Page 141 of My Unfinished Heart

“Uh-uh.”

“Where can we go together?”

“None of those places are far enough.”

“Where are you in that painting?” he asked.

“Which painting?”

“That one.”

He pointed at a canvas propped by the door. An art class assignment I’d brought home when it dried. I intended it for Helen. A thank you for feeding me as often as she did. Not that it was some great work of art, but I thought she’d like the colors.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” I said instead.

“Mom’s not feeling good either. She likes the cold cloths.” Connor smoothed the towel over my forehead.

“You’ll get sick.”

“I’d rather be sick than lonely. You won’t hurt me will you?”

I’m not sure how I answered that. I only know after whatever I said, he crawled in bed with me, his back tucked into my side. Snuggling close.

“Can I have the painting?”

“Sure.”

“Is that you in the painting?”

“It was the assignment…”

“I like the colors in the water and the sailboat.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re really talented aren’t you?” he asked.

“Everybody’s good at something,” I said.

“I’m good at violin. My teacher says I’m the best.”

“Teachers are good. Listen to your teachers. Believe them. Not whatever else you hear.

“You don’t smell very good.”

Connor smelled good, though. A very Texas kind of smell. Like autumn leaves and fresh-cut grass. Possibility and regret. “Maybe you shouldn’t lie so close. I’ll make you stinky.”

“It’s comfortable. Is it making you feel better?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll stay. I can take a bath later.”

“How’d you know I was sick?”

“I figured something was wrong, or you wouldn’t still be here,” he said.

“It was brave of you to check.”