𝗣 𝗬 𝗥 𝗢 𝗠 𝗔 𝗡 𝗜 𝗔 | BOOK THREE

T H I R T Y - O N E

[graham eaton]

The lighting of the reception is warm and bright. I look around the party, trying to find who I saw during the ceremony. I sip slowly on my whiskey, looking around. I want to feel the buzz of the alcohol, but not enough to cloud my head. I want the warmth the whiskey provides to fill me up, but not so much that I make questionable decisions. When I drink Whiskey or Scotch, it gives me a sense of confidence I usually don't have. Not a reckless confidence either, but a confidence to speak the truth or do something I've always wanted to do. My father sips on his drink, a cola, avoiding damaging his liver after everything that happened all those years ago. He nudges me with his elbow and points to a corner of the room.

"Is that Jolene?" He asks, pointing at a beautiful woman in a black dress wearing a painting apron.

I nod and smile. Her hair is clipped back behind her head and her hands are covered in paint. She paints on a canvas in front of her, looking at the scene before her, then back down at the canvas. Rory and Elaine dance on the floor, embracing as the music surrounds them. I've seen Rory happy before, but nothing like this. The way he looks at Elaine... I never looked at Jolene that way, as hard as I tried to. There are only a few people I've seen look at one another like that. My Uncle Zeke and my Aunt Shauna, My Aunt Christina and my Uncle Will, my Uncle Uriah and my Aunt Marlene, and my Mother and Father. I've seen the looks Atticus gives Anya, a friend we've had since college. She was always in the library while we were studying and we eventually became study pals. We'd help her study her advanced Biology and she's help us study our engineering or nursing or fire sciences. She was in Atticus's mathematics class his second year of college and they became close friends. When they started talking last year, it was of little surprise when they announced that they were dating. The looks Atticus gives Anya are these kinds of looks. He loves her with his whole heart, and she loves him too. I hand my father my glass of Whiskey and nod at him.

"Will you hold this? I want to go talk with Jolene." I say.

He takes my glass and exhales slowly through his lips and looks in her direction, an eyebrow raised.

"Graham, I don't think there's anything you can say to her that she hasn't already heard before." He says. "I mean, she's avoiding your calls for a reason. I don't mean to sound hard, but what if she doesn't want to talk to you?"

I furrow my brows and exhale slowly, nodding. I grab hold of my glass of Whiskey again, swishing the liquid back and forth in the fine glass cup.

"I won't know until I try," I say, smiling at him before taking one large swill of my Whiskey. "Wish me luck."

I set my glass down and start walking in the direction of Jolene's set up. Her blonde hair that was once short and up by her shoulders is long now, just hanging below her ribs. Her blue eyes lift and examine the scene before her before returning to the canvas. She moves quickly, reaching for a tube of deep Burgundy paint to mix with her brown to create a warm wooden brown bark color. I step behind her, grabbing the tube of cerulean blue from the table. She spins around and gasps, staring up at me in shock.

"Graham," She whispers out, her lips parted, the glossy sheen almost magnetizing.

She clears her throat and wipes her hands off on the hand rag hanging from her apron. 

"Hi, Graham, you look nice." She says firmly. "How have you been?"

I raise an eyebrow and watch as she turns back around and examines the scene, grabbing one shade from the tub beside her foot.

"It's been okay, I guess. I miss talking with you," I say. "I know that you blocked my cell number, and I don't blame you."

She spins around and looks at her table, sifting through the tubes of paint, searching for one in particular.

"I had to take some time for myself, Graham. You should understand. Everything I had burnt up in that fire." She says, looking for one tube of paint in particular. "I don't blame you, if that's what you're thinking."

I nod sadly.

"Dammit, where did it go?" She whispers. "I just saw it. It was right here."

I hold my hand out to her, palm up, the tube of paint sitting in her hand.

"Is this what you're looking for?" I ask.

Her eyes trail to the tube of paint in my hand. Her blue eyes look up at mine and she nods. She reaches for it, but I pull away, closing my palm.

"Can we talk?" I ask. "I really miss you." 

She reaches for my hand, desperately trying to pry my fingers open to grab the paint tube.

"Can we talk later? I'm kinda in the middle of something if you couldn't tell." She says.

I push my hand away behind my back and smile at her.

"I miss you at the apartment and the sounds of when you would be working and dropped a pencil or cussed when you used the wrong shade for something you were working on." I say.

She raises her eyebrow and shakes her head.

"First of all, I never dropped my pencils. You were just delusional and started hearing things. And second, if you don't give me that paint, this canvas is going to dry and you're going to have to explain to Rory and Elaine why I can't finish their commission for the biggest day of their lives." She says.

I smile and raise an eyebrow, nodding towards the bar where I can get her a drink and talk with her.

"If I give you this paint, can we talk when you're done?" I ask.

She exhales and shakes her head.

"The reason I blocked you wasn't because I was just 'going through something', Graham. I was angry, and frankly, I still kind of am. I don't want to talk to you right now so, please, just give me my paint and let me finish this damned painting so I can afford to eat this week!" She exclaims.

I place the paint in her hand and stand from where I was leaning. I clear my throat and look away from her, the warm buzz in my chest cold and hollow now. 

"I'm sorry, Jolene." I say quietly. "I'll give you your space."

I walk away from her and approach the door to the roof of the building. I need some fresh air.