Sempre: Redemption (Forever Series #2)(29)
As long as she was still breathing, she was okay.
Dia helped guide Haven through the simple things, things Carmine had never gotten around to showing her, like how to mail letters and use a computer. Haven bought postcards at the store to send to Tess and Dominic across the country, and she set up an email account to keep in touch with them.
The sensation of seeing something in the mailbox addressed to her was indescribable. Most people took it for granted, communicating freely, but it was a big deal to her. It was proof she had an identity, that she was real.
The first time she received junk mail, a flyer from a local business about a sale, Haven was elated. She wasn’t sure how they got her name and Dia shrugged it off, telling Haven to trash it, but she refused. She had been acknowledged as existing, like she was just another person in the world. She wasn’t Haven Antonelli, former slave; she was Haven Antonelli, potential customer.
To her, that was everything.
Things went smoother after she decided to give life alone a chance, but she still had her moments. She missed Carmine immensely, her love never wavering. She often wrote him letters, too, but she never mailed them. Whether it was pride, or anger, or straight-up fear, something kept her from reaching out to him again.
* * *
Haven awoke one morning to sunlight pouring into the Charlotte apartment. Winter had faded away, January turning to February before March blossomed before her eyes. She climbed out of bed and opened the window, breathing in the fresh morning air as she looked out at the street below. The trees were full of lush green leaves, small flowers starting to bloom and freckle the landscape with color that hadn’t been there the day before.
After getting ready for the day, Haven strolled out to the living room. It was quiet and still, Dia having already left. Where her books had been strewn out the night before lay a single pamphlet, a yellow sticky note attached to the front. Haven picked it up curiously before strolling into the small kitchen.
Thought you might be interested in this.—Dia
Pouring a glass of juice, Haven sipped some as she opened the brochure. Charlotte Academy of Arts Spring Schedule was written along the top, followed by a list of upcoming workshops. She scanned them, stopping at one halfway down.
Painting 101
This free workshop will help students loosen up and see the world in a different light. Participants will experience the joy of painting, learning to express themselves in a new creative way. No experience needed. All materials included.
Mon–Fri, March 12–23, noon–3?P.M.
March 12. Haven glanced at the calendar, realizing it was today.
She read the pamphlet three times before setting her glass on the counter. She debated for a moment, wondering if she could really do it, before shrugging away her doubts and grabbing her things. She headed out of the apartment, finding the Mazda parked in the lot across the street.
Hesitating, she ran her hand along the sleek hood before climbing into the driver’s seat and starting it up.
She was nervous as she drove across town, chanting to herself the entire time: If not for you, do it for Carmine.
* * *
It took Haven a while to find the place and just as long to figure out where to park. By the time she stepped into the Charlotte Academy of Arts, it was already a quarter after twelve. Discouraged, she walked up to a lady sitting at a desk in the front lobby, clutching the pamphlet in her hand. “I know it’s probably too late, but I was wondering about the art class that started today.”
“Painting?” the lady asked.
Haven nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re in luck,” she said. “There’s one opening left.”
Haven filled out the paperwork, trying to keep her hand from shaking as she wrote her name. Once she registered, the lady showed her to the classroom. The lighting was dim, soft classical music playing from speakers in the ceiling. Art stations were set up in rows as a man stood in the front, sitting on top of a desk with his arms crossed over his chest as he scanned the class. His eyes settled on her and he smiled, walking over to the door.
“We have another student,” the lady said, handing him the paperwork. “Haven Antonelli.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand. “Let me show you to your place.”
He situated her at the last empty station and instructed her to just explore today. She sat there for a moment, staring at the blank canvas when he walked away. A smile tugged her lips as she picked up a paintbrush, dipping it into a container of red paint.
She started off by drawing a simple heart in the center.
* * *
For the first time, Haven arrived home after Dia that night. She headed up the stairs to the sixth floor apartment close to dusk, her first painting tucked under her arm. Dia was sitting on the floor in the living room, stacks of freshly developed photos sprawled out around her. She looked up when Haven walked in, her eyes darting straight to the wrapped canvas.
“How was it?” she asked, her voice guarded.
“It was good,” Haven said. “I liked it.”
Dia took the painting from her, unwrapping it and holding it up, examining the streaks of color and distorted hearts. “It’s amazing! Let’s hang it up!”
Haven laughed. “It was just practice.”
“So?” Dia waded through her sets of photographs on the way to the closet to find a hammer and nails. She jumped up on the couch with it and crookedly hung the canvas in the center of the wall above it. She leaped down when she was finished and surveyed her handiwork. “It’s your first painting! You should be proud.”