The bell announced my arrival as I stepped into the gallery. Lily’s was a clean, sparse space. Compared to the eclectic maximalist stylings of so many shops in town, it was very modern and chic. The simple white walls held art from the namesake herself, along with a few local artists. Set down in some of the corners or raised on platforms, depending onthe size, were Levi’s sculptures made from various types of reclaimed wood.
“Good morning, Lily,” I said to the large black-and-white portrait of Levi’s mother, front and center of the gallery, as I walked in.
It was one of the few self-portraits she ever took. With the camera propped over her shoulder, facing a mirror behind her, she looked straight through the lens into my soul. She was maybe in her early forties here; there were a few laugh lines bracketing her mouth and some creases in her forehead. She was as beautiful as I remembered her to be before losing her to her painful illness. I was glad Levi found this photo to remember her by. Her eyes were dark and thoughtful like Levi’s, focused on some distant point, lost in thoughts and emotions.
Artists.
I brushed the heavy wooden frame with reverence as I passed and headed into the back.
A new piece of untouched wood sat on a tarp in the center of the small office, taking up most of the floor space. It seemed incomprehensible that this piece of wood would eventually be transformed, but Levi’s skills never ceased to amaze me. The wood had a hint of red woven through its light coloring, and half of the block was charred, as if it had been pulled out of a bonfire. To me, this looked like a forgotten piece of dug-up tree given for fire fuel, but I’d seen the results enough to know it would be transformed into an incredible work of art.
If Levi was the emotional equivalent to a hearty meal of steak and potatoes, I was the bag of chips you scarfed down when you were too hungry to make good choices.
Levi was examining the piece when his head shot up, and he greeted me. I clapped him on his back and came to stand by his side after our hellos.
“Thanks for coming so last minute,” he said. “The company had two guys drop it off, and I need to get it into my truck, but Claire said she’d kill me if I hurt myself trying to move it alone.”
“No problemo. I’m free as a bird today. Where is the future wifey?”
“She’s back down in Slippery Slopes, New Mexico, for an assignment. Strange little town.” He shook his head as he mumbled it.
“I heard some of the wild stories from Claire on our last bowling night. Something about naked skiing, maybe I should check it out?” I teased, playing my part.
Levi huffed a laugh and said, “Let me grab some gloves, and we can get moving. The truck is backed up to the employee entrance from the alley. The open door had to be wide enough as the original guys were able to get it in, but it is going to be a tight squeeze.”
Through the opening, Levi’s old, reliable truck sat, and in the window, a tiny gray head poked up from the rear seat.
“Hi, Ripley. Are you going to come give me a kiss?” I said in the charming voice I reserved for the ladies in my life.
Her whole body shivered with excitement, but apparently, I wasn’t worth the effort. She presumably went back to the comfort of her bed as her head dipped out of sight.
“Love you too,” I muttered.
I blew out a breath and spun in a circle, examining the small office. An old box sat on the work desk, and I recognized Lily’s familiar handwriting. Levi was still discovering his mother’s work as he cleaned out the memories she’d left behind. I went to the box and rested my hand on the top, thinking of the woman who was like a second mother to me. A tightening pain lanced through my chest again, but I ignored it and flipped open the top; the smell of old photograph paper and dust reached my nose as I did.
Lily had been an incredibly talented photographer and probably would have taken the world by storm if she hadn’t put Levi and Cozy Creek first. She had been so at peace here; she never regretted the path not taken. My throat tight, that sharp pang pulsed in my chest. When she passed after a painful battle of illness, she seemed to take a piece of my best friend with her.
I spent years worrying about him, checking in on him, trying to get him to leave the prison of his own mourning. I thought I might lose him to his depression. But then, thankfully, Claire arrived in the nick of time, forcing him out of his hole.
And now he was out and about in town, engaged to a wonderful woman. And while I can’t say it was all in thanks to me, I certainly helped get them together.
I smiled, remembering the way I showed up at his cabin, wanting to ask her out into town. I had no desire to go out with Claire. I wanted to see my friend get his head out of his ass and move things forward. And it worked.
You’re welcome, Levi and Claire.
That’s me—Pace Leigh, the unsung hero of Cozy Creek.
A hero without a journey.
Maybe that was what this weird sensation was that seemed to follow me around like a gathering storm cloud just out of sight on the horizon.
I flicked through the box of various-sized photos in clear plastic sleeves supported with cardboard backing. A smile spread across my lips as I recognized so many people from town, ten to twenty years younger, and others who were likely just passing through. So many local sights were photographed through her talented artist’s eye, making Cozy Creek look like something out of a movie. An idealized representation of small mountain town life. It gripped me with nostalgia for a simpler time, for the freedom of youth.
My hand stilled on a photograph that I hadn’t been expecting.
“Speaking of suddenly being transported in time,” I mumbled.
Kaylee smiled up at me. Somehow, Lily managed to completely capture my ex-girlfriend’s wild essence and beauty in one simple snapshot. It still knocked the wind out of me how stunning she was. Even back then, when she couldn’t have been more than sixteen, she was breathtakingly beautiful. And she had been mine to protect and take care of and love.
