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My half brother rambles on about his upcoming term at University of Washington. Like the rest of us at the table, Shawn will have a position at Washington’s Hidden Gems after graduation. Aside from journalism, business marketing is on his roster. Only eight years separate us, but the marketing tools I learned in college are vastly different from what he will learn. His knowledge will open up WHG to a younger demographic. Something we sorely need.
“Braydon?”
I blink up from my plate and look across the table. “Sorry, Dad. What?”
He flashes me a pained wince, and I hate the pity behind that look. “Asked how the story was coming along.”
Oh. Right. The story.
An eye-twitching grating noise fills the air as my fork scrapes across my plate. I scoop mashed potatoes onto my fork then spear the green beans. “It’s coming,” I say before shoving the bite in my mouth.
In reality, the story is moving along slower than a snail’s pace. Considering it will be the featured story in next quarter’s issue, the story should be around five-thousand words. This includes details on specific shops, restaurants, and destinations within the town.
A story of this size… I should have wrapped it up a week or two ago. As it stands, I crested the halfway point yesterday.
All because I can’t get out of my damn head.
Every time my fingers graze the keyboard and I reminisce over the quaint town packed with welcoming residents and charming storefronts, my mind drifts to her. And each time it drifts, all the wonderful things I want to say about Lake Lavender disappear.
“Writer’s block is a nasty little bugger,” Gretchen admits. “We’ve all been there.” She lifts her wineglass and tips it in my direction before bringing it to her lips. “Maybe you need a scenery change while you write.” Her eyes lose focus as she nods. “Always worked for me. Some days, the office was so claustrophobic and I had to get out. I’d take a pad of paper and pen to the park. Stare at the trees or water or animals and just let my mind go. Forget about the pressure of the story. Forget about word counts and eager readers. More often than not, it worked.”
Not sure the park is really where I want to go. The closest parks are inundated with screaming children and adventurous adults. I need quiet when I write. Or brain-stimulating music without lyrics. In order to find the quiet, I’d have to leave the city. Drive to one of the state or regional parks. Bring a cooler of food and drinks and sit among the trees all day.
I miss the outdoors. Can’t remember the last time I hiked in the mountains or got away from all the chaos that is life. I need a few days of silence, of stillness. Just me, food and gear, and the clothes on my back. I need a reset.
“I have an idea,” Shawn chimes in.
“What’s that, lil’ bro?” I pick up my glass and take a sip of water.
“If the words aren’t flowing, maybe you need to go back to the source. Back to Lake Lavender.”
Water slides down the wrong pipe and I choke at the table. I set down my glass, cover my mouth with one hand, and smack my chest with the other.
“Oh, shit.” Wood bangs wood as Shawn bolts up from his chair.Whack.“Cough it up, B.”Whack, whack.
I flail my arm in Shawn’s direction as my face heats and lungs burn. “I’m…”Cough. “Fine.”Throaty hack.I pick my water up and hold up a finger as I take a sip. Another sip and the raw burn in my throat calms. I set the glass down and take a deep breath. “Not sure that’s such a good idea,” I croak out.
Shawn takes his seat. A solemn look paints his face. “Oh.” He picks his fork up and pushes food around the plate. “I just thought…”
That came out all wrong. The ideaisgood. But because I haven’t disclosed much of my trip to anyone but Dad, neither Gretchen nor Shawn understand my need to stay away.
“Let me rephrase.” I lay a hand on his forearm. “It is a good idea.” The shadow darkening his expression slips away. “Personal reasons stop me from wanting to go back.” I shrug and catch Dad’s sympathetic look out of the corner of my eye. “Thank you for the suggestion, though.”
The dinner table quiets. All eyes downcast on our respective plates as we nibble away at our food. It is not until I set my fork down that Dad speaks up.
“I like Shawn’s suggestion.”
“Dad…”
He holds up a hand. “Hear me out.”
I huff and sag into my chair. “Fine.”
“Go back to Lake Lavender, hole yourself up in a room, and just write.” He says the words as if it is just that simple. “Plenty of writers do it. Book hotels to escape the day-to-day and give themselves a different view.” He leans forward and lays his hands on the table. “Go. Lock yourself in the room. Order room service.Let goof what’s weighing you down.”
I don’t miss the hidden meaning in his last words.Let go of her.Or maybe he means to quit fighting what I feel. Either way, it is time to let go and live my life, with or without her.
CHAPTER21
