The Art of Mending Memories

The Art of Mending Memories 30

The Art of Mending Memories

Chapter 30

"So this guy is your favorite artist?" Aaron asked, his head turning to look at a different painting. "Really?"

I turned to look at the same painting as him. "He's my favorite contemporary painter," I explained.

I had been speechless when Aaron pulled into the parking lot of the art museum where Michael Polking's exhibit was being featured. I had just stared at Aaron, asking silent questions.

Aaron had shrugged. "I wanted to take you somewhere you would like to go. So I asked around." He had looked down sheepishly, fumbling with the keys as he locked the car door.

Our tickets to enter the Polking exhibition were for an hour after we had arrived at the museum, so we had mostly walked around.

At one point I had been admiring a Greek painting when I felt warm skin brush against my hand. A second brush of skin soon followed. I peeked over to Aaron who was, at that moment, intently watching my movements. He looked down and brushed my hand again. Acting on instinct, I had reached out and grabbed our fingers. As Aaron looked up, surprised, I turned my head away, a faint smile breaking out on my face. His hand felt nice.

I studied the painting in front of where we were standing, our fingers still entwined. It was large, a person's size, with a tall, strong tree. The sun was peaking htrough the tree's leaves. Smaller trees surrounded the larger one, and little critters poked their heads between the painted branches. It was called "Fort dans les Bras".

"He's very...woodsy," Aaron stated hesitantly about Polking's work.

"A nature setting," I said. "That's his specialty. It's my favorite, actually."

Aaron's thumb began stroking the back of my hand. "I've only ever seen you paint once," he murmured. "The sunset."

I thought back to that frightful evening on the beach. In my eagerness to escape I had left my painting on the beach. "I wonder if that painting is still there."

"It's not," Aaron replied simply.

"How do you know?"

He shrugged, and his thumb stopped stroking my hand. "I've been back to the beach."

I nodded and turned to the nest painting. "Why did you move here?" I asked. The question had long since been bothering me; packs didn't relocate lightly.

"A group of bears moved in," Aaron started. "They had been driven out by a flock of eagles, who had been driven out by a growing horse population. It's more complicated than that, but for simplicity purposes, that's the important stuff.

"Once of the bears had the sight for wolves, so they had an advantage. We didn't even know they were there until after."

Aaron paused, his eyes sad in the memory.

"After what?" I prompted.

His eyes flickered to mine before he continued. "Until after they kidnapped all the cubs from school one day. And the adults who worked there." I inhaled, my breath stilling as Aaron continued his tale. Abducting children, obviously, was a grave offense for shifters. It often resulted in war.

"They gave us an option: either leave, or find our cubs' heads scattered throughout our woods." Aaron took a deep breath. "We could have attacked, but we had no idea their numbers. That's the problem with bears: they can travel in very large, overwhelming sizes. We couldn't take that risk with our cubs." He took another deep breath. :So we moved. Our Beta had some sort of connection with Mr. Keith- went to school with him, I think - so dad called him up and asked if we could move here. And that's...that."