Page 17 of Since the Day We Left

Arthur made a beeline for the watercolors while Miles hung back. He noticed his dad pause in front of an easel displaying a seascape. After putting on his reading glasses, Arthur moved around it, examining the painting from different angles. When he made a full circle, he let his hand hover inches from the canvas, tracing the brushstrokes in the air. For a moment, Arthur looked like his old self—alive in the way he’d once been when art had been his life.

The sudden scrabble of paws against wood yanked Miles from his thoughts. His eyes darted to a cushioned bed near the window, which Max launched himself off and tore across the shop.

Miles braced himself, but the Yorkipoo blew right past him, circling Arthur’s legs with his tail swishing so hard his entire back end shook. The sight reminded him of his fully restored ‘66 Pontiac GTO fishtailing around corners when he’d been in high school.

Arthur kneeled, scratching behind Max’s ears. “Hey there, little fella. Remember me?”

“Oh!” a voice called from behind a curtain. “I thought I heard the bell.”

Wendi emerged, arms full of sketchbooks tied with twine. Her red hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, with strands hanging around her face. A smudge of blue paint marked her forearm. Her cheeks flushed as she spotted them.

“You actually showed up,” she said, wearing faded jeans and a green T-shirt that made her eyes—and the freckles across her nose—stand out even more.

“We said we might,” Miles said with a wink.

Did I really just wink?

He fought back a face-palm before realizing how different she looked in daylight—softer somehow. Prettier even. Gorgeous actually. It made him wonder what else there was to her he hadn’t noticed the first time ...

No, Miles. Stop.

“So the brushes ...” Arthur straightened. “The, uh ... you know, the—” He snapped his fingers. “Kolinsky sables with the red handles. You have those?”

Wendi’s eyebrows lifted. “Actually, everything here is vegan—you know, cruelty-free,” she said, opening a glass case and sliding out a drawer. “These came in last week. They mimic the same spring and control.”

Arthur plucked one of the brushes, bending the bristles. “Huh. Wouldn’t have known the difference.”

“Exactly. I never felt right about animals being harmed for art supplies—or anything else, really, even if it’s been the standard forever.”

“Don’t like the idea of animals being harmed either.” Arthur shook his head. “Never thought about it that way before.” He turned the brush over in his hand, seeming to examine it with a new appreciation. “Guess an old dog can still learn new tricks.”

Miles smiled and wandered over to the gallery wall. The paintings on it varied—some looked like they belonged in a museum, while others like someone was still figuring things out.

In the center, a beach scene drew his attention: the waves were a little too bright, the sky unnaturally blue, but the piece had a certain joy about it. Next to it, a still life of oranges in a bowl was so realistic, Miles almost thought he could smell the citrus. Another piece was more abstract—bold streaks of red and gold twisting across the canvas like fallen autumn leaves swept up in a breeze. He wasn’t sure if that had been the intent, but it worked. A few paintings had tiny yellow price tags on the corners.

Whoa. Do people really pay that much for this stuff?

When he glanced back, he noticed Wendi staring. She quickly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then shifted her focus to his dad. “These are beautiful,” she said, flipping through a small sketchbook Arthur had pulled from his pocket. “You really capture the movement in the water.”

“Been painting that cove forever,” Arthur said. “Got stacks of paintings back home. Every season, every kind of weather. Even snow on the beach. Nowthat’dbe a sight.”

“Really?” Wendi’s eyes widened. “I’d love to see them.”

Miles tensed.

His dad’s paintings were strewn about the beach house in various states. Some showed flashes of his old talent. Others were disjointed compositions, strange color choices, and sections left unfinished where it seemed he’d forgotten what he was doing.

“Actually,” Wendi said, setting the sketchbook down, “I’m hosting an art auction this Wednesday. Local artists are donating pieces to support our community programs.” She gestured toward the class area. “And, honestly, this shop needs—”

“I’ll be more than glad to donate some paintings, young lady,” Arthur said.

“That would be incredible.” Wendi stepped forward and gave Arthur a quick hug. “Thank you. Thank you so much!”

“It’s nothing. Got plenty of them collecting dust.” Arthur patted her on the back. “Art’s meant to be shared.”

Miles opened his mouth to intervene, but stopped himself. A part of him wanted to shield his dad from potential embarrassment. The other part couldn’t ignore howaliveArthur seemed in that moment. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

“The auction’s Wednesday evening,” Wendi said, glancing between them. “But we could look at the paintings before then? I could help select pieces that might work well.”

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