Cabin Fever(61)

 

Jeremy ignores my attempt to pull his gaze away from the painting.

 

“That’s me,” he says, staring at his likeness.

 

I don’t respond. What am I going to say? That it’s not? Of course it is. I know I’m good enough to paint someone’s image with clarity. I’m just embarrassed that he caught me reading him, delving into his emotions. I couldn’t help it, though. That’s how I saw him when he first arrived here. Now I realize I see something, someone else when I look at him in this moment. Some of the darkness has lifted from around him. Some of the pain that was swallowing him up has left. Or at least I’d like to think it has.

 

“Do I really look that sad?” he asks, stepping closer to it.

 

“Maybe.” I’m embarrassed. More eloquent words escape me.

 

“I can see the words on the page.” He reaches out to touch the book in the painting, but I stop him.

 

I lower his hand down to his leg again. “It’s wet. Don’t touch it.”

 

He takes two of my fingers in his grasp and looks at me, finally tearing his eyes from the canvas. “Is it me? Is that really me?”

 

I shake my head. “No, Jeremy. It’s not you. It’s who you were, but it’s not who you are. Not now.” I yank on his hand to wake him out of that hypnotized place he looks like he’s fallen into. “It’s not you.”

 

His mouth moves up into a lopsided, sad smile. “That’s what Laura used to say.”

 

I frown, confused. “What?”

 

His thumb rubs the back of my hand and he looks at me. His expression is unreadable. “Whenever I’d act like a dick or out of character, she’s just look at me and say, ‘That’s not you, Jeremy. It’s not you.’”

 

I shrug, casting off the crazy feeling that I’m being watched by her ghost. “She sounds like a smart and patient girl.”

 

“She was. So are you.”

 

I pull my hand away. “I told you before not to compare me to her.”

 

“I’m not,” he rushes to say. “I promise. I was just noticing that quality in you, and I meant it as a compliment, not as a comparison.”

 

I raise the sheet up like I’m about to throw it over the canvas.

 

“Please don’t cover it up.”

 

I look at him. “Why?”

 

“Because. It’s a good reminder.”

 

“Of what?”

 

“Of me not being me. I need that. Laura always wanted me to be myself, and she was right about that. That’s who I need to be.”

 

I let the sheet fall to my side. “It’s just a painting.”

 

“Maybe to you. Not to me.” He looks over at it again and points to the dog. “I love that part. He looks like he’s trying to figure out which part of me he wants to bite first.”

 

I smile, a little embarrassed about what I’ve painted. It’s a new experience for me. Usually there’s no question about what I should paint or that it should exist. But this time it’s different; some of my own personal emotions are mixed up in that paint. I shouldn’t be surprised; that’s the way my work should be. It’s just that it’s been so long since that’s been the case.

 

“It was right after he bit you. I couldn’t resist.”

 

Jeremy shifts to the side a little, getting closer to the easel. “I like the mix of emotions. The darkness surrounding the guy. Me, sitting there sad. The dog with only one thing on his mind. The book and what I know it means to the man sitting there. It works.”

 

“Well, thank you,” I say, kind of laughing, feeling shy. I’m pleased he understands my take on his emotions, but still wish he hadn’t seen it. It reveals way too clearly how closely I’ve been watching him. Will he notice that part of it? What will he think?

 

“Maybe when you’re done, you’ll let me buy it from you.”

 

I shrug, moving back to the living room. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

 

“Here,” he says, going into the kitchen. He pulls a small, clear, glass cereal bowl out of a cabinet. “My secret.” He puts it down on the island.

 

I walk over and pick it up. “Your secret is a bowl.”

 

“Not just any bowl.” He takes it from me and mimes filling it with something. “See? Put the snow in, pack it down, flip it upside down. Perfect snow ball for syrup.”

 

“Ah-haaa, very sneaky.” I hand the bowl back to him. “I guess now all our secrets are out on the table.”