Brian studied the painting, now, and nodded before picking up his palette and brushes to set to work on finishing it. He had spent all his spare time in the previous two weeks on it. An effort, he knew, to keep his mind off Conley and whether he would return as he’d promised. First, Brian concentrated on getting every flower and tree in the background perfect. From there, he set to work painting Alistair in the foreground, comparing his mental and emotional vision if his grandfather with the photos pinned to the sides of the easel.
It worked, he decided much later, stepping back to survey the final result. In the painting, Alistair looked both distinguished, as Mr. Johnson had said, and at the same time compassionate. Brian had painted him holding a single red and yellow dahlia while gazing up at the azure blue sky visible above the trees to his left.
“Beautiful,” Conley said from the doorway. “You captured him perfectly.”