Page 72 of Never Forever

I needed fresh air and some hard work.

Matt should be working the ferry tonight, so I figured I was safe.

“Hey!” Mr. Dickow said as I approached the bandshell. “What are you doing here?”

I lifted my hands. “Just here to help.”

“Great,” he said. He was surrounded by the wooden frames he was building for the set. “You still a pretty good artist?”

“As long as pretty good means mediocre, yes,” I said, with a laugh.

He directed me to the stretched canvas flats at the back of the stage that needed to be painted blue on top, with a few puffy clouds thrown in for good measure, and then green on the bottom. Then the corn would slide on and off stage on palletes in front of it.

This was exactly what I needed. I turned my back to the park, grabbed a paint brush and just worked.

I was so involved in creating perfect white clouds, it took me a second to realize someone had joined me in painting. It was the sniffing that alerted me. Verity worked quietly beside me, her pretty cornflower blue eyes swollen and red. And there was that sniffing.

“Hey,” I said. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she whispered, giving me a brave smile.

“You don’t seem very fine,” I said.

“I just…breaking up is hard,” she said.

“Didn’t you just get married?” Mom always kept me up to date on Calico Cove weddings.

She nodded, her eyes squeezed tight, but she could not keep the tears in. She just kept leaking.

“Oh, shit,” I said, realizing quickly I’d put my foot in it. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. I reached to hug her but she put up her hand, stopping me.

“If you hug me, I’ll only cry harder.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

She took a deep breath. “Men are the worst, you know?” she finally said. “You can’t trust them.”

“Amen, sister.”

We painted side by side for a little while before a commotion startled us out of our work.

Of course, it was Matt Sullivan.

There was simply no escaping him. Unloading wood from the back of his truck, he hoisted a bunch of 2x4s onto his shoulder and walked them up the steps onto the stage. He didn’t see me. Wasn’t even paying attention. Could I escape without him noticing?

Did I want to?

He put the wood down beside the small storage room at the back of the stage where Weidman kept all of the play stuff. As he turned to get more wood, he caught sight of me.

He stopped.

I stopped.

Then he turned away, shaking his head.

Ignore him, I thought. That was the smart move. The best play. No point in poking the bear anymore. I went back to painting instead.

A few minutes later he dropped another load of wood. The clatter made me turn around. Only to find him staring at me. His chest…heaving. His hands in fists. His eyes burning the air between us. Burning the clothes right off me.