Page 91 of The Leaving Kind

After ending the call, Victor wandered into his studio, pulled a stool out from one of the tables, and sat with his art. He closed his eyes and inhaled the familiar odors. The soap he used to clean his brushes and the flat, woody smell of his paints. The scent of color and the way it all worked in his head. The way he felt green and brown and blue. How different shades of each moved and breathed. The concept of movement, and how hard he’d tried to capture it in the series that would prove his last for a while.

Should he think about retiring? He’d never planned for an actual date. Had assumed he’d paint until he could no longer hold a brush but with the expectation he’d produce less over time. And, in his heart of hearts, he’d hoped his value would increase as his paintings became more considered and rare.

He had not imagined this, this slow roll down the other side of a mountain he called success.

In a blur of black fur and yellow eyes, Sinister leaped into Victor’s lap, his long tail thwacking him across the cheek. Chuckling, Victor smoothed his hand down Sinister’s back, settling him down, and then he sat with his cat, the rumbling purr warm across his thighs.

He might have stumbled, but he hadn’t broken anything. He was still able.

And if he was brave, he had many places to go.

Reflexive fear gripped tight.

Victor turned to one of the smaller paintings adorning the studio’s wall. A sunflower in the brightest shades of yellow, orange, and gold. He hadn’t been able to keep the portrait he’d made of his father, but this painting had always felt true to Sunshine’s spirit.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” he said to the flower.

In his imagination, Sunshine spoke quietly back. You’ll never know if you don’t try.

Victor was delighted to find Beck gathered with the other kids in his summer art group.

“I’m glad you could make it today,” he said.

“Me too!”

With a smile and a nod, Victor moved to the front of the classroom and took a moment to check in with all the faces, meet the eyes of every student. It was a small group. But they’d been meeting in this classroom over summer for three years now. Two had graduated last year, taking their number from nine to seven. Next summer, three more would disappear and he’d see a new crop of faces.

It was time to give these kids more than just a space to hang out. For him to find joy in teaching again.

Resting the back of his hips on the edge of the desk, he reached behind for the folder of printouts he’d prepared and flipped it open. “I realize we’re close to the end of the session, but I have a new project I want to share with you.”

The faces in front of him angled upward, flowers seeking sunlight.

“A friend of a friend—a couple of friends, actually—are making a game.”

Beck’s mouth opened, and he offered a slight nod in their direction. Emma had introduced Beck to Gray and Gray, of course, had mentioned his and Aaron’s games.

“They asked if I would contribute some art for the cards, and I told them I’d think about it.” He leafed through the concepts Aaron had emailed over, and the printed images of already completed cards. Aaron had a great style. Completely different to Victor’s: delicate and precise.

Stepping away from the desk, Victor started distributing the sheets. “These are some of the cards from the previous game. As you can see, they’re all in one style. It took the artist, Aaron Asher, five years to draw them all.”

A few more mouths opened.

“For this new game, he wants a different look. He’d like the cards to still feel representative of his brand, which he’ll mostly accomplish with layout and typography. But the images themselves? Wherever your imagination takes you.”

He handed out another few sheets. “Here’s what he wants. The characters, the creatures, the terrain, the objects.” Victor glanced around at his student’s faces, all of them now wrinkled into serious expressions as they absorbed the information in front of them. “This is for fun. Pick a subject you feel a connection to and try a few sketches. If you’re not feeling it, work on a project that means more to you. Either from this summer, or this year, or a project you’ve been working on in your spare time. For some of us, this might be our last summer together. Our last few classes. I want to make them memorable.”

One of his quieter students raised his hand.

“Yes, Omar.”

“So, our own style of art?”

“Absolutely. I don’t know if Aaron and Gray will use whatever we give them. So don’t feel any pressure to produce the perfect piece. Have fun with this. Experiment. Plan. Whatever feels good.”

Advice he should be taking to heart, which was another reason why he loved this class. And teaching. Being with the kids. Whenever they asked a question he could answer well, he felt renewed.

If this upcoming show flopped, he’d put all of his energy into teaching, he decided. Start another program. Fund it himself if he had to. Because this was where it was at. Right here with these young flowers.