Paint Me True: Sample Chapters

Nine: The Figure

When I got downstairs, I peered through the window beside the front door. The figure was still there, but at the sight of me, she took her hands off her hips and retreated across the street. The trees in the front yard then obscured her from view.

I craned my neck and tried to get another glimpse of her, but it was no use.

***

Two hours later, when my aunt came downstairs, I told her about what I’d seen.

“Mmm, she really short?”

“I couldn’t tell,” I said.

“It’s probably Louisa. Paul’s sister. She stops to glare at the house whenever she walks by. I think she wishes that she’d inherited it.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t like her. Horrible woman. Best to just leave her be.”

“I drew a picture of Paul,” I said. “A sketch. I need you to tell me what to keep and what to change for the final painting.”

Her face lit up.

I went back upstairs, got the sketch from the bedroom, and went down to show her. Her gaze softened at the sight of it. “That’s him,” she said. “I’d make his nose a little broader and his eyebrows had a different slant, but you got the eyes perfectly.” She blinked a few times and rested her head against her hand. “I’m so tired,” she admitted.

“Go back to sleep, then. You’ve got healing to do.”

***

Aunt Nora slept in until almost noon, or at least, she didn’t come downstairs until then. I was working on different compositions for my sketch of Paul. This was the most time consuming part of the project, deciding on what to paint, what angle, what kind of lighting, and what sort of mood to create.

“Morning!” I said.

“Afternoon.” She smiled.

“Are you hungry?”

“No, not really.”

I got up from the couch. “You want a sandwich? Or something fancier?”

“I really am not hungry.”

“Porridge? Or, cream of wheat?” I didn’t know how to make porridge.

“Maybe something like that would be nice.”

I followed her unsteady, rocking steps to the kitchen. The new keys were laid out on the counter and I handed her one. “The locksmith came by this morning.”

“Oh, were you able to pay them?”

“Yeah.” She had written out the check the day before.

The only cream of wheat she had was the microwave kind, so I made her a bowl while she sat at the table and rested her head against her hand once more. She really did look exhausted. I put her bowl of breakfast in front of her.

While she stirred her cream of wheat I dug out the slightly stale loaf I’d made toast from that morning and set about fixing myself a sandwich.

“I loved your sketch of Paul.”

“Mmm, it was rough. It needs to look exactly like you remember him.”

“You’ve got such skill. So much talent.”

“Thanks. I-”

My celllphone rang. “Hello?”

“Hello, this Eliza?” The voice was male, and British.

“Yeah, hi.”

“Hi, this is Colin.”

Colin? As in Colin Radcliffe? The hot nurse? My pulse sped up. “How are you?”

“Sorry?”

I winced. Every time I came over here, I slipped and used that phrase, “How are you?” and many Brits either didn’t understand, thought I was asking, “Who are you?”, or thought it was funny to respond with a long litany of complaints. I never really understood the humor there. “Sorry, I should say, ‘you all right?’”

“I’m good, yeah. Listen, would you fancy meeting up sometime?”

Aunt Nora looked at me expectantly, one eyebrow raised. I shook my finger at her.

“Sure,” I said, trying to play it cool.

“We could go ‘round to the pub-”

“I don’t drink.” I bit my lip and wondered if I’d even had to say that. I’d never “been ‘round to the pub” in my life. Was the alcohol required?

“What? Not at all?”

“Nope.”

“You’re teetotal?”

“Um, I don’t know what that means.”

Aunt Nora spoke in a voice that was way too loud, “Would he like to take you to Carfax Chippy?”

I clapped my hand over my mouth to keep in the laughter that bubbled up.

“Carfax Chippy?” said Colin.

“She – ahem – sec.” I took the phone from my ear and tried to shake my finger at my aunt again as I let all the giggles out, but she was most unrepentant. “Sorry, she was just telling me about her first date with her husband at Carfax Chippy.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“I take it the place still exists?”

“Ye-ah... why, do you want to go there?”

“No. It’s just an inside joke. Ignore her.”

“Why didn’t he just take her to a kebab van? I mean, if you’re going to set the standard low.”

“Hey, it was a romantic moment for them. No mockery.” To Nora I whispered, “What’s a kebab van?”

Only, Colin heard me. “They’re the white vans you see parked around in the evenings. They sell chips and jacket potatoes and kebabs made from meat that’s sort of congealed on an upright spit. There’s one over on Broad Street that sells chips with cheese and curry sauce. Or even better, chips with cheese and mayonnaise-”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not taking you to one. A bloke’s gotta have standards. If you want fish and chips, we could go to the chippy, though? They do a nice fish and chips.”

“Sure, that sounds nice.”

“You free Friday evening?”

“Yes, that’d work.”

“Right, you know where Carfax Tower is?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Shall we meet there at about seven?”

“Okay.”

“All right. I’ll see you then.”

“See you then!”

Aunt Nora had her hands placed primly in front of her on the table and looked up at me with expectant, glowing eyes as I hung up.

“Um, kebab van, to eat chips with cheese and... I don’t know. Sounded disgusting.”

“Sorry if I ruined a romantic date.”

“I’m joking. We’re going to get fish and chips.” I felt like I was sixteen all over again. I’d never dated a non-Mormon. I had no idea what I was doing.