I practically ran down the large staircase and flung the front door open. I heard my mom's voice behind us as I ran out the door. "We're going to that art thing!" Molly yelled back at her.
"Oh well, okay. Bring her right back—" Carolyn's voice was cut off as Molly slammed the door behind us.
I jogged down the short set of stairs to the garage on the side of the house and waited at the passenger side until Molly clicked it.
Once Molly had backed the car out and pulled onto the street, she turned toward me. "Do you want to tell me—"
"No, Molly, I'm sorry. I will once we get there. But right now I feel like I might throw up. Please, I just need to sit here." It felt as if my heart flipped over in my chest.
Molly nodded and turned back to the road.
Fifteen minutes later, we were downtown. As we drove past the gallery where the showing was, I turned, watching the huge line formed outside. I saw a flash of green in the paintings in the window and squinted to make sense of them, but we were too far away, and people lined up were mostly blocking my view.
"There should be parking in a garage right around the corner," Molly said.
"Let me out here, please. I need to get out here." I put my hand on the door.
"Whoa. No jumping out of the car while it's moving! I want to go in with you anyway, Eden. I'm worried about you."
I shook my head, trying to get control of my breathing. It felt like every surface of my skin was hot and prickly and I couldn't feel my extremities. "I'm okay, I promise. I just really need to get out here. Please. At the next red light, I'll hop out."
Molly pursed her lips. "All right, fine. But I'll be about five minutes behind you, okay?"
I nodded my head. "Okay, thank you." I let out another big exhale, clenching my hands in my lap to stop the shaking. I swallowed the bile trying to make its way up my throat and practiced the breathing I'd gotten so good at right after I'd left Acadia and needed to control my emotions enough to function.
Molly's car came to a slow stop at the red light several blocks from the gallery and I reached over and squeezed her shoulder. I hopped out of the car, making my way across the street to the sidewalk.
And then I must have run although I don't remember. Suddenly I was at the end of the line of people waiting for the gallery show to start, and I was hot and breathing heavily.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
It couldn't be. It couldn't be. It's all a strange coincidence. It has to be.
I started weaving through the waiting people, some shooting me dirty looks, a few telling me to get back to the end. I ignored them. I needed to get to the front window.
I had to see. Oh, God, I had to see.
Several people were leaned back against the glass of the front display window and I stood on my tiptoes to see above them, but wasn't tall enough. "Excuse me, I'm sorry, I need to see in there," I said, my voice quivering. The four people looked at me curiously, but all began moving out of the way, like a curtain opening.
I held my breath and fisted my hands.
And there it was. Our spring. In vibrant. Living. Color.
I gasped out a loud sob and reeled, my hand coming up to my mouth and tears springing to my eyes. The world grew bright around me, and adrenaline exploded through my body.
Yes, it was our spring. I recognized every rock, every shrub, every blade of grass.
And I recognized myself.
I was standing tall and proud, powerful and sure in front of a huge snake looming at me from our rock domain. My head was held high, my shoulders back, my hair cascading down my back and covering my nakedness with only the backs of my shoulders and legs on display. My face wasn't visible, but it was me.
My eyes moved down to the small plaque beneath it to the title of the painting. "The Snake Wrangler." I laughed out a strangled sob and then brought both hands up to my mouth and simply stood crying for several minutes until I was in control enough to move away from the window and through the people to the front of the line.
No one tried to stop me, no one told me to get to the back of the line. They just parted and let me through, shooting me looks of confusion and surprise. I was crying outright now, not even attempting to hide my tears.
I couldn't have if I'd tried.
He's here. I can feel him.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
When I made it to the front of the line, a guy in a black suit looked at me with wide eyes, his gaze sweeping down my jean-clad body. "I need to get in there," I said, drying my tears quickly with the sleeve of my shirt, my voice still coming from somewhere outside of me. I thought it sounded strong though, unwavering.
"I'm sorry. You need a ticket. All these people have tickets." He inclined his head to the line formed behind us.
"Here you go," Molly said, suddenly appearing beside me and holding something out toward the man. "Two pre-entry tickets." He took them, his eyes moving back and forth between us. He glanced down at the tickets quickly and nodded his head toward the gallery.