Page 27 of Straight To the Heart

“Right, right.” He got out of bed on the opposite side from the one Simon sat on, walked out the door, took everything he was supposed to, then raced back to the bedroom, arriving somewhat out of breath even after such a small amount of exertion. Simon hadn’t moved so Ben stood there, feeling a little awkward. “Okay, all done, sir.”

Simon reacted slightly then stiffened. “Please. Call me Simon.”

“Yes, Simon.” Ben felt a glow of pleasure when Simon smiled back at him.

“How do you feel?”

Ben sat in one of the plush chairs. “Tired. Sick. But a little better than yesterday.”

“That’s good. Although I’d think feeling better than you did yesterday wouldn’t be that hard. It was not a good day for you.”

Ben rubbed his sweaty palms on his knees. “No, not really.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Not really. I ate that granola bar, remember?”

“I don’t think a granola bar constitutes a complete breakfast, but if you’re not hungry, that can wait. What would you like to do?”

Ben shrugged. Free time was a luxury he didn’t contemplate often. Merely resting with no looming commitments was enough for him. Having nothing at all to do was a novelty and Ben didn’t think he’d ever grow tired of it.

Simon, on the other hand, seemed a little nervous, or perhaps anxious, although Ben had no idea why. He walked around the room looking at Ben’s things, stopping in front of Ben’s sketchbook. “I see you’re an artist. May I look at your drawings?”

Ben could feel the heat of his blush on his face. “No.” At Simon’s look of disappointment he added, “There are things in there that are for me and nobody else.”

Simon nodded at that. “I’m afraid Hudson saw some of the drawings last night when he was putting your things away. He said I should ask you about them. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t.”

Ben was torn between not wanting to show his work yet having it critiqued and the strange compulsion he had to do whatever Simon wanted him to do. He thought back to the sketchbook and no, there was no way he’d just hand it over to Simon. It was far too embarrassing. But there was a middle road. “I can show you a few of my drawings, if you like. They aren’t as good as they could be, but maybe one day…” he trailed off. “Anyway, be kind, okay?”

“I can’t imagine being unkind to you. And I can’t imagine not appreciating your art.”

“Yeah,” Ben said. “You say that now…” He stood and got his sketchpad and flipped the pages until he found one of Auburn Ponytail. He turned the book around to show Simon. “See? It’s very rough.”

Simon’s eyes opened wide as he stared at the sketch. His hand reached up, as if to touch it, then fell back down by his side.

“Do you like it?” Ben asked, not able to help himself.

“I’m not sure I have the words,” Simon said. He looked shocked, but in a good way. Like he’d been braced to be polite and was not expecting anything better than mediocre competence. Ben knew he wasn’t as good as he could be, but he knew he had some talent and he felt a glow inside as Simon stared at the page. “It’s just pencil, but somehow, she looks alive. It’s remarkable, Ben. Can I see more?”

Nodding, Ben turned his sketchpad back and flipped the pages until he found his sketch of one of the lion statues in front of the Art Institute. It had been last Christmas and the lions had wreaths around their necks and were dusted with snow. “It’s fantastic, Ben.”

“I can show you a few more. If you like,” Ben said. He felt a lovely glowing bubble of both pride and happiness expanding inside him, making him bold.

“Please,” Simon said. “I’ll look at anything you show me.”

Ben sat next to Simon on the bed, rapidly flipping through pages to find sketches to show off to Simon, who was an enthusiastic and appreciative audience. He laughed when he saw Old Businessman, recognizing him immediately. Then Ben flipped the page without looking to see what was next. He tried to flip past the page but it was too late. In his enthusiasm, Ben had shown Simon something he hadn’t meant to.

“That’s…” Simon, it seemed was at a loss for words.

Ben tried to close the book and pull it away. “I’m sorry. So sorry. It was from before, and I had no right, but I never thought anyone would see, especially notyou.God, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Shh,” Simon told him. “Stop apologizing and give me a minute.”

“Okay.” Ben again tried to pull the book away.

“No, Benny. I meant a minute looking at it.”

Feeling both guilty and helpless, Ben surrendered the book. This was the worst of it, after all. There was nothing else even a tenth as shocking or private or utterly humiliating. He wanted to sink through the floor and utterly disappear.

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