The Perfect Gift

Chapter Twenty Two

Sarah

I heave the big, brown boxes above my chest as I trudge down the stairs leading out of the attic. "Sarah Elizabeth Hope! What on earth are you doing?" I hear my mum yell when she sees me.

I didn't think she'd notice. Oh well, she's bound to find out sooner or later. I choose later.

Brushing past her and the horrified look in her eyes,  i make my way to the house next door. "Spring cleaning," I answer dismissively.

"But it's not even close to spring yet!"

She is right, of course. It's already winter now in Forks, it's also been exactly a month since I and Ash broke up. After he came back from New York, we avoided each other so that we were barely in the same school.

The only class we had together was History and luckily for us, the single class was divided into two separate classes because of the size. I gladly joined the class he wasn't in.

Besides that, we were both too busy preparing for the final exams which ended last week.  Now, I'm packing up my paintings from the dusty, old attic/painting room.

The truth is: Ashton was right. A little part of me didn't want to acknowledge that dad really is dead so instead I've hung on to my paintings for so long. My dad always encouraged me to paint. So much so that he had become the reason I ever held my paintbrush.

I called Mr McCall last week and asked if he still wants some of my work and thankfully, he said yes. So I'm selling all of them to the art gallery.

Of course I didn't tell mum, she would have completely freaked out. But its for the best. I need to get over dad's death and clear the attic. And who knows, I might have new inspiration to paint again.

"Hey Ems! The boxes are in the attic," I call out to Ems who is getting out her car. She's been looking for something to do during the Christmas holiday since both her parents went to her grandmother's house in Alaska.

Alaska! Really?!  Alaska is even colder than Forks so naturally, Ems opted out of the trip. Luckily for her, she's an only child and she's almost eighteen. 

"'Kay." She walks into the house while I begin loading up Mr McCall's truck with the boxes of my framed paintings.

"What is going on?" I am met with my mum's interrogation once I reenter the house.

"I'm selling my paintings to Mr McCall's gallery," I try to move past her but she quickly blocks my path.

I see the look of frustration cross her features. "I know that. Why are you doing it?"

Trying to act nonchalant, I answer, "Because they're old and dirty."

Now her hands are on my shoulders and she pulls me to the sofa. I see the warmth in her eyes when she speaks. "Sarah, I know you've been going through some stuff since the breakup and I completely understand. Just, please don't shut me out anymore. Okay?"

Without warning, I burst into tears. My mum, rising quickly to the task, hugs me and begins patting my back slowly in an effort to conciliate me. 

"Ashton was right. H-he was r-right. I made a... a terrible mistake. The breakup was my f-fault. He mus-must hate me" 

"Shh baby. Don't cry. I promise you it'll all be okay soon. Ashton does NOT hate you," she says, her face stern.

I wipe my tears using the sleeves of my shirt and I whisper hopefully, "Do you really think that?"

She nods. "Of course. When you get back from the gallery, you can go talk to him yourself."

"Okay. Thanks mum," I say, hugging her tightly.

*** 

It took us another ten minutes to get all the canvases into the car. Twenty in all. There wasn't enough space for some of them so we strapped them to the top of the car.

We, Mr. McCall and I, are almost at the gallery when I hear a sound of something hitting the ground.

"What was that noise?" I ask, trying to make out the image of the back of the car through the rearview mirror. The blizzard makes it an impossible feat.

"Oh no. I think one of the canvases fell," Mr McCall says, swerving the car to the side of the snow-thickened road. The wipers work furiously at getting the snow off the windshields but as more snow gets wiped away, double the size comes back.

He parks the car and I get out quickly, pulling my oversize cardigan closer to my quivering body.

I rush over to where it had landed and bend to pick it up when I hear a scream. I look to see Mr McCall waving madly at me and yelling something inaudible.

I can't tell what he's trying to tell me but I know it's important. So I stand up and as I make a move to go back to the car, I see the headlights of a vehicle.

Before I can even comprehend what is happening, I feel my body flying across the road. Presumably from the impact of the twelve-feet tall truck. 

The last thing I see is my own blood staining the pure white snow. And the last thing I hear? Mr McCall screaming for help.

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