Page 156 of Under the Lies

I whirl around to face Noah, who I didn’t notice had moved closer to me. He’s right behind me. “I swear to God, Noah if you say it’s because he didn’t want me to know, I will fucking scream.”

I don’t need excuses. I need time to process this.

“Just—” I lower my voice, poorly hiding the frustration in it. “Just let me be. For ten minutes.”

I need to get away. Not from this room, but from him.

As I walk farther into the room, past paintings that have my eyes bulging, Noah calls, “You run, and I chase you.”

I turn around, walking backward. “I’m not running. I’m hiding.” There’s a difference.

He doesn’t respond so I carry on. Some of these paintings have been missing for years. Decades, maybe even centuries for a few.

I wander until I find a little alcove. It’s small, with only enough space for half of my body.

Bringing my knees to my chest, I rest my chin on my knees as my brain struggles to digest all this.

The stories of the town are true. A truth bomb that never should’ve gone off.

The Baron.

My grandfather.

God. I bang my forehead against my knees.

How many signs were there that I missed? How many times did I feel left out when he took Harlow on a “business” trip all over the world, even when I was the one that loved art and painting and had never been anywhere my parents didn’t want me to go.

Countless.

Growing up, I wasn’t allowed to travel like Brin, who could travel free of her parents.

Mine were the overbearing protective type, they would go out to do things while I was to stay home and focus on school.

Picking my head up, I see a painting that startles me. More than the rest. I know that painting. Intimately.

And underneath it sits the man I know intimately.

Noah watches me like he’s waiting for me to break. “Your ten minutes are up.”

My lips twitch in a sad smile. “Always so punctual.” I sound so far away, eyes jumping above his head. “He made me paint that painting, you know. Over and over one weekend.”

My granddad had just returned home after a week in Paris, looking ragged from travel when he came by my house to pick me up.

I was so excited to spend time with him just the two of us. It had been so long since we’d done that.

This was back when I was in seventh grade and seeing my granddad started to become a little more infrequent when I felt his time was given more to Harlow.

And boy, Harlow was so angry that night he picked me up. I can still recall how loud her feet stomped up the stairs when she found out she wasn’t invited.

Meanwhile, I couldn’t stop grinning the entire drive to his little apartment.

It wasn’t until we were eating dinner that he broke away from the table to pull out a circular tube from his suitcase.

“I want you to paint this,” he said. “Just for fun.”

He didn’t need to tell me twice. One of the reasons I loved coming over was because he would always have me paint his findings.

It was the best way to learn, he always said.

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