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“Oh,” Isla said and dropped the picture in her hand into the box.
“What is it?” He reached into the box and grabbed the photo before she could stop him. “Oh.” His eyes lingered on one of their many prom pictures. He in his tux with a green tie and matching cummerbund and Isla in the gorgeous gold beaded halter top that stopped at a green satin skirt and flared out. It made her look like a princess. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, and their eyes were locked. He remembered the exact moment of this picture. No one else existed. It was only Isla.
He’d been so naïve then, thinking what they had would last forever. A part of him wanted to climb into the photo and go back to that time. Relish in the innocent way he thought he had it all figured out.
What would his eighteen-year-old self think of him now? He lost the girl, he lost the dream job, and all he had left was a car payment.
“We were so happy,” she said. “Then I had to go and mess it all up.” She looked down at the box of pictures, and he continued to stare at the one in his hand.
Shehadmessed it up, and that had been why he’d been so angry at her. Why he had left. When they were together, nothing else mattered. But for whatever reason, what they had wasn’t enough. If it was, she wouldn’t have created the drama that she had.
“We were,” he finally said, his voice gruffer than he intended. He should have assured her that it wasn’t her fault, but he never lied to her, and he wasn’t going to start.
Chapter 19
The news played in the background, giving updates on the hurricane, while Isla went through another closet. She had been listening here and there, getting the latest updates, but she was trying not to consume herself in the reports. It would only be fuel for the chaotic thoughts her mind was capable of conjuring, and she didn’t want to freak herself out.
Even though she’d said she could handle it, Dad followed her home after work, to help her put the lawn furniture in the shed and to secure anything else that might go airborne with the sustained winds the National Weather Service was predicting.
Now that she didn’t have to worry about flying umbrellas and projectiles going through her windows, she had time to spend on the inside of the house. Little by little, she was making it her own.
Helping Nolan fix the pipe had given her the extra motivation she needed to start implementing small changes. She’d gone through more cabinets, figuring out what to keep and what to sell at the yard sale. She even went and bought the chair Olivia had texted her about. It looked perfect in the living room, and Isla smiled every time it caught her eye.
She still had a lot to go through, and the yard sale wouldn’t be anytime soon, but she finally felt like she was making progress, and even more, she didn’t feel guilty. Grandma left her the house for a reason. She knew Isla would do right by her. She even imagined Grandma sitting with her as she went through the cabinets.
Are you really going to keep that piece of junk? I don’t know why I never tossed it myself.
It made her laugh which made it easier to handle.
Nolan had finished the wall and all it needed was a fresh coat of paint. She was still deciding if she wanted to keep the vibrant yellow like Grandma had it or try something new. She thought Nolan would stop by to see her progress on making a decision, but she hadn’t spoken to him since the other night after they got home from the beach.
Something shifted between them. She felt it when she’d said she had messed everything up, and he hadn’t argued. His silence was his agreement, and though she went on like nothing was wrong, her heart had broken once again, and she could feel a wall resurrecting between them.
He blamed her just as she blamed herself, and because of that, he’d never forgive her. Or even if he did, he’d never forget. She ruined the best thing that had ever happened to her. It was probably best she brought it up, reminded him, so she wouldn’t get hurt with false hopes and expectations.
Her eyes moved to the unpainted wall, and she picked up the paint swatches Harper dropped off since she didn’t need them anymore for her studio. In the beginning Harper had no clue what color she wanted to pains, so there was an array of swatches making up every color in the color wheel.
Isla held the first swatch up; a variety of yellows and very similar to what currently adorned the wall. She shifted her lips back and forth, debating if the wall was meant to remain the vibrant splash of sunshine as it had always been for as long as Isla could remember or if yellow no longer suited it.
Every time Isla thought about this kitchen it was yellow, but with the unfinished wall, there seemed to be new possibilities. She just needed to let go of the past, of the familiar, and see if another color would be a better fit for her kitchen.
She put the yellow swatch down and picked up a swatch of orange then blue then green. None of the colors spoke to her, though. Defeat coursed through her and she was about to give up when her eyes landed on a swatch of whites.
White was boring, especially compared to the bright yellow that practically smacked your eyes as you walked in. But her gaze kept going to the same strip. She tilted her head up to the sky.
“I don’t know, Grandma. White?” She imagined Grandma, shrugging and saying,You won’t know unless you try it.
“I’m going to try it!” she announced to no one. She held the strip of five different whites against the wall and smiled.
Clearing her mind, she imagined the wall painted the third color on the strip. She could see it so vividly. All the other walls still yellow, but this wall, an accent wall of white.
It was perfect.
She opened her eyes and looked down at the color, bringing it closer to see the name.Daylight white. It might not be yellow sunshine, but it was still light, and the perfect color to start a blank page of a new chapter.
***
Basketball had always been a huge part of Nolan’s life, but the last three years, he never had time to go down to the courts and shoot a few hoops. He’d put work above everything, making it the only thing he cared about.
