Seven

The tears have cut a channel

So deep within the soul.

Fear watches for a stumble,

A whisper takes control.

Andrea didn't notice the howling winds wrestling with the trees outside her front door. She wouldn't have noticed a blizzard as she cleaned house to use the time until Joni could come. The tension was excruciating, but the physical activity gave her something to do with the nervous energy. As she pushed the vacuum over the carpet, Andrea tried to imagine what Joni's response to the paintings would be. She'd heard it was possible for an artist to be blind to her own work. Perhaps Andrea was fooling herself because her life lacked passion. Odd that this talent, if she had any, should wait to blossom until Jack was gone.

Andrea bent to the task as her mind wandered. What would her husband have thought if she had taken up painting years ago? Would Jack have been proud? Would he be proud of her now if he could see the paintings? Or would he call it folly and remind her that Robin and Brian came first? Responsibility had always been a big thing with Jack. It was true that Andrea wasn't as involved with her children as she once was. She, at least, had not abandoned them as Jack had. It was Andrea who met them after school every afternoon, who made sure they ate wholesome meals. She was the one who read stories to them at bedtime and held them when they cried, the one who worried with Robin's moods and felt powerless to help. Andrea gritted her teeth and pushed the vacuum over the same spot. She had been denied the love of a husband, and painting was the only thing that gave her any comfort. Why should she even care if Jack would understand?