Page 41 of Finding Forever
“Come and look at these paintings, Eric.” Mom took his arm and turned him toward the left-hand wall. “When we moved to Sunrise Bay, my father framed some of Riley’s early paintings and hung them on the wall.”
I moved fast. Grabbing a large piece of cheesecloth, I draped it over the canvas. It didn’t cover everything, but at least Eric wouldn’t see the most important part.
“Are the two people in this painting your parents?” Eric asked Mom.
I turned toward him. He was pointing at a portrait I painted while I was at art school.
Mom sighed. “They are. Of all the canvases Riley has painted, this one’s my favorite.”
I checked the cheesecloth once more before walking across the room. I stood beside Eric, not sure what to say. When I lived in New York City, I was incredibly homesick. Even though I managed to find a part-time job, I didn’t have enough money to go home very often. Instead, I called my mom and grandparents each week, using the Internet to show them what I was doing.
Between assignments, I made them gifts. On one of my few visits home, I took a photo of my grandparents in front of their fireplace. They were smiling at each other, caught for all eternity in a love that had endured through good and hard times. That photo was my inspiration for the painting I made for their fiftieth wedding anniversary.
“It’s an incredible portrait.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “They were amazing people.” My face warmed under Eric’s intense gaze. It felt as though he was looking into my soul, searching for an answer to something that was confusing him.
“Your website only shows the landscapes you’ve finished. Why don’t you paint more portraits?”
His question didn’t surprise me. Anyone who knew me at college would have been just as curious. I won two portrait awards while I was studying and sketched enough people to fill a gallery. But after painting my grandparents, I didn’t want to start another portrait. Until now.
“Artists are like everyone who’s self-employed. If you want to make a living, you have to provide something people will buy. Until recently, I haven’t had the luxury of being able to choose what I paint.”
“Commercialism over creativity?”
“I needed to eat.” I wondered if Eric had ever worried about paying tuition fees, rent, or living expenses. “You think I sold my soul to the masses, don’t you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to.” I lifted my chin. “Each painting is a huge investment in my time and energy. When I paint a portrait, I’m painting more than I see. I want to capture the essence of the person, understand what makes them unique, what makes them happy and sad. Otherwise, the painting doesn’t have a soul.”
“You don’t have to worry about money now.”
“No, I don’t.” My pulse raced. Unless Eric had seen the painting leaning against the wall, he wouldn’t know I had already started another portrait.
“Is anything missing from the studio?”
Mom’s voice cut through the fog in my brain. Without thinking, I walked across to the wall of shelves my granddad built. Old jars filled with different-sized brushes ran along the bottom. Paint, sandpaper, cheesecloth, rollers, and containers of sponges filled the other shelves. The things I needed to create my paintings were exactly where I left them.
“Everything looks okay. I’ll check my bedroom. Could you look in the living room, Mom?”
“I’m not sure I’ll be any help.”
“Not much has changed since you were last here. I’ll be back soon.” I searched my room and the bathroom. As much as I could tell, nothing had been stolen.
Apart from the black fingerprint dust, the living room was just as untouched. I opened the windows to let in some fresh air. “Do you want us to help you check your side of the cottage, Eric?”
“I’ll be okay. Do you want me to get everything out of the truck that you bought in Broomfield?”
“I can do that,” I said.
Mom patted Eric’s arm. “I’ll help Riley while you check your side of the cottage. You’re a good man.”
If I hadn’t been watching Eric closely, I might have missed the longing in his expression. There was so much I didn’t know about his life. So much I would have enjoyed discovering.
A knock on the back door made me jump.
Eric strode across the room. “I’ll see who it is.” A few seconds later, his head appeared around the side of the doorframe. “It’s okay. It’s the glazier.”