These Are the Moments Read Online Free PDF Page B

front porch. Living in an office all day, she loved being outside in the evening, curled up on the porch swing, creating something out of nothing.
    “Need anything?” Dad would ask, as she made her way out the door.
    “I’m good,” she’d reply.
    About an hour in, Mom would stick her head out and say, “Dinner’s almost ready.”
    Wendy could finish a painting in a week, the most she’d ever painted in her life. The thing about watercolor was that it became easier with practice. In the beginning, every move she made could be a mistake. Mixing the wrong colors. Too much water, not enough pigment. But then, she realized, these weren’t mistakes at all. They were happy accidents. Flaws that found their way into something that was even better than she’d set out to make.
    Her favorite part of the process was the first stroke, when the water pulled the paint down the page, swelling and pooling, waiting for a purpose.
    Today, she would paint the pond. Again. A few weeks ago, she’d tried to paint the water, the surrounding grass, the crisp blue sky, but it hadn’t turned out the way she’d hoped. She tried again the next week. No use. Five failed paintings later, here she was again, trying.
    She dipped her brush in the green, then carefully brushed it over the bottom of the page. Too green. She added some water, making a note to mix in some brown.
    “What’s the deal with the pond?”
    Wendy jolted upright. In the chair beside her, Claudia seemed to materialize out of nowhere, watching over Wendy’s shoulder.
    “Geez,” Wendy said. “I didn’t see you.”
    “Clearly,” Claudia said. “So why the pond? You’ve got like six others in your room.”
    “What were you doing—” She decided to let it go. “I’m painting it until I get it right.”
    Claudia slipped a pair of pink earbuds into her ears and said, “Okay.”
    Wendy just looked at her. “Are you . . . staying?”
    “Yeah,” Claudia nodded, as if this were normal.
    Wendy would typically ask her to leave, but considering the week Claudia was having, she didn’t. She picked up the brush and dabbed it in the watery paint mix. The page absorbed the shades of blue, the sky a light, breezy blue-and-white haze.
    “How do you keep the colors from blending?” Claudia asked.
    Wendy held the brush in mid-air. “I don’t really. I just kind of let them go where they want to go. Sorry. I’m not really good at explaining it.”
    “It’s cool,” Claudia said.
    Wendy added layer over layer, dabbing the paper with tissue to pull the color, making it fade down the page. She couldn’t really concentrate on what she was doing with Claudia hovering over her, but she didn’t say anything. She worked on the boat that bobbed over the water, more like a shadow than anything concrete.
    “We should go there sometime,” Claudia said.
    Wendy lost control of the brush, smudging the brown of the boat into the glassy water. “Shit.”
    “You can fix that,” Claudia said.
    Wendy dabbed at the paper. “What were you saying?”
    “Oh, that we should go to the pond. Go in the boat. Go for a hike.”
    No, Wendy thought , Hell no.
    “Maybe,” Wendy said.
    The truth was that it had been years since Wendy had visited the pond. She knew exactly how to get there, knew every step by heart, but she couldn’t bring herself to actually go. In some ways, she didn’t think she would ever go back. In other ways, she felt like she’d never really left.
    When Wendy finished, Claudia asked, “So, did you get it right this time?”
    Wendy shook her head. “No. I’m not sure if I ever will.”
    Claudia lifted it out of Wendy’s lap, mulling over it. “Well, I like it.”
    “I’m glad.”
    “Do you mind if I keep this one?”
    Wendy didn’t expect that. Why was Claudia being so out-of-her-way nice? Not that Claudia wasn’t nice. She just hadn’t ever been this nice. Wendy said, “Sure.”
    As Wendy dragged her supplies inside, she promised herself that would be the