Page 107 of The Lies I've Told
“He must be very proud of you.”
My hand froze briefly as I remembered the gruff, old man. “I wouldn’t know,” I replied. “He died shortly after I went off on my own.”
“Aiden.” The way she said my name, it held weight and compassion. Turning, she lifted her eyes toward mine. “I’m so sorry.”
“We weren’t that close, to be honest. He made it very clear from the beginning that I was his student and nothing more. I don’t think he was in the business of letting many people in, which was tragic, considering the number of hearts he touched with his artwork. It’s scattered all over the city. I’m sure even you would recognize some of it.”
“Really?”
I nodded.
“What about you? Is there anything in the city of yours that I could see?”
I pinned her between both hands, her back resting against the warm stone. “Not yet, but maybe someday.”
I could see my answer bothered her. The idea of someday.
We hadn’t spoken about it—whether I’d go back when I was done with this job. I wasn’t even certain if she was staying. But one thing that had changed was that we’d stopped talking about leaving, and we’d started just living in the now.
And that was all I wanted right now.
With a very limited time until James came down with whatever cockamamy scheme he’d come up with to help me battle or prolong the war that had begun inside me, thanks to a couple of really crappy inherited genes from my birth parents, I just wanted to freeze time.
To remember how beautiful Millie looked under the setting sun, leaning against the stone, with her golden hair framing her face as she gazed up at me with such love and trust.
“Come on,” I said, taking her hand.
“Where are we going? Are you taking me to the man cave?”
I laughed as we trotted toward the shed. “The man cave? Is that what you call it?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, you and my dad hang out in here. It’s pretty small and not very well lit, so it’s kind of the perfect name.”
I pulled her inside.
“Oh, wow, it’s really bight!”
I took a look around while she did the same. “I made a few modifications.”
Specifically the lighting.
“I guess,” she said. “It’s like being in direct contact with the sun. Why so many lights?”
I cleared my throat. “I just like to be able to see when I work.”
“I thought you worked outside,” she countered, taking a look around. Her hands touched everything. The chisels, every single hammer, even the larger chunks of granite I’d chipped away and stored in a pile.
“Not always,” I said. “Remember how I said I sometimes work with clay?”
“I do.” Her eyes immediate began to scan the shed. “Oh my gosh,” she exclaimed when she finally found what she was looking for. “It looks just like the original.”
“Well, not exactly like it,” I said, walking to the spot where she was standing. I smiled as she gazed at the small clay replica of the memorial I’d created for the town—the one that had been destroyed. “It’s quite a bit smaller.”
She gave me a sideways look, sticking out her tongue. “Funny.”
I allowed her time to examine it a while longer. She leaned forward, taking in all the details even though there was very little. The beauty of this memorial was its simplicity.
“Will you teach me?” she asked.
