Insight (Web of Hearts and Souls #1)(6)

“Hey, let’s do something tomorrow,” Olivia said, knowing that I’d soon turn my attention to Libby. I nodded and walked to meet Libby. When she saw me, she ran in my direction, her emotion drenched in excitement.

“Oh, that was the best movie ever! The princess had green eyes like you!”

“Are you sure? I thought only witches had green eyes?” I teased.

Not finding it very amusing, her wide smile lessened. I waved goodbye to Olivia, and Libby told her friend goodbye. She must have known I was supposed to take her to Mom’s gallery because she turned in that direction as we left the theater and all but pulled me down the sidewalk.

“Willow, why are you walking so slow? I want to see Mom. Which pieces of yours are in the show?”

Libby never had just one question.

“It’s just nice out. I want to enjoy it.”

“What pictures of yours are in the show?” she asked again.

She knew I was avoiding the answer.

“I don’t know. Mom didn’t ask me.”

Libby started going on about which ones were her favorite. I listened half-heartedly as I scanned the crowd, looking for another image. The woman wearing a black coat had left me with a craving to help someone else.

People were rushing in and out of the doors of the gallery when we arrived. We didn’t see Mom at first, but Libby spotted her as the people scurried around us.

“There she is.”

My mother, dressed in the unique style that reflected her artistic ability, was wearing one of my father’s pinstriped shirts. She had fashioned it into a dress with a wide belt, black tights, and several long gold and silver necklaces. Both of her wrists were full of silver and gold bracelets. By next week every teenager and trendy mother would have on the same outfit. Her energy filled all those that she came across. She was addictive and had no idea that she was.

I waved at her to let her know we were there. Libby then took my hand and said, “Let’s find yours.”

It was not hard. One of the first ones in the presentation was mine. It was of a little boy in a field, surrounded by wildflowers. I had painted it almost a year ago. The emotion was happy in this painting. He was so sweet, but when I first saw him he was filled with sorrow, he had lost something. I only tried to give him patience. Just as I was to leave him, I saw what he had lost come back to him. It was his best friend, a yellow lab. It made me smile to remember him. That was the upside to this odd trait of mine: helping.

“Who did you draw?” Libby asked.

“It was just someone I thought of,” I uttered with caution.

“There are my two angels,” I heard my mother say.

Libby was in her arms before I could turn to her voice.

“Did you like your movie?” she asked Libby

The energy that those two put off was unbelievable. Libby nodded and went into a full recount of the movie. My mother’s eyes met mine as Libby spoke. Wanting to avoid her stare, I began to walk down the hall in the gallery and look at all the paintings. The emotion of the artwork, not just mine, was powerful. The most amazing part was feeling the emotions of the people who gazed at them. If they understand the painting, they feel it. Seeing the silent connection from the creator to the observer was near breathtaking. It always gave me the reassurance that we are not alone, that somewhere someone is feeling or has felt what you are going through. They obviously survived it, so no doubt you would, too.

My mother caught up with me. “How did your day go? Did you sleep in?” she asked, trying to catch my gaze.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“We’re going to meet your Dad at Antoine’s for dinner,” she said with a sigh of relief.

“Speaking of sleep, I bet he’s tired since he had to work last night.”

I tilted my head and gave her a dry grin, just so she would know that I was not stupid, that I knew something was up with them. No doubt there.

A surge of suspense rushed through her. She stood speechless before turning and trying to look busy, talking to the lighting crew. When I get home tonight, I thought, I’m going to have to just demand a solid answer from them.

Antoine’s was busy, which wasn’t surprising, as nice as it is. Dad managed to get us a table out on the street. He seemed lost in his thoughts, which was odd because he is usually very attentive to us. I melted into my seat, keeping my eyes down and tracing my forbidden tattoo, as well as the new addition—the small star—now there. It’s now a part of me. Great.

I listened as Mom and Dad went over their days with each other. They were interrupted often as people would pass by and stop to talk to them. I listened and added in a laugh or “yes” or “no” when the questions would come my way. My eyes were on the people all around us. I had not given up my search for another image.

I was more worried that it would be another six months before another image would come. I could feel my father watching me, following my gaze. When he exchanged glances with my mother, I could sense his concern. What is it with him lately?

As dinner ended, I felt a familiar pull on me, so I hastily searched the crowd for anyone out of place. Across the street, I saw three girls walking toward the direction of our home. They looked wet and were huddled closely together, trying to calm each other. I looked at my mother and saw her sketching something on a napkin.

“Mom, do you care if I go by the art store before I come home?” I asked, needing an excuse for the detour that I was planning.