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Mom consolingly touches my arm. "I believe you, Ben. I believe everything you told us. Don't worry. Shelby in no way swayed me to think otherwise. Though were I never to have heard your side, I’d have believed she was the perfect mother to our grandson, she sounded so sincere.”
My heart is pounding in my chest. “That’s the thing about gaslighting.” But to have someone else hear the bullshit, and believe me instead, it soothes a trigger-chord in my chest that makes it hard for me to talk. Too many emotions. Rage at her saying that nonsense. Acting as if it’s true. And relief, at Mom having no doubts I told the truth, not Shelby. I’ve been doing everything at the house for so long it feels like nobody appreciated it. It feels good to be validated, but I want to be the kind of man who doesn't need that. All of this is shit. Where’s my time machine?
Mom adds, “Shelby said she needed a retreat. I wanted to tell her it sounded like she had one for years."
A sarcastic laugh escapes tight lungs. "Kinda wish you'd said it. And I kinda wish I could have a retreat too.” Mom begins to invite me to join them for lunch, but I tell her, "I think I've caused enough trouble."
She nods and shrugs helplessly, "I did tell them they have it free. So…"
"Thanks, but I'm going to sit this one out. I appreciate the support though. I really do, Mom. Thanks.”
"Would you do me a favor?”
"Anything."
"Would you be their guide on the horse rides tomorrow?"
Speechless for a second, I stare at her. I used to do that when I was a kid all the way up until I married Shelby. I’d ride one horse, a guest on the other, each guest taking turns afterward. We made use of the wide open spaces. This activity was always my favorite part of helping out at the retreats. I want to do it more than anything, but I know how much trouble I caused. “You really think that's a good idea?"
"Like I said, they're getting a free ride. I can do what I want,” Mom turns around and heads back to the house, calling over her shoulder with a smile, “You can start with Willow."
"Now that's just blackmail."
Mom laughs and playfully tosses her hair, sundress blowing in the breeze as she quickens her pace to return to business.
I had no idea she hadn't been traveling for the last few years. Did she say five? What the fuck was I doing? How did I get in that deep? Marriage is something I've always wanted, but when you're in the wrong one, should you stay just because you made the vow? That’s the question I asked myself for years and I know the answer now. It’s a big fat no.
At least for me.
I'm glad I walked here. I need time to think. There has to be a way to ensure that she'll sign those papers quickly. Shelby clearly doesn't have any interest in doing that, and when she digs her heels in it's hard to get them out.
After I come up empty on ideas, walking along the main road’s gravel shoulder, my mind travels back to Willow, on her sharing that photograph with me. When I looked from it to her, I was struck by the hope in her eyes. She's got a talent but she doesn't seem to know it. There was hope, and something else, too. Happiness. It makes me wonder, how many of us are walking around with talents we don’t know we have, that could make us glow like she did when I said, Wow?
Is there anything I haven't done but could be doing, that would make me happy like that?
FOURTEEN
Willow
We’re painting the clear glass mason jars into chalky pale greens, blues and white. I would feel at peace, except for the fact that I keep thinking about Ben. I'm not meaning to, quite the opposite. His handsome face keeps popping uninvited into my silly mind. What color would Ben like on a mason jar? My gaze travels to Laura, seated across from me, and to Dax, next to her. Both are blissfully painting, with Dax’s the most creative of us three. Of all us, in fact, because the product of their work is a Pollack-esque jar, using all of the colors in spatters. Every single one of us, besides Dax, was using one color only. Now some, inspired, are mixing it up a little. When I take mine home, and see them daily on my bathroom window sill, will I think of the retreat, of my new friends, or will I think of Ben?
I've never had my mind this occupied by a man before, except when we’re breaking up. In those cases of my past, I’ve been consumed by trying to fix it, wondering where things went wrong. Normal stuff. But Ben and I just met, so none of that applies. Right before we came together in here as a group, I privately told Laura that my mind was elsewhere.
She and I exchange a look and my paintbrush slides forward, hitting a vase of sunflowers in the middle of the table, splotching it with pure white. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”
Sylvia motions to the tissues. “Not the first time. It comes off easily when it’s still wet.”
I hurry to clean my wandering mind — I mean, paint stroke — grinning to myself while shaking my head, because I really am a mess right now. Laura winks at me and glances to Rachel, who is absorbed in painting a blue mason jar, and says nothing.
Beside me, Gemma's name lights up my phone’s screen, a smiling photo of her with her surfboard relaxing my nerves. I took this picture, one that so perfectly encapsulates my friend that it’s been Gem’s contact image for two-plus years now. “Excuse me, it's my best friend calling."
Everyone continues in uninterrupted peace as I hurry out of the room and answer, “Hey Gem. You got my text?”
"Have you found your smile yet?"
“Hang on. Let me just get to somewhere where I don’t disturb everyone.” Closing the arts and crafts room’s door, I hurriedly glance around and find that I’m alone. Not that I was expecting Ben, which would be a nice surprise, but Jaxson could have arrived while we were all in there, and I certainly don’t want him overhearing this. Kicking off my sandals, curling up on a cream-colored loveseat, I have the main room all to myself, so I get comfortable and tell her the truth, “I found my frown, not my smile.”
“Oh no,” she gasps, “Are you having a terrible time? Is it awful there?"
