Page 35 of Making New Plans

My chest heaved against the boulder’s worth of dark emotions sitting atop it while her eyes pried into mine. Digging into the vulnerabilities of my walls without even touching me.

“I’m fine,” I growled.

“Bullshit.”

I flinched. “And you’re so fine? Pot. Kettle. Black.”

“At least I haven’t completely cut myself off. I have friends and family—”

“And what else? Don’t you want more than that?”

Her glare could’ve melted the sun. “Don’t you want any of that at all?”

I opened my mouth, but the breath had been knocked out of me. Would it be so hard to tell the truth? The whole truth? To say exactly what was running through my head, squeezing my chest in a death grip? Or would it simply hurt worse?

Because, yes, I wanted more. I wanted everything. I wanted the friends and family. The kind I would do anything for because they would do the same for me. I wanted to feel loved and important and needed. I wanted Chloe.

I shot to my feet, knocking back my chair. I didn’t want to leave her alone with this project, but my trembling walls couldn’t take any more hits tonight.

I tried to say good night, to apologize, but once again, the words refused to leave my mouth. Clenching my jaw, I fled.

13

Chloe

Wham, wham, wham!

A vicious grin spread over my face as I pounded a nail into the wall with a hammer I’d stolen from Carter’s toolbox. I laid the hammer on the floor, took a swig of my second Red Bull, and hefted the painting Rose had given me.

Getting barely any sleep after the rage-inducing, mind-upheaving argument with Hunter the night before, I’d spent my morning charging around the lodge, trying to get things done in record time. The faster I worked, the more easily I could ignore the nagging insecurities that had sprung up. Like Hunter had taken a stroll through my mind and kicked over a bunch of rocks, exposing raw earth underneath.

I’d also called Rose and asked if she had any paintings or portraits she’d be willing to part with for any price. Ten minutes later, she’d delivered two of her pieces as gifts, despite my attempts to slip her some money. One was a wood-framed portrait of a pine tree grove thick with fog and shadows that beckoned with mysterious promise. The other was a canvas painting of the St. Croix River at dawn, mist rolling away, trees in full autumn bloom, and one lone kayaker paddling to the horizon. I loved both and had already secured the pine grove portrait where the snowshoe display had been and was now hanging the river canvas where the duck painting used to be.

Yet, even as I balanced the canvas on the nail, my mind insisted on a fifteenth replay of the latest episode of Hunter Confuses Chloe.

His sweet sincerity when telling me about his retirement home internship. His completely non-judgmental look when I’d blubbered about my insecurities. And then his unapologetic intensity when he accused me of wanting more.

He just didn’t understand my situation. How could he? He’d never allow himself to be at everyone else’s beck and call. He probably would’ve shoved the decoration boxes right back into my mother’s arms. And yeah, maybe I wanted to say “no” to the town committees and my parents sometimes. But I hated letting people down. Was that really so bad?

A resounding yes and no clashed in my head.

“Urrgghh,” I growled and let go of the painting to press the heels of my hands into my temples. “Get out of my head, get out of my head, get out of my head.”

Strangely, chanting in the hallway didn’t induce a magical mind cure. Still fuming, I picked up the hammer and clenched it in my fist. I glared at the tiny kayaker in the painting happily paddling away into his or her future. That must be amazing. Going with the current. Free as a bird. Living life. I wanted to be that kayaker.

Alright, maybe Hunter had hit a few of his own nails on the head last night. Maybe I was unhappy. No big stretch there since I’d basically alluded to that myself. But he made it sound so fixable. So easy. Just be ruthless. Just cut it all out. Just say no. I pictured him in an anti-drug campaign and snorted. He would’ve certainly made people think twice. Like he was doing to me.

But what did he have to lose? He didn’t have a family or a town putting any expectations on him like I did.

I cringed. That was because he hardly had any family left and had been sent away from town. I hung my head. What was wrong with me? Why was I so upset about this?

Maybe because he’d been the only person to really urge me into thinking about a different life. Sure, my friends teased me about my rigid schedule and commiserated with me on my demanding parents. But Hunter suggested standing up for myself, pushing back. Maybe that was the sickeningly familiar feeling whirling in my stomach. Fear.

Ever since high school and my one and only rebellion against my parents and their expectations, I’d figured out that the only way to not experience that soul-crushing fear and hurt was to go along to get along. And it’d worked for most of my life. Except lately.

I heaved a sigh, glancing at the lone kayaker again. Then I squinted. I hadn’t noticed at first, but the kayaker was barreling toward some rapids Rose had subtly painted in. No fear. Paddle outstretched. Arms straining to pull forward. My heart pounded in anticipation, as if it were real. Now I really wanted to be that kayaker. I wanted to go through those rapids. No fear.

Taking in a cleansing breath, I lifted my head and marched to the basement. Manly grunting and wood scraping reached my ears as I thumped down the steps.

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