Page 67 of In the Dust

“No peeking either!” I make a funny face and flip him the bird. No response. He’s definitely not peeking. I guide him to the bench across from the canvas. “You can sit down.”

He reaches his hand behind him, feeling for the bench. “Whenever you’re ready, darlin’.”

I’m so nervous yet excited to show him my first painting in three years. I grab his hand, slowly peeling it from his face. “I’m ready,” I say as I slide out of his view and sit down next to him.

My eyes are locked on his face, watching every expression to gauge his reaction. His eyes widen, and his lips slightly part.

“This is amazing, Dix.” His eyes scan the painting, “This isn’t something that should hide in a cabinet.”

“Maybe one day I’ll show the world, but for now, she’ll stay right here.”

I turn my head to look at him. Something crosses his face that I can’t quite put my finger on. I look back at the painting of my mom, a small tear gliding down my cheek. She would be so proud. “I wish she were here to see it,” I admit.

“Who’s to say she isn’t?” he whispers, taking my hand in his.

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