The Edge

“I’ve been to psychotherapy, but it didn’t help. They told me that your mind blocks out something if it’s too painful to... confront. And there’s something called creative therapy that I actually do every day and would have done regardless of whether this had happened to me or not.”

“Your artwork, you mean?”

She smiled, sadly, and nodded. “Yes. It’s my cocoon. My safe space. When I’m doing it, all is right with the world, at least my world.”

“Who found you after you were attacked, do you know?”

“If they told me, I don’t remember. I was... just in shock when they told me what had happened. And my head hurt so badly.”

“So the police had nothing to go on? No one else saw anything?”

“No.”

“Where did the attack happen?”

Alex shook her head. “I... I don’t remember.”

“I am so very sorry that happened to you, Alex.”

She looked down at the table and nodded, and then wiped at her eyes.

“But you didn’t come here to tell me this, since I was the one who brought it up.”

She looked at him. “I came here to tell you that Jenny did come by to see me when she was here.” She stopped and looked at him. “Aren’t you mad that I didn’t tell you before?”

“No. I’ll just assume you had your reasons.”

Her expression relaxed. “You keep surprising me, Travis. I think I have you figured out and you throw me a curve.”

“Not to worry. I was thinking the very same thing about you.”

She picked at one of her paint-covered fingers. “It was in the afternoon before she was killed.”

“What did she want?”

“She wanted to know if I had remembered anything from when I was attacked.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“The same thing I just told you. That I hadn’t.”

“Why would she be bringing that up now, after all these years? Or did she regularly check in with you about it?”

“No, she had never mentioned it before, aside from when she came home to help me right after it happened. She never left my side for a long while. And she would talk to me about it, trying to get me to recall what had happened. I think she might have tried too hard because it never worked. I remember she got angry with me sometimes about it.”

“Why? Like you said, these things happen to people who have experienced what you did.”

“Because Jenny would have been strong enough to overcome that, remember every detail, and nail the bastard. Or so she told me when I couldn’t do that.”

“A tough older sister.”

“An impossibly perfect older sister.” She hesitated. “But she did... care about me, Travis. I know she did. Through her actions, if not always through her words.”

“But not so easy to love. Your earlier remark about Jenny is making more sense.”

“I did love her, despite all that,” Alex said so quietly Devine almost didn’t hear her.

“Is that when Bertie Palmer started to mentor you?”

“Yes. Jenny had to go back to Washington for work. And Mom and Dad were... well, they had a lot going on.”

“They must have been terribly upset about what happened to you.”

“I don’t think they knew how to deal with it. Dad went around angry all the time. I believe he blamed himself for not protecting me. And Mom alternated between going into a shell and then coming out of it to smother me.” She looked out the window at the rain falling from a gray sky, but her expression brightened in spite of the gloomy weather.

“Bertie was a godsend. A truly wonderful, giving person. She didn’t just teach me about art. I mean, I had a natural talent, but my fundamentals were all over the place, especially my line work. She taught me about life, too. About who I was, or could become.”

“I heard you had been accepted at some great art schools. I know you have to present a portfolio of your work to be considered for admission.”

“Bertie helped me do all that, Travis. She was the reason I had the courage to apply to those schools in the first place and have artwork worthy enough to show them. It was therapy for what I was going through. She urged me to get it out on the drawings, the canvas, whatever I was working on. And it helped, it really did.”

“But then you didn’t go to any of the schools. Why?”

Alex stared out at the rain, which was starting to fall harder. And, mirroring what the weather was doing, tears started to slide from her eyes and curlicue down her trembling cheeks.

And as Devine watched this, it was like he had forgotten how to breathe. He reached out and gripped her hand once more, not only to reassure her, but to also do so for himself.

“Would you think it unbelievable if I told you I didn’t know why?” she said in a hushed voice.

“No, I wouldn’t. But there is a big world out there to explore. And capture in your art.”

She shifted her gaze to him. “I know,” she said in a low voice. But Devine knew the woman had no faith or belief in her own response. At this point, they were just words, expected ones, what she thought he wanted to hear.

He withdrew his hand. “So you stayed in the old homestead, where you grew up?”

“It was a happy time for us. Mostly. At least I remember it that way.” She glanced at him. “Did you have a happy place?”