Here's a link to the fourth chapter of the novel, Nothing Else Occurs to Me, by Amy Welborn.
On a Friday afternoon a couple of weeks later, Elizabeth came home from school and thought - Mardi Gras?
Well, Mardi Gras without jazz or parades or drunk people. Just beads, basically. And not brightly-colored beads, either. So, maybe not Mardi Gras. Just loads of beads in her house for some reason.
Draped over chairs, in little piles on the dining room table, even hanging, here and there, from nails in the wall. Her mother was drifting around, rearranging them, taking pictures.
Spring had definitely sprung, and the chill was just about drained from the air, but her mom had not heard that newsflash yet. In her black, long-sleeved turtleneck and leggings, snapping pictures of the beads, she looked like a refugee from some beatnik 50’s art scene in an icy Manhattan loft. A good sign, maybe? That she was getting back into her art? And would maybe stop sitting at the kitchen table, sipping red wine and sighing that she really should get back into her art? And how much easier if she could just drop everything and go to Spain like some people?
