by Inda Herwood
Just like that, the tension evaporates and I feel his sigh of relief in my ear. “I’d love to. But just fair warning, all I can draw are stick figures.”
“Perfect.”
CHAPTER 16
Beckham
The next afternoon, Theo and I walk down to the beach where Blaire had instructed us to meet in a text, Hawn coming along for the ride. Resting my hand on my little brother’s shoulder, I ask him like I do every week, “How was therapy today?”
And like always, he just shrugs.
My feeble strand of hope grows thinner with the response, just like it does every week he goes to therapy and comes home seeming even more upset. I swear the sessions are only making him worse, constantly reminding him of the crash like a terrible movie reel. It’s why I had refused to go when my parents had asked me if I wanted to. And it’s why I’ve begged them to take him out of it ever since. But they’re adamant that the therapy will work, it’s just going to take some time.
That was six months ago.
Wanting to put a smile on his face, I ask him, “Are you excited for the lesson?”
My favorite grin breaks out on his face, and he nods, shaking his curls.
We find Blaire and a whole host of art supplies set up in the sand a few minutes later, three sets of beach towels already laid out for us. Theo runs the rest of the way to her, plopping himself down on the blanket closest to hers. She gives him a warm smile and a high five in greeting.
When I finally make it over to them, I bend down and give her a kiss on the cheek, keeping it PG for my brother, much to my chagrin. “Want to take a seat?” she asks, nodding to the towel on the opposite side of Theo.
“I’d rather share yours,” I tell her, my honesty making her smile.
“Then go ahead.” Patting the small area still remaining on her blanket, I take my place by her side, our bent knees brushing in the process.
“So, today we’re going to draw our very own superheroes,” she says, handing out notepads to us. “First we’re going to use some imagination on our character’s backstories, and then I’ll talk a little bit about drawing figures. Does that sound good?” she asks Theo, who looks like he’s in heaven, already going for a pack of neon pencils. He gives an enthusiastic nod. “Great. Now, we’ll all take a few minutes to think about what kind of superhero we want to draw, and what powers they’ll have. Just remember, the better the backstory, the more the character will come to life in the drawing. Think you can do that?” She aims this last bit at me, smirking just a little.
“Do you doubt me, Kahlo?” I taunt, dipping my head closer to hers, staring into her beautiful eyes. I wish I could kiss that skeptical grin right off her lips.
“Let’s just say I look forward to seeing how accurate your stick figures will be.”
Slightly offended but also amused, I say, “Just for that, I’m going to blow your hero out of the water, Cromwell.” Picking up one of the pens closest to me, I flip open the notebook and start writing. “You won’t even know what hit you.”
“Hmm. Your brother sounds pretty confident, Theo. One out of ten, how well do you think he’ll actually do?” she asks him, crossing her arms and narrowing her brows at me, wrinkling her forehead in a comical way to make him laugh, and he does.
It’s only made worse when my traitorous little brother holds up two fingers.
While they laugh away, I scowl. “Your support astounds me.”
They laugh harder.
Whatever.
Twenty minutes later, once our pencils are down and our ideas are complete, we all give a mini presentation on what we’ve come up with.
“So, who wants to start us off?” Blaire asks us, looking between Theo and I. When no one instantly volunteers, she says, “Beckham, since you were the most vocal about this, why don’t you tell us about your hero first?” The smirk is back and stronger than ever.
“Fine,” I say, holding up my notebook to show what I’ve written down, trying not to be self-conscious when I explain, “My hero is called Nota. He can hear a song played just once and remember every single note. He can also create musical pieces that put people into a coma, hence his greatest weapon.”
Blaire nods, looking a little impressed. “Nice, I like it. Very original.” Turning to Theo, she asks, “Would you like to go next?”
He nods, and at first, I’m nervous for him. He doesn’t do great under pressure. Least of all in front of people he doesn’t know well, and I want this to be a positive experience for him. I’m about to tell him that he doesn’t have to explain when Blaire places a hand over mine, giving me a small shake of her head. Whispering in my ear, she says, “Give him a chance. I think he’ll surprise you.”
And she’s right. My little brother holds up his notebook, full of notes and small figures he drew to explain his character. His design shows a man with a sword in one hand and a glow emanating from the other. He very animatedly explains through hand gestures and pointing to his notes that his hero is called Man of Justice, and with his diamond encrusted sword he can cut through any weapon made of any material on earth, and with his glowing hand he can tell when people are lying just by touching them. This helps him to decide if the person deserves justice or not, hence his name. He even drew a little emblem with a sword surrounded by a circle. It’s a fantastic idea, and what’s even more, I haven’t seen him this engaged in something since before the accident.
“Theo, that was amazing,” Blaire gushes, giving him another high five. “I can’t wait to see Man of Justice come to life. You really did an excellent job with your story.”
His little cheeks blush under her praise, his smile as happy as I’ve ever seen it. Pointing to her notebook, he silently asks her what she came up with.
“Well, I don’t think it’s anything compared to Nota or Man of Justice,” she says, making Theo smile with pride, “but I came up with a female superhero called Luna the Tigress. She has the power to shift into tiger form under the night sky, saving the people of her village from pillagers and the rogue animals of the jungle. During the day she’s just Luna, the daughter of the chief, but at night, she is their mysterious protector. No one ever learns of her true identity.”
“That’s pretty cool,” I concede, looking at the tiny drawing she made of the girl halfway through her tiger transformation.
Theo nods his agreement.
“Great, now that we all have our heroes, I’ll give you a few tips on how to draw figures and their movements, and then we can get started.”
We draw for over an hour, a comfortable silence settling between the three of us once we find a working rhythm. I actually find myself enjoying the experience, and learning quite a bit when Blaire gives us tips here and there. My little brother blooms under her attention and constant praise of his efforts, the confidence growing in him the longer the lesson goes on. I wish my parents could see him like this. It’s as close to his former self as I can remember.
“Okay, I think that’s enough for one day,” she says once we have a rough draft of our heroes. “But I’m going to give you a little homework.” Handing Theo what looks like a brand-new set of colored pencils and a small pack of markers, she tells him, “I would love for you to finish your character over the next few days, and then show me the end result. Do you think you can do that?”
He nods his head hard enough to shake his curls, looking beyond excited while he gathers up the supplies she gave him. Once his arms are full, he races back towards the house with Hawn in tow, kicking up a sand cloud with every step.
“You’re amazing, you know that? It’s like he’s a different person when he’s with you,” I tell her.
Shoving a few pens back into their container, she shakes her head, her loose hair blowing with the wind. “I don’t think it’s necessarily me, but the art. He has a creative outlet now, a way to express himself without feeling the pressure to use words. Over time I think it could really help him.”
I give it a moment’s thought, weig
hing what she said when I finally shake my head. “No, I think it’s you. You put people in a trance when you talk about art. You even got me thinking a few times that I might have some talent.”
“You do,” she says once she’s done tidying up, putting her legs in my lap with a smile, her hand brushing off what must be sand from my cheek. “Nota was very impressive. And the headphones emblem was a great idea.”
“That’s high praise coming from the art genius.” Picking her up so it’s all of her in my lap rather than just her legs, she lets out an “oomph” before wrapping her hands around my neck.
“You’re pretty bold for only being my boyfriend for a day.” She grins, her hair looking almost white under the sunlight.
“I’m making up for lost time.”
“Oh, really?” she says, playing along. “How much time exactly?”
“Since the moment I caught you getting out of your car the day you moved in.” I run my thumb over her plump bottom lip, liking how it goes pink in an instant. I’ve never seen someone with such sensitive skin.
“You were watching me?” she asks, voice sounding surprised.
“Not in a creepy way. I just wanted to see what fate had dropped at my doorstep. And it was a very pretty package indeed.” I kiss the tip of her nose. She chuckles.
“You know, I have to get all this stuff back to the house by dinner,” she says after I move from her nose down to her cheek, and then her chin, kissing my way across her face.
“I don’t see you moving away,” I point out, my lips smiling against her ear.
“Because I can’t. You’re going to have to be the willpower in this situation.” She leans into me further, her fingers curling in my hair, proving her statement.
I love that her control slips when she’s with me, that she forgets herself in the moment. But… “If I don’t let go, will you get in trouble?”
“Not really. I’ll just get an earful from Nana about how rude it is to make people wait for you.”
I sigh, my mouth only centimeters away from hers, but it feels like miles. “We need to fix this thing with granny. She’s really killing my vibe.”
She laughs, pushing back a strand of hair from my forehead. “I know. My mom supposedly gave her a talk about butting out, but I don’t think it worked. Have any suggestions?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we should get her a man of her own so she’ll stop bothering yours.”
Her eyes go wide, pulling back to look at me closely. “My Nana, dating? No way. She hasn’t been with a man since my grandfather died. I don’t see her suddenly wanting one now.”
“Perhaps we just need to plant the seed in her head, get her thinking about it.”
“And who would our victim – I mean, bachelor – be?”
That’s a good question, one I don’t really have the answer to, but, “There’s got to be a couple of old rich widowers that live around here. I’m sure my mom would know some.”
She bites her lip, giving me a look of disbelief. “I can’t believe you would go so far as to get my grandmother a man just so that we don’t get interrupted again.”
“I’d do just about anything to get a second alone with you, and the threat of your nana off my back. Which reminds me, when are we going to have another day to ourselves?” I ask, deciding that today with my baby brother didn’t count. I want a few hours of no interruptions, just me and my Kahlo.
“I had planned on painting in my room tomorrow. Want to come keep me company?”
Thinking about it, I say, “Sure. I kind of need to fill out some college applications anyway. I keep putting it off, and now Mom is starting to panic that I’ll miss the deadline for a second time.”
“Second time? You mean you missed your chance for fall admission?”
I nod, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, so now I’m aiming for spring. I have until September to apply.”
Sliding herself off my lap, she begins picking up the packs of pens and pencils she had put away before, arranging them in an easy to carry pile. “Why have you been putting it off?”
Disappointed that she found the willpower to pull away from me after all, but not wanting her to get into a lecture with her nana, I help her with her task, saying, “I hate the essay part. Papers were never my thing in school.”
“But this isn’t a school paper. You’re just talking about yourself. How hard can it be?” she asks, rolling up the beach blanket Theo had been sitting on.
“I don’t know. Whenever I start to write it, I can’t come up with enough interesting things about myself to make me look like a standout applicant.” Gathering up all the notebooks and extra paper, I put them in a neat, organized stack.
I can feel her watching me when she asks, “What is it that you want to major in?”
At least on this I know my answer. “Music. I’ve always wanted to be a composer – create scores for movies.”
“Really?”
I nod, still unnecessarily organizing. “I’ve been playing the piano since I was seven. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do.”
“I had no idea,” she says, coming to sit next to me again after she’s done getting everything together, taking my hand in hers. “I’d love to hear you play sometime.”
Giving her a quick peck on the lips, I promise her, “Whenever you want.”
Blaire
The next morning I’m in the kitchen, filling up my painting jar with water when Mom and Nana walk in, talking about plans they have for later in the day. Humming to myself, I don’t even notice when Mom comes up beside me, grinning like a fool. “What has you in such a good mood this morning?” she asks, stealing the tap from me to fill up her tea pot.
“I bet I can guess,” Nana says, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Do you have another day planned with that boy?” she asks after she turns around to face me, blowing on the too hot liquid.
“His name is Beckham, Nan. And yes, he’s coming over later to hang out while I paint.” Setting my water jar on the counter, I grab a few sheets of paper towels to bring with me.
“How did you manage to convince him to just sit and watch you paint all day?” Mom asks, sounding perplexed. “I couldn’t even get your father to go to a Celine Dion concert with me after a year of marriage. You have him wrapped around your finger already, and it’s been what? Two days?”
“You make it sound like I have him under a spell or something,” I mumble, starting to wonder if inviting him over was a selfish idea. But he said he had work of his own to do, so I didn’t think he’d mind. Maybe I was wrong…
Nana snorts and says, “You do. It’s called feminine wiles, and women have been wielding them for millennia.”
Slowly regretting not having filled my jar in the bathroom upstairs, I start to head back in that direction before my grandmother can explain the details of these wiles she speaks of.
“Oh, before I forget, I wanted to ask you to invite Beckham over for dinner this week,” Mom says, putting her pot on the stove and turning the burner to high.
“You aren’t inviting the other Lyons’ over?” She said she had gotten along really well with Mrs. Lyons, and so had Dad with Mr. Lyons. I would have thought that she’d ask everyone over.
“Nope. This is strictly a get-to-know-my-daughter’s-boyfriend-better dinner. Also, ask him if he likes meatloaf,” she says like it’s no big deal. As if she didn’t just tell me she’s setting up a special dinner just to interrogate my boyfriend.
Yeah, I don’t think so.
“He has plans for next week, sorry.”
Her expression falls, but is quickly replaced with hope when she says, “Okay, how about the week after that?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s booked up until forever. So, let’s just forget about the whole thing, shall we?” Before she can argue, I’m racing back up the stairs with my supplies, hearing Nan’s laugh echo behind me.
***
“Okay, this is seriously cool,” Beckham says the instant he walks into m
y art room, his eyes spanning the windows and the ocean beyond.
“It’s pretty great, huh? My dad bought the house just because of it,” I tell him, setting out my paints on my desk, feeling him step up beside me.
“I can see why you’re always up here. I wouldn’t want to leave it, either.” Giving me a kiss on the cheek, his blue headphones sitting around his neck, he asks with a smile, “How was your morning?”
I sigh, remembering Mom’s request. “I’m sure yours was better.”
“I doubt that. Leigha came home last night all moody and whiney again and it seeped into everyone’s morning. You might have to make another run to the house to fix her again.”
“You make it sound like she’s a broken toy or something.”
“She kind of is. And it would appear you’re the only one who has the right glue to put her back together again. So, for the sake of my household, can you maybe talk to her later and work your magic? Pleeeeaaaassse,” he begs in my ear, his arms draped around my waist while I organize my paintbrushes according to size.
“Sure. But if you ever let her hear you call her a broken toy, I’m not going to step in and save you.”
“Fine,” he says, giving me another kiss on the cheek before walking over and falling into my armchair. “This is comfy. We might have to make this our official hang out spot from now on.”
Leaning against my desk, arms crossed over my chest, I watch him settle in and get comfortable, like he’s done this a hundred times before. “But your room is so homey and eclectic,” I argue. “Plus, I don’t have any record players in here.”
“But you do have a radio,” he counters, grinning from ear to ear as he turns it on, the ballad of “Rocket Man” by Elton John bleeding into the room.
“Switch back and forth?” I compromise.
“Deal.”
Settling into my swivel chair, crossing my legs in my lap, I start to think about what my mom had said earlier. I don’t want him to be here just to be here, I want us to have a fun time, too. But maybe this isn’t the kind of situation where that’s possible. Turning around to face him, I ask, “Is this…was this a bad idea?”