Twinkle Fiddles

Chapter Seventeen

Sailing is often a lonely therapy. One can find the winds a better shrink than a professional visit on a couch. Dylan navigated solo around the rivers from Hilton Head up to Beaufort, sometimes sails up, other times anchored idle in a lonely pass. Being on the water reminded him of Julie, and the afternoon on the Mystic. The sunset. The blue hour they shared. Each night as he sat under the stars, he thought of her.

He also thought about Berkeley. He was often reminded of the little things they shared. He remembered both the college days from years ago, and their more recent bonding. Dylan realized how Berkeley was always there for him.

His appetite had returned. He had gained half of the pounds he had lost. Lunches consisted of fruit and protein bars on the boat he was piloting. His cell phone remained off. Any calls weren't going to be from Julie, and everyone else could wait. It was her that he wanted to hear from. Dylan took Berkeley's advice to reset. He missed Julie too much not to be her friend. It was going to take time to recover, not to worry about what happened, but to move forward.

Julie had to go to work daily in her cubicle. The mundane tasks did little to keep her mind off Dylan. Her hopes for a message from him faded daily. She had once looked at her phone with every beep and vibration hoping to hear from him. Now she only checked on breaks. She had lost interest in all her vendor accounts. Little actual work was being accomplished. She often thought about him and the afternoon on the Mystic. The sunset. The blue hour they shared. Each night she struggled to sleep; she thought about him.

Julie knew the only way to move forward was to be strictly professional, no friendly conversations. She hoped Dylan was re-assigned with Walter's passing. The last thing she wanted was to have to work beside him and be his friend. He had toyed with her emotions, first with the pink rock, then promises of a talk that never came. Her pain was real. He had hurt her deeply, in a way no one ever had.

Over the weekend Emmy came to stay at Julie's apartment. They watched a Harry Potter movie. Julie had been quiet the entire evening. She didn't quote the movie as she traditionally did, or turn up the volume, for her favorite scenes. It had been noticeable different. She was placid and despondent.

Emmy was curious about her sister's emotional difference until she noticed the four 9x12 canvas paintings hung by the kitchen table. Julie's apartment was filled with her art, but these were newly crafted. It was also unusual that she'd paint a set rather than individual prints.

"Is this the one you did at Christmas?" Emmy pointed to the lower left canvas of a restaurant scene.

Julie nodded as she walked closer. To the right, also on the lower tier was a print of a heavily varnished wood table top. Barely viable in patterned brush strokes, she had painted a worn brass plaque. Emmy read it aloud, "Michael Phelps ate at this table."

Julie didn't rise her attention. She looked down to her slender bare toes. The non-response only sparked Emmy's interest more as she wondered how a seafood restaurant scene related to the top prints: a girl standing alone at the wheel of a sailboat, and two Jeeps parked next to each other, on a sandy beach, as a shrimp boat passed at sunset.

Emmy looked closer. She ran a finger across the painting of the sailboat. "Mystic. That's cute, you named the boat after your cat. I remember when you found her in the trash dumpster in college. We told you to call her 'Mutt,' and you said, 'No, she's Mystic!'"

Julie stared at the boat name on the painting. "Do you believe in magic?"

"You mean like Harry Potter magic?" Emmy responded.

"Like magic, like a sign, like the most wonderful feeling in the world, knowing something special is happening to you." Julie answered but never took her vision away from the painting. The one of the long-haired girl, standing at the helm, of the Mystic.