The Escape Collection: (The Escape Collection) (60 page)

My fingers twitched again and my knees bounced. It would feel good. It would feel really good.
 

I squeezed my fingers tight around the empty air. But what if it didn’t? What if I no longer had art in me? Hadn’t Dylan said something about our mother putting away her brushes? She’d once created beautiful pictures and then one day, it stopped.
 

I rocked back in the chair and let out a sigh. There was really only one way to find out.

Before I could change my mind, I ran inside and into the bedroom. I grabbed the empty sketchbook and the box of colored pencils.

Returning to the porch, I dropped to my knees, opened the book to the first page and dumped the box of pencils out in front of me, where they rolled across the floorboards.

I froze.
 

Now what?
 

It had been too long. This isn’t who I am anymore, I tried to tell myself.
 

“Screw that,” I said aloud.
 

I chose a light gray pencil, and before I could lose my nerve, I touched it to the paper and slowly, lightly, sketched a petal. My strokes were delicate at first, barely leaving a mark, and then bolder as my muscles and my mind remembered what to do.

It wasn’t long before the petals were done, and I moved to the center of the flower and then the leaves. Selecting a green pencil, I shaded the stem, looking towards a daisy off the edge of the porch for inspiration. Mesmerized by the process, I alternated between shades of green, trying to get the color just right before moving on to a white pencil and then a yellow one to add a bold splash that made the drawing come to life.
 

When I was finished, I pushed back on my heels and examined the drawing.
 

It was good.
 

More than that, it felt good to draw again.
 

Really good.
 

I felt my mouth turn up into a smile that hurt my cheeks. I wanted to scream and shout. I wanted to tell the world that I still had it. I could draw. I tipped my head back to the sky and did just that. “I’m an artist,” I hollered. And then looking around at the empty porch, I laughed.
 

I let the sound ripple through my chest and out of my mouth.
 

If anyone happened to be watching, I would have looked like a crazy woman. I didn’t care.

It felt good. I felt good.
 

“God, I missed you,” I said to the drawing I’d just created and then burst into laughter again.
 

Why had I waited for so long? At that moment I couldn’t remember any reason good enough to keep me from my passion. From the feeling of creating.

I couldn’t wait to do it again. But first I had to pull myself together. I smoothed my skirt and reached for my lemonade to cool off. The sun was high, and the heat of the day was starting to press down on me.
 

The glass was empty.
 

I put it down and searched the tree line at the far end of the meadow. It didn’t take long to spot the break in the foliage that marked the pathway to the pond. There was another way to cool down. And it would feel good to go for a swim.
 

Buoyed by my artistic accomplishment, I laughed and jumped up. “Why not?” And before I could change my mind, I ran down the stairs, and through the field toward the path in the trees.
 

My skirt caught on the branches and shrubs as I ran, so I gathered as much of the fabric as I could in one hand and lifted it around my knees. With my feet free from the long hem, I could move faster and the giggles in the back of my throat built until I was sure I sounded like a little girl. Or a crazy woman. But I didn’t care.
 

I used my other hand to push back branches as I moved. I was fairly certain that I sounded like a herd of elephants charging through the trees. No worries about wildlife then, I thought, and tipped my head back to let the laughter rip from my mouth.

When I broke through the last stand of shrubs and into the clearing of the pond, I collapsed onto the grassy bank. It hadn’t been a long run, but my chest heaved with the combination of my growing excitement and the physical strain, no matter how minor.
 

Before I could overthink it, I tugged off my blouse and wiggled out of my skirt. I threw my bra and panties on top of the pile and stood naked in the clearing.

“Let’s see if I still remember how to do this,” I said, and ran knee deep into the lake, before pointing my hands over my head and diving in.
 

When I broke the surface, I was in the middle of Prince's Pond. The coolness of the water enveloped my body and tightened my skin. I was right; it felt really good. I took another deep breath and dove under the surface again, kicking hard to propel myself forward. As I moved, the water flowed past, skimming my body and firing my nerve endings.
 

I kicked harder and arrowed my hands in front of me, pushing to the edge of what my body could handle. When the fire built in my lungs, I had to surface to extinguish it with gulps of fresh air.
 

After a few more strokes, the excitement of my spontaneity began to dissipate and I relaxed into the swim. I flipped onto my back so I could look up at the vastness of the blue sky. There was nowhere I needed to be, so I took my time, making lazy kicks to move myself along the surface.
 

It was like I was outside of my body, looking down on someone else. I was so completely uninhibited and free. I hadn’t been so unencumbered by insecurity since I was a child. But then again, I hadn’t drawn anything in years, either.

It felt amazing. Obviously, a break from my reality was just what I needed. The freedom to create again, and then, the freedom just to be.

I closed my eyes and lost myself in the sensation of gliding. Moving slower now, I kicked just enough to keep me afloat. The water gently lapped against my exposed chest, licking at my nipples. Every splash and slight wave caressed me, lighting another fire, this one deeper within.
 

I let my hands travel down the length of my body. My skin was cool, slippery. I hesitated only a moment before moving up to cup my breasts. My nipples were hard with the cold of the water, and the excitement of my own daring. The touch of my fingers fanned the flames that were building to an unmistakable inferno deep in my belly. It was an unfamiliar, yet not unwelcome, sensation. Emboldened by my brazenness, I let my hands inch down my stomach, towards the cleft between my legs. My fingers stopped just shy of their goal.
 

Go ahead, Becca. Just one touch. Why not? My brain battled itself. Reason versus want.

The impetuousness of the afternoon—of the moment—prodded me to break every self-imposed boundary I'd ever set. My fingers moved, closing the gap, and the shiver that shot through my body had nothing to do with the water. A sigh escaped my lips, as my fingers
 
worked to build the flames within me.

A shadow passed overhead and seconds later a splash broke my bliss. I flipped to my stomach, instinctively covering my body under the water. I looked behind me, across the lake, where an osprey was emerging from the water, a fish in its talons. Turning again, I looked straight into the gentle dark eyes of a deer, undisturbed by the interruption at her watering hole.
 

“Shit,” I moaned with a laugh. I dunked myself under the surface, the fire inside, now certainly and unceremoniously, extinguished.

***

I took my time walking back to the cabin. It wasn’t like I had anywhere to be. Once the mood was broken, I felt ridiculous floating in the water. Besides, I was ready to draw again. In my rush to leave, I tugged my clothing on without bothering to dry off. I held my bra and panties bunched up in my hand and with my skirt and blouse sticking to my damp skin, I picked my way along the path.
 

Despite my swim being cut off rather abruptly, I felt refreshed and somehow lighter than I had in the morning. It was amazing how good it made me feel. Or maybe it wasn't the swim at all? Regardless, all of the anger and confusion I'd felt when I woke up was gone.
 

As I broke through the tree line and stepped out into the meadow, the sun hit me with full force. It didn't matter how many times I saw the field of flowers; it always had the same effect on me. I stopped and took it in. A rainbow of color dotted through the grasses, making the space come alive. I stopped to pick a daisy and twirled it between my fingers before tucking it into my wet hair and securing it behind my ear.
 

I was ready to hold the pencil again.

The porch was awash in the afternoon sun. I sat in the rocker and let the sun warm my still cool skin, relishing the heat on my body as I picked up a gray pencil and the sketchpad.
 

It came quickly, the art flowing through me and into the pencil that moved across the page. I wasn’t sure what I was going to sketch until the meadow began to take shape. I switched to green, and then red, and then blue.
 

Lost in the process, I didn’t notice Jason until he said, “Good afternoon.”
 

A ripple of excitement ran through me at the sound of the voice. My mind instantly flew to the memory of his kiss. I took my time turning around, but when I did, I saw Jason standing at the edge of the porch, leaning against the railing. There was something about his casual air that caused the heat inside me to smolder again. I hated myself for the way my body reacted.

“I didn’t think you were working up here today,” I said, trying to keep my voice cool and neutral.
 

“Yeah, I saw your car by the bridge when I came up,” he said. “I was working. I just parked farther up the road. Easier to haul the logs out that way.”

“The logs?”

“By the pond,” he said. “I told you I still had more work to do there, didn’t I?”

My brain raced and I forced myself to look at him. Making eye contact, I could feel the flush in my cheeks, but I wouldn't let myself look away. “You were there?” I asked. “Today?”

“Sure was.” He tucked his hand into his front pocket. “You were swimming.”

I flew out of the chair, jumping to my feet. My eyes bored into him. “You were watching me.” I jabbed a finger in his direction. “There’s something called privacy, you know?”
 

It was at that moment that I remembered I wasn’t wearing a bra. I crossed my arms protectively in front of my chest and hoped he hadn't noticed.

“Whoa.” He pushed away from the porch and held up his hands in defense. “I saw your wet hair,” he said. “I guessed.”

I brought a hand up to my hair, still damp and tangled. “Oh,” I said. But I wasn’t sure I believed him.
 

“I told you.” His voice was soft. “Don’t be angry with me.”

I crossed my arms again and glared down at him. I was angry. But this time it was accompanied by an undeniable arousal, as I thought about the possibility that he could have seen me swimming.
 

“Come on, Becca. Can we just be friends?” He took a step towards me.

“Friends?”
 

Friends didn’t kiss each other. I almost spoke aloud, but something in his voice made me lower my arms and take a step back.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Jason said. He stepped closer to me. A shiver ran through me and I hoped he hadn’t noticed. He leaned closer; my heart sped up, every nerve ending in my body on alert. I closed my eyes, fighting an internal battle.

“Did you do this? It’s really good.”
 

Jason’s voice rocketed me out of my trance and I opened my eyes. He was looking past me, at my sketchbook.
 

“It’s nothing,” I said, and reached for the book. I grabbed it and clutched it to my chest.

“It didn’t look like nothing to me.” He turned so his body was only inches from me. “It looked like a beautiful drawing,” he said. His voice was gentle. “I didn’t know you were an artist.”

I raised an eyebrow. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I said. “Besides, I’m hardly an artist.”

Jason held his hand out. “Can I see?”

“Why are you here?” I asked instead. A shadow passed over his face. “That came out wrong,” I said quickly. “What I meant was, I thought you weren’t coming back. That you were going to leave me alone.”

“I am.” He made no move to leave. “I mean, I will. If you want me to. But I forgot to tell you earlier that if you bring your milk jug back to the store when you’re done, we can get it refilled.”

“You came all the way back here to tell me that?”

“Yes.”

His eyes searched mine and I didn’t look away. After a moment, Jason broke the stare and asked again, “Can I see?” He held his hand out.

I sighed but passed it to him and sat on the floorboards. I busied myself by gathering the colored pencils that were still mostly scattered.

I didn’t watch him while he examined it. It wasn’t my best work, but it was my only work, at least in the last fifteen years.
 

After a few minutes of silence, he said, “This is really good.” Jason sat across from me with his knees almost touching mine. He held out my drawing, which I took from him, placing it next to the pencils.

He watched me as if he expected me to say something in return. I stared past him to the field. I still wanted to draw. But despite, or maybe because of, the tension between us, Jason’s presence wasn’t entirely unwelcome either.
 

“Look,” I said after a moment. “I’m sorry. About earlier, I mean.”

Jason shrugged and ran his hand through his shaggy locks. “Forget about it,” he said. When he smiled, my breath caught in my throat.
 

He leaned forward, closing the already small gap between us. “So, do you want me to?”

“Want you to what?” The words came out in a whisper of air.

“Leave you alone.” He reached forward and took my hand in his. A jolt of electricity flew up my arm. “I told you I would leave you alone if that’s what you wanted,” he said. “Is that what you want?”