Two Weeks (The Baxter Family #5)(8)

“Cole.” Elise’s tone fell to a whisper. “You’re very loud. Anyone ever told you that?”

He liked her spunk. “I’m not usually like this. You bring it out in me.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I see.” Her giggle kept the moment light. “What were you going to say?”

“Right. That.” Relax, he ordered himself. You have to relax. And talk quieter. “Okay . . . so you remind me of my mom. She’s an artist.” He brought one knee up on the sofa and surveyed her. “You even look like her.”

“I do?” His statement seemed to make her uneasy. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It is.” This time Cole remembered to keep his voice softer. “She’s amazing. You’ll have to meet her sometime.”

“Sure.” Elise looked down at her hands for a long moment and then at him. The idea clearly made her uncomfortable. “How long have you lived here?”

“All my life. Well, pretty much.” He found a more relaxed rhythm to the conversation. “A few years in Paris, but then here since I was two.”

“Paris!” A dreamy look came over her. “That’s like heaven for artists. Maybe I will have to meet your mom.”

“Yeah.” It hadn’t exactly been the best time for his mother. But that was another story. “What do you like about painting?”

“Everything.” She looked like she’d just taken a breath of fresh air. “It’s like . . . I become the paint. All that I see and feel and care about goes through my hand into my brush and onto the page.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. My mom says there’s a lot to paint here in Bloomington.” He grinned at her again. “That’s it, right?” He was only half teasing. “The reason your family moved here?”

“For my painting?” Her laugh died off. “Yeah, hardly.” Their eyes held for a few seconds. “It’s . . . complicated.” She glanced at her knees and then up at him again. This time fear seemed to color her expression. “We have family here.” Her voice fell flat. “Everyone thought it was for the best.”

Cole nodded. He still didn’t know what her dad did for a living or how come they’d picked up in the middle of a school year to move here. But he didn’t need all the answers now. “Whatever brought you here, it was a good move. I’m sure about that.”

“I hope so.” Her smile wasn’t what it had been earlier. “We’ll see.” She checked the time on her phone. “I need to go. I really do have homework.”

“Okay.” Cole didn’t want the afternoon to end. But she was right. He needed to pick up a new baseball bat before practice tomorrow. They both had things to do. He dropped her off in front of a small single-story house with no cars out front. Whatever her parents did, they weren’t home yet.

“Thanks, Cole.” She didn’t linger. Instead she stepped out and hesitated. She leaned back toward the car before walking away. “You’re my first Bloomington friend.”

“Thanks.” Cole wanted to think of something clever to follow up with. But nothing came to mind. “See you tomorrow.”

Not till he was home with his new bat did it hit him. He should’ve said she was his first friend from Leesville, Louisiana. He set his things down on the kitchen counter and spotted his mom out back. Sitting on a high stool behind her easel in one of her favorite spots—the porch overlooking his grandma Elizabeth’s rose garden.

Cole grabbed an apple and went to join her. She looked like she was just wrapping up. A person could only paint in the winter cold for so long. She lifted her eyes to his and smiled. “How was your last first day?”

“Mom.” Cole raised his eyebrows. “Come on. You said you wouldn’t talk about the lasts. Not all the time at least.”

“Okay.” She set her paintbrush down and faced him. “Just here and there.” She angled her head. “It is your last semester of high school.”

His heart softened at the thought. “True.” He smiled. “My day was great. Amazing, actually.”

“No baseball?”

“Not today. The guys got together at lunch. One of us is going to start practice every day with a Bible verse.” He leaned on the nearest post and turned to her painting. A grassy field, the Baxter house in the distance, and on the front porch a gray-haired couple in rocking chairs. The people in the painting were too small to make out any real details. In the foreground were numerous children and adults. All of which seemed to be the same family at different ages. He turned to her. “Nice.”

“Thanks.” His mom stared at something in her work. “The older couple is the same as the one in every other part of the painting. Each of them at different points in their story.”

“At first I thought it was a party on the lawn.” Cole leaned closer, studying the work. “So many people.”

“All the same couple. Same children.” She sighed. “All of you, of course. Through the years.”

“Mmm.” Cole loved his mom’s creativity. “What’s it called?”

“Moments Gone.” She smiled at Cole again. “Life goes so fast. And one day you’re gray and the kids have moved on and you’re rocking on the front porch remembering all that ever was. A memory for every spot that makes up the land around us.”