With Love, from Cappadocia ❤️

Chapter 10 - Honest Light of Day

Peter

Peter inhaled, the sweet scent of vanilla in the air. He heard a strange scratching noise. It persisted, battling for dominance with the pounding in his head.

Eh....what's that blasted noise?

Peter cracked open an eye. Across the bed from him sat Bea, knees drawn up, pencil flying across paper. She wore a large green jumper stretched over her legs, tiny toes peeped out.

That's my jumper.

Peter tensed as he looked down. Rumpled clothes from last night covered his body. He closed his eye as he relaxed.

She looks better in it anyway.

Peter felt Bea stare at him, then heard her pencil start to scratch at paper again.

"It's rude to stare luv." Peter looked at Bea as she shifted, the scratching thankfully halted.

Messy dark curls fell about Bea's soft face. Peter's hand twitched, the urge to touch her quite strong.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. My head was killing me, it got cold, and I couldn't go back to sleep."

"That's alright, my head probably doesn't feel much better. What do you have there? A diary?" Peter smirked a little as he sat up against the head of the bed, one hand rubbed at his temple.

Bea hugged her knees close, paper hidden from sight. "No, it's not a diary. It's just a sketchbook. You know, doodles and that kind of nonsense." Bea looked down as she tucked her hair behind an ear.

Peter leaned over to look. It was him. She had drawn him as he slept. The light from the window touching his face. The arch of his nose, upturn of his lips, and even the slight stubble on his jaw.

"Not too bad at all. So you're an artist...eh, yeah it's starting to come to me. You don't happen to remember us getting pissed and baring our souls last night, do you now?"

Bea shrugged her shoulders and played with the sleeve of Peter's jumper. "Surprisingly you are a very happy drunk. Well, except when you talked about your dad. You may have mentioned something about him being a control freak. And used a few words I'm unfamiliar with. Although with context clues I think I can guess. Um...do you remember much about what I said?"

Peter looked at Bea with her shoulders drooped. He put his hand on top of hers, fingers entwined. "I'm sorry about your mum...and that you're a terrible lightweight."

A laugh bubbled out of Bea, as she stared at their hands, eyes rimmed red. "You're terrible, but thanks. It's been a year. You'd think I would have toughened up by now."

"I don't think it works like that. I imagine everyone grieves differently. I am curious though about this list you kept mentioning."

"Oh that...Well, while my mom was in the hospital, we would talk about all the places and things we were going to do and see once she got better. We'd talk for hours and plan everything out. I didn't know at the time, but she wrote it all down. Which she gave to Nicole."

"Your friend, the scary one?" Peter rubbed his thumb along Bea's hand.

Bea smiled a little. "Yeah. Mom made Nicole promise to have me do the items on the list. Horrible idea really. Nicole is relentless."

"Is that why you are here in Turkey?"

"Sort of. I've always had a fascination with hot air balloons. We...um, my mom and I, we were going to come here together. But yeah. It seems this is the month of doing things I'd rather not."

"Well why don't you just not do them?"

"It's not that easy. Just not do the things on my dead mother's list. Feels kind of heartless."

"Well, when you put it that way..." Peter stared down at the drawing of his face. "What sorts of things are on this list?"

"Well I honestly don't know everything on the list. I know the things I've already done. A few things I can guess at, but the rest...I don't know until Nicole tells me. Like I did a marathon. That wasn't fun. I've gone on a four hour deep sea ride. I was sick the whole way. Or the awkward date with the guy who used to do my parents taxes."

Peter laughed a little. "Seriously? Oh wow, I love my mum, but not sure I'd go so far as to take afterlife dating advice."

"He was nice enough. A little egotistical, but hey, confidence is good right?"

Bea leaned over and rummaged in her yellow luggage. Peter stared at his empty cold hand.

Strange...

Bea got back up and sat next to Peter again. As she tossed a folded pack of papers onto his lap, she slid her hand back into his. Peter smiled down at her, then glanced at the papers. With his free hand he picked them up and started to read.

With furrowed brows, Peter looked at Bea. "You really are an artist...This says you have placed at the Visual Art Open in Chester? You're coming to England?"

"I really haven't decided yet."

"But you won a spot. It says so right here. A mentoring package, and your own solo show. I don't understand. Why are you undecided?"

"I didn't send that painting in. My mom did. It wasn't my choice. I never wanted anyone to see that p-painting." Bea's voice caught a bit as she stared at nothing. Her grip on Peter her only lifeline.

Peter looked down at this woman he barely knew, and felt his heart clench. Someone else understood what it felt like to have no control over their own life.

"Beatrice, I think you need to make your own list."