Page 10

Erika

I t's been a year since I started the work to heal, and I'm getting frustrated. I still can't pick up a brush, even though a thousand ideas are swirling in my mind. Fletcher has been completely supportive during this time.

I've moved in with him, and he drives me every day to the gallery. He has a small workshop in the back, where he can work on his own art while I arrange for his pieces and those of other local artists to be sold.

Later today, I have a session with my therapist, and I'm dreading it. She wants to dig deeper into why I'm not painting, and I'm not sure I have an answer for her. Not one that I can say out loud, anyway.

It's mid-morning, and Fletcher comes in with an iced coffee to help me cool down from the heat of summer.

I recall how last year I braved the mountain and went to find my man.

I still have the scar on my side to prove it.

I joke that it is a mark of valor, but it really is.

I wouldn't be with the love of my life right now if I hadn't done it.

The day goes by faster than I want, and then I'm talking to my therapist, and she asks me the dreaded question.

Why do you think you're not working on your art, Erika?

How do I answer that? How do I tell her that if I paint one canvas after the other, it will break my heart when I have to destroy them all over again?

Because deep inside, I still do not believe that I'm worthy. All of a sudden, the words come tumbling out of my mouth. How I'm terrified I have no talent, how I feel I'll never be good enough to sell my pieces, how all these fears and worries consume me.

Fat salty tears roll down my face, and it's as if the floodgates have been opened. My therapist is right there with me, challenging those beliefs and guiding me into the truth. I need to be courageous and embrace my destiny as an artist.

I've been letting this fear consume me, and it's only been causing this deep rot inside me. We end the session with some energy work, which helps me calm down, but when Fletcher comes into my office afterwards, I start crying all over again.

"Hey, what's going on? Did the session not go well?"

"I think it went a little too well for my taste," I say, sobbing all over his shirt.

"I'm right here for you, Erika. No matter what."

"Do you think I've been a coward?"

"I think you have a terrible inner battle, and right now it seems to be getting the better of you. What can I do to support you?"

I hold him tightly and take deep breaths to calm myself. His woodsy, masculine scent comforts me, and I decide I'm ready to share where I'm at right now.

"I think I have an idea for a new collection of work, based on the mountains here at Hunter's Peak."

"The mountains where you got lost?"

"The mountains where I found love."

"I'm so proud of you, Erika."

"Even if I've been a coward all this time?"

"Don't talk about yourself like that. You know better."

"I've been so scared, Fletcher. I'm done with that, though, and I'm ready to get back to my one true calling."

"Then it's time for the surprise I have for you," he says.

"You're ready to tell me what the secret room is about? I know you want kids, so it's probably a nursery."

"It's something even better. Let's go home."

We go up the mountain, and I'm finally able to see the true beauty of the landscape that surrounds me. The trees, the flowers, and the mountain itself. My hands are itching to pick up a brush, and suddenly I want to ask him to drive me back to my house so I can start painting.

He's so happy about his surprise, though, so I keep enjoying the view, anxious to see what he’s done.

When we get to our home, we go inside, and he takes me to the side of the house that has been covered in plastic for the past few months so that our cabin wouldn't be flooded by the dirt and grime that all construction work seems to bring.

"I made this for you, for this exact moment, sweetheart. I've always believed in you even when you haven't been able to believe in yourself."

We go through a layer of plastic, and when he opens the door, I gasp in surprise. He's built me my own studio in our home. The space is perfect, with natural light coming in through a skylight and several large windows.

He's already stocked up every single art supply I could ever want, and as I walk around the space, I can't believe he did this for me. But of course, he did this for me. Fletcher is that kind of man. He's my devoted mountain man.

I reach for the paint tubes and the brushes, and pretty soon I'm in a frenzy of creation. I barely feel when he kisses my forehead, urging me on, and leaves the room. Finally, I'm free, and my heart fills with joy at the realization.

Much later, even though I'm exhausted, we make love, and I realize how lucky I am. My life is perfect, and the future that once was dark is now bright and shiny. As I lay in Fletcher’s arms, I dream of all the good things that lie ahead.

"Thank you, Fletcher. It was an amazing gift. I love you."

"I'd do anything for you, my love."

And I believe him.