Page 64 of SnowBound

“Time makes things better. It’s not just a saying. It helps you see the situation from a different angle. I’m not telling you it’ll be easy, but give it a try.”

I hung my head. “I will. Thanks, Ma.”

With a pile of cookies in front of me, I reflected on my mother’s words of wisdom. Could I really do that, think about other things?

I surveyed the house. From where I sat, I had a view of most of the main floor. Blond wooden floors, sage walls, large windows opening to the lush green landscape of the backyard, and a faint scent of citrus that I knew came from the essential oil diffuser on the fireplace mantel.

A painting on the living room wall caught my attention. “Is this new?” I asked, my focus back on my mother.

“Yes. Painted it last month. It’s yours when you have your own place.”

My attention was drawn back to the piece of art. A man with tousled dark hair with a woman straddling him, their foreheads pressed together. The man’s hands cradled her cheeks, and she had hers planted on his chest. A guitar rested against the side of the chair. It was a mixture of dark and neutral colors except for the woman’s lipstick which was a deep shade of red. Even though their faces weren’t defined due to coarse brush strokes, I could sense the love pouring out from them. My gaze lingered on the painting. It was mesmerizing. And spoke to my heart, sending a wave of nostalgia through me.

“Did you—” I found it impossible to express my thoughts in words, too many feelings surging inside me at the moment.

My mother nodded. “You inspired it. That song you sent me back in February. I played it on repeat and sat before my easel and couldn’t stop.”

“It’s about her.”

My mother nodded. “I guessed it.”

I blinked, my emotions taking over me.

After a beat, I said, “I love it. It’s perfect.” How could my mother, who’d never met Abby or seen her picture, portray her with such accuracy? A shiver worked up my spine, and I looked away.

“Anderson, your new music is good. More mature. More emotional.” Her hand rested over mine. “I’m proud of you. Always have been.”

We exchanged small smiles. “Thanks. It means a lot.” Her words reinforced the idea Abby had changed me and my art. For the best.

My mother’s soft voice interrupted my train of thought. “Now settle in your room and relax because you and I are going out tonight. No way is my only son in town and we’re not celebrating the end of his second year of college.”

Back in my old bedroom, I sat on the edge of the mattress and scanned the space. Royal-blue walls and white trims. A stuffed toy frog sitting on the bookshelf amongst old textbooks and fiction novels. My high school talent show ribbons were pinned on the bulletin board, surrounded by pictures of my teen years. Of me and my mom. Me and my friends. The first concert I performed when I was twelve. My high school graduation. Scotty, my late black Labrador, who had been my confidant and roommate all through childhood.

I bent forward and grabbed my guitar from its case as a new song formed in my head. I could hear the melody clearly. I hummed it, trying to fit words around the notes.

That night I was angry and alone

The storm was raging outside

And soft music was playing on the radio

Everything around me was dark (and sad)

Colors had left my life. Black and white was my theme

And then you came my way, and I got hypnotized by you

Blue is the color of the sky in summer

Blue is the shade of the ocean on a sunny day

Blue is my mood when you’re not around

But blue is also the color of your eyes

The light in my darkness

The iced crystals shining across theroom