Page 68 of Second Round

I looked over at Charlotte’s painting. She had covered the bottom half of the paper with crazy squiggles, so I encouraged her to cover the whole paper. Otherwise, I didn’t make any comments. Too often, kids got praised for making work that looked like something. Art was a fun journey when you didn’t worry about the final product. Making something was its own pleasure. I continued to paint and so did Charlotte. After she had covered most of the paper, I dug out a box of pastels and handed ittoher.

“You can draw with these on top of the dry paint, that way you can still see what you didbefore.”

“I like doing this,” Charlotte said. “But I don’t like artclass.”

“Art can be a meditation,” I said. “Do you know whatthatis?”

She nodded. “People do it when theydoyoga.”

“That’s right. For me, painting is like that. I paint and try not to worry about what it will look like. It’s a flow state where I lose track of time and all my worries. That’s why I lovepainting.”

It felt funny to be telling this tiny girl something I’d never articulated before. But Charlotte was nodding as if she understoodperfectly.

“Sometimes my tummy gets pains when I have too many worries. But when I read a book, it takes me awaylikethat.”

We exchanged smiles and then kept painting. I couldn’t really get into my flow state with all the kids around, but I was getting things done. I checked my watch. Tristan would behomesoon.

“Do you want to stay here?” I asked Charlotte, and she nodded. I dug into a drawer and pulled out a blank sketchbook. “Here, you can have this. The pages aren’t thick enough for paint, but you can use pencils, pastels, and markers in it. Are you finished with thepaintsnow?”

She nodded, so I took the tray of paints to the sink and put lids on them. Then I began washing her brushes and mine. Charlotte came and stoodbesideme.

“CanIhelp?”

“Sure.” I handed her a brush. “It’s important to rinse these really well. Open the bristles and get all the paint out. Otherwise, the brushes will bewrecked.”

She tried hard to copy exactly what I was doing. Although Hannah and Tristan both loved doing craft projects, neither of them enjoyed drawing or painting. So it felt nice to have someone to pass on my sillytipsto.

I heard the front door open and the sound of the boys. I dumped the unwashed brushes into a jar of water. “Berightback.”

Tristan and Wyatt were already in the family room arguing with Hannah over control of the gaming system. Wendy was hovering in thedoorway.

“Thank you so much for bringing the boys home.” We had an agreement: I drove them to soccer camp in the morning which let Wendy sleep in a littlelonger.

“Not a problem. By the way, I saw that there’s a house for rent only three blocks from here. I got you all the info.” She passed me a folded piece of paper. I thanked her, and we talked a little bit aboutthemove.

She sighed loudly. “I’m going to miss you so much. And Wyatt will be going absolutely bananas. Do you know anything about the newfamilyyet?”

“I know they have kids, but I don’t knowtheages.”

Just then, Charlotte appeared in thehallway.

“Who is this lovely girl?” Wendy cooed. Of course, she approved of Charlotte’s chic designer clothes and prettylooks.

“This is Charlotte Gauthier. Wendy Harris,” I added as an awkwardintroduction.

“Hello. Nice to meet you,” Charlotte said politely. Then she turned to me, “I finished washing all the brushesforyou.”

“Thank you very much.” She went off to witness the arguing in thefamilyroom.

“Gauthier? So, she’s the coach’sdaughter?”

“Yes.” I girded myself for the inquisition I knew wascoming.

“Be careful, Jackie. You shouldn’t let a man use youlikethat.”

“Use me?Forwhat?”

“As a babysitter. Maybe that’s why he wanted to go out with you, because you’reamom.”

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