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Bones stood with his back to the viewer, his muscled frame and immense body obvious in the black sweater and jeans he wore. Vapor escaped his mouth as he stared at the lake. He’d just finished dumping the man into the water, and now he admired the scenery before him, the solitude he thrived on. He was mysterious at the time, a man who terrified me but aroused me simultaneously. It was the first time I’d kissed him, that night in the snow.
And it was a kiss I’d never forget.
I shot him in the shoulder, but that didn’t slow him down.
Nothing could slow him down, not when I was the target he was trying to reach.
I tried to find an explanation, to think of something to explain the odd image. All of my other paintings were just landscapes in Milan. Only people I knew well had appearances in my pieces, people I could paint because I knew their features like the back of my hand.
It was the painting I hadn’t wanted Bones to see. I didn’t want him to understand how I saw him. On that night, he was a murderer and a monster. But instead of seeing the blood on his hands and the violence in his eyes, I saw him as misunderstood.
He was a man in pain.
A man who was lost.
I finally found my voice. “No one. I’d never painted a lake before, and I wanted to give it a try… I was never planning on selling it. I must have put it in the car by accident.”
Mom kept holding it and refused to let go. “Why wouldn’t you sell it? It’s your best work.” She finally pulled her gaze away and looked at me. She didn’t ask the question that was burning in her eyes, but the look on her face told me what she was thinking.
He wasn’t no one.
She moved to a free spot on the wall and hooked the string on the nail before she let it hang. “It’s different from all of your other pieces, much moodier…and emotional. I can see it in the colors. I can see it in the way this man is standing. I love all of your work, but this one is particularly beautiful.”
“Thanks…”
“Lake Garda, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“What should the price be?” she asked. “Most of your pieces are three thousand euros. This one should be at least four.” She grabbed the blank business card and wrote the price on the back with her pretty handwriting. Then she placed it next to the picture.
I should just get rid of it. I shouldn’t keep any memory of that man. He would become a memory I would try to forget. But the idea of someone putting it up in their house, staring at one of my most emotional memories, didn’t sit right with me. I wanted it to myself. I wanted to hang it in my bedroom. He had a painting to remember me.
I wanted one to remember him.
“It’s…it’s not for sale.” I took it off the wall and wrapped it in the paper again, making sure my father wouldn’t see it. My father was just as intuitive as my mother, and it was difficult to hide things from him. I opened the closet and placed it inside so no one would take it by accident. I shut the door again then faced my mother.
Her eyes were filled with emotion, filled with that perceptive look I’d been getting all my life.
She knew.
The following three days passed quickly.
It was nice to spend time with my family. It’d been a while since it was just the three of us. When Conway moved out, it was the three of us for a long time. When it was my turn to leave the nest, it was difficult for my parents to let me go.
Even though they put on a brave face.
Now we spent all our time together, working at the winery during the day and having long dinners in the evening. There weren’t many wine tastings going on in the winter, but people still stopped by, mainly locals looking for something to do.
My mother never mentioned the painting.
But I knew it was only a matter of time.
I didn’t contact Bones, and he didn’t contact me. He gave me the space I asked for, even though it killed him to do it. When he walked away from me, I knew it was difficult for him to turn his back. He probably stared at his phone every night wondering if I would call.
He probably thought about calling me but changed his mind before his finger could hit the send button.
On the fourth day, it rained, so my family and I stayed home. Father worked in his office on the third floor, and Mom and I made cookies in the kitchen. We used to do it when I was little, and since Lars wasn’t in the kitchen as much as he used to be, we didn’t have to fight him for the territory.
