Retreat to Love Read Free Page A

email her later on.” The computer room in the Main House was already shut up tight for the night.
    “Sure, and I’ll drop a note to Frank and Bernadette, too.” Our parents would hardly have been looking for a message from me, but they’d be overjoyed to hear from their precious Zach.
    “Thanks, hon.” I smiled and gave him one last squeeze. “Safe home.”
    “Goodnight, then. See ya’ later.” I waved as Zach got into his car, lowered my hand as he backed out onto the main road and headed back towards Austin.
    Unpacking my clothes and toiletries didn’t take long, nor did arranging the few books and photos I’d brought. But other than storing the boxes of fabrics and threads in the studio cabinets and setting my machine on one of the wood tables, I was at a loss as to how to arrange my new working space. I would use the easel for sketches, the drafting table for layout drawings and making templates, and the floor as a canvas for my cloth. That much I knew from experience with the way I worked.
    But I had no idea, despite my bravado with Zachary, what my first project at FireWind would be. I hoped in the eight weeks I would compile a number of sketched ideas and renditions, and complete three or four large pieces. I couldn’t waste too much time wandering in the woods or socializing, but lacking any concrete idea of where I would begin, I couldn’t envision myself doing anything else. I’d had the same problem when I moved from Gran’s to my accursed rental on the outskirts of Houston’s museum district, except there I lurked in galleries and cafes instead of wooded clearings and cabins.
    I’d been in the rental since the previous fall and had only completed twelve pieces, ten of which were commissioned via my online storefront. I’d had to up my part-time hours at the fabric store and run a couple of quilt-making classes to make ends meet, which was distinctly not in the plan when I’d projected my costs and time ratios before moving out. I’d found myself dropping in on Gran more often than planned, and even spent a winter weekend with our parents, since Zach had come in to absorb the brunt of their Yule-season festivity. He’d pretty easily figured out from my restlessness that my work wasn’t working for me. Gran knew it, too, and broached the idea of my moving back in with her, even though she was the one who’d pushed me from her comfortable nest to let me figure out how to fly on my own. And I was determined to prove her faith in me justified.
    Lying on my back on the studio floor, I watched the treetops disappear in the darkness. My spine wanted to rebel against the solid floor, but I forced it straight and still, my muscles relishing the stretch. This close, the hardwoods smelled almost musty, but in a more woodsy than moldy way. It was peaceful.
    The wind blew a bit, and I caught sight of a star through the waving branches, and smiled. I hadn’t seen a lot of stars since moving to Houston, and added ‘stake out a good gazing spot’ to my mental to-do list. It didn’t hold much else: finish unpacking find out if there was hot cocoa mix I could take to my cabin, create something new and marvelously expressive of my inner self.
    A few deep breaths as I concentrated on the smell of the floor and the sound of the cicadas, the feel of the groove between planks on the pads of my fingers. I’d been entirely too disjointed in recent months to tap the creative core I knew was lurking somewhere within me. Eyes closed, still, I gently willed it to surface, to let the artist in me know any old time would be a great time to decide to thrive. I meditated for a good half-hour, but never felt a change.
    I hauled myself off the floor, and off to bed, hollow and alone.

Chapter 2
     
    I woke up confused. It felt for a moment like my room at Gran’s house, but there wasn’t enough light from the north and west facing windows to make that possibility plausible. And the north window was tapping. I sat up