The boy finally sees me as he turns to face the building, looking startled.
“
Livvy, your dad
’
s here.
”
She stands quickly, brushing grass and dirt from her jeans and t-shirt. Jon picks a few leaves from her hair.
“
What are you two doing out here?
”
I ask them both, trying not to sound as alarmed as I feel. Livvy
’
s tanned face shows no signs embarrassment, but Jon
’
s skin is splotchy, and his fidgeting makes him look guilty even though it doesn
’
t appear that they were doing anything wrong.
She
’
s ten. What could they be doing wrong?
I realize my reaction is foolish.
“
I was trying to teach her about perspective, sir.
”
I put my hands in my pockets and walk toward them, looking up into the tree.
“
That
’
s why her drawings look weird.
”
“
My daughter
’
s artwork isn
’
t weird,
”
I defend her, although she doesn
’
t seem to be offended at all.
“
That was her word. I just thought she was trying to be abstract, but she asked why her drawing of her arm looked weird and mine didn
’
t,
”
he explains.
“
I thought you liked doing abstract, Contessa,
”
I state curiously.
“
Not all the time,
”
she tells me.
“
Sometimes I want things to look real, and they don
’
t. And he was just trying to show me why.
”
“
You know what
’
s a good example of that?
”
I ask them both.
“
Aside from the Flatiron.
”
“
I wasn
’
t really going to take her there.
”
“
Of course you weren
’
t, son,
”
I tell him with certainty.
“
The hardwood floors in the gallery.
”
Livvy looks at Jon to see if he approves.
“
I
’
ll show you.
”
“
That would probably show you,
”
he assures her.
“
Just get down on the floor and look at it at eye level. That will provide the most dramatic effect of linear perspective. Once you understand that, I can show you some shading techniques for aerial perspective. With your visual adroitness, you
’
ll master this in no time.
”
Adroitness?
“
How old are you, son?
”
The question doesn
’
t even have time to formulate in my head before coming out of my mouth.
“
Twelve,
”
he says.
“
Okay, Jon, is it?
”
I check my watch to hide my bewilderment. I don
’
t think I
’
ve ever used that word in my entire life.
“
Yes, sir.
”
“
It looks like class ended about five minutes ago. Is your mother picking you up?
”
“
No, sir, I take the bus.
”
“
Well, she
’
s probably expecting you soon.
”
“
I doubt it,
”
he says with a shrug,
“
but my brother is.
”
I nod at him, dismissing him from the conversation.
“
Bye, Livvy.
”
“
Bye,
”
she says, clearly sulking.
“
Can I show you the floor in the gallery?
”
I ask my daughter.
“
I have to go up there anyway and put Mom
’
s pencils back.
”
I pick up her backpack off the ground and sling it over my shoulder, following her into the building. There are still pieces of leaves in her thick, dark hair, but she shrugs away from me when I try to pull them out.
“
I need to get my brushes.
”
As she goes into the small alcove with the sink where she rinses her supplies, I find Donna in her office. I knock lightly to get her attention.
“
Can I ask a favor of you?
”
“
Of course, Jackson.
”
“
Can you make sure those two have some supervision at all times?
”
She squints at me as if I
’
m crazy.
“
They seem to have some sort of connection, I don
’
t know.
”
She laughs a little.
“
He
’
s a good kid. Brilliant mind. But, of course. I
’
ve never seen them as anything but good work-partners, but I guess Jon
’
s getting to be a certain age.
”
“
He says he
’
s twelve?
”
“
I believe that
’
s right.
”
“
He seems much older than twelve, the way he talks.
”
“
Well, he
’
s the man of the household. His parents divorced a long time ago and he lives with his mother. He has a little brother–no, two. His mom just had another baby.
”
“
He has no step-father?
”
“
No,
”
Donna says,
“
although he sees his father. He just doesn
’
t live with him. But from what I know of his dad, he
’
s extremely intelligent and incredibly introverted. He doesn
’
t speak much, and when he does, I have a hard time keeping up.
”
“
I
’
m ready, Dad,
”
Livvy says impatiently.
“
We
’
re going to the gallery for a minute. We
’
ll lock the upstairs on our way out.
”
“
I
’
m about to go see Jackson and Emi,
”
Donna says.
“
Maybe I
’
ll see you two at your home?
”
“
Maybe in a bit,
”
I answer her, watching as Livvy walks outside without waiting for me.
“
Thanks, Donna.
”
I follow her quickly out the main entrance.
“
Contessa?
”
I call to her from the bottom of the staircase she
’
s already ascended.
“
Please don
’
t walk outside without an adult with you.
”
“
Dad, come on! I
’
m old enough to walk down the street by myself. It
’
s stupid that you drive two blocks to pick me up and drop me off.
”
“
Livvy, it
’
s not
stupid
, and I would prefer you not use that word.
”
“
You just did,
”
she sasses as I walk up the steps to unlock the gallery door. I choose not to argue, wanting to have a good afternoon with her. It
’
s certainly not starting out like I
’
d hoped. She walks quickly across the hardwood floor to Emi
’
s office. I toss the keys to her as she waits by the door.
The new mural commands my attention. It is so large and striking that I have to look, even though I
’
d spent a good hour studying it the day it was delivered last month. I had to inspect it for damage, but having only seen it briefly when it was here on loan for our wedding, I wasn
’
t exactly sure what to look for.
“
Does Mom know about it yet?
”
Livvy asks, joining me in front of the painting.
“
No,
”
I answer.
“
I
’
ll tell her soon.
”
The restaurant owner had shut down the club, and felt the artwork should be returned to Nate
’
s gallery. Even though Nate had been paid a lot of money to create the piece, the owner donated it back to us. It was Nate
’
s most well-known piece, but it was also the painting that held the most painful memories for Emi. The gallery was its rightful home, but I wasn
’
t sure my wife would want to face it every day. I
’
d already started scouting other locations to move her office, just in case.
“
It
’
s the most beautiful thing I
’
ve ever seen,
”
my daughter says.
“
It feels like Mom, doesn
’
t it?
”
I study the piece critically, not quite understanding what Livvy means.
“
It is stunning,
”
I admit, at least recognizing its beauty.
“
And so is your mother.
”
I smile, thinking that I
’
ve answered her question appropriately.
“
It
’
s not about what you see, Daddy,
”
she corrects me.
“
It
’
s what it makes you feel. I didn
’
t ask if it
looks
like her. I asked if it
feels
like her.
”
Feeling inadequate, I confess my confusion. The painting is pretty, but it
’
s composed of abstract shapes and lines that carry no special significance to me.
“
Honey, I don
’
t understand what you mean exactly.
”
“
Of course you don
’
t,
”
she murmurs.
“
Can you explain it to me?
”
“
You don
’
t get it if I have to explain it.
”
“
You can
’
t try?
”
She shakes her head.
“
He might have been the best artist in the world,
”
she says contemplatively as she stares at Nate
’
s artwork,
“
if he hadn
’
t been killed so young.
”
“
Maybe he would have,
”
I agree.
“
He
’
s my favorite.
”
She lingers at the painting, dragging her fingers along the edge of the canvas.
“
He
’
s the best in my world.
”
“
You
’
re pretty good yourself, you know?
”
“
I want to be like him.
”
“
So perspective,
”
I say, switching gears and remembering why we came up here in the first place. I kneel down on the floor, encouraging her to do the same.
“
Careful, Dad, don
’
t get your suit dirty.
”