Author's Note: For those who are reading Critical Path then you know in the last chapter Luka was painting Abby's toenails for her. I just thought I'd share with you that as much as I loved the image and can see Luka doing that, he wouldn't say it. I mean it, once I was "in character" Luka would not use the words painting and toenails in the same sentence. But then again, maybe it isn't the kind of thing Luka would do and tell. However, there is another kind of painting that Luka would in fact talk about - so here you go. Hope you enjoy. I'd love to hear in reviews what you all think of this idea, and what it might look like.
Lost and Found
She's taking her bath. Every night now she goes up to soak. It helps with the swelling, and the sciatica, and she sleeps a little better. It gives me time to work on her surprise, her Christmas present. I'm painting Abby's portrait. It will be a surprise in more than one way. She doesn't know I paint. Hell, I didn't know that I could still do it. Haven't done it since the war. My father taught me when I was young. I'm not as good as he is, but I'm not bad. My style is different from his, sort of impressionist. I try to capture the soul, the essence rather than every detail. My mother wanted me to go to art school. Tata said no, I needed a way to actually make money. I'm glad, I don't have enough talent or drive. But I didn't realize just how much I missed it till now.
I always loved painting people, my father, mother, and my brother at first. I painted my father with his head thrown back laughing emphasizing his mouth, and the laugh lines around his eyes. I painted my mother playing piano, her face and the piano fuzzy, her hands in great detail. I painted Damir face front, serious, the crease of his forehead, the muscles of his folded forearms prominent. Later I painted Dani tenderly outlining her mouth, the curve of her lips. I gave it to her for her wedding gift. She cried when she saw it. She said it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. I told her she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Corny huh? We were like that, young, in love. I painted her pregnant, did a nude, it was beautiful, too bad she kept it in the closet said it made her feel "funny" to look a it. Too sensual I think. The babies, the children, I painted them too, all gone, destroyed in the war. But that's what kept them clear in my head for so long because I studied them for my paintings.
I keep our wedding picture in front of me while I work. Jing Mei took it in front of the restaurant. Abby's looking up at me her face slightly tilted away from the camera. She has a huge smile on her face, but it's her eyes I'm trying to capture. They have that glint they sometimes gets when she looks at me like I'm the best thing in the world. She's in love with me. I can see it. That's what I'm trying to capture. That's the hard part. . . Abby's eyes.
When I finish working I hide everything on the top shelf of the hall closet. It's safe, she can't reach it, and she wouldn't climb on a chair now. Height has its advantages. Besides after her bath, she never makes it downstairs anymore, too much work. So I paint for about half and hour and then I go up and help her out of the tub and into bed. I bring her tea, and I lie with her, sing them to sleep. When she falls asleep which doesn't usually take too long, I come back down and work some more.
I never thought I'd paint a portrait of another woman as long as I lived. Then again, I never thought I'd love another woman. Dani, she was my first love. But, Abby she's my last love. I know that. Even if the unthinkable happened and I lost her or lost us, I'd never muster the courage again. I'd become some watered down version of my father. Loving with my body, but not my heart or my soul. This is it, my last chance, my best chance, this woman, this love, this baby, this life. I've never wanted anything more. Is that a weird thing to say? You know I was so young last time, it never occurred to me to really think about what I was doing, I just did it. It felt right, I never questioned it beyond one long afternoon spent with a horse. Don't ask. I questioned this for years. I don't question it anymore because I answered all my questions not because I never bothered to ask. That has to be better.
I'm even getting good at asking her questions. Tonight before she fell asleep, I asked her if she would have chosen Carter to be her labor support if I couldn't do it. Never would have done that before. Would have not said a thing, let it eat at me wondering, worrying what it might mean if she had. So I just asked.
"You wouldn't have asked Carter, would you?"
"For back-up? No way." Her voice is sure. No bull shitting.
"I knew that. " I think about it before I say it so I know it's true which makes me smile. No bull shitting.
Abby's smile looks back at me from under my brush. As I paint, I realize I've found the last bit of myself that I lost, and I'm giving it to Abby . . . .for Christmas.