by Diane Adams
"What are you going to draw?" Alex asked, leading the way around the corner to the front door of the mansion.
"A lunar moth," Neal said.
They found Rose coming down the stairs, the easel tucked under one arm, an old back pack draped over the other, an empty plastic margarine bowl in her hand. "I've got to get some water," she explained, heading for the kitchen.
"I'll get us some drawing stuff," Alex said, starting up the stairs Rose had just come down.
Neal looked around with interest, now that there was no one to be offended by his curiosity. The furniture looked old, and the colors didn't blend together the way they should. His mother said he had an artist's eye, and it was revolted by a red couch, heavy purple drapes and green scatter pillows. He thought the Camerons must be poor, even poorer than his grandparents suspected. They had probably bought their furniture at one of those thrift shops, that took things people didn't want anymore and sold them to people who couldn't afford to buy things at a real store.
He couldn't help wondering why the Camerons were so poor. They were both old, so they probably got a social security check from the government. And Rose said they were caretakers, so they probably got another check for that. According to his grandmother, the Camerons never went anywhere besides church, other than an occasional trip into town for groceries. It wasn't as if they spent their money on electronic gadgets, or expensive vacations, and it sure didn't look like they spent it on fancy decorations for their house.
"If I make it all the way to the cornfield without spilling the water, it'll be a miracle," Rose stated matter-of-factly, pausing while Neal opened the door for her. "What's Alex asking Meemaw? For something to eat?"
"No," Neal said. "For art supplies, so she and I can draw."
Rose stopped and the water splashed down the front of her shirt. "You're not good at it, are you?" she asked worriedly.
Neal decided it was best to be honest. "My dad used to say I had natural talent."
"That's like a gift," Rose said with depression.
"Not exactly like."
"Exactly like," she disagreed. "Maybe this isn't such a great idea. Maybe I ought to wait and try out my paints when I'm alone."
Neal shook his head, somewhat impatient with Rose's inferiority complex. "It's not like anybody's first try gets into the Metropolitan," he lectured her in an adult voice. "I mean, even somebody like Toulouse L'Autrec had to practice before he got good at it."
"Who's Too Loose ... Who did you say?" Rose asked.
"He's a famous artist."
Rose tilted her head and stared up the front of the house, as though searching for the address numerals. "Okay," she gave in. "Just promise you won't look unless I say you can."
"I promise," Neal said without hesitation.
"I'll see you out there then." Rose kept her eyes trained on the water bowl as she tried to hurry away. "Just don't try sneaking a peek over my shoulder," she called, without looking back.
"I wouldn't dream of it," Neal said, rolling his eyes. "Anyway," he said to himself. "A person ought to try lots of things before they decide which one is their gift. Just because I can draw, that doesn't mean I want to do it for my job."
"Maybe you'd rather build bridges," Pops agreed from behind him.
Neal jumped and spun around. "I didn't know you were here," he said guiltily. "Inside. In the room, I mean."
"I shouldn't have snuck up on you," Pops apologized. "I usually make a lot of noise without meaning to. Are you thinking of building bridges?"
"Me? No. But Rose was. I mean, she wasn't actually thinking about it, but she ... Anyway, you're the one who said it."
"Said what?"
"About building bridges. Were you listening?"
"Meemaw says I never listen. She says that's the whole problem, when I didn't even know there was a problem."
Neal stared hard at the older man. It almost seemed like Meemaw and Pops acted dumb on purpose. "I meant, were you listening when we were outside and Rose said that if she can't draw, she might have to discover a different gift, like building bridges?"
"I think Rose would be good at helping people understand one another," Pops said thoughtfully. "That's a kind of bridge, don't you think?"
Neal frowned at him. He was pretty sure Rose meant real bridges, that crossed rivers and railroad tracks. "Whatever," he said, somewhat sullenly.
"Sometimes it's a terrible burden on young people," Pops said sadly. "You're the only ones who can bring the two sides together. But in order to build a bridge, you've got to do some research. You've got to know what kind of foundation has been laid on both ends."
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Neal said darkly. "If you mean it's up to me to get my mom to be nicer to my grandparents ..."
"Oh, no!" Pops said, raising both hands. "I didn't mean that at all. But if you could help, why not do it?"
"What about me?" Neal pleaded, dismayed when he felt his eyes well up with tears.
"It's all about you," Pops said, patting his shoulder in a comforting way. "The two come together in the middle, don't you see? It makes the middle much stronger."
Neal wondered if Pops had one of those old people diseases that confused him. "Thanks," he said, inching his way towards the door. "I'll wait for Alex outside, I guess."
"Here she comes!" Pops turned to the stairs and within seconds, Alex made her way down with two sketch pads and a pencil case.
"Meemaw says to watch out for chiggers," Alex warned Neal. "Oh hi, Pops. Guess what! Rose is finally going to try her paint set. She was looking across the cornfield at Neal's house and ..."
"It's not my house!" Neal said firmly.
Alex glanced at him with raised eyebrows. "At Neal's grandparents' house," she corrected herself. "And she saw a picture in her mind's eye."
"That's where it starts," Pops said gleefully. "Next thing you know, she'll be building bridges, won't she."
"Uh, yeah! That's right!" Alex humored him. She gestured and Neal obediently followed her out the door.
(( 10 ))