These Are the Moments (29 page)

Chapter 76

Eight Months Later

This was temporary.

She was home for now. In a few weeks, she was bound for Nashville, where she’d gotten a job at a local gallery, with a friend of Raven’s who’d hired her on the spot.

Wendy kept moving forward.

“You still have that last painting to sell, right?” Claudia had asked at dinner.

“Yeah,” Wendy said. “The last one. The last porch swing.”

“Maybe you should keep it.”

“I don’t need it anymore,” Wendy said, assured.

There were a slew of voicemails on her phone.

Vivian:
Hey! You’re back! Let me hug you and feed you cookies. I miss you, I love you, and P.S. I’m still married.

Reese:
Bitch. Call me back.

Vivian’s parents had bought a house for Owen and her in downtown Covington, a quaint blue cottage with a pretty white fence. They were a block away from a tea room and two blocks away from the gallery. Wendy promised to visit. Soon.

Mom and Dad hadn’t stopped cooking for her. They wouldn’t let her touch any dishes or laundry, and her wine glass was never empty. They filled her in on Donald and his wife’s divorce, news about Mrs. Claire gunning for a grandchild and Raven’s new gallery on Magazine Street.

When Mom and Wendy were alone, Mom asked, “So if I have Simon news, do you want to hear it?”

“Probably not.” Wendy said, leaning back into the couch cushion. “He moved out, didn’t he?”

Mom nodded. “A couple weeks ago. He’s back in New Orleans.”

The swing rested on the porch’s wooden planks, the chains dangling above her head, disconnected. A small breeze rustled the shrubs. Mom and Dad would need to get rid of it soon. It was too old, too broken to fix.

But for now, Wendy would sit for a while.

She imagined herself on the working swing, rocking back and forth the way it once had, listening to the soft hum of the cicadas.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

When she raised it to the light, she read: “Happy to be a tiny, small part of it.” There was a picture, too. There, on Simon’s wall, the pond overlooked his new life.

She imagined her paintings, scattered around, sitting in attics and leaning against walls, tacked up in hallways, like ashes spread across their town.

She imagined her painting, secure in his arms, tucked away, somewhere warm.

Wendy smiled and answered, “You were and always will be a pretty big part of it.”

She let her body fold into the familiar panels of the broken swing, and let herself imagine Simon and her. She pictured them back in the woods, safe and happy. She pictured them sitting together now, on this swing, watching the rain fall down.

Wendy kept the text open on her phone, where he could always reach her, where he was always reaching her.

Wendy closed her eyes and remembered.

A memory that was only a moment, and then, was gone.

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY

Jenny Bravo
writes books, and this is the first one. Originally from Louisiana, she graduated with a B.A. in Creative Writing from Louisiana State University and spent a summer writing in Ireland with the University of New Orleans graduate program. When she’s not writing, she’s blogging about writing at Blots & Plots. Or singing. Or tap dancing.

For more information, visit her blog at
www.blotsandplots.com.

To connect with other readers of this book, use the hashtag

#TATM on social media.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

In trying to write this, I feel like one of those Academy Award winners who hasn’t prepared a speech and starts talking
really fast
when the music starts to cut her off. So please, forgive me. I’d like to thank the little people.

Thank you to God, who never gives up on me.

Thank you to my family, the best team a girl could ask for. My mother, my best friend, who is the best version of a human being and everything I aspire to be. My father, who is my biggest fan and constant rock. And of course, my sister Monica, who is my role model and compass.

Thank you to my friends, especially 511, who love me in both my best and worst moments. And to the entirety of my family, who bought this book and pretended to read it. Bonus points to those of you who actually did.

Thank you to my amazing publishing team. Tanya Gold, you are not only an incredible editor, but also an amazing person. Thank you to Miranda Martin and Natalie Olsen, for your time and patience. Gold stars to you, ladies.

And special thanks to you, who read this book. Whether you found me on Twitter or share my DNA, you mean more to me than you could possibly
know.