Page 41 of Consumed
He watched from the front door, bemused, as Isaac struggled to remove a large, paper-wrapped item from the passenger seat. The thing was rectangular and flat, and it must have been an adventure for Isaac to jam it in there in the first place.
“If you’re going to transport bulky things, you ought to steal a truck or an SUV.”
Isaac performed an amusing dance, clutching the object, spinning around, and slamming the door shut with his hip. Then he bounced up the sidewalk and stood on Con’s tiny brick porch, grinning. In flip-flops, a pair of striped swimming trunks, and an old T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, he looked more like a surfer or a beach bum than a federal agent.
“You gonna invite me in?” Isaac asked.
“Are you a vampire now?”
“Nope. Just polite. Although come to think of it, neither of us has added vamps to our list of things that bit us. I wonder what it’s like.”
“I don’t. And come in.”
Isaac set his parcel on the couch and immediately began prowling around the living room. He didn’t touch anything, but he took his time examining Con’s mismatched furniture and secondhand knickknacks. He made a happy little noise when he saw what was on the small table next to Con’s favorite chair. “Dad’s pot!”
“I think it looks good there.”
“It does. But hey, look what I brought for you.” He grabbed Con’s hand and dragged him over to sit on the couch.
“I’m not a coyote shifter. Gifts are not required.” Con was trying really hard not to show how pleased he was. Aside from jewelry and an orc from Trish, he hadn’t been given a present in… well, pretty much ever.
“Dude, I’ve been saving this for when you finally invited me over. Open open open.” Isaac bounced on his toes like a kid at a birthday party.
Con carefully untaped the brown paper and set it aside for recycling. The object inside was a framed painting… of himself. It was slightly abstract, but his scarred face was recognizable as he bent over one of the lab tables in the Antarctic, peering at a glass plate containing a human heart.
“It’s called ‘Con Studies Himself,’” said Isaac. “The title and theme were Mom’s idea.”
“I…. How?”
“I snuck a photo of you when you weren’t paying attention.Witha digital camera, you’ll be pleased to know. Sent it to Mom. Inspiration struck.”
“I….” It was a beautiful painting. Con knew almost nothing about art, but even he could tell the composition and execution were wonderful. And that somehow a woman he’d never met had captured him perfectly. “Wow.”
Isaac looked around the room. “Where are you gonna hang it? I think it would look great on that wall, where you have those tin mask things. Unless maybe you’re really attached to the masks.”
Con wasn’t, particularly. He’d found them on a bottom shelf in a thrift store, dusty, one of them a little dented, and he’d thought they looked lonely. Which was ridiculous maybe, but he’d bought them anyway.
“I can’t hang a painting of myself in my own living room.”
“Why not?”
“It’s… vain.”
“It’s not. It’s a Naomi Geller-Molina original, and it’s great. Besides, at least you’ve got clothes on. In my house, the paintings of me are nudes.”
“I….” Con gaped. At some level he realized that Isaac was trying to help relieve his stress over the letter, and while the attempt was transparent, Con couldn’t help being caught up and carried along. Isaac had that effect. “Nudes?”
“When I was nineteen I had sort of a thing with one of Mom’s artist friends. He was my parents’ age, and the things he could do with his hands…. Anyway, he liked to use me as a model, and I got to keep a couple of his paintings. He’s semi-famous. Naked me is hanging in a museum in, uh, Vermont, I think. Maybe New Hampshire. One of those cold places with the pretty trees.”
Con gave a helpless laugh. “Thank you for the painting. I love it. Please thank your mother too. Do you want a complete tour of the place?”
“Later. Let’s deal with that damn letter first.”
A previous owner had removed some of the interior walls and replaced them with supporting pillars, creating an open floor plan that hadn’t been popular in the late forties when the house was built. So it was simply a matter of Con and Isaac crossing the room to take a seat at the table.
“Want something to drink? I’ve got iced tea. Or I have some crackers and chee—”
“Sit down, Conny.”
