Page 46 of Resilience on Canvas

When Henry’s shift was over, he locked up as fast as he could and then headed home on foot, thankful for the chance to expend some of the worried energy that was still buzzing and swirling and shooting through him with each beat of his fast-moving heart.

He tried to tell himself that Robert was fine and that if there was something wrong with Robert’s father, it could only really help the family, what with how the man wasted what little money they had on booze and all. Perhaps the man’s liver had simply stopped working. Henry had heard of that happening to other folks before. It would be sad, sure, but Robert would move on. He was as tough as they came. And the family would be better off. Once they finished mourning, that was.

By the time Henry reached home, he had succeeded in easing his own worries a little and thought he might be feeling steady enough to face his parents. So, rather than rushing up to his bedroom right away like he had previously planned to, he made his way to the front room, where his mom was knitting and his father was reading.

“Hi,” Henry said. Shifting his stance, he reached up to scratch the back of his head. “Uhm, I wanted to know if either of you saw Robert today? Or one of his siblings, maybe? Or even Raymond?”

His mother’s hands stilled, and she pursed her lips.

“Hm. None of the Davis children were in school today,” she said. Henry’s eyebrows shot up, and she held up her hand. “Which isn’t that uncommon, especially not since we started having these black blizzards. More and more families are keeping their children home. I’m sure they’re fine. Their little lungs are probably better off for it, too.”

But his mother’s reassurances couldn’t erase the worries from Henry’s mind. Maybe something horrible really had happened to Raymond. Gosh, what if something horrible had happened to the whole family? Raymond was a mean one.ThatHenry knew for certain. Henry shuddered.

Part of him wanted to tell his parents what was troubling him, but he knew that there was a chance Robert might be upset with him for it. Maybe whatever had happened with Raymond was something Robert wouldn’t want people knowing. Even though Henry would have liked to voice his concerns, he couldn’t have his parents sticking their noses in Robert’s business.

Swallowing hard, Henry forced a smile.

“Ah, yeah, I-I can see Robert and Clara keepin’ them kids home because of the storms we’ve been havin’.”

Not that they’d been particularly worse lately, other than the big one they’d had, but still, Henry had to saysomethingto makeit seem like he wasn’t bothered by the news of the children not making it to school.

Luckily, Henry’s mother seemed to believe him. She threw him a warm smile before returning her focus to her knitting.

When Henry turned to leave, she said, “I’ll start supper in a half hour or so. Don’t run off nowhere. I’m makin’ city chicken.”

Henry hummed to himself, her choice of meal comforting him a little, even though he was still feeling worried for Robert and the rest of Robert’s family. City chicken was one of Henry’s favorite meals. It was interesting that his mother was making it. She wasn’t very fond of it herself, especially since they were fortunate enough to buy real chicken most of the time (as long as they could find it)Consequently, the Sherwoods had no need to pretend that cereal-coated pork cubeswerechicken. City chicken was supposed to be “beneath them” (or so he had been told). But Henry liked the way the pork cubes tasted. He liked the crunchiness of the Corn Flakes coating the meat and the way frying them in bacon fat somehow made the cereal pieces even crispier. City chicken was more fun than regular old baked chicken. Henry would take city chicken over plain baked chicken any day.

“Thanks, Mom,” he said. “I won’t be goin’ nowhere. Call me when it’s ready?”

“Sure will,” she replied.

Thankful that his mother would be making one of the only meals he could probably make himself eat even when there were knots in his stomach, Henry hurried upstairs to his bedroom to pass the time. Hopefully spending the next hour or so working with his charcoal pencils would help settle his stomach. Because even though there was no way he’d be passing the time thinking about anythingotherthan Robert Davis, Henry could try to sketch him and could therefore try to focus on remembering the exact shape of Robert’s nose rather than letting himself keep fixating onthe potential reasons why Robert hadn’t visited him in the store earlier.

After retrieving his sketch pad and charcoal pencils from their hiding place, Henry sat on the bed and started to work on a new portrait. Drawing Joe and Rose had been helpful practice. Now he was ready to try to draw Robert. It would be a little trickier without Robert sitting right in front of him, but he had Robert’s face practically memorized by now, right down to the little freckle he had near the corner of his right eye—something other people probably wouldn’t have even noticed, but Henry hadn’t missed. Gosh, he wanted to kiss that freckle. He wanted to kiss every single inch of that beautiful man.

Adjusting his pants, which were suddenly becoming asmidgetoo tight, Henry shook his head once to fling the fantasy from his mind. He’d have to save those thoughts for later. Even thoughthatkind of activity would probably ease some of the tension he was still feeling, nothing could compete with the way he felt when he became lost in his art, and he needed to settle his stomach the best he could so that he could properly enjoy that rare treat of a supper his mother was making.

Henry spent an entire hour working on the portrait. When his mother finally called him for supper, he realized that he’d been concentrating so hard on the picture that it was as though time itself had briefly ceased to exist. He could have sworn that not more than ten minutes had passed since he had started sketching. But, of course, that wouldn’t have made much sense considering the progress he had made. Still, it was a wonder that he could become so engrossed in his own project like that.

After blinking a few times to refocus his tired eyes, Henry called back to his mother to tell her that he’d come to the kitchen in a couple of minutes, and then he took a moment to scrutinize the drawing, expecting to find plenty of faults with it. Instead, foundhimself feeling immensely pleased with the result. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t finished, neither. But it was by far his best work.

Henry’s eyes traced the lines on the page, following the soft curve of Robert’s chin and moving up toward the mess of unruly waves of curly hair on top. He hadn’t even started on Robert’s face yet, other than vague outlines of his eyes, nose, and lips, but still, Henry’s chest swelled with pride from his effort. He had made some real improvements over the last few months, mostly thanks to Rose since she had posed for him plenty of times.

Brushing his finger lightly over the paper next to the line of charcoal, Henry wondered whether he would ever have the courage to show Robert his creations. Drawing was Henry’s biggest passion. Sharing it with Robert... wow, that would be something.

Would Robert ever pose for him?

Henry’s cheeks warmed from the thought.

Heat still clinging to his cheeks, Henry closed his sketch pad and climbed off the bed. Only seconds later, some of that earlier unease he had been feeling started coming back, coiling in his stomach and bringing with it a fresh wave of nausea.

Dang.

Henry made his way to the kitchen, praying he could still enjoy his supper. Both of his parents were waiting for him, his mother making a plate for herself while his father strummed his fingers, not from impatience, but out of habit. His father’s plate was already filled with food, but the piles of city chicken and peas remained untouched. Henry’s mother had already prepared a plate for Henry, too, and when Henry sat, a whiff of the main course wafted up his nose. Even with his stomach roiling, the scent of the salty, fatty goodness made his mouth water.

“Looks perfect, Mom,” he said, smiling up at her. “Smells perfect, too.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking a seat. “I know it’s one of your favorites.”

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