Page 49 of Because of Them

Reaching below the table, I place a hand on his bouncing knee. He stills the movement but continues to pull at the paintbrush in his fingers.

“Michael, it’s perfect, thank you.”

Maisie claps on my other side, demanding my attention. Using a paintbrush as her pointer, she gestures around the table at the paint tubes, spread in a perfect rainbow around us. “And thank you Maisie for putting all the paints out. I made a rainbow, see?”

“It’s beautiful, Maisie,” I say as I stretch my arm around her shoulders and pull her close.

Everything about this evening is perfect. I don’t even care that Maisie stays up past her bedtime to finish her painting. Wejust sit and talk and joke and paint, and all my worries about what the next twelve months will bring slowly melt away.

Maisie drops her paintbrush into the murky water in her cup with a yawn.

“Finished,” she sings as she jumps from her chair.

Squeezing her way onto my lap, she looks up at our paintings. Her’s is full of abstract lines and paint that blends together in criss-cross strokes. There’s a subtle hint of the bouquet’s shape, blue resembling the vase and some white splotches in between the shades of green.

“I love it,” I whisper in her ear. “I love how you chose to use blue for the vase.”

“I love yours too, Mummy.”

I hide my smile in her hair. My own painting is rushed, incomplete. I wish I had let the paint dry between layers to prevent some of the sections where the green has bled into the white flowers. But for something I created in only a couple of hours, I’m happy enough with it.

“How come you chose rainbow colours for the vase?”

Tilting Maisie to one side, I point at how the light reflects in the angles of the crystal vase.

“See there, how it shines like a rainbow when you get the light just right? That’s what I was trying to show.” I squeeze her tight adding, “Plus, I loved how you made a rainbow with the paint tubes and I wanted to use them all.”

Maisie squeaks with a bashful smile and turns to Michael. His painting surprises me. It’s far more refined and precise than I imagined. Taking no creative licence in his artwork, everything matches the bouquet in front of him perfectly. The exact number of leaves and flowers, the hints of white and blue forming the outline of the otherwise clear vase. Even the stray leaf that has fallen to rest on the table. It’s good. Really good.

“Wow.” Maisie’s praise is a whisper as she stills in awe.

“Michael, this is …” I trail off in admiration, soaking in the beauty of his painting.

Shifting in his seat, Michael runs a hand through his loose hair. His chin tips down as the tops of his ears brighten to a sharp crimson.

“It’s nothing. I messed up this flower here, and the vase is, I don’t know, not right. And this leaf looks all wonky.”

Using his paintbrush to gesture at all his apparent mistakes, Michael slouches down in his chair. I unwrap one arm from Maisie’s middle and place it firmly on his arm.

“Stop it.”

He turns to look at me, but keeps his chin low and shoulders hunched.

“Michael, mistakes are fine. When you look at the whole picture you don’t notice them. This whole thing is incredible, you should be proud.”

His chin dips in a sharp nod. “Art was always my favourite subject at school. But then I started working for Dad and I just never pursued it. It became something that a younger me used to do. I wish I had an art studio like yours.” He gestures toward the sunroom where my easel and paints are permanently set up. “I’d paint every day.”

“I thought you worked out every day?”

“Most days, less now than I used to. But I think I’d enjoy this more.”

Maisie jumps in my lap, scrambling to climb over to Michael’s knee. He lets her settle in place, then wraps a tentative arm around her.

“If you came to live here,” Maisie squeaks, “you could use Mummy’s painting room all the time.”

“He could,” I answer when Michael looks up at me for guidance. And after tonight, I think I kind of want him to.

AUDREY

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