Page 56 of The Leaving Kind

Was that good or bad?

“Vic,” she breathed.

“I think I’ve made him more attractive than he is.” He angled the phone back in his direction. “I haven’t quite captured his nose. It should be crooked. And his eyes aren’t even. His face is almost too angular, you know? Which makes it hard to draw—”

“No, yes, sure, all of that. But the drawing is stunning! I didn’t know you were drawing people again.” She shot him a carefully questioning look.

Victor drew in a shallow breath. “I’m not, not really.”

“Remember all those portraits you did in Brooklyn?”

With a slow wave, Victor cast a deliberate haze over the years they’d spent in the city. “I remember painting some rather terrible portraits. They were in the style of my landscapes. Too abstract for recognition. I always thought I needed to make them smaller, for the detail, but I wanted to paint big. Either way, they were terrible.”

With the exception of the piece upon which the pendulum of his future had unknowingly swung. Objectively, Victor knew the painting had had nothing to do with his father’s death, but the timing had been uncanny. And he’d put so much of himself into every single stroke. Every thread of color had been a connection between him and the most sincere and gentle man he’d known.

“The sketches you did for them were always spot on, though,” Tez was saying. “Just gorgeous. I was sorry you stopped drawing that way.” She gripped his hand. “I know portraiture is tied to the loss of someone so dear to you, but I always felt that was why you should explore it. Because it makes you feel.”

“I think I already feel entirely too much.” Victor checked the screen of his phone again. Tapped it when it started to dim. It was a more than competent drawing. Despite the defects, he knew who it was, and Cam would probably recognize himself. But when he looked deeper, he saw what Tez saw. The lines and the shading, the way he’d successfully molded Cam out of paper, drawing him from the blankness that was white pulp to give him life. The eyes, though not properly spaced, danced with merriment and secrets. The slight uptilt of lips hinted at a joke waiting to be told. Even the angle of Cam’s jaw and chin were there.

It was a good drawing. It almost lived and breathed.

Licking his lips, Victor met Tez’s gaze. “I didn’t consciously stop drawing. I still sketch out my landscapes. Several times, as you know. But you’re right. This is different.” He frowned. “The same in a way, in that I’m trying to capture his living face. Him as an alive being. Not a moment in time, but who he is.” Which was what he liked to do when he painted. Not just capture scenery but life. The feeling of being there; the brush of wind against skin, the scent of newly green leaves. Or the sharp tannin of fall foliage. The brackishness of a creek along with the lap and trickle of the water running over round boulders and skipping down a waterfall. Life.

“Who is he?” Tez asked.

“Cameron Zimmermann.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “Any relation to Nicholas?”

“Yes! His brother.”

“I didn’t know Nick had a brother.”

“I did, though I hadn’t remembered. He was two years below us in school.”

Tez snatched the phone. “No.” She woke the screen using his password, stared at the picture, and shook her head. “Nope. I don’t recognize him. Except to say he does look a little like Nick? I don’t spend a lot of time checking out men, though.” She handed the phone back. “How did you meet?”

“He’s working for Shepard’s. He delivered the mulch and trees I ordered to spruce up the patio for Billy’s birthday.”

“The mulch that’s still in your driveway?”

“Oh, no, it’s spread now. And the trees are planted. Cam did it for me. Well, I helped with the trees.”

Eyes narrowing, Tez put her elbows on the table and cupped her chin with her palms. “I’m sensing a story.”

“There’s a lot of story. Too much for one lunch.” He waved her back.

Tez might have refused, but their appetizer had arrived. They ate for a moment, scooping chopped tomato, onion, and herbs onto perfectly toasted rounds of bread.

After demolishing his share, Victor dabbed his mouth with a corner of the napkin and reached for his drink. “You know, every time we eat here, I swear I’m going to plant some tomatoes. They’re so good in season.”

“Where would you put them?”

“I’m half tempted to say everywhere. In between flowers in the beds. I already have herbs all over the place, which I both love and hate. They keep the deer away from the flowers, but I always liked the idea of having a dedicated herb garden. Where would I put a dedicated vegetable garden, do you think?”

In the middle of the discussion about the best location for a patch of vegetables, Victor’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and smiled. Shepard’s Tree Farm.

“Do you want to answer that?” Tez said.