“Hey, Ken?”
“Yeah?”
“You think maybe we get do-overs in life? Like sometimes we get to make mistakes, pick the wrong major, the wrong job, sleep with the wrong person even, and it’s okay? Could it be possible that every little misstep isn’t the end of the world after all?”
Bree appeared at the end of the path and gave a little wave but didn’t come closer.
“Hope so,” I murmured, watching Bree walk away. I really hope so.
Two spotlights illuminated the mural as I touched up the portrait of my parents. I blended whites and yellows until I matched the almost-golden color of Mom’s hair. Then I went about touching up the soft curl that fell over her cheek.
“I never realized how much she looks like you,” someone said behind me.
Everly stepped into the light of my little workspace, her cheeks flushed from the cold as she frowned at the mural.
“The resemblance is startling, really,” she said. “You could practically be painting a self-portrait.”
I cut my eyes to her rosy cheeks. When Kennedy had slept with her, I’d been a little shocked and hurt, but I’d convinced myself that he’d been such an idiot about the whole thing because of his feelings for me. I should have been crowned Queen of Delusion. “I’m sorry Kennedy was such an ass tonight.”
Everly shrugged. “I think we worked it out.”
I’d seen them down by the lake. My heart wrenched at the image, but I pushed it away. I had no hold on Kennedy Hale. “You’re not angry with him anymore?”
“I’m not. But I am a little angry with you.”
I froze and put my chalk down before turning to her. “Why?”
“I’ve been bitching about Kennedy for all these months, and you had a thing for him all this time, didn’t you?”
I busied myself organizing the chalk at my little workstation so I didn’t have to answer.
“And you didn’t tell me because I was so hung up on what happened. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Something ached in my chest as I tried to imagine missing her shows when I moved to Paris. Everly was one of those friends whom I felt close to regardless of geography, and I knew that wouldn’t change. She’d still be there for me. But I’d miss out on so much, and for what?
“It looks amazing,” she said softly, stepping forward to study my work. “If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t believe someone had vandalized it.”
“I should have left it. It’s not like she’s ever coming back to see it.” I shrugged and forced a smile. “Kennedy wants me to be angry with her, but it’s not like she’d notice if I was. I could kick and scream like a child, but I’d only be hurting myself.”
Everly fingered my selection of chalk colors. “You’re right. She’ll probably never see it.” She slid a red piece from its container and offered it to me. “I’m not sure she should be commemorated on an Abbott Springs mural.”
My mouth gaped. I’d just spent hours correcting the image, and now Everly was suggesting— “I’d be as bad as the vandals.”
“Vandals destroy. You, Aubree Baxter, create and inspire.” She extended the brush to me and waited. “You’ve always inspired me. Hell, we wouldn’t have had half the good times we did in high school if it weren’t for you.”
Slowly, I took it from her hands and studied the mural. Mom did look so much like me. Then I got to work.
For the last day of Winterfest, the family met the board at Village Hall for what Bree and I called “The B&B”—breakfast and bullshitting. Part of me hoped I’d have an excuse to skip it this morning, that I’d be too busy making up with Bree, touching Bree, making love to Bree.
She didn’t come home last night. Not to my home at least. When I’d sent her a text this morning, she didn’t reply. Would she stop by Village Hall before she left for the airport? Or would she leave the country without saying goodbye?
“Kennedy!” my father called as I approached the hall. “Come over here! I want you to meet the newest city council members! Harvey, Grant, this is my son.”
They were gathered on the sidewalk in front of the hall. I gave a polite smile and offered my hand to the two men. “It’s nice to meet you.”
We followed Dad inside, but my steps stuttered the second I walked in the door. Bree had fixed the mural, and it looked beautiful. Only, she’d altered it just enough so that it was no longer a portrait of her parents. If there was any doubt in my mind, the red lock of hair hanging in the woman’s eyes made it clear. This was now a portrait of Bree and her father.