Saving Katie Baker (8 page)

CHAPTER
7

K
atie knew it would be difficult going back to where her home should have been. She was surprised at the calm, quiet peace that washed over her. The paintbrush and paints she held onto were tightly in her grip, distracting her, as if a new adventure was about to begin. She had no idea where it would lead, but steps were being made toward change. A new hopeful outlook loomed closer in the distance. She could taste relief. Finally.

She welcomed the unknown and craved the distraction. Anything was better than the mess splayed out in front of her. She needed something to keep her from remaining a prisoner in this nightmare she continued to live, she was tired of being a hamster going round and round on a wheel. Katie let her mind roam for a moment and knew what she was going to do.

She found the perfect place, one she had eyed many times before from her front window. She remembered sitting in her wing-backed chair with a book in her hands as she glanced at it, admiring the perfect little spot. She had been too scared to venture out to it in fear of being noticed by the neighbor and getting caught in a conversation. Now, those fears were no longer a legitimate part of her life.

The little stump sat between her house and his, and reminded Katie of her favorite spot as a child. The spot in the woods where she often ran off to whenever she needed a few moments alone with her thoughts. She would draw doodles and scribble words of poetry in random notebooks as the words came to her. As a child, Katie thought she could become invisible to her world and only visible to the make-believe ones.

Katie heard footsteps behind her and jumped. “Blake. You scared me. What are you doing out here? I told you I’d be fine.”

“Just checking on you. I laid Micah down and got bored.” He said.

Katie rolled her eyes at him. “I don’t paint with an audience.”

“I’m curious, why did you choose this uncomfortable stump to set up?” He asked.

“It reminds me of the stump in my childhood back yard. I used to draw fairy creatures. Whenever a butterfly or dragonfly came by, to me, they were fairies, so I drew them as such. I used to pretend they would fly behind me and steal glimpses of my work. I was very famous in the fantasy world, you know.” Katie replied with a smile on her face.

The thoughts of her childhood brought Katie such joy as she remembered how much she loved that little stump. She loved those make-believe journeys with pencils in her hands.

“This is perfect,” she said of the stump, brushed off the debris, and sat down to take in all of her surroundings.

“Kids and their imaginations,” Blake said. “I used to think I’d met and talked to angels.”

“I think it’s healthy for kids to play make believe.” Katie said as she thought of Micah. Was she giving her the same magical fairy and make believe world she had enjoyed? So much of their time was spent doing what needed to be done in order to survive, rather than living a free-play life. It dawned on her she had yet to read any of the traditional myths and fairytales to her daughter that had been told to her as a child. Katie decided one of the first things she would do with the new life that had been forced upon them was to introduce Micah to Hans Christian Anderson and the Grimm Brothers. It was about time.

“Can you leave already?” Katie said it as more of a demand than a question.

“Sure thing. Have fun with the fairy folk.” Blake turned to walk back to the house with a big grin on his face.

Katie started her time alone by listening to the sounds lingering around her. Leaves rustling, battling with the wind, took her breath away. The sight in front of her made her stomach churn. Her insides seemed to be doing somersaults without permission. She glanced down at her leg, frustrated again at the ruined jeans. She didn’t want to think about it right now. She had color on her mind, so the tattered jeans became their own version of art.

She sat still, slowly taking in what once had been her beloved cottage. She didn’t know where to begin. She didn’t know what to draw, paint, or write. She felt lost. She felt insecure. Who was she to think that now, after all this time, she could start painting again? Was it possible to re-learn how to find her voice?

In that moment, Katie wished her father could be there with her, sitting in front of this destruction. He always knew exactly what words needed to be said. She had always been such a daddy’s girl—he always knew what was in her heart. He knew what she needed to hear in times like these. He could see through her eyes to her soul. “He gets me,” she’d often say whenever others would comment about how close the two of them were. Just then, she remembered something her father had told her when she was little.

Whenever Katie hit a roadblock in her art and didn’t know what to paint, her father would tell her, “Darling, ask yourself, ‘how do I feel?’ and then keep asking. ‘How do I feel? How do I feel? How do I feel?’ Listen to the answer and paint that. Write that. Draw that.”

Katie looked at the mess in front of her, she thought about her husband and that horrible day two years ago. She thought about all her anger for the neighbor and the current situation. She thought about the storm. She thought about Blake trying to be nice to her. She took her dad’s advice and asked out loud, “How do I feel? How do I feel? How do I feel?”

She grabbed a piece of paper and rummaged around for the black paint. Katie hadn’t done anything like this before. Usually, she painted scenery. It was simple: she painted what she saw. But now, now she simply needed to feel the paint under her hands. She simply needed to get her feelings on paper.

She squirted the tube of paint out directly onto her thick white paper. She didn’t just push out a little; the black circle of paint was thick. It’s age showed through the goop since it was part water part paint. Her brush felt amazing beneath her fingertips. She coated the entire paper in the dark color. Swishing the brush from one side to another.

Katie wasn’t done; more and more black was added. Therapeutic, she thought to herself, as the paint was soaked into the paper. She used soft brush strokes in one direction and then another. Katie paused. “How do I feel?”

“Pain.” She said it out loud, and as if on cue, her body responded. Her shoulder began to throb. She was actually starting to feel. It hurt. She could feel her heart beat in sync with the continual throbbing.

Katie grabbed a tube of crimson. Blood red. On one corner of the paper she put a little dot of paint and began making circles. Tiny circles to begin, going round and round with her brush. Then she added larger circles, creating what looked like stones in the empty spaces. She watched as the black and red melted together.

As Katie looked at her painting, it reminded her of the little pebbles she often admired beneath crystal clear waters of the many creeks that she danced in as a child. She used to love those stones, searching for the beauty hidden in the normal. Katie continued making red stones, here and there, darker in some areas than in others.

Once her paper was full of red stones and deep black darkness she paused. Looking up at what was to be her new life before her, she breathed in all of the memories. The wood stove, the once beautiful hardwood pine floors, tile, granite, it was all her past. And this painting, this was her future.

Katie glanced down at it. Looking for more meaning, for hope within its frame. She searched for words. Something to help her believe all would be okay, as Blake had promised her. And then she saw it. Staring right there, as if smiling at her, as if drawn by one of her past fairy friends without her knowledge.

A stone painted, unintentionally, that was in the shape of a heart. It wasn’t just kind of in the shape of a heart—it was clear, to the left of her canvas, it was as plain as day. It was right there, a heart, out of place, between the red and black, between the pain and darkness. This was her hope.

She took her charcoal pencil, which was most often used for sketches, and traced it over and over again, shadowing its structure. Tears welled up and began streaming down her face. They were going to be okay. It was true. He was right. They were going to be okay.

“How do I feel? How do I feel? How do I feel?”

Katie looked at her painting. She felt free. It was drying before her eyes, with the charcoal heart staring at her. It was a masterpiece. She smiled. “I feel wishful. I feel hopeful. I feel okay.”

Katie thought about stepping through the house and searching for more salvageable items, but she’d just had a breakthrough and didn’t want to ruin it. Instead, she began to gather up her paints. She held her painting high above her to take it in from a new angle and make sure that the heart was still there. It was.

The painting held a secret message. It was meant for her, she knew it. Katie couldn’t help but think about destiny, about the universe and this moment. Was God the “magical fairy” who drew the heart? Was the universe trying to get her attention? Trying to tell her something? The thought wasn’t erased immediately as all other thoughts of God and spirituality had been in her past. But why would God place her here, in the home of the man who caused her husbands death? Just to mess with her?

Katie wasn’t the religious type. She used to be, but that was a long time ago. She attended a small Baptist church for a while with a friend but there was always something about it that just didn’t sit right with her. She walked the walk and talked the talk but she had questions, and where she came from, questions weren’t smiled upon.

She didn’t leave until after her husband died and people began telling her that God had a reason for it all, a purpose in taking her husband from her. Some even suggested it was God’s way of punishing her for having sex before marriage. She wasn’t sure why, but she believed them and decided that she no longer wanted anything to do with their God, or any God who would play her like a chess piece just waiting to call “checkmate”.

Katie slowly made her way back to Blake’s house. She wondered what he would think of the painting. It wasn’t anything like the older sketches. Would he think it immature? Cartoonish? Katie began to feel insecurity rise up within her.

Why do I care what he thinks anyway?

Katie couldn’t help but wonder, though, hoping he’d like what she was about to come home with. For some reason, she felt she needed his approval.

Upon walking in the door she looked over and saw them. Blake’s head was leaned back and to the left, his eyes were closed and he was snoring. Micah was still cuddled up inside her blanket, and sound asleep in his arms. Katie didn’t want to wake them.

She glanced at the clock and noticed it was almost lunchtime. She knew when the two woke they’d probably be hungry, so she went scavenging in his kitchen for food to fix. She found a bag of ramen noodles and heated up some water. It was easy, quick, and a pretty satisfying meal. She had no idea who Blake was, or what he liked, but since the ramen was in his own pantry, it had to be a safe bet. Katie decided while waiting for the water to boil, that she ought to try to get to know this man, even though it caused her heart to ache.

She looked at her painting again, sitting on the dining room table to dry. A heart. She would learn to be more open, to form better relationships with those around her. She would learn to love other people; she would learn to be a friend, and a good neighbor. It was time.

The spices must have been what woke Blake up. The smell wafted through the whole house, making Katie’s stomach begin to growl. Katie found herself thinking on Blake, wondering when he had fallen asleep, whether or not he had issues sleeping at night like she did.

When Blake woke, he looked down and saw Micah was still snoozing in his arms.

“Couldn’t have been that long,” he said.

Katie heard him moving around and peeked her head into the living room. “Are you ready for lunch? I didn’t know what to fix but saw that you had ramen. Hope that’s alright.”

“That sounds perfect.” Blake stood up with Micah in his arms. “Do you want me to go lay her down?”

“Sure, she’ll probably sleep another thirty minutes or so. Usually her naps run a good two hours.”

Katie walked back to the kitchen and brought out two bowls of chicken-flavored ramen as Blake gently laid Micah on the bed.

Katie felt different, she wasn’t even sure why, but she could tell being out there with the paints had changed her. Blake seemed to notice it, too, since he stared at her as he walked back into the kitchen.

“What?” She asked as she looked at him.

“I don’t know. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is, but there’s something different about you. You seem brighter, happier. Glowing even. Are you okay?”

“Must be the sunshine,” Katie said.

Blake sat down at the table with Katie and began to slurp the warm, seasoned noodles. “How did the time at the house go?”

“Where do I even begin?” Katie said.

Blake must have been surprised by her positive tone since he began coughing uncontrollably due to inhaling his broth instead of swallowing. Katie got up from the table, handed him a glass of water, and went to grab her painting.

“I painted.”

She hesitated and took a deep breath before flipping the painting around and actually showing him her artwork.

“It’s not very good, it’s different than my previous styles but it’s what needed to be painted.”

Blake looked at the canvas. At first he said nothing, which made Katie become even more self-conscious.

“You hate it don’t you?” Katie grabbed the painting from him and began walking back to the bedroom.

“Katie, wait. Are you kidding me? This is unlike anything I have ever seen before. It’s beautiful. No. It’s stunning. I can’t even find the right words to describe the feelings this painting is pulling from inside me.”

Katie didn’t want to start blubbering again right there at the table with Blake, but his words made her heart melt. She wondered if perhaps being real and vulnerable had its perks after all.

“I’m speechless, Katie. This painting. It’s as though you have given the world your heart.”

Katie blushed. “You’re just saying that.”