Chapter 9

Rhonda looked at her hands again. Would it be too much to ask her fingers to have enough strength to hold the damn pencil for longer than a few seconds? It’s not like its heavy or anything. You just have to grip it lightly using two fingers and your thumb.

She sighed again.

Seriously, would that be too much to ask?

Picking up the pencil again she frowned as she tried to balance it in her fingers, sweating from the effort of concentrating. Her fingers gripped the pencil loosely again and she sighed once more. If I could just hold it enough to sketch, then I’d feel like I was able to do something… something to kill the endless hours of driving myself crazy.

“Come on, Rhonda, you can do this.” Have to do this. She wasn’t sure if talking to herself in and out of her head nonstop was something she should worry about, but as it was much better than the never-ending silence, she decided.

Just hold it tight enough to control it. You can do this. She watched her hand move slowly to the pad resting across her knees. She could see the pencil in her hand but was barely able to feel it between her fingers. The pressure of the pencil connecting to the paper pushed it through her fingers making a long wobbly streak on the page.

“Aargh!” Throwing the pencil across the room, she stood up, flipping the pad from her knees. “You may as well be three and unable to stay inside the lines!” She looked down at the box on the table that contained her sketching supplies and sent it flying off the table across the floor. Standing, she looked at the colored pencils and tubes spread across the floor like a trail of rainbow logs.

Covering her eyes, she fought tears of frustration.

When the doorbell rang, she jumped and glared at the door. Entertaining company was something she didn’t feel like doing right now.

Rhonda opened the door and watched as Owen’s smile faded quickly to concern.

“A bad day?”

She nodded and opened the door further to let him pass.

He stopped inside the door and looked at the pencils lying across the floor. “Ah.” He turned back and looked down at her. “I don’t have to work on the room today if you’d prefer some silence.”

She shook her head and looked down at the floor. Silence was something she had too much of. “No, that’s fine. I was just…well I wanted to…” She sighed and walked over to the mess on the floor. Slowly kneeling, she began to push the pencils into a pile. “I just want to draw.” She looked up at him still standing motionless. A tear rolled down her cheek. “He took my hands from me, Owen. The only thing I ever enjoyed... thrived at was drawing and he took it away.” She dropped down onto her heels and looked at her hands. “Have you ever had someone take anything from you?”

Owen sighed and reached down to gently pull her to stand in front of him. “I have.” Guiding her slowly, he sat her down in the chair and perched on the edge of the table. He looked into her eyes. “My father used to beat the hell of out me. Dade’s mother and Momma G practically raised me.” He gripped one of her hands lightly between his. “He took my childhood, Rhonda.” He looked down at their hands. “I got past it, one way or another, it wasn’t easy, but now, where I am… it’s more than worth it.”

She looked down at her tiny scarred hands in his. “I just need to feel like I’m doing something.” She sighed. “I spend every day wandering around and feeling less like myself every day.”

He switched to hold her other hand. “Well then, we’ll have to see if we can’t come up with some way for you to get back to drawing.” He glanced down at her hand in his. “What is the problem, exactly?”

“You mean other than I can’t seem to hold the pencil?”

He grinned. “Yes, well—that would hinder drawing, wouldn’t it?” Releasing her hand, he leaned over picking up one of the pencils off the floor. He looked at it for a moment then at her hand. “What if we went and got you some fat pencils? Would that make a difference?”

“Fat pencils? Do these fat pencils come in 203 shades?”

He frowned. “Probably not as they’re made for toddlers, maybe 8 colors, tops.” He shrugged, “I was checking out kids’ stuff in the stores … man, things have come a long way since I was little.”

“It was a thought, thank you.”

“I’m not done.” He looked at the narrow pencil in his hand again. “What if we made the ones you already have fatter…so you could hold them better?”

Rhonda looked at the pencil in his hand and shrugged. “It might help, but how?”

“You just show me where you need to hold the pencil and I’ll figure out the how.”

Taking the pencil from his hand carefully she used one hand to move it between her fingers to the position she was used to.

Owen nodded and took it back from her. “I’ll be back shortly.” He winked at her and headed to the door.

She sat there for a few minutes and looked at the closed door. She would be lost without these genuinely wonderful people that were in her life now. Glancing back at the floor, she groaned and got up to clean up the mess from her tantrum.

Closing the fridge, she jumped as Owen came back through the door carrying a bag.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I still have my paranoid moments.” Taking the plate carefully she set it on the table. “I made sandwiches if you’re hungry.”

“Always.” Sitting down, he poured the contents of the bag on the table.

Rhonda sat down and looked at the rubber triangles all over her table. “Well.”

“I didn’t know how many pencils, you’d want them for, so I bought all they had and hopefully we can do most of them for you. They’re hard to get off and on, so if you need more, I’ll find them somewhere.” He picked up the one pencil he’d taken with him with a rubber triangle already on it, and handed it to her.

She placed her fingers on the blue rubber and looked down at her hand. She held it toward the table and moved her hand slowly. “This might work.” She looked up at him and smiled. “Oh, it might work.”

“I’ll go get your pencils and paper, and then we’ll fix up the rest while we eat.”

Rhonda sat and looked down at the forty pencils spread out on the table as she sipped her tea. “I can’t thank you enough. If I were recovered, I’d have thrown myself at you, Kasey style.”

Owen grinned. “Glad you didn’t, she scares me when she does that.” He stood up and put the plates in the sink. “Do you want me to set up your table in the living room? Then once your studio is painted, I can move it up there.”

She stood up and nodded. “That would be wonderful. Thank you, Owen.” She sighed. “It may take several days of practicing to retrain my hand, but just being able to try is going to be wonderful.” She watched him scoop up the pencils in his hands and followed him to the living room. “It will help me not go insane.”

He set them on the table and headed over to the large black case in the corner. “Just show me where you want this.” He waited until she pointed before picking it up. “No further news from Patrick?”

“No. But it’s been more than a week, so if nothing has changed it’s not much longer before he’s back.” She looked down at the floor and silently hoped it was only a week and he would come back unharmed.

Owen grinned over at her. “Don’t worry about him, that’s one man more than capable of looking out for himself.”

She smiled quietly. “I know.”

Owen’s stomach told him it was close to another mealtime or at least a good snack. He wiped the paint from his hands and wandered out of the room. He hadn’t seen or heard Rhonda since he’d gone up the stairs. Stopping at the bottom of the stairs he looked at her hunched over her table, lost in what she was doing. He cleared his throat so he wouldn’t startle her before speaking. “How’s it going?”

She straightened slowly and turned on the stool. “Great.” She grinned at him. “It feels so good to be drawing again.” She stood and winced. “Well, mentally it’s great.”

He watched her move with care. “Might have to try it with many breaks though, judging by the way you’re moving.”

She winced again she tried to twist to the side, slowly. “I think you’re right. How’s the painting coming?”

“Pretty good. I should be finished today.” Owen followed her to the kitchen and put the kettle on before she could reach it. “You should have your studio ready by the end of tomorrow.”

“Really? That’s wonderful.”

Her voice didn’t sound as happy as her words. Owen stood back and watched her reach for the tea canister. Her movements were slow. “Back pretty bad today?”

“No more than any other day.” She sighed as she navigated cautiously. “The oil Lena made helps for a short while. Everything helps, for a short while.”

Owen sat down at the table and studied her for a moment. “Have you considered the surgery they suggested for scar reduction?”

She carefully poured the hot water into the cups. “Not too much.” She picked up one cup and set it on the table. “I just want a break from hospitals and nurses, you understand?”

He took the second cup reaching with his long arms before she could reach the table. “I understand.” He smiled. “Maybe you could look into doing it in stages?”

“I suppose getting more information wouldn’t hurt.” She looked up at him. “Take time to decide.”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

He suspected she was missing Patrick a lot more than she let on. A faraway look filled her eyes whenever she paused. He could tell when she was reliving the nightmare of the attack, her look was haunted in those moments, but anytime someone mentioned Patrick a lonely expression came over her.

It had gotten worse in the last week since Patrick’s last message to her. For her sake Owen hoped the man came back soon. Regardless of what their relationship was when he left, he was sure it was going to be more when the two of them were reunited.

“Rhonda?”

She looked at Owen and focused. “Sorry. Mind wandered.”

“You look a little worn out from your drawing.”

She shrugged.

“Maybe you should try to have a little nap?” When she frowned, he held up his hand, “You may need it to get through Kasey’s thousand pictures of the honeymoon tonight.”

She laughed. “Oh, you’re right. She’s going to be energized and exhaust us all.”