by Holly Hood
Maven watched him from afar. Standing with her father as he shipped some packages at the post office, she held one hand against the counter, the other twirling a strand of blonde hair. She only wanted him to notice her. But he was concentrating on his yogurt and nothing else.
Dad thanked the post office attendant, tucking his receipt in the front pocket of his shirt.
“Did you want to head home for lunch or do you have other plans?”
She broke her stare long enough to give her dad an answer. “I think I’m going to talk to Henri.” Her dad turned quickly, he was eager to lay eyes on Henri. He looked harmless enough.
“Alright, I will see you later. Call if you’re going to be late.” She kissed his cheek, watching him head back the opposite direction. Maven gave herself a quick glance in the window. She ran her fingers through her long hair. Securing the small flower that was holding the side of her hair in place. She smoothed her light pink camisole and even straightened her jean shorts before taking a step in Henri’s direction.
“Hey,” she said quickly, her shadow looming over the table where he sat. Henri lifted his head. He gave her a smile and offered her a seat.
“What’s up, Maven?”
Maven leaned forward, eager to be a part of conversation with him again. She had looked forward to it. “Nothing much. I’m glad I ran into you again.”
Henri raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
Maven looked around, hoping Jake and Tatiana didn’t show up like the last time she was at the yogurt hut. “Yeah, I had a nice time swimming with you.”
Henri swallowed, looking away from the table.
Maven studied his sudden cold demeanor. “Is everything alright, Henri?”
Henri’s eyes met hers. “What if I said things weren’t alright?”
Maven’s eyes grew large. “What do you mean?”
Henri thought about confessing his secret.
Today wasn’t the day.
“I don’t mean anything. Sometimes my mind gets the best of me.” He crumpled his napkin, tossing it into his yogurt that he barely had eaten. “Are you up for the art museum?”
Maven nodded. “For sure.”
The art museum of Portwood was in walking distance of just about everything. Nobody used vehicles because everything was so close. Maven loved the old fashioned cobblestone roads and the old style street lights.
They hurried up the massive set of museum stairs, pushed past the revolving doors and were whisked away into displays of chic artwork. The summers heat a thing of the past. The air condition pumped plenty of cool air through the small museum.
Maven kept her arms crossed as they walked into the first room of the museum. It was a little cold. Henri’s hands were tucked into his pants pockets. There were only a couple people anywhere around them. The museum wasn’t the preferred spot during the summer. Most people were busy swimming or doing something outdoors.
Maven stopped in front of an old oil painting, a scenic one, lush green grass, weeping willows and a young woman running across the painting as if she was placed there later, she was so contemporary compared to the vintage feel of the backdrop, long flowing hair, supple skin. It was a piece of art.
“This is kind of nice.” Henri stepped a little closer, his hands still caged in his jeans.
“It’s beautiful,” Maven confessed, she stepped closer, “My mind takes off when I look at artwork. I always want to know the reason behind all of it.”
“He probably loved her.” Henri turned his head. “Why else would someone paint such a picture?”
Maven searched the tag for a name. “How do you know it was a man?”
“Just a guess.”
Maven squinted at the blob like signature and gasped. “That’s Sandra’s last name.”
Henri nodded. “Yeah it is. Her grandfather painted many of the paintings in this exhibit.”
Maven was impressed. “Wow, Henri.”
“Artistic talent runs in the family. I don’t mean to boast, but I’m a great painter myself.” He smiled, moving on to the next painting.
“Do you have any in here?” Maven couldn’t believe how interesting he was the more she got to know him.
“Nope. But I have a closet full of old stuff I did a long time ago.” He studied an abstract piece growing quiet.
“Why don’t you paint anymore?”
“Have to have a reason to paint. I really don’t have one anymore.”
“I can draw a little. We should get together sometime and you can paint something.” She smiled at her idea.
“You.” Henri made a picture frame with his fingers, framing her smiling face with them. “I could paint you.”
“Okay, you can paint me. And I’ll even bring one of my own sketch books and draw you.”
Henri agreed. “Only if you promise you’ll keep it forever.”
Maven pushed into his arm. “Don’t be silly.”
“What should I be than?” His eyes held a certain intensity that made her heart skip a beat. She timidly pushed her hair from her eyes.
“Nothing, I wouldn’t want you to be anything but you.” She dropped her gaze to the floor. Henri turned away, paying attention to the next picture to lighten the mood. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.
At the end of the exhibit she couldn’t help but want it to go on forever.
She sat down on the bench outside of the museum. Henri leaned against the old pillar. Maven studied the cracked paint trying to come up with something to say.
“How come you didn’t go to the same school as Sandra?” He wasn’t but a year older than her. If they were related it only made sense.
“I lived in Tennessee with my parents.” Henri pushed off the pillar, taking a seat next to her. “I’ve only been here a couple years.”
Maven did the math in her head. Henri knew what was coming next. “Than where did you go to school?”
“Homeschooled my senior year.” He scratched at his forearm. “I finished halfway through my senior year.”
Maven nodded impressed. “What was the reason you chose homeschooling?”
Henri could feel his heart beating out of his chest. There was no getting out of this one. He started to panic. He had to do something fast. He leaned in, gently kissing her on the cheek.
When he pulled away he was surprised to see the huge smile pinned to her face. Maven’s eyes softened, she touched his face in response, her fingers playing with his hair. Henri closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her hands against his skin. His heartbeat slowed down and returned to a regular speed.
He touched her hair, pushing it behind her ear like she did when she was nervous. He warily touched her lips enjoying the feel of them against his fingertips. The corners of her mouth igniting in a smile.
He loved how blue her eyes were. And the way all her emotions exuded from them all the time. “I think you’re beautiful.”
“You do?”
Henri nodded, giving her a smile.
The door to the museum opened thudding against the bench. Henri pulled away, ending the moment. The older woman gave them both a nod as she hurried down the museum steps.
Mysterious
Henri launched a rock across the water of the creek near his aunt and uncle’s home. He watched the stone skip three times before it disappeared. Tiny ripples ringing outward, a few lazy dragonflies skidding to the surface and then away.
“Nice one,” Flynn, his older cousin said, chucking a rock of his own at the water.
“Yeah some things never change,” Henri said with a shrug. He took a seat in the grass drawing his knees up and resting his arms. He stared at the water.
Flynn sat down. “Dinner soon.” He made a point to keep Henri in the moment when he seemed to be drifting off. When Henri forgot about eating he was always there to point him to the nearest kitchen, Flynn was just three years older than he was but he made it a point to hound him.
“Yeah yeah I hear you. The last appointment I had she
said I was keeping up.” He lied. It was the appointment before that she had told him he gained five pounds.
Flynn ignored his tone. Choosing to change the subject rather than get into another argument that just ended with him angry and Henri finding another reason to stay far away from home.
“Ma says you been hanging around some girl with blonde hair. One of them Wilder girls she said.” Flynn looked over at Henri. “Does she know about you?”
Henri plucked a large strand of grass from the ground. He twisted it between his fingers.
“Does she know what? There are so many things to tell.” He smirked. “My mother always said I was an extraordinary boy.”
Flynn shook his head at Henri’s goofy approach. He was the only person he knew that could make light of such a situation as his. “You know what I mean. Does she know that you’re not well?”
“I figure she expects it. Or maybe she doesn’t and that’s why she still is hanging around.” Henri broke the blade of grass letting the two pieces sail to the ground.
“She could be hanging around because she likes you. And if that’s the case you need to let her in on your little secret.” Flynn sighed.
“What do I say?”
“I don’t know the answer to that. Whatever you want to say. We all promised to keep our lip zipped, that’s all on you.” Flynn stood, dusting off the back of his jeans. He offered Henri a hand, but like usual he waved him away choosing to help himself.
Henri followed him back up to the old house. Old, but well maintained.
“Good to see you at dinner, Henri.” Henri’s uncle said around a mouthful of mashed potatoes and gravy. Henri nodded, shoveling his own into his mouth, the smell of the food making him queasier. He hung his head, doing his best to clean his plate so he could take off to his room or someplace in town.
“So Henri, how are things going with Maven Wilder?” His aunt asked. She spooned another helping of carrots on his plate.
“She wants to hang out again.” He poked at the steamed carrots.
“That’s nice. She is a very nice girl.”
Sandra and April both agreed. Henri knew that would be the case for April until she was dumped by her brother. And Sandra was only being polite around her parents. He had heard the things she said about Maven with her friends.
“I think I am going to paint her.” Everyone’s eyes filled with delight at the mention of painting.
“Oh that’s wonderful, Henri. You were always so good at painting.” His aunt smiled, she hurried to fill his glass with another round of iced tea. He shooed her away.
“You’re going to make me sick.” They all laughed and the doorbell rang. His uncle rushed to the door, his heavy boots thumping across the wood.
Everyone listened. “Well hello there.” Henri shot his aunt a confused look. She was in view of the hallway. The smile on her face told him it was for him. He dropped his fork to his plate twisting around in his seat.
There she stood with a big smile on her face and a bundle of pencils in her hand and a sketchpad.
“Hey there, Maven.” His aunt stood up. “Are you hungry?”
Maven shook her head. “No ma’am, I just ate dinner. Henri promised me an art session. I came to take him up on that offer.”
Everyone smiled at Henri and the girl willing to take what she wanted. Henri rose from the table with his plate. He took it into the kitchen gesturing for Maven to join him.
“Hi.” She whispered, looking at his family nearby all around the dining room table. Henri quickly scraped his food into the trash and placed his dish in the dishwater.
“Hi.” He whispered back, amused she was being so cautious as if she snuck in. He leaned in, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. Her hair grazing his nose, she smelled of lilac shampoo.
“Where do you want to do this?”
“Wow, how forward of you.” They both laughed. “I prefer the bedroom, but wherever you like.”
Maven’s cheeks were hot from his flirty intimation. She followed Henri up the old staircase, looking at all the family photos that lined the green wallpaper, the floor beneath them beautiful wood. He opened the first door on the left switching on a light.
Maven looked around at the average sized bedroom. A bed in one corner with tousled sheets, the comforter practically on the floor hanging on for dear life, in one corner sat a wooden writing table with a pile of books on top of it. On the other side of the room was a big window with a window seat, with an assortment of pillows situated on top of the bench. She stared at the walls, a number of posters showcased. Pink Floyd, Aerosmith, The Doors.
Henri opened the closet next to his desk. He pulled out a suitcase. Inside were a few blank canvases. He took one out as well as some black paint and a paintbrush.
“Sit over there.” He told her, pointing to the window seat. She did as he asked. Watching him gather his supplies and sit down across from her on the opposite end. He drew up one knee, resting his back against the pillows. And quickly he went to work.
“Should I pose?”
Henri shook his head. “Do whatever you want.”
She stayed still, only moving her eyes to get a better look at Henri’s bedroom. His personal space, the place he probably stored all his memories in. “What’s that on your dresser?”
Henri stopped what he was doing. He handed over the paintbrush and retrieved the large leather bound book. It was by far bigger than any book she had ever seen.
“Those are all my paintings.” He took the paintbrush back handing over the book.
“Wow, Henri.”
“Everything I’ve ever drawn is in that book,” Henri explained. He started back on his latest work of art while Maven looked at his old work.
Maven now understood his technique. Everything he painted was in black. But his work didn’t need color. It spoke volumes devoid of fancy blues or reds or any shade in between. It was beyond her wildest imagination. Henri painted a world of optimism where maybe someone else saw none.
A distorted setting of old buildings with a gorgeous young woman in the center of all the disarray, but even amidst all that was tragic her face held a loveliness that made you overlook the pain all around her.
Maven looked up from the picture. “Why?” She turned the painting toward Henri. He barely looked at it, busily working on the portrait of Maven.
“I was young. That’s the way I saw life back than.”
“But I don’t get it. Explain this to me. To me it’s beautiful.”
Henri nodded. “It is. Life is dreadful, but that doesn’t take away from what we all are. I guess that’s what I was trying to capture.”
She closed the book. “Well, I think you captured it.”
Henri looked at her puzzled. “You don’t want to look at anymore?”
“I do. But I want to be the very best subject matter.” She leaned against the pillows, adjusting her hair so it fell perfectly against her exposed shoulders. Henri smiled behind the canvas. More than anything he just loved looking at her. He could paint her without her being in the same room. He remembered every inch of her.
“It will be the best.” He squeezed out some more paint on the scrap of paper he was using.
Twenty minutes later Henri’s painting was nearing completion. Maven was stiff and growing restless, but she knew whatever Henri was doing behind the canvas was worth the wait. She watched out the window at the roving dog by the pond. The flurry of birds as they headed for the trees, as well as the orange sun setting off in the distance, it was beautiful.
She imagined Henri probably sat in the window a lot. If she were him she would. Being around Henri was peaceful. It was easy and uncomplicated. She looked at Henri, his head bowed, the soft swipes on the canvas singing a tune. His eyebrows furrowed together. He was serious when he painted.
“Tell me about your life in Tennessee.” She blurted. She sat up a little, crossing her legs Indian style and folding her hands in her lap.
Henri peered over th
e canvas, his brown eyes connecting with hers. “What do you want to know?”
“What kind of boy were you in high school?” She was trying to imagine Henri surrounded by a crowd of students, him being one of them. It was hard to know who he fit in with. What drove him, even what kind of grades he got? Did he have a girlfriend back at home? Or was he the sort to secretly admire you from afar? She wanted to know everything.
“I played baseball.”
“What position?”
“Shortstop.”
“What else?”
Henri scratched his nose, smearing paint on himself, but he was none the wiser. Maven cracked an amused grin.
“What’s so funny? You don’t like shortstops?”
“No. It’s your face.” She giggled, covering her mouth with her hands, but that wasn’t enough to contain the sudden fit of laughter. Henri rolled his eyes. He sat the canvas down and got up.
“It’s my face.” He headed to his closet, pulling open the door and looking in the mirror. “God. I thought you were calling me ugly.”
Maven stopped laughing. He seemed serious. He seemed sad even. She rose to her feet.
“No. I wasn’t saying that at all.” She wiped the paint away with her fingers, rubbing it into her shorts. “See, it’s all gone.”
Henri grabbed her hand. “We do have washcloths. Now look at your shorts.”
Maven shook her head. “They come clean. It’s not a big deal.” She pushed her hair behind her ear nervously. Something Henri was familiar with. He could tell the minute she was judging herself, when she was feeling insecure
He wanted to kiss her. To take her face in his hands and plant the best kiss he ever gave a girl in his life on her lips. He wasn’t sure if he had the courage or the confidence to go through with it. But he was going to try.
He moved in, his hands succeeding at finding her face. He closed his eyes as soon as his lips met hers. The sweet smell of her hair entered his nose as he grew even more certain and let the moment grow a little more in intensity.
