[This post is from Marin’s point of view.]
We sat and watched the rain in silence for a few minutes. My gaze drifted upward, toward the clouds. They were moving fast, though not alarmingly so, no strange rotations, no twisting or folding that usually heralded something more than the usual late summer rain. I felt a bit of tension draining away as we sat there. Hecate kept leaning against me, though after a quick squeeze freed her arm from around my waist and took her pencil from behind her ear. She flipped to a clean page in her sketchbook but didn’t start drawing right away.
A quiet sigh escaped her and she stared out at the rain. “There’s so much going on inside my head,” she whispered. “That’s sometimes the hardest part—trying to put some kind of order to the chaos that never quite stops. Quelling the clamor.”
I squeezed her gently and she turned her head just enough to smile at me.
“The art helps,” she said softly. “It’s weird how much it helps. When Matt was with me—when I—” she broke off, frowning as she looked down again. I bit my lip.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Hecate, it’s okay. When Matt was with you before you came here?”
She took a breath and nodded, picking up on the prompt. “I had a house up on a cliff that overlooked the water. Matt found some of my sketchbooks there. I told him that I used the art to help me stay myself. It’s the truth. I—I need it so much.”
“Then keep doing it,” I whispered. “Keep doing it and we’ll find other things that help. Whatever we have to do, we’ll do it. You’re family.”
The breath she took was shaky, but her nod was firm. “And that means everything. Absolutely everything.”
