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“Because you saw familiar symbols and were allowed to make marks of your own?”
Teo thinks about that and then nods.
“That’s the power of art,” Rae says. “Seeing yourself and making connections.” He lifts that roll of paper. “Feels like it’s almost time to show you the marks I grew up seeing. But for now, think about this: What if you didn’t have any spray paint to make your mark? What if none of you did? Could you still see yourself here and make your mark, only maybe like this instead?”
He shares more images of what looks like street art, only these vivid symbols cover a forest floor. The reds, golds, and greens of the leaves the artist used instead of paint are vibrant. Bold. A visual statement as clear as Rae’s next one. “Think you can tag these woods with whatever colour leaves the little ones find? Make patterns and connections with them. Help them feel as seen as you did when you were allowed to make your mark on the walls of the art building?”
“Oh, heisgood.” Luke slides a look my way that I can’t read. “Someone that smart? He’ll get snapped up by a school if he ever wants to put down roots. Snapped up by someone local as well. In fact, I heard that someone’s already working on that.”
“They are?”
Dammit. That popped out way too quickly.
Luke doesn’t grin. He doesn’t have to. I’m becoming a master at knowing when eyes laugh at me.
He does say, “School scuttlebutt is that you two only just slid back through the gates a minute before curfew last week. You must have beenverybusy to lose track like that.”
That’s one way to describe me scything a path to those old living quarters for Rae. Maybe someone saw the glow of my phone after we got back, both of our heads bent over it as I translated more of those diary pages. That took another hour of us sitting close together in the Land Rover, me reading out what Olek valued enough to write about or draw.
That brown leather football of his featured often. So did a pool he learned to swim in.
His handwriting was harder to decipher, but Luke doesn’t have any trouble translating what I want in my own near future.
“So, are you going to show him some more art inspiration this weekend? Get him fired up for his project?”
He’s as mistaken as I was about how inspiration would strike Rae. He is usually such a live wire, like he is with these kids now. I more than half expected fireworks—for him to be excited and loud about it after I hacked through those brambles.
The calm that actually descended?
That was a surprise I’ve spent this week turning over. The more I do, the more it makes sense that peace settled for Rae the moment he knew how to kick off his story.
I’d feel fucking calm too if I could see my own sure way forward.
Luke misinterprets my huff—a soul-deep exhale that will cloud once these woods turn frosty. And they will soon. These fallen leaves will turn dry and crunchy regardless of whether I’m still on Luke Lawson’s year-round payroll.
He lands on a different subject. “If you do go out again looking for inspiration, there’s a lot of local artwork in the restaurant at the Anchor in Porthperrin. Good food too.”
Marc told me the same. I’m pretty sure the Anchor is where Stefan wined and dined and stole him before I got a chance to date him, only right now, I’m so fucking relieved at how that panned out. Because it isn’t Marc who I picture with a candle flickering between us on a restaurant table.
It’s Rae.
Luke leaves me then, time for another teacher to be my mentor.
A deeper sigh huffs out from me once he’s gone, because the Anchor is way out of my budget and I’m too busy.
All the children turn my way, so I guess that sigh came out loudly. So does a shout.
Little Adam is pleased to see me, and I drop to my knees with my arms wide open. That’s instinctive. So is catching him when he stumbles. I scoop him up as Charles approaches, but he doesn’t take his runaway son back from me. If anything, his first comment is surprising.
“Look at how easily he loves you.”
I can’t pretend that doesn’t sound raw, and the shadows under his eyes prove a point he makes once the children are busy.
“Sorry I haven’t been much help this week. I’ve been a bit overwhelmed. Lost perspective.” He’s brutally honest. “Felt like I was the one and only person responsible for everyone’s well-being. Even Hugo’s, and he’s an actual functioning adult.” This is the fiercest I’ve ever heard him. “Of course he’s got my back, and of course everything won’t fall apart if I stop trying to be everything to everybody. Thank you for showing me that I don’t have to.”
“Me?”
Adam must be tired. He snuggles into the crook of my neck and shoulder, a fully relaxed weight adding to building blocksthree other toddlers must have stacked in my chest. Now I hold Adam against mine and sway from side to side with him.
