8. Cam #2
Not just on the patio, but sitting next to my grandfather’s electric wheelchair, holding a palette of paint. He inclined his head as my grandfather said something, listening closely, then nodded and gestured to the easel in front of them.
Jordan was the artist Nana had hired.
I watched, first in shock, then in fascination, as he rotated the palette so my grandfather could reach a glob of purple pigment. He leaned in, listening as Grandpa spoke again. They were too far away to hear, but his face was gentle and attentive.
My grandfather’s hand was shaky as he brought it to the paper.
His strokes were both tentative and wild.
The doctors kept saying his motor skills would come back, but I knew he was frustrated.
Every time he picked up a fork, or a pen, or a brush, he worried he’d drop it.
And even if he didn’t, he couldn’t always get it to go where he wanted.
Grandpa had been quicker to anger since the stroke too.
I could see the determined set to his chin, the temper building behind his eyes.
His brush slashed across the paper, his hand jerking like it was on marionette strings.
After a second attempt, he grunted wordlessly and threw it away from him.
The brush clattered against the sparkling white patio, spraying purple droplets everywhere.
I pushed the screen door open, ready to rush out and apologize, but Jordan didn’t seem fazed. He just bent down to pick up the brush, turned, and asked my grandfather a quiet question. Grandpa snapped something in response, but Jordan just nodded and pointed to the paper again.
His hand made sweeping motions, like he was painting a scene with his fingertips, and when my grandfather spoke again, his response was a little more measured.
After a moment, his eyes crinkled in the corners, the hint of a smile ghosting across his face.
Jordan said something else, and suddenly, my grandfather laughed.
It was scratchy and rough, like hinges on a long-forgotten door, but it was a laugh. Something inside me melted. I hadn’t heard Grandpa laugh like that since he’d come back from the hospital.
Jordan handed the brush back to him. When Grandpa brought the tip back to the paper, his movements were just as wild, but this time, he was grinning.
I couldn’t tell what he was painting. It might have been a setting sun behind two hills, with a little pond in the foreground—if ponds could be purple, hills red, and suns blue. Jordan spoke again, the corners of his lips quirking up in a smile, and my grandfather cackled.
“What on earth are you two ruffians laughing about out here?”
I jumped at the sound of Nana’s voice. I hadn’t heard her come back into the kitchen. Before I could say anything, she was pushing past me out onto the patio. Grandpa and Jordan turned around to look at her, and Jordan’s eyes went wide.
“Cam!” He jumped out of his seat. “What are you doing here?”
He looked me up and down as he walked over, and I flushed. Why had Nana insisted on taking my shirt? I wanted to cover myself again, especially when I noticed his gaze linger on my chest. I looked like an ogre.
“My fault!” my grandmother trilled. “I forgot to cancel our lunch. But it’s lovely that you two know each other. Why don’t you catch up while Arthur and I chat for a moment.”
She walked past a second easel covered in gaudy, asymmetrical flowers and sat down in the chair Jordan had just vacated. He looked at me in confusion.
“Lunch?”
“We do it weekly,” I said. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was the one intruding, even though Jordan was the non-family member here. “They’re my grandparents.”
“Oh!” His eyes widened again. Then he grinned. “So you’re the grandson Doris has been talking about all morning, who’s so handsome, and talented, and brilliant, and capable, and quiet, and strong, and—”
“Oh God.” I ran a hand through my hair. “You can’t listen to anything she says. She’s not a reliable source. She loves me too much.”
“I think grandparents are supposed to love you too much.”
“Yeah, but she loves everyone, so she’s even less reliable.”
Jordan snickered. “Are you saying I shouldn’t believe all the compliments she gave me, then? That I don’t deserve a MoMA retrospective at age twenty-four?”
“No, no,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. You really are talented. But I’m just…me.”
He cocked his head to the side, but didn’t say anything. Behind him, Nana was rubbing Grandpa’s shoulder and laughing quietly at something he’d said. A bird chirped from the branches of the live oak on the far side of the patio, and despite the heat of the afternoon, a shiver passed over me.
Silence stretched out between us. I wanted to crawl out of my skin, and not just because Jordan’s gaze kept sweeping my body. I’d decided I wouldn’t say anything, but now that he was right here in front of me, it felt more awkward to ignore it all.
“Listen, about last night—” I began.
“I’m sorry,” Jordan interrupted. “I really shouldn’t have kissed you.
You seemed so nervous about that girl you liked, and I was just trying to make you laugh.
Lighten you up a little. But obviously that was dumb, and I only made you more uncomfortable, and I just want you to know I absolutely didn’t mean anything by it, and I won’t do it again.
I mean, obviously. That probably goes without saying, but just in case, I didn’t want you walking around wondering if I was going to randomly accost you a second time. ”
I felt like I’d been kicked in the chest.
“Yeah,” I said faintly. “Yeah, that’s—I figured.”
“So we’re cool?”
“Totally.” I smiled. “All cool.”