Page 36 of Refraction

“Really? I would never have guessed that about you.” He slipped his arms around Tucker’s waist and gave him a tight hug and winked at Marge. “I bet he’s always been like that, huh?”

“Oh, when he was a little boy and he couldn’t sketch the things in his head, he could be very frustrated. I have seen a few amazing temper tantrums.”

“Marge, honey! Don’t make me look bad in front of Calvin. I want to impress.”

“What kid didn’t throw tantrums? Shit, I can throw one now. You should ask my agent about the little diva in me.” He grinned at Tucker. “Just so you’re warned.”

Calvin threw that out there to be cute, but he wanted to know more about Tucker. “When did he start painting?” he asked Marge, as if the man wasn’t sitting right next to him.

“I think he was born painting. Look.”

Tucker groaned. “Marge. No.”

She stood and brought over a fancy book, dozens of drawings and paintings glued in. “This first one, he was two. He was finger painting while his mom worked.” The painting was just a jumble of color until she tapped at the photograph of the huge still life that was half-painted. Then he could see it. Little Tucker was trying to paint the same thing.

He gasped. “Look at that. Oh my God.” He scooted over on the window seat and let her in between them. “That’s crazy.”

Tucker shook his head, blushed. “It’s just scribbles.”

“Uh-huh.” Marge turned the page, showing another. “You see, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I totally do.” They were just scribbles kind of like he just got his picture taken. He got where Tucker was coming from.

“So when did these things—the still life stuff and these little portraits—I mean, I kind of have to ask… when did this turn into the stuff he’s… you’re doing now? Seems like a pretty big leap, you know? Tucker?”

Maybe that was too personal? Maybe it was none of his business. But how could he not want to know?

“It just happened. I was doing comic books, and it just got darker as I got older. I got tired of illustrating storyboards.”

Calvin glanced at Marge but couldn’t quite read her expression. “What’s your inspiration? Where do they come from?”

“Dreams. Everywhere, I guess. Ideas are everywhere.”

Marge patted Tucker’s hand. “We don’t have a problem with output, do we?”

“No, ma’am.”

Calvin nodded, hearing that was about as far he could push in that direction for now. Fair enough. He wasn’t sure if it was just that Tucker couldn’t articulate it, or if he didn’t want to, but either way, he didn’t want to make Tucker uncomfortable. “There had to be what, at least a hundred pieces in the red series. I think the highest number I saw was eighty-something? I loved that series.”

“One day you’ll have to come to Texas, see the house. My studio there. I’d love to show you around.” Tucker looked eager, like he wasn’t just making a random offer.

“I’m there.”

He watched Tucker, the little forward tilt of his shoulders and the way that smile made those blue eyes even brighter, and tried to imagine a world in which two people who’d known each other for three days were saying things like “One day….”

There just was no such place. Except, apparently, right here.

He looked at Marge. “Does he just have this effect on people? Like, everybody?”

“No. No, just certain people who can see how amazing he is.”

“Y’all!” Tucker’s face was beet red. “Marge says that opening was a success yesterday.”

“I don’t know what you’re blushing about. She was complimentingme, I believe.” Calvin leaned around Marge and stole a quick kiss from Tucker. “That was going to be my next question. So what does that mean? He made some cash? The exhibit will stick around a bit?”

“He made some amazing cash. The gallery owner is incredibly pleased and wants to do another show next year. The paintings will stay up a few more weeks, barring a few that the buyers requested immediately.”

“That’s great news. Aren’t you pleased? And the ‘amazing cash’ will come in handy, since you’re floating that studio for a few weeks. Congrats.”

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