Climb | ✔

Chapter 29 | Conviction

July 22nd marked the day of the Minnesota Youth Art Exhibition. Winter was dressed to the teeth in a sophisticated and artsy outfit fitting of a featured artist. Pia and Gina had spared no effort in ensuring she looked the role, and her colorful embroidered dress and gold, strappy heels sold it for her even as her anxiety threatened to chew away at her.

Winter stood in front of her exhibit, awkward and erect, as museum patrons strolled past. Some stopped to discuss the contents of her artwork with her, questioning her methodology and process with such an air that made Winter feel queasy. She felt suddenly small, like she was thrust head-first into unexplored waters.

Aunt Rose circled around the center wall where Winter's portraits were mounted and gave her a reassuring pat on her back.

"Well, I cycled through every piece, and it might just be my bias talking but," she looked around cautiously as she leaned into Winter and comically whispered, "yours is definitely the best here."

She winked at her half-niece's dumbfounded expression before waving John over as he sauntered into the building. He looked around the room, surveying the attendees, until his eyes landed on Rose and Winter. He gave a small little nod and jog-walked over to them.

His pace notably slowed as he approached and the portrait of his face, partly covered in clusters of yellow carnations, candytuft, and amaryllis flowers. The top left of his face, turned partly away from view, was particularly infested with bouquets. Had John any idea that the flowers were used to cover that which Winter could no longer remember, he might have been less enthused than he was by Winter's chosen subject for the art piece.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's really, truly amazing. I feel so honored that you painted me," he said to her, bringing her into a side hug.

His blue eyes crinkled with his smile in a way that was very new to Winter. Then, they returned to their youthful state when he looked at the other half of Winter's piece.

The piece, which in totality consisted of two portraits painted on oval-shaped canvases, was hinged in the middle, allowing one half to open and close on the other to simulate the visuals of a locket. One half, of course, carried the likeness of her father. So, it would logically follow that the other half of the piece housed a portrait of none other than her mother.

John realized this when he scanned over the other oval-shaped painting accompanying his. Like his portrait, Maddison Levenson's face was festooned with flowers of varying species and hue. Her visage, however, was notably more obscure than his, which was a testament to the time Winter painted it, well before she came to encounter her mother at dinner that night months ago.

Anemone, belladonna, and butterfly weed bloomed across her face, leaving little but her décolletage and icy blue eyes in view.  Although her eyes alone were enough to give rise to the poisonous feelings John harbored for his ex-wife, and he looked away with a feeling of resentment he'd not felt in years.

"Winter, why?" he demanded, a pernicious intonation clouding his calm voice. "Why would you paint her?" he asked with a wince, as if the very prospect of Maddison being in the same breadth of consciousness as him was physically painful.

Noticing Winter's loss for words, Rose cut in to say, "Because she's her mother, John, no matter how much you wish that weren't the case."

John, in defense of his distaste for the whole thing, glared down at his half-sister before taking a deep, calming breath. His eyes closed as he pinched the space between them, and he resumed a business-like countenance, his eyes smooth and placid as he smiled at Winter.