Page 56 of The Kiss Keeper
“Dear, where would you like us to go?”
They turned, and he nearly fell off the bench.
“Holy—” he began when Natalie clamped her hand over her mouth and pasted on a smile.
How the heck did they miss a cadre of nuns?
Dressed in habits and veils with their hands clasped in front of them, a half dozen ancient brides of Christ smiled up at them.
“Oh, Sisters, I’m sorry. You’re all here for an art class, correct?” Natalie asked as he helped her down from the bench.
“Yes, Beverly usually teaches it. I believe she’s your grandmother,” the woman replied, then shook Natalie’s hand. “I’m Sister Anne, and these are the esteemed retired nuns who reside at the convent in town.”
“I’m Natalie, and this is Jake. My grandmother’s not here, but I’m an art teacher, and it would be an honor if I could work with you today.”
“And him, too,” said a pint-sized, wrinkly nun, elbowing her way to the front of the group.
“Behave, Sister Evangeline,” Sister Anne warned.
“You want me?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, you!” the nun answered, looking him up and down like a piece of meat.
Natalie threaded her arm with his. “I’m sure Jake would be happy to assist.”
He cocked his head to the side. “I would?”
“You would,” she answered.
“I don’t know anything about art,” he said under his breath.
“You can assist me,” she said through a pasted-on grin.
“Um, okay,” he answered, throwing a glance at the little nun, still eyeing him like a turkey on Thanksgiving.
Natalie gestured to the lodge, and the group headed toward the old building. They entered through a squeaky screen door and were met with the familiar scent of paint and soda pop that permeated the building. The ground floor was essentially a multi-purpose space that served as a place for kids to hang out with ping-pong tables and beanbag chairs scattered around and what looked like the same old Coke vending machine humming along in the corner. He followed the women up the stairs to the second floor that had barely changed in fifteen years. Sunlight streamed in and illuminated stacks of construction paper and rusty coffee cans that housed markers, colored pencils, and an array of rainbow flecked paintbrushes.
He picked up a small sign. “Mistakes and imperfections are part of the process,” he said, reading the faded words.
Natalie touched the corner. “It’s my grandmother’s motto.”
“We’re all a work in progress,” he said, veering from his usual cocksure persona—the facade that hid the boy within.
“We are,” she answered, gently, her soothing voice washing over him.
The nuns sat down, and one of the sisters removed a stack of sketch pads from a large tote.
“What were you drawing last time?” Natalie asked, settling herself on a stool at the front of the room.
Sister Anne folded her hands on the table. “The theme has been Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. We’ve been drawing still life, and today—”
“We draw him,” the tiny nun, Sister Evangeline, said with her bony finger, pointing his way.
“Me?” he said, then gulped.
Holy Mary! This ninety-year-old sure had plenty of get-up-and-go.
Now it was Natalie’s turn to eye him. “You are the only man here, Jake, and if the theme is Adam and Eve, and they came expecting to draw Adam…” she trailed off.
