Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks Series Book 1) Read online

  “Miss J?” a small voice calls out.

  I turn around and walk over to little Izzie, the blond-haired, blue-eyed little cutie who has completely stolen my heart with her big imagination and kind nature.

  “What can I advise you on, sweetie?” I don’t “help” in my class, I “advise.” I like the kids to work out their own minds with a little know-how from me.

  “I can’t do it, it looks stupid.” She pouts, throwing her paintbrush onto the table and folding her arms over her chest in an exaggerated huff.

  “Firstly, there’s no such thing as can’t because you absolutely can. Secondly, what is it that you think doesn’t look right?”

  She points to a part of her painting. “That bit, it’s… stupid.”

  “Hmm.” I look down at the paper, smiling at yet another one of her many unicorn paintings. Each unicorn she paints is always different, this one is purple with blue flowing hair and yellow hooves; she doesn’t like those hooves.

  Of course to any normal pair of eyes, her painting is smudged and doesn’t resemble much of a unicorn, but that’s where the imagination comes into it. “I think it’s beautiful, but what about if this unicorn is queen of the unicorns?”

  She screws up her face then it relaxes and breaks out into a big smile. “She needs a big crown to match her hooves!”

  Distraction is another technique I use a lot, I try and get them to concentrate on anything else so the bit they’re not sure on doesn’t seem so prominent anymore.

  “That is such a smart idea, Izzie. Well done,” I praise her.

  She bounces in her seat and picks up her paintbrush again with determination.

  Toward the end of the session, I walk back over to Clayton and realize that he’s been sculpting what looks like a candle holder.

  He peers up at me shyly, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It’s not finished yet, I need to paint it when it’s dry.”

  He’s quick to dismiss his unfinished work and I sit down next to him on the empty stool. Unlike all the other children, he’s chosen to keep himself to himself for now. “Well, for an unfinished sculpture, it’s pretty amazing, Clayton. You have a talent by the looks of it.”

  He gazes down at his candle holder and smiles. “Do you think so?”

  I nod. “I really do, but I’m curious, what made you choose to make a candle holder out of everything else you could’ve picked?” He hesitates, looking around the room and shaking his head before looking back down and carving some more detail into the side. “There must be some reason, you can talk to me about anything.”

  He starts picking the clay out from under his nails and shrugs so I decide it’s best to drop it.

  “Ooohhh, did you make that, Clay? What is it?” Izzie sings in a sweet voice, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

  “It’s a candle holder. I’m finished now though, where do I put it?”

  I point to the stand in the corner and he walks over to it.

  “I want to make Clay another one next week. Can I?” she asks.

  I smile. “Sure, but do you not want to make something you can take home for yourself?”

  She thinks about what I’ve said for a moment, her face screwing up. “No, I want to make another candle holder so Clay can see.”

  I frown. “What do you mean so he can see?”

  She lowers her voice and leans into me. “Clay’s afraid of the dark. Daddy told me that there’s nothing to be scared of so I’m not, but Clay is.”

  I nod at her, my mind working overtime at learning this tidbit of information. A plan starts forming and I look back down at Izzie. “Your daddy is right, there’s absolutely nothing to be afraid of. In fact, it’s nearly time for your parents to pick you up, can you go and tidy your area please, Izzie?”

  She skips back over to her bench as I clap my hands, gaining all of their attention. “I know up until now you’ve been allowed to experiment with all of the different tools, but next week I have a fun and special project for you all.” The speculations on what it can be start up and I have to whistle to get their attention again. “Quieten down, thank you. Can you all ask your parents or guardians to bring in an empty glass jar next week, please? Also, I want you all to start to think about what your special project will be for gallery night in three weeks. I want to do a group painting, but what it is is yet to be decided on, so have a think for me.”

  They start talking between themselves again so I wait until the noise dies down to say, “Come on, guys, you know what time it is: paintbrushes and palettes need to go over to Jessica and Ben, paintings need to go on the drying rack, and the sculptures need to go over on the stand.”

  The kids all band together to get everything tidied up in record time and Mom walks over to me. “What special project? Do you need me to bring in some extra jars in case some forget?”

  I smile at her. “Good idea, thanks, Mom. We’re going to make firefly jars, just like Dad and I used to when I was a kid.”

  Mom beams and nods, her eyes sparkling. “They’ll love that.”

  I look over at Clayton helping his sister take off her coveralls and smile. I’m hoping he will.

  Niall Horan—This Town

  One Republic—Counting Stars

  Owl City—Fireflies

  The sound of children playing echoes around the expansive play park: laughter, cries of happiness and squealing. I smile and relish in the sounds as I look up at the bright blue sky that is dusted with clouds that look like big balls of fluff.

  I watch them for a while, seeing them glide across and erupt into new shapes and figures. I lift my hand to shield my eyes as two clouds separate and the sun blinds me for a second before a cloud covers it slightly, giving me a brief reprieve.

  Anyone else would only see the blue of the sky and the white of the clouds, but I see more than that. I see the different shades of blue, how it gets lighter the closer to a cloud it gets, slowly transitioning lighter and lighter until eventually it turns to white.

  My mind starts to wander, remembering how I was taught to spot the shades and colors from something as simple as the sky. My eyes close slowly and my head leans back as I shuffle down the bench and stretch my legs out in front of me. Basking in the warmth and the sounds around me.

  I can see her honey eyes now as if she’s right in front of me, watching the yellow swirls that run through them intently and change with each emotion that she feels.

  I’ve never seen eyes like it before and the first time we met in college, even though she was one of the “poor scholarship” kids, I couldn’t deny the pull they had on me. The first time I saw her in the quad, everything slipped away and nothing else mattered. Then she covered me in paint—head to toe—when she tripped and dropped her box of art supplies. We stared at each other for what felt like hours but it was in fact only minutes. Her with a shocked, wide-eyed look and me with a smirk.

  Her eyes were windows to her soul back then and I could always tell exactly what she was thinking from the color of her eyes. For weeks all we did was stare at each other and she would always break the stare first, a blush rising up her cheeks. Back then I had no idea what affect her eyes would have on me, it wasn’t until later that I realized how much they captivated me.

  My favorite was when she would get mad: the green would brighten and look almost otherworldly. They’d darken as she calmed down, the yellow muting in color, just to pop to the surface again when she was happy or excited—which was a lot.

  My heartbeat picks up when her eyes slowly turn into Natalia’s blue ones. They stare at me unblinking, sadness shining in the orbs with a blank expression on her pale face. Goose bumps scatter over my skin and my eyelids spring open as I start freaking out, feeling like she was right here with me.

  The guilt consumes me at thinking of her. I’d never regret marrying Natalia because she gave me two beautiful children, but I do regret leaving her to do it. If I would have been more of a man back then and stood up to my dad and his threats, then maybe
I would have a completely different life right now, but the thought of not having Clay and Izzie guts me to the core.

  I keep telling myself that we all have a path that we have to walk down; people come in and out of your life for a reason, and maybe she came into my life to show me what real love feels like? Maybe I had my true love back in college and that will have to be enough to last me the rest of my life.

  But if that’s true, then why would Natalia be taken from us so cruelly? There’s no sense in that happening; she left behind two kids who needed her.

  My head whips around as I hear a scream of pain and I know instantly that it’s Izzie. I’m up off the bench and running toward her immediately, weaving around children who are playing and finally getting to her where she’s sitting by the swings, holding her arm.

  “Pumpkin?” I kneel in front of her, holding my hands out, not knowing whether to touch her or not.

  “I got hurt.” She sniffles, bringing her arm up to her face and wiping at the tears that stream down her cheeks.

  “Where?” She points to her elbow, lifting it toward my face. “Oh, that looks sore.” I lift my gaze back to hers, wiping away more of her tears with my thumb before looking up as a shadow comes over us.

  “She tried to swing too high, Dad,” Clay huffs. “I did tell her not to.”

  “I wanted to go all the way over the bars!” Izzie shouts, her face screwing up as she looks down at the graze on her elbow. “Maddie at school said she did it.”

  I lift my hand, coughing to cover up the laugh bubbling up my throat, and trying not to let my grin show. Some of the things Izzie comes out with are too funny.

  “Let’s get you home and cleaned up,” I say softly once I’ve finally got myself under control, putting my hands under her arms and picking her up off the ground. “Let’s not do that again though, okay, pumpkin?”

  She nods at me slowly.

  “Great! Now we have to go, all because you wanted to go over the top bar,” Clay moans, scuffing his shoes as he follows behind us.

  “Clay,” I groan. “Leave your sister alone.”

  “Ugh!” He throws his hands up in the air, his head tilted back as he stares up at the sky.

  Izzie rests her head on my shoulder and hiccups a sob, whispering, “Love you, Daddy.”

  And that right there is everything. To hear those words come out of her mouth and feel her in my arms. Nothing compares to hearing your child say those three words to you. I want her to stay small forever, to always be my little girl, but that won’t happen and I’ll have to deal with her growing up at some point. But right now, I’ll relish in her being this age, because they grow up too fast; I’m afraid I’ll blink and they will be adults themselves.

  “Love you too, pumpkin.” I place a kiss on the top of her head and pull the car keys out of my pocket, unlocking the doors.

  I place a plate of eggs in front of Izzie and lean back against the counter, picking up my cup and taking a sip of the dark, bitter coffee.

  She talks nonstop as she’s eating and I have to tell her several times to use her mouth for more eating and less talking. It works for two seconds before she’s turning to face me and opens her mouth again.

  “Did you get the jars, Daddy?”

  “I did,” I chuckle. “I told you that five minutes ago. Amelia washed them all out and put them by the front door.”

  “Just checking.” She shrugs.

  I chuckle at her and shake my head. Ever since she walked out of art class last week, all she’s been asking for is jars. Clay told her furiously that she only needed to take one in with her but she said she wanted to take extras “just in case.”

  He tells her this again with a shake of his head to which Izzie sticks her tongue out at him, scooping up a forkful of eggs and trying to fit it all in her mouth. She fails, covering herself in eggs and giggles as she picks them up, eating them off her lap.

  “Come on then,” I say after watching them for a few more minutes. I rinse my cup out and place it in the sink. “Time to get ready.”

  They both jump down off their stools and barrel forward as Amelia walks through the kitchen door.

  “More jars,” she says with a big smile on her face, holding three up in the air.

  “Yay!” Izzie shouts, running toward Amelia and inspecting them. “They’re good, nice and clean.”

  Amelia chuckles and shakes her head as I step forward, taking the jars out of her hands.

  “Go on then,” I tell Izzie. “Go and get ready.”

  She huffs out a breath and spins around, running out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

  “Do you know what they’re for?” Amelia asks.

  “Nope,” I reply, popping the p as I walk into the main entrance and add the jars to the box by the front door. “All I know is they need them for the art class.”

  “Ahhh,” she says, a thoughtful look on her face as we listen to both Clay and Izzie run around upstairs as they rush to get ready. “They really love this art class.”

  “They do. I never thought something so simple would have such an effect on them.”

  “Yeah, me too.” She worries her lip and looks away before catching my gaze again. “Especially with Clay.”

  “Yeah.” I nod in reply, my eyes wandering up to the stairs as my mind drifts off to somewhere else.

  He’s coming out of his shell more, I don’t know what happens in that class but whatever it is, it’s a good thing; a really good thing.

  “Who’s ready for art class?” I ask when they start running down the stairs.

  “Me!” Izzie screams, running right past us and opening the door with Clay on her tail.

  “Have a good time!” Amelia shouts out the door as I spin around and pick up the box, following them out to the car. “I’ll see you later,” she says to me.

  “Later.” I smile, attempting to shut the door.

  “I’ve got it,” she chuckles, taking a couple of steps forward and gripping the door handle.

  “Thanks.”

  I press the button on the fob, unlocking the car as I walk over. Placing the box of jars on the floor of the passenger side of the car, I check they’re both strapped in before sliding into the driver's side and starting the engine.

  They both talk nonstop on the way to the studio, and their back-and-forth banter has me laughing the whole way. One thing is for sure, I never get bored around either of them.

  They’re still bickering as we walk up the cobblestone path to the art studio, Izzie barging through the doors first, followed by Clay.

  I balance the box under one arm as I hang their coats up on the rack and watch Izzie skip into the main area.

  “Dad?” Clay asks, his voice unsure. I turn to face him, seeing his gaze fixated on something across the room before he turns his face toward the floor.

  I narrow my eyes and turn to see what he was staring at and watch as a little boy gives his mother a hug and she kisses him on the cheek. Both with big smiles on their faces.

  A lump forms in my throat as I crouch down, placing the box on the floor next to me and ask, “Yes?” trying to gain his attention.

  “Will I ever have a mom again?” His voice is so sad as he brings his gaze back up to mine. I almost can’t look at the heartbreak shining through his gray eyes. My stomach bottoms out but I pull my shoulders back, determined to give him an answer.

  “I… erm…” My words get caught in my throat, I don’t know what to say—what to do. My eyes flit about the room while my mouth opens and closes, trying to form words but none of them seem like a good enough answer. “Why don’t you go and set up and we can talk about it later?” I say instead, picking out one of the glass jars and handing it to him.

  He stares at me for several seconds before he whispers, “Okay,” his voice a mere croak as he takes it from me and clutches it to his chest, hanging his head and walking over to the tables.

  I stare after him, astounded by his question and the randomness of it as guilt consume
s me for not being able to answer him.

  Shaking my head, I try to distract myself by lifting the box up off the floor and walking over to where Izzie sits. “There you go, pumpkin. Five jars, just for you.”

  “Thanks, Daddy!” She grins. I turn around, my skin prickling and my senses screaming at me as I catch sight of a woman walking toward the back of the room. “You have to go now.” I startle at Izzie’s voice and look back down at her, seeing the stern look across her features.

  “I’m going, I’m going.” I chuckle, lifting my hands in the air in surrender and backing away. She throws her hands on her hips and shakes her head at me.

  “Bye, pumpkin,” I say before turning around.

  I catch sight of Clay, sitting on his own and clutching the jar to his chest, staring into it like it holds all of the answers he’s looking for.

  I failed; I should have had an answer for him, I should have been able to explain it. But when it comes to talking about that kind of thing with him, I can never find the right words to say.

  “Wow, that’s a lot of jars,” I quip, looking down at Izzie.

  She nods enthusiastically. “My daddy got them for me.”

  I smile at her; she’s always talking about her dad and I can tell that she’s a typical “daddy’s girl.”

  I do a double take as I stand up, spotting a tall, well-dressed man with sandy-blond hair walking out of the doors. My chest tenses at the familiarity that swarms through me like bees in a hive, making me feel off balance, but I right myself because I’m definitely seeing things. There’s no way.

  I turn as I shake the familiar feeling off and clap my hands in my usual gesture to get all of the kids’ attention. “Can you all bring your jars and put them in front of you at a place on the tables?”

  They all find their way to a seat noisily while Mom and I put out the paint and paintbrushes in front of them.