Finding Eden (8 page)

Warmth filled my chest and I smiled at her. "Thank you, Molly." I walked over to my desk and started organizing the papers I'd printed out earlier that day.

"So then," she continued, "I'm not taking no for an answer about tonight. You need to see the desert spring guy. His paintings are full of so much light! And that's only from the brochure."

I turned toward her, smiling a confused smile and creasing my brow. "Desert spring?" Of course, I had never told her, or anyone, about Calder's and my spring. I tilted my head, slightly jarred by the description after we'd
just
been talking about Calder recently. "What?" I asked.

Molly nodded. "Yeah. He paints these pictures of this perfect spring with towering rocks on all sides of it. It looks like some sort of paradise, or the Garden of Eden, and this girl—just the back of her, over and over, but," she gazed up dreamily, "they're so real, and so romantic. He's truly gifted, I'm telling you."

An artist . . .
an artist?

My blood ran cold and everything inside of me surged forward at once. I heard my own voice as if it was coming from outside of myself. "A girl?" I swallowed heavily. "Tell me more," I demanded.

Molly's smile faltered slightly as she tilted her head and studied me.

"What's his name?" I practically shouted, my lips trembling.
It couldn't be. No way. It couldn't be. Stop even thinking this, Eden. The thought alone is going to destroy you. There are lots of artists in this world . . . surely more than a few paint springs. But desert springs? And a girl . . .?

"Eden, what's wrong?" Molly asked, a look of concern coming over her face.

I grabbed her upper arms and shook her slightly. "What's his
name?
" I demanded again.

Molly's frown deepened. "Storm. He calls himself Storm. Just that. A made-up name I'm sure, and it kind of sounds like a stripper," she laughed nervously, "but I wouldn't mind him taking some of his clothes—"

"Where's the brochure?" I asked. "I need to see the brochure."

"Eden—" Molly frowned.

I breathed out, calming myself. "Please, Molly, just show me the brochure."

"I'm sorry, I don't have it here. I looked at Ava's at school, but I didn't take it with me."

My body jerked and I let go of her and took off the robe I'd been wearing all day. I grabbed some jeans lying at the end of my bed and pulled them on. My whole entire body was shaking and I felt like I was at risk of having a seizure of some sort.

I reached into my closet and grabbed the first shirt I laid eyes on, something navy blue, or black. Dark anyway. It took me a couple tries to get my head through the neck hole and I started crying with the overwhelming emotion, paired with the frustration of trying to get dressed. In the background Molly was saying something and when I finally pulled the shirt over my head, her words registered.

"You're scaring me. What's going on? Is it the guy? Storm? I—"

Pulling the shirt over my head had made my hair fall out of the up-do Molly had just done and so I ran my hands through it quickly, all of it tumbling down my back again. I took several deep breaths, but the shaking continued. "I need you to get me down to that gallery," I said shakily. "I need you to drive me there right this minute."

Molly's face was a study of confusion and worry. "Okay, whatever you need. Let's go."

I nodded jerkily and slipped on some flip-flops. It was far too cool outside for flip-flops, but I hardly cared.
Don't think. Just don't think until you get there. You might be crazy. If you are, it's okay. It's okay. You'll be okay.

I practically ran down the large staircase and flung the front door open. I heard my mom's voice behind us as I ran out the door. "We're going to that art thing!" Molly yelled back at her.

"Oh well, okay. Bring her right back—" Carolyn's voice was cut off as Molly slammed the door behind us.

I jogged down the short set of stairs to the garage on the side of the house and waited at the passenger side until Molly clicked it.

Once Molly had backed the car out and pulled onto the street, she turned toward me. "Do you want to tell me—"

"No, Molly, I'm sorry. I will once we get there. But right now I feel like I might throw up. Please, I just need to sit here." It felt as if my heart flipped over in my chest.

Molly nodded and turned back to the road.

Fifteen minutes later, we were downtown. As we drove past the gallery where the showing was, I turned, watching the huge line formed outside. I saw a flash of green in the paintings in the window and squinted to make sense of them, but we were too far away, and people lined up were mostly blocking my view.

"There should be parking in a garage right around the corner," Molly said.

"Let me out here, please. I need to get out here." I put my hand on the door.

"Whoa. No jumping out of the car while it's moving! I want to go in with you anyway, Eden. I'm worried about you."

I shook my head, trying to get control of my breathing. It felt like every surface of my skin was hot and prickly and I couldn't feel my extremities. "I'm okay, I promise. I just really need to get out here. Please. At the next red light, I'll hop out."

Molly pursed her lips. "All right, fine. But I'll be about five minutes behind you, okay?"

I nodded my head. "Okay, thank you." I let out another big exhale, clenching my hands in my lap to stop the shaking. I swallowed the bile trying to make its way up my throat and practiced the breathing I'd gotten so good at right after I'd left Acadia and needed to control my emotions enough to function.

Molly's car came to a slow stop at the red light several blocks from the gallery and I reached over and squeezed her shoulder. I hopped out of the car, making my way across the street to the sidewalk.

And then I must have run although I don't remember. Suddenly I was at the end of the line of people waiting for the gallery show to start, and I was hot and breathing heavily.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

It couldn't be. It couldn't be. It's all a strange coincidence. It has to be.

I started weaving through the waiting people, some shooting me dirty looks, a few telling me to get back to the end. I ignored them. I needed to get to the front window.

I had to see. Oh, God, I had to see.

Several people were leaned back against the glass of the front display window and I stood on my tiptoes to see above them, but wasn't tall enough. "Excuse me, I'm sorry, I need to see in there," I said, my voice quivering. The four people looked at me curiously, but all began moving out of the way, like a curtain opening.

I held my breath and fisted my hands.

And there it was.
Our spring.
In vibrant. Living. Color.

I gasped out a loud sob and reeled, my hand coming up to my mouth and tears springing to my eyes. The world grew bright around me, and adrenaline exploded through my body.

Yes, it was our spring. I recognized every rock, every shrub, every blade of grass.

And I recognized myself.

I was standing tall and proud,
powerful
and sure in front of a huge snake looming at me from our rock domain. My head was held high, my shoulders back, my hair cascading down my back and covering my nakedness with only the backs of my shoulders and legs on display. My face wasn't visible, but it was me.

My eyes moved down to the small plaque beneath it to the title of the painting. "The Snake Wrangler." I laughed out a strangled sob and then brought both hands up to my mouth and simply stood crying for several minutes until I was in control enough to move away from the window and through the people to the front of the line.

No one tried to stop me, no one told me to get to the back of the line. They just parted and let me through, shooting me looks of confusion and surprise. I was crying outright now, not even attempting to hide my tears.

I couldn't have if I'd tried.

He's here. I can feel him.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

When I made it to the front of the line, a guy in a black suit looked at me with wide eyes, his gaze sweeping down my jean-clad body. "I need to get in there," I said, drying my tears quickly with the sleeve of my shirt, my voice still coming from somewhere outside of me. I thought it sounded strong though, unwavering.

"I'm sorry. You need a ticket. All these people have tickets." He inclined his head to the line formed behind us.

"Here you go," Molly said, suddenly appearing beside me and holding something out toward the man. "Two pre-entry tickets." He took them, his eyes moving back and forth between us. He glanced down at the tickets quickly and nodded his head toward the gallery.

I rushed to the glass door and pulled it open, scanning the surroundings. As I took in the art hanging on every square inch of the gallery walls—our spring, morning glories, and
me
—over and over, everywhere, always the back of me, or a very slight profile, but always me. Excitement, fear, adrenalin and extreme anxiety coursed through me. But mostly awe. I felt as though my heart was beating right out of my chest. I looked around wildly.

Where is he? Where is he?

Molly's hand clamped down on my arm and I gratefully leaned in to her for support. "Come on," she said quietly. "He's gotta be close."

"Yes," I squeaked out, my blood pressure skyrocketing.

He has to be close. There's a spring. I'll wait for you. I'll be there.

We walked around a wall of art and when we came out on the other side, there he was. The whole world faded away and it was just him.
Calder. My Calder.

He was alive. He was
alive.

I felt the tears coursing down my cheeks again and all I could do for a full minute was stare, drink him in, allow my mind to try to make sense of the reality right in front of me.

He was standing and talking to a small group of people and as he turned his head to me, a small smile on his lips, his eyes blinked and widened, his face draining of all color. A glass he was holding in his hand went crashing to the floor as the people around him gasped. His expression was a mixture of confusion, shock, and disbelief. Suddenly his face went dreamy and he tilted his head, his eyes fixed on my face. He started walking toward me, the people around him stumbling out of the way as he merely bumped them aside with his movement, his feet crunching over the glass on the floor. I couldn't move. I was rooted to the spot.

I heard Molly breathe out, "Oh my God," next to me, but I didn't turn her way. My eyes were locked with Calder's.

When he made it to me, he tentatively reached out his hand and felt my cheek, one of his thumbs swiping at a tear. He brought his hand back and looked at it in confusion and then back at my face. His mouth opened and closed. His expression seemed to clear as he grabbed my face in his hands, and let out a tortured gasp, his eyes going wild. "How?" he croaked out. "How, how, how?" He shook his head back and forth, his hands squeezing so tightly on my face that I cried out.

I brought my hands up and put them over his and we both sunk down to the floor. Calder's eyes roamed my face wildly and his breathing came out in sharp bursts. "You're real," he kept saying over and over. We were both on our knees on the gallery floor, Calder's hands running down my shoulders, my arms, shaking me gently. I squeezed my hands into his broad shoulders, too, convincing myself he was really there. Really real, really alive.

"Eden, Eden, I don't understand," he choked out. "How, how?"

Suddenly people were pulling us somewhere. I stumbled up as did Calder, our eyes never leaving the other as we were guided along and a door was closed. I could smell coffee and something sweet and hear the voices of the people who had come into the room with us. But I couldn't look away.

"You survived," Calder said. "God, you survived. How, Eden? How?"

"I floated," I said simply, tears coursing down my cheeks. "Just like you taught me. I floated."

Tears were flooding his eyes, too. "There was no air though. No one survived. There wasn't any air."

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly and shook my head, not able to form words, my head not clear enough to think about anything other than him . . . here, right in front of me.

Instead, I grabbed Calder's hands in mine again. We were both shaking like leaves, the adrenaline draining from our bodies. Behind me I heard lots of voices in hushed tones. "I know, there's so much, so much, and your art." I started to cry softly again. "Your art, oh my God, Calder. It's so beautiful." I breathed out a small sob. "You're an artist."

"Where are you living, Eden? Eden." He shook his head as if the words coming out of his mouth didn't sound real to him.

"With my mom, and my cousin, Molly," I said.

His eyes grew wide. "Your
mom?
Eden—"

"Hey what's going on in here? People outside are—" I turned toward Xander's voice just as he stumbled back against the wall. "Holy shit," he breathed out, and then, "Holy shit!" He rushed toward us and started shaking me slightly. "Holy shit. Holy shit." He threw his arms around both Calder and me and we stood there crying and squeezing each other until Xander pulled away and blotted at his own eyes with the cuff of his shirt. "How Eden?" he finally managed, his eyes roaming over my face with a look of wonder.