Page 69 of All That We Are Together

“We sold six paintings. Six,” Sam said. “It’s incredible. Can I ask why you’re not more surprised?”

“I figured she would. The girl’s good, but… You don’t understand.” I looked up from the papers I was rifling through on my desk. “Leah isn’t the best, and she’s got a lot left to learn. There’s thousands of artists out there who are technically better than her, who know more, and who can find a million errors in each of her pieces. You know that. But she’s got soul. When someone looks at one of her paintings, they can see and feel the emotions she’s put into it. She can transmit things. And isn’t that what it’s all about in the end?”

56

Leah

My last days in Byron Bay, I hardly saw Axel. He claimed he was busy with the sale of the paintings and other issues. I almost felt like he was avoiding me, and even though I needed the breathing room, I was also addicted to being by his side. He was like the chocolate cake they put in front of you when you’re on a diet, the gossip you don’t want to hear but can’t help listening to.

I didn’t have much time to think about him, because the day after the exhibition, when Landon left, I could hardly get away from the Nguyens and my brother and his fiancée. On Monday, when we all had our last meal together, Axel seemed more pensive than usual, off in his own little world. He hardly even spoke.

“Honey, are you okay?” Georgia asked.

“Yeah, brilliant.” But his eyes were distracted, and he looked back into the center of his plate and remained that way until it was time to say goodbye.

He gave me a kiss on the cheek and told me he’d call me that week to talk business. Then he left, and we walked to the hotel where Oliver and Bega were staying. When she said she had topack her bags and take a shower, my brother asked me if I felt like going for a walk. I said yes, because we still hadn’t spent much time alone, and I was used to having him all to myself every time he came to see me in Brisbane.

I hung off his arm as we strolled.

“It was nice coming back here,” I said.

“It has been.” He smiled. “I missed it.”

And then something occurred to me. Actually, I’d thought of it more than once those past few years, but I’d never had the courage to seriously propose it.

“Would you like…to go to our old house?”

“Leah, I’m not sure that’s a good idea for you.”

“I want to,” I assured him.

“Okay, let’s go.” He grabbed my hand.

We took that route we knew so well, and I could almost see Oliver’s excitement mingling with mine, like colors: the blue of trust, the intense yellow of uncertainty, the violet of longing…

We had grown up on the outside of town, next to the Joneses’ old place. Both houses had two stories with a small backyard surrounded by trees that had grown tall.

Everything was the same, but at the same time, so different…

“It’s abandoned,” I cried, seeing the house.

“Not exactly.” Oliver squeezed my hand. “Some English people bought it a few years ago. You know how it goes. They got this idea of coming here when they retire; eventually they’ll tear it down and build something new. Or so I heard.”

Despite the pain of imagining those walls turned into a pile of rubble, I told myself it was better that way. Because that placeheld too many memories for new ones to be created there. If it was never going to be the same—and it wasn’t—maybe it was better to just start from zero.

“I remember when you used to climb that tree over there,” Oliver said. “You’d shoot up like a monkey and stay there for hours hanging from one of the branches. Only Axel could ever get you to come down.”

“Mom threatened to cut it down.”

“It’s true.” He laughed. “She was amazing.”

“She had character.”

“Like you. She was emotional…”

“You’re more like Dad.”

“You really think?”