A Shot at Freedom (23 page)

Chapter Forty One

David

With a brush in his hand, David could take long slow strokes, down her cheek, through her hair. It was his only time with her. The paint lay in splotches before him. He could use it to create, and rebuild her face, adding softness and lightness he hadn’t seen in so long.

It took effort to block out the way the art therapist hovered and praised. His only strategy
to cope with the positivity was to fall deeper into the dark shadows framing Brooke’s eyes.

***

Brooke

In
the hollow, Brooke lay gazing up at the way the light speckled through changing leaves. It was their hollow, hers and David’s. They’d made it themselves. They were the only ones who knew about it.

Their lookout.

Their hideout.

The place they planned their futures.

His house was empty now. There was nothing more to guard or fight for. It was over.

She lay there cushioned by a bed of leaves. If she closed her eyes, she could convince herself that the shushing of the leaves was David, beside her, relaxed, breathing.

She stretched wide and turned on her side, her gaze falling to a pile of rocks nearby. That’s when she saw it. She stretched forward, reaching out to it. It was a wooden box. She lurched forward, coming to a squat, dislodging rocks, allowing them to tumble to the side.

Careful not to get splinters, she sat back with the box in her lap, opening it.
Unhinged, the lid slid back kicking up dirt.

In her hands, she held his sketches. There was a pile. She flipped through them, slowly at first, then picking up speed. They were all sketches of her.