Page 56
Willow
Ikeep up a one-sided conversation while Shane drives us to my favorite strip mall in his truck. After seeing the way Shane white-knuckled the steering wheel while receiving a succession of rapid-fire texts from someone named Cody, there’s a purpose to my babbling.
Would I like to ask who Cody is? Absolutely. Should I wait until Shane isn’t operating heavy machinery in the rain? You betcha.
It has been pouring in sheets from the moment we pulled out of the private garage. The heavy-duty windshield wipers look like they’re about to launch themselves into space. Fortunately, traffic is light, and before I know it, Shane whips his black truck into a parking spot.
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I tuck my legs beneath me and turn to face Shane. It’s unspoken yet obvious that we’re going to wait until the deluge eases before getting out. I can barely read the cheerful script on the window of my favorite spot to find previously loved knickknacks.
“Who’s Cody?”
Apparently, I’m choosing violence today.
One would think I’d tread lightly after Shane’s display of mean-dog barking in the kitchen earlier, but I’m not about to live on eggshells for the rest of the year. Also, it’s as obvious as a crooked frame in a gallery that Shane is not only testing me but he expects me to fail.
Little does he know, stubborn determination is one of my better qualities. That kind of grit is necessary when you create art like mine. The hours of patience and minute precision required to capture photo-real details are often painstaking. My back, neck, and fingers usually ache after a full day’s session.
Not to mention my vision crosses to where I can’t see straight anymore. At that point, it’s wise to take a break, but I’m usually so engaged in accurately recreating a person’s eyelashes or capturing the curve of a leaf vein that I tend to push myself too far.
“My jerk brother.”
“What makes him a jerk?”
This question gets the cold shoulder.
“And you have another brother?”
Shane’s sigh is so exaggerated I wonder if he was secretly a theater kid.
“Dustin.”
I rest my chin in my palm. “He’s the one getting married, right? Where are the happy nuptials?”
“Nantucket.”
“Oooh, Nantucket. The land of limericks.”
Shane side-eyes me but doesn’t say anything.
“Okay, I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice.”
Digging in my purse, I toss aside my wallet and car keys before grabbing my sketchbook. Flipping the book to the last page, I brandish our napkin contract like it’s the solution to all our problems.
Which, in this case, it is.
“You’re carrying that around?”
“Yes, for emergencies such as this.”
Shane closes his eyes, rubbing a knuckle between his brows, before opening his phone screen and wordlessly passing it to me.
I’m not quite sure what’s going on, but I snatch his phone like a seagull dive-bombing unattended French fries. The fact that Mr. Closed-Off just handed me his phone makes buzzy energy two-step down my spine. My eyes scan the screen, quickly reading Cody’s texts.
Cody
What’s this about you bringing someone to Dustin’s wedding?
Cody
