Page 120 of Resilience on Canvas

Henry’s father wet his lips and said, “I’m sorry I’ve had such a hard time letting myself believe it. I’ve always known that you weren’t... the same as the other boys. But still, I had convinced myself that maybe you were just shy or...” He trailed off for a moment. “So, when Robert came to us saying that Clara wanted to marry you, and you said you’d be open to it...”

“I shouldn’t have said yes,” Henry said. “I know that now. But I wanted you to be proud of me, Pop. I feel like you’ve never been proud of me. Not once in my whole life.”

Henry’s father closed his eyes. He sucked in a trembling breath, and each reverberation sent little ripples of fear and worry rolling through Henry’s body. He hadn’t never admitted none of this before. Not to either of his folks. And while he wanted his father toknow the truth, to know that continuously being made to feel like he was falling short of his father’s expectations had given him the impression that maybe he wasn’t loved, he really hoped his father wouldn’t hate him for being honest.

“Well, I’m sorry for that, too, son,” his father said, his voice cracking as tears sprang to his eyes. “I’m proud of you.Of courseI’m proud of you.” Henry’s lip started to tremble, his own eyes filling with tears too. “But maybe I’ve been trying too hard to make you follow a certain path. One that wasn’t yours to follow.”

Henry tried to swallow past the lump in his throat.

“Do you ever wish you had someone else for a son, though? Someone... better?”

His father’s eyes went wide. “Lord, no, Henry. Is that really what you think? Do you really think I’ve been wishing for a... a different son?”

Henry lowered his head. One tear fell from his eyes.

“Sometimes.”

“Never.”

“Even now? Even though I’m tryin’ to work for this Federal Art Project? Even though, if they hire me, I won’t still be tryin’ to find some other kind of work instead?” Henry paused. “Andeven though I’m... with Robert?”

“Even though,” Henry’s father replied without even the slightest bit of hesitation.

Just like that, more tears started to fall from Henry’s eyes. It was exactly the thing he needed—confirmation of his father’s love—and it slammed into him like a battering ram, stealing the wind from his lungs. For the next chunk of forever, Henry stood there on the brick walkway in front of the most beautiful City Hall in the whole stinking country, crying while struggling to take a proper breath.

His father pulled him in for a hug. “I’m proud of you, son,” he said. “And I want you to know that whether or not these Works Progress Administration folks hire you, I’ll still be proud of you.”

“Really?” Henry said through a sniffle.

“Really. And if they hire you only for the funding to run out in a couple months, you can come to me for help if you need it. Hell, you can even move back home.” He huffed a soft laugh. “Well, as long as me and your mother still have money left, that is. Christ, if we have even one more wave of bank closures in this country, I swear I might lose my mind.”

Henry chuckled, though it came out a little like a choked sob. He took a few breaths to try to compose himself so that people nearby wouldn’t think he was sobbing.

“Yeah, I hope not,” Henry finally said once he felt like he had successfully reined in his emotion. Slowly, he backed out of his father’s embrace. “Do you really mean that, though? Can me and Robert really move back home if we needed to?”

“I mean it.”

“We could stay in the same room?”

Henry’s father teasingly rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

They smiled at each other. His father’s eyes were still shimmering with emotion, though he hadn’t let his tears fall like Henry had. Still, those unshed tears were proof enough of his father’s sincerity.

“Thank you,” Henry said.

“You’re welcome.” His father nodded toward the building. “Well, you better head in. Impress them federal employees with that painting of yours.”

“I brought my sketchbook, too.”

“All the better.”

Henry’s smile broadened, his father’s love settling in his heart and warming his chest. He knelt to return his canvas to his backpack and then tried to soak up the last of his lingering tears withthe right cuff of his shirt. When he stood, his father clapped him hard on the shoulder.

“Go get ’em, Henry Sherwood.”

Henry’s muscles tensed. Oh, how he wanted to continue this streak of honesty.

“Uhm...” He closed his eyes to force the words to come. “It’s Henry Davis now. Or, notofficially. I might never be able to change it for real. But that’s how I think of myself now.”

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