought. It’s the cutest thing. Makes her look even younger than she already appears.
“I have a cream sample, too.” She removes the third painted square from her bag and holds it up. “It would match the rest of the house and keep things cohesive, but I like changing up the master and making it unique.”
“Is this part of the color therapy thing you do?” I ask.
“Color therapy is a practice, not a thing. It’s used to heal physical and emotional problems. I’m not using it like that in this sense, but the color I choose for the walls will affect the way people feel and react when they’re in this room.”
“How?”
Braylee takes the color samples from me and lines them up with hers in a row on the floor. “These are soothing colors. They’re perfect for bedrooms and most often used because they’re peaceful. The cream has yellow undertones, and yellow can invoke happiness so it’s a good option, too. Purple also makes a great bedroom color and is most associated with beauty, spirituality, and ecstasy."
I arch a brow. “Ecstasy?” Should I buy purple date night shirts?
“If it’s the right shade, it can promote bliss. Orange and red are more stimulating in the way you’re referring to.”
“Got it.” Orange or red shirts for date nights.
