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Smiling, I take the paper and shove it in my back pocket. “When I get home, I’ll hang it on my fridge.” I click my tongue at the dog. “C’mon, Cherry. Let’s go.” Nodding at Mrs. Rose, I say, “Nice meeting you.”
“You too,” the mom says. Penny doesn’t say goodbye, but my spine burns from the weight of her eyes on me as I walk down the brick walkway and disappear around the side of the house. I cut through their backyard and take the overgrown path through the woods back to my property.
It’s dark when me and Cherry emerge from the other side of the woods. The light in my studio is still on, and a tiny lamp glows dim amber in my bedroom window. I’m sure I saw Brianna brush the sheer curtain to the side, looking for me.
“We’re back,” I yell when I enter the kitchen through the back door.
Silence.
Dead silence.
Laughing at absolutely nothing funny, I grab a cold beer from the fridge, which reminds me of the drawing from the little girl. When I pull it out of my pocket, the paper is wrinkled with a small tear in one corner. Bittersweet bile rises up the back of my throat. This shouldn’t be my first drawing from a child, but it is.
As I unfold the paper, my breath is immediately held hostage. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand up. Reaching for my beer, I take a gulp and swipe the back of my hand across my mouth.
Even with one eye, I can clearly see the drawing is of me, Brianna, Baby Lily, and Cherry in the field behind the barn. The artist in me is impressed with the detail of the drawing—the perfect use of light, shadows, and shading. The depth of field and realistic color tones. It’s unbelievable talent for a child.
But the broken man in me sees a captured moment that was wished for and never came to be.
Chugging the rest of my beer, I toss the drawing onto the counter as if it were drawn with venom. Touching it for another second is murderous to my heart.
I contemplate lighting it on fire.
Suddenly, the silence is permeated with a low, insistent hum, giving the house a pulse. It vibrates through the soles of my feet and rises up my legs, through my chest, then drifts further, tingling my scalp.
I rip my gaze from the drawing to eye Cherry lying on the floor in front of the oven. She’s fast asleep, totally unaware of the hum.
I’m probably losing my fucking mind.
Taking a bottle of Jack Daniels with me, I stagger back to my studio to start on the elephant. It’s been a long time since any creative juices simmered in my soul, and I don’t want to lose them.
“It’s a start, Fox.”
My head jerks up at the sound of her voice, and I almost fall into the pile of soon-to-be-elephant parts.
“Where have you been?”
She flashes me a smile and jumps up on her spot on the workbench. “Right here.”
“You weren’t there a few seconds ago.”
“I can’t stay here. You know that.”
I tip the bottle against my lips, refusing to accept that.
“Drinking won’t keep me here, Alex.”
Laughing, I grab one of the tarps and shake it out. A cloud of dust and dirt fills the air. “It’s kept you here this long.”
She’s quiet as a mouse, watching me pull long, thin metal bars from a barrel across the room and carry them over to the elephant pile. They’ll become the skeleton once I bend and solder them.
“She inspired you,” she says quietly after a few minutes.
“Who?”
“The little girl.”
“She gave me an idea, that’s all.”
“It’s a really good idea.”
“It is. I think I can make it work.” I know I can. It’s already forming in my mind—seven feet tall, rough gray flesh and smooth tusks. Soulful glass eyes and a tassel tail. It’ll be one of my biggest pieces, which will narrow down the collector niche, but I don’t care. Fuck it if it never sells. Creating art was never about money for me.
Brianna’s next question pulls me out of the creative zone I’m slowly tipping into. “Why do you think she came here?”
I pull the tools I need off the workbench. “Who knows? My guess is her mother had her head up her ass, and the kid wandered off.”
“Hmm.” She gathers her long hair in her hand and pulls it all over one shoulder, holding it there and fingering the ends absently. “How do you think she knew Cherry’s name? And yours?”
I shrug like I don’t care, or hadn’t even thought about it.
But that’s a lie.
“She must’ve heard us talking,” I reply.
“She didn’t hear us talking, Alex,” she says softly. “And what about the drawing? You can’t ignore that.”
I can ignore it. Anything can be explained away. Or drowned in alcohol, as is the case tonight. “C’mon, Bri. It’s just a little kid’s random drawing.”
