The warm outdoor air caused a bead of sweat to form on the back of my neck. Closing my eyes, I listened to the birds chirping. Life in the south was serene, not like the traffic-filled, polluted air back home. When I opened my eyes, I spotted a box of chalk tucked under the deck. The heavy clouds to the far east told me rain was on the way, so anything I doodled now would soon be washed away.
Bent over the asphalt driveway, I let the chalk slide against the blacktop. I started at the top with the clouds and the bright sun. Drawing from memory, I drew in trees, columns, and tiny windows. I was so lost in my work that I didn’t hear Nate come up behind me.
“That’s the Bissell House.”
I jumped at the sound of his voice. “What the hell?” I tossed a chalk at him. “Are you trying to scare the living crap out of me?”
Nate chuckled and walked on my artwork. “You still have your talent, I see. Drawing it from memory, too.”
“It was where it all started,” I muttered under my breath. “I wouldn’t call doodling with chalk a talent.”
“What do you do for work back home?”
“What do you do, Mister Fancy Pants?” I asked, ignoring his question.
“I’m an architect for the city.”
“That’s great.” I began to put the small tidbits of chalk back in the pail.
“And you?” He squatted near one and picked it up.
“I work at a hardware store.” Nate had been walking in my direction and stopped. “I work in the paint department. Some of the time I paint murals and stuff in people's homes, other times I restock the shelves.”
“Like a Home Depot?”
I dropped the chalk in the pail. “Yeah.” I huffed. “I assume Del has told you what Julian does for a living?” Nate nodded. “Well, is there anything else you’d like to know?”
“Why a hardware store?”
I laughed and shook my head. “Of all the possible questions you could ask, that wasn’t the one I expected.” I walked over to the deck and put the pail back where I found it. “It was the only place that was hiring and would give me flexible hours. Not everyone is eager to hire a college dropout.”
“You never finished—”
“Nope,” I answered his question before he could ask it. “With my mom’s stroke, it was stupid to go back to and finish an art degree. Not many jobs out there.”
“But Julian finished.”
“Yes. It took him some time, and I helped him study, but he graduated. As did you.” I waved my hand toward his tailored suit.
“But you had a dream. Curator at the Louvre.”
“I had many dreams.”
Our eyes met. Nate opened his mouth to say something, but I stopped him.
“Sometimes dreams are just that—dreams. A small escape from reality. I learned to stop dreaming and face my life head on.”
Nate frowned. “I need to go change and pick up Julian at the airport. Do you want to come?”
I shook my head. “I’ll see my husband when he gets here.” I began to walk back toward the garage.
“Brie?” Nate called out at my back. When I turned to face him, I was greeted by a gorgeous smile. “Don’t stop dreaming. There’s still a chance it can become reality.”
He was my dream. A life with him was what I fantasized about. But it was unattainable. My dreams were a fairytale that ended with a bullshit happily ever after.
Chapter 25
Nathaniel
During the drive to the airport, I pressed the accelerator and let my car weave through traffic. The last time I saw my brother was a little over eight years ago. He came down to visit our mother when she and Warren decided to leave for Ecuador. I’d paced the apartment as I awaited his arrival. I’d wanted to see him, but most of all, I’d wanted to see her.
But she never came.
We were having dinner when he casually informed us all that he and Brielle had gone to City Hall, and he didn’t want the house because he and his wife were happy in Chicago.
His wife.
It shocked us all.
Masking my gloom, I congratulated him and welcomed him into the club.
A lifetime had passed since I last saw my kid brother.
Parking my car, I strolled into Baggage Claim and spotted Julian yanking a suitcase off the carousel.
“Need some help?” I offered when I approached him.
He spun toward me, a wide smile on his face. “Moose!” He wrapped his arms around me.
“How are you, kid?” I stepped back and took him in. He looked the same as the last time I saw him. The only difference was he looked exhausted.
“I’m tired.”
“Come on.” I reached for the handle on his bag.