“Well, hello, stranger,” Marie said to me as I entered her kitchen and made my way over for a hug, a warm smile touching her lips and flour all over her hands. “Where have you been hiding your pretty face? You missed our last book club meeting.”

I returned her smile as I hung my purse over the back of a stool at the island and sat down. “I’ve been home a lot. Busy. I’ve got some stuff going on I want to get your thoughts on.”

It wasn’t a lie exactly, but it wasn’t the real reason I hadn’t been around for the last couple of weeks. I was spending nearly every night with Archer, which meant I was trying to catch up on sleep during the day. I hadn’t thought to ask him why he mostly only appeared at night, but it was something I noticed. Throw in the research I was doing on the art program, and I seemed to be busy all the time.

“So, what’s been on your mind?”

I described my idea to her, all the things I’d been planning. Every time I said the words out loud it solidified my plan and my confidence grew. I knew this was the right move, I just needed to figure out the last pieces to pull it all together.

Marie sat and listened as she measured out the things she needed for what she was baking. Her face and body betrayed none of her thoughts. When I was done, I just looked up at her, trying to anticipate what her reaction would be, if she would find fault with what I had shared with her. The emotions running through me were what I imagined I would have felt if I was having this conversation with my mother, trepidation and hope that I was on a path that would make her proud.

“And what do you plan on naming this organization?” Marie asked. I studied her face for a moment, but still couldn’t get a read on her or her thoughts.

“Wild Art,” I replied simply, unable to hide the joy and hope I held in this idea of mine.

Marie smiled then, that beautiful, familiar one that sent warmth and pangs of loss coursing through me at the same time.

“I love it, Ros. How can I help?”

My answering grin took over my entire face, and I knew the final puzzle pieces were about to fall into place.

“I have nearly everything in place and I’ve started brainstorming the first show as well. I’ve placed flyers around town and I’m already booked up for the first month. The one area I’m struggling with is finding a contact with the local art council. I would love for this to be something that benefits the island, but the only website or information I could find for the council is outdated and incorrect. You wouldn’t know someone on the council I could contact, would you?”

“Of course I do. You’re right, it’s difficult for a newcomer to get in contact with them, but I think they would love to be involved. I’ll get you a list of names and numbers before you go.”

I got up off the stool before my brain registered my heart’s intentions, and I rushed up to Marie, throwing my arms around her and getting flour all over myself in the process. She giggled and hugged me back with warmth and love.

“Thanks, Marie. I can always count on you,” I said as I disentangled myself from our embrace.

“You’re welcome, dear. Now that you look like you’ve been baking, why don’t you stick around for a bit and help me finish these?” she said as she bumped my hip with her own.

With Marie’s contacts, everything else fell into place pretty easily. A week later, classes began. Aside from a few kinks here and there that needed to be worked out, it all came together pretty well.

We spent one session a week out in nature gathering leaves, branches, shells—really, anything that reminded us of this beautiful island we called home. The parents came along on the days spent out of the studio to help wrangle the children, and sometimes I even had people volunteer to join us and teach the class about the area we were in each session, telling us about the habitat or stories of those who lived here long before us. It was fun and educational.

The studio days were a blast, and not only did I find myself enjoying all the children who passed through the door, I even made friends with some of their parents. I was becoming more a part of the community.

As one week bled into another, my lost creativity crept back in, first appearing as ideas and dreams of half-finished canvases, which led to completed artwork and a new lightness and fullness in my heart I hadn’t felt in years. On the days I wasn’t working on things for the program or with Marie spending time in her kitchen or with her book club, I was creating my pieces in the sun-filled office turned studio at the house. A few of my works were in a couple of the local galleries and one on the mainland. I’d even sold a few pieces.

I was experiencing a level of independence and self-reliance I had never known. I’d met Dan before I finished college and moved in with him right after I graduated, so I had never lived on my own before. Dan continued to try to persuade me to move back to Santa Barbara in the few conversations we had. His guilt over abandoning me in some strange place was obvious, but time and again I tried to tell him that I was enjoying being on my own for now. I was growing, becoming stronger. It unsettled him, but I couldn’t tell why, and he would never admit it.

I was happier with nearly every aspect of my life, aside from the gaping chasm between Dan and me. The handful of texts we exchanged each week and the random phone call here and there didn’t help, and I realized the distance we had hoped to breach was growing impossibly wider.

Archer and I fell into a routine similar to the one that began the night we met. The days I wasn’t home working on my own pieces, I was in the village working on the program or hanging out with Marie and the friends I made through her book club. I would come home, and after getting settled for the night, I would call out for Archer to join me. We mostly watched movies and then chatted for a little while after. We took turns choosing movies, and I was always surprised by what he would choose.

You would think a ghost this old would consistently choose silent movies or old classics. That would be far too cliché for Archer. His taste in movies was varied. One night we watched a classic noir, his next choice an old James Bond flick, followed by a more recent romantic comedy, then an indie drama. He invariably surprised and amused me.

Our conversations were mostly safe, regular topics. Most discussions were about the movies we watched, getting into debates about the themes or events within. We also listened to a lot of music. Our friendship, for lack of a better word, was simple, but it was nice. It was like I’d found a long-lost best friend, but I wasn’t sure if he felt the same way.

The electricity and tension that always hummed between us, arcing and making my heart race whenever we came close to touching? That was still the elephant in the room that neither of us had dared to acknowledge.

My loneliness began to diminish, though it never entirely went away. I attempted to bridge the growing distance between Dan and myself, but on the rare occasion he returned my calls, he sounded extremely distracted, like his mind was somewhere else altogether. I could often hear voices in the background, a younger guy and a woman with a husky, almost sultry voice. I figured these were his teammates, but couldn’t bring myself to ask more about them, especially when we barely had a chance to talk.

My heart was hurting for us and the state of our relationship, but I became resigned to the fact we were stuck in this shitty place until this project was over and we were living together again. I secretly hoped this would be the last project he took on that kept him away from home for any length of time.

I just didn’t think I could be the kind of wife who would ask him to choose between me and his career. I understood how much he loved it, just as much as I loved my art. Giving it up would be like losing a limb for me, and I couldn’t imagine it was any different for him.