Page 48 of The Leaving Kind
Victor swallowed, and the sound seemed to echo around the gravel circle of the drive, which should have been impossible. “I did not expect you to disrobe completely, no. I planned to start with clothed and perhaps without a shirt, if you were comfortable with that.”
Truthfully, Victor had no plan. He was operating on a feeling and the remembered joy of sketching faces and torsos. He used to love drawing faces. Adored the complexity of expression. Why had he let such a passion go?
A face, one rendered in loving detail, flittered past his consciousness. Oh, Sunshine. Would the pain of losing his father ever fade completely away? Thankfully, a sense of excitement for sketching Cam fairly burned along his shoulders and down to his fingertips, banishing his ghosts for the time being. This evening, he’d capture something new; maybe even the outline of what might become a plan.
“Sure.” Cam plucked at his shirt and winced. “Would it be weird if I asked if I could take a shower first?”
Victor smiled. “Not at all. Come on in. I can lend you some sweats and a T-shirt while we run your clothes through the laundry. And I took the liberty of preparing a light dinner. I wasn’t sure how long we would have for this session, and I didn’t want you to starve.” Stop rambling. They were, by now, at the door, Honey hobble-trotting in front of them. Victor bent to ruffle her ears. “How is she doing?”
“Getting stronger every day. I have to encourage her not to walk more often than not.” Cam squatted next to her and slung an arm around her neck. “But you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” He smiled up at Vic with obvious pride. “Always sits when I ask and curls herself into the neatest donut on her blankets when I suggest she rests awhile.” He nuzzled the side of the dog’s head. “That’s what you’re going to do this evening, little lady. Rest a while. Then we’ll take a walk.”
Gentleness, itself. Victor might melt all over his own doorstep. “Would she rather be in the studio with us, you think?”
“For sure.”
“I have a cat bed in there that Dexter and Sinister never use. Let’s introduce her to it and then I’ll get you a towel and some clothes.”
Cam blinked at him. “You named your cats left and right?”
“It was either that or salt and pepper.”
A slow grin captured Cam’s mouth (and Victor’s imagination). “You’re all right, Vic.”
Vic?
Victor braced for the shudder he might have to suppress, but it failed to arrive. Apparently, his aversion to having anyone but Tez play with his name had dissipated.
Thirty minutes later, Cam was showered, dressed in snug-fitting sweats and a plain white undershirt, fed, and pacing around the corner of the studio Victor had cleared for him. Outside, long shadows streaked the lawn. The sun wouldn’t disappear fully until after eight, but the studio only benefitted from morning and early-afternoon light. Still, the soft glow through the windows would highlight the planes of Cam’s face in interesting ways, while deepening shadows and hollows.
Ideas began to multiply as Victor sat on a stool with a large drawing pad on his lap.
Finally, Cam stood in the center of the space and put his hands on his hips. “What do I do?”
“That works for now.”
Cam nodded toward the sketch pad. “You don’t use one of those tablet thingies?”
“Not often. I haven’t developed the hand-eye coordination for it. Cori, my daughter, is quite adept. She’s offered to teach me a few tricks, but you know what they say about old dogs.” Victor marked a few spots on the page that would guide this first, quick sketch. Eyes, nose, ears. When he found himself trying to focus on the exact distance between each, he shook off the need for precision and drew. A curving line for Cam’s chin with just the right tilt. Neck, shoulders ... back up for his ears—were they too far apart?—brow line, hair line. Huh, Cam had a high forehead.
“It’s like a big, clunky sketch pad,” Cam was saying. What was he talking about? “Nick got one last year. By the way, my brother says he knows you.”
Victor focused on Cam the person instead of Cam the model. “Oh?”
“Nicholas Zimmermann. He knew about your program at the center up in Milford.”
The pencil nearly escaped Victor’s fingers. “You’re Nicholas Zimmermann’s brother? Wait, oh my God! I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you. You look like him.” Older, more lived in, and not nearly as reserved as Nicholas, but definitely from the same family. Flattening the pencil against the pad for a moment, Victor scrutinized Cam for other differences. Cam wore his hair shorter and stood straighter. “You know what? I remember him mentioning you, years ago. I’d asked, because I vaguely remembered going to school with a Zimmermann, but he was much too young. What is he? Forty?”
“Forty-one this year.” Cam narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Oh, wow. Victor Ness. I thought your name was familiar. You were two years ahead.”
“You remember me?”
“Duh, you were the only kid at Delaware Valley with purple hair. And your whole group was weird. We all knew you.”
Victor laughed. “Good. My past self is pleased. My ego was much more delicate back then.” He considered Cam through the lens of thirty-or-so years. “You played football, didn’t you?”
“Heh. Yeah. Not well.”
“And didn’t you win some award? For science?”