Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 160166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
I almost ask her how she does it. How she shuts out some parts and hides others. Instead, she gestures to me to continue, passing the open threshold that leads to her children and other closed doors.
She takes another sip of her wine. “There’s a therapist I’ve seen,” Aria mentions casually. “Carter mentioned you may want her info.” My cheeks burn. Aria turns to look at me. “Don’t worry about it either way. It’s good to have her info just in case you decide you want to talk one night. She comes here, so it’s all in person, and she can be here in minutes. Actually, she’s a lawyer for us, so you’re fine to tell her whatever you’d like.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”
Aria stops beside a door, takes a skeleton key out of her pocket, and unlocks it. All the while my heart races and I wonder what Aria knows. I imagine everything.
She smiles at me while she opens the door and I’m blown away at what’s inside it. Inside is an art studio, the thick dove gray curtains are drawn over the window. So it’s dark and a little intense, and…I like it. There’s an energy that radiates in the room.
“Do you like it?” Aria questions as if my opinion matters. I step into the room completely in awe. “I love it,” I answer her honestly. Art and canvases take up a lot of the space on one side. They’re mostly charcoal pieces featuring abstract adult figures, but there are also acrylic pieces with bright colors and watercolors that feature scenery and children. I can only imagine they’re her children. Apart from the art, there’s a long dark wooden table that’s littered with glass jars filled with brushes and cans of paint. It’s a very organized chaos. I can tell each part of it has meaning to Aria. It’s where it should be, even if it appears to be a mess.
Turning though, there’s another story to tell.
The other side of the studio is similar, but it contains completely different things. A slim shelf holds several decks of tarot cards. Colorful crystals glint on another shelf. There are glass bottles and candles everywhere. It feels much warmer than the art side, and I’m drawn to it.
There’s another long table parallel to the art station, but this one is a warm wood, lower with dainty chairs in gray velvet on either side and a matching sofa that’s tufted.
“I could read your cards,” Aria suggests as she lights a candle at the center of the table. She moves around the space, putting down her wine glass and picking up a silver tray. An expression of concentration crosses her face as she gathers candlesticks and some kind of oil from one of the shelves.
Just then, the door closes behind us, once again startling the hell out of me.
“Addison, have you met Braelynn?” Aria asks a bright-eyed younger version of herself. There’s a softer look about her face, though, and she’s a bit more petite.
“Now I have,” she comments and offers a beautiful smile. “It’s nice to meet the woman Daniel’s been telling me about.” My eyes widen slightly and she adds, “I’m Daniel’s wife,” as if that’s the part I couldn’t put together. And not that I’m concerned about what she’s been told. I’m curious how she met Daniel, but I don’t want to ask. What if the story is so different from mine that it only adds to this nervous feeling that won’t let me go?
Her dark hair falls in gorgeous waves as she comes in and takes the seat on the end easily. “Are you doing a reading? I want to read, too,” Addison says, her voice peppy. Reading tarot cards…my mother never liked tarot cards. I have a feeling she wouldn’t much like this room at all.
Aria’s at another one of her shelves, gathering some rocks for the tray. “Do you like crystals?” she asks.
I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or Addison for a moment. Then I realize they’re both waiting for my answer. All eyes on me.
“I do,” I tell them both. That’s the truth, anyway. “Crystals are very pretty.”
The one thing I remember about my great-grandmother were all her minerals and gemstones. She had shelves of rocks, more than Aria that’s for sure. When she passed, I was only left one. A dark blue one that I lost at some point in middle school. I keep my story to myself although I nearly tell them.
“I have these for you.”
Aria crosses to me and puts one of the stones in my palm. It’s smallish and a smooth oval shape with rich earth colors and a hint of blue flash to it. “This one is a que sera,” she tells me. She goes back to one of the shelves on the wall and opens a drawer beneath it. Aria takes out another stone, then brings it to me.