Juli arrived on Thursday afternoon. Anna’s house was known territory now, but still she was anxious.
A couple of women, an older man and a teenager all looked up from their easels, most calling out greetings. The teenager didn’t actually speak, but waved his brush in her direction before he disappeared back behind his canvas.
The white-haired man was a former naval officer. “Call me, Dodge,” he said. “I’m retired now.”
Juli envied his posture. He stood as if at attention. The teenager was being home-schooled and sent to Anna for art class. When Anna introduced him, he blushed.
“This is Billy Wooten. Billy, this is Mrs. Bradshaw.”
“If it’s all the same, I’d rather he called me Juli.”
“I’m Laura and that’s Donna.” The darker haired woman pointed her paintbrush at the shorter woman. “We’re friends. Donna talked me into this. Oops, sorry Anna. We love you and we love this class.” She giggled.
There was no type for her to fit into, or not to fit into. Juli found that comforting. She chose an easel next to the kid. Looked to be a little less chatter at that end of the room.
So far, so good.
Juli opened her art box and laid out her tubes and brushes. From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Billy’s work. Seemed to be heavy lines in black and white with splashes of color. While she was peeking, Billy was also looking out of the corner of his eye and when their gazes met, Billy blushed all over again.
She opened the jar of turpentine and using the burnt umber, did a wash in varying degrees of light and dark as a roadmap for the painting to come.
****
Juli was gradually accumulating what Anna called a portfolio. Much too grand a word for what she was bringing home, but she could see modest improvement.
Juli stored her artwork in the topmost room of the Glory. The crow’s nest. Sometimes, when standing on the balcony with the wind streaming through her hair and the waves crashing below, she imagined she was standing on the prow of a Spanish galleon or on the parapet of a castle that perched on the edge of ocean cliffs. Anywhere, but where she used to be.
Not her old self or old places, but instead, someone with dreams living in a place of infinite promise.
****
For their third anniversary, Ben and Juli agreed to forego the presents and have dinner out. Ben said they were going to a restaurant over by the sound.
“Do I know it?” she asked.
“It’s a small place, but special.”
Juli frowned. There was something he wasn’t saying. She recognized his tone of voice, the lilt that suggested there were words unsaid.
She was driving at Ben’s suggestion. He said he felt fine, but he’d kept his hand on his mid-section for most of the day. It was an unconscious gesture, but Juli figured he was in some pain. He sat with his head back against the headrest, pale, but appearing relaxed as he listened to the radio. There was talk about a hot spot off the west coast of Africa spinning up a bunch of storms. A few of the tropical weather systems had made it across the Atlantic and dropped a ton of water on the islands in the Caribbean, but the storms had dwindled to tropical depressions, or to nothing at all, by the time they neared the US mainland.
Ben switched the radio off.
“Are you worried?” she asked.
“About storms? No. We’re prepared.”
“Hurricanes move slowly, that’s good.”
“They can be unpredictable, but there’s plenty of time to evacuate if you don’t wait until the last minute and we won’t.”
As they approached where the causeway met Atlantic Avenue, Ben sat up straighter and tapped his index finger against the console. She gave him a quick look.
“There,” he said. “See where that huge rack of boats is? Just past that, turn left.”
She turned, as instructed, into the parking lot of a marina.
“Did you guess?” he asked. “Park over there.”
There were a bunch of boat slips and nice-looking docks. A number of boats were tied up, but Ben wouldn’t have had her dress up for anything less than that big shiny, two-story boat at the end of the dock.
“Ben?”
Several men were standing inside. One was dressed in chef’s whites.
“It’s ours for the evening. It’s called a party boat. A friend of mine is loaning it to us for our anniversary dinner and the chef is a friend, too. Have you ever dined on the ocean at sunset?”
****
Sunset on the dock, sunset on the beach, even sunset from their front porch was beautiful—made beautiful because the particulates in the atmosphere scattered the waning rays of sunlight, painting the sky in hues of red and gold.
Lulled into peaceful wonder, Juli sat on the cushioned seat at the side rail of the boat, gently rocked by the movement of the ocean, feeling the touch of a breeze that had traveled from some exotic land far away. She watched the growing splash of vivid color skipping across the shifting surface of the Atlantic Ocean. It was like living in the midst of a poem.