Fly Away Home

Chapter 16

The crowd thins as our neighborhood gathering draws closer to an unwanted end. While some guests arrived with a handshake, none leave without a hug. Warmth spreads as everyone moves through the front door and back toward their own home. People are moving apart in a literal sense. But there's a stronger sense of coming together that is undeniable.

Russell and Lizzie are upstairs packing up the last of her things. Jack is the only visitor remaining. He stands outside on the porch, hands crossed at his waist. Although there's no discernable noise in the house, it is far from silent.

"Would you mind if I sit down? I'd like to say goodbye before Lizzie leaves." My sixth or seventh sense speaks to me. These two artistic souls have nurtured each other in a symbiotic way. Like bumble bees and flowering plants, they work together in harmony. It is extraordinary, the inspiration and enchantment created in the process. Not only for them, but for every life they touch.

"Sure." I feel we could somehow keep this conversation going without another spoken syllable. But there are three words I need to say. "I'm sorry, Jack."

The look of surprise on his face stuns me. "Claire, those are words I should be saying, not you."

Perhaps we both own rights to them in this case. But I don't want to get pulled under the influence of trivialities that steal from the silent magic of this moment. "I know you were only trying to do the right thing, for Lizzie." He remains quiet, allowing a closed-lip smile to emerge. Tension releases from his shoulders, and it's all the encouragement I need. "I'd like for you to finish that sketch of the house." I have both oars in the water, battling the emotional seas that try to catapult me from the boat I'm paddling. "Please. For me."

I don't want it to come across sounding too desperate. Gosh, I hope it isn't. Even if nothing ever comes of whatever this is between Jack and me, I need this. To see his visual inspiration and lock it in my memory forever more.

He rises to his feet, and I feel Jack's desire to reach out and... what? Shake my hand? Caress my cheek? Hold me? "That would make me happier than you know." Like a tango, we're dancing in unison to the beat of music only we hear.

The trundle of footsteps down the stairs is slow and deliberate. My niece slides through the front door, a disappointed look etched on her furrowed brow. Her eyes brighten at the sight of Jack, who focuses all his attention on the budding artist. "Hey, Lizzie. I just wanted to say goodbye. Or hopefully, see you later."

She wraps her arms around him in a full hug, surprising everyone. "Thank you, for everything."

"And the same goes for you, young lady. You're truly an inspiration. Keep painting, okay?" She nods her head vigorously. The smile on her face grows wider and more colorful than the expanse of my blossoming garden.

Russell leans over and whispers in my ear. "We talked upstairs. Thank you, Claire." He wraps me in a hug. That feeling of bringing two people back together again is beyond satisfying. It fills my cup and overflows it with blissful joy.

"I love you, Russell."

"Love you too, Claire."

There's no need for childhood nicknames. Not now. Love like this is simple. And real. "Stay in touch. And visit more often. My door is always open." The words coming from my mouth might have surprised me in the past. Today, they flow with the same carefree assurance of that stream's current.

"We will." My brother chuckles. There's a certainty in his response as he glances over at Lizzie. "I know this because she's already picked out her next painting subject. Something having to do with a produce shop on Main Street."

We separate and prepare for the inevitable departure that no one wants to happen. But it must. Russell has a new corporate landscape project to envision. And an artistic daughter to dote upon like I know he will.

Before I realize it, Russell's car horn honks. Both passengers are waving their hands outside the window. Calls of see you soon are no longer lip service. We mean them, and I already look forward to our next visit together.

I peek back toward the man still standing on my front porch. Jack holds a watercolor painting. It showcases a pyramid of lemons stacked with careful exactness. They're situated on my kitchen table. It has been an important cog in my emotional transformation over the past week. The thoughts, conversations, and decisions made in that space? It only adds certainty to the belief that this room is my favorite in the house. In my home.

"She gave you that?"

"She did." His response rests somewhere between surprise and assertion. Why did Lizzie choose that one? "She said I should continue trying some new things." I should've known he'd read my thoughts.

A warm smile spreads, inside and out, that speaks with more depth than any word or thought. I know what's coming. My heartbeat skips, and unsteady breathing quickens. It's a spontaneous and intrinsic response to keep my world from spinning out of control. But I want it to continue pirouetting as it is with a sense of reckless abandon.

I close my eyes and drown in the delicate pressure of his lips against mine. It's strong and certain. But also, tender and unsteady. I continue sinking into each emotion and every sensation that harmonizes with it.

When Jack steps back after a moment of pure bliss that I wish could go on forever, I want to scream. Please, don't go.

But I have no words. He's stolen my breath, and maybe more.