Elizabeth skipped outside in the breezy March weather. She was to meet her grandfather out in the park, he said he had something special for her. The sun was shining, or it appeared to be, where Patrick was sitting. She ran to him.
"Hi Grandpa!" Grandpa; it was so weird to call a man she had only known for four months "grandfather". It was always a term that one would associate with a relationship that began at birth and has a certain closeness to it. They may have not met at her birth, yet they had a strong bond that developed fast. It was stronger then the one Ben and her shared, although that one was pretty tight as well.
"How's my favorite burger flipper," Patrick asked as he rose to give the girl an embrace. Elizabeth groaned. Ever since she got her job at All American Burger, many fast food restaurant jokes were thrown her way. She always ended up laughing them off remembering that she wasn't the first Gates family member to work there. Ben worked there in the early eighties.
"So what's up Grandpa?"
"As you know I said that I had something important for you. I thought that you may like to have this. It belonged to your mother." Patrick pulled out a small red book that was about the size of a child's diary. He handed it to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth took the book and opened it. The first page had written, in a style reminiscent of the handwriting of the monks of the medieval period, Jane Mercy Gates. She flipped through the rest of the book, every page had a print of a painting on it. Most of the pieces were by Renoir, but there were a few pieces by other artists such as Cezanne, Boucher, Millet and Delacroix tucked away in the book as well. She could recognize every painting by name, tell the story behind it, and critique it.
"How old was my mother when she received this?"
"She was about fifteen. She always loved art, no matter what kind. It was evident when she was a little girl that she loved color, form, and shape. That child went through so many coloring books, trying to imitate the processes she saw in the paintings. I remember once, when Jane tried to color a picture of a duck using pointillism. She got so frustrated! Eventually, she finished the duck entirely in little dots."
"Mom passed her love of art on to me. In our living room we had a DaVinci print hanging next to a Picasso one. I never cared for those and spoke my mind freely about it too. As a favor she let me pick prints to put in my room and I chose Renoir, Botticelli, Vermeer and several pieces from the Rococo period."
Riley then pulled up to the curb where Patrick and Elizabeth were talking. Elizabeth thanked her grandfather, offered him a ride (which he declined), and wished him good-bye. She climbed into the orange van.
"Hi Riley! Thanks for picking me up."
"No problem. On my way here I picked you up an ice cold lemonade and a turkey sandwich with no mayo."
"You are so sweet! You spoil me rotten."
"I like to. What's that book you've got? Let me guess, How Not to Serve Fries Before Their Time." He saw her fingers trace the spine of the cover. How he wanted those fingers to travel through his hair!
"You are such a jackass, you know that? But you're my favorite jackass, so it works out. Anyway, it's not a burger guide. It's a book my mom had when she was fifteen and it's chocked full of art prints. I don't think you'd find it interesting. None of it is about computers."
Riley pulled into a parking lot. He turned to Elizabeth and grinned. His blue eyes softly gleamed at her.
"Try me," he stated. "Just show me your favorite one and tell me about it. Just please don't use anymore than two fifteen syllable words."
"Okay." She opened the book and flipped to Delacroix's "Les Natchez". There on the page were three Native Americans. The father was holding a small infant and the mother was slouched by a rock, which had indicated she had just given birth to the infant.
"No offense Lizzie, but that's kind of a boring picture. It's just a bunch of Indians and the girl's boobies are showing." He smiled with pride at his observation.
"Um, I guess you're correct in the composition department. Anyway there's a story behind this painting. This family moved far away from their village because the British were taking over their old village and not treating them nicely. So the husband and wife, they were very young, lived in the mountain. One day, the wife gave birth to their baby. Sadly, soon after, both the baby and the mother died because they go sick. Then the father committed suicide. Basically, that's the story in a nutshell."
Riley wasn't paying attention to Elizabeth, but he was listening to her. He loved the way she said her s's with a slight lisp. It added a babyish element to her voice. He wanted to make her his baby. He wanted to hold her in his arms, kiss her, speak softly to her, and protect her from everything bad. He had felt this way about her for the last two months. Whenever he was over she gave him more attention then anyone in the room. He was never good with women; he'd always sweat, blush and stumble around them. Yet, she made him feel comfortable and special. That's when he figured out that he truly loved her.
There were only a couple things keeping him from acting on his impulses. First, it was the age difference between them. Ten years may not be a big difference to a lot of people, but he understood that both of them were in completely different stages in their lives. Then again, he saw that Elizabeth was mature and could handle a relationship between them. Secondly, she didn't seem interested in him in the way he was in her. Yes, she spent time with him and gave him all the attention in the world but that's it. She wouldn't even hug him when he left or when she first saw him. The big problem blocking him from Elizabeth was Ben. Over the past three months Ben had grown quite protective of her, as if she were his own daughter. Although Ben and Riley were best friends, Ben wouldn't allow a relationship between the two to happen. Hell, he flipped out whenever Riley took her to a movie. (Which was about every week.)
"Riley! Are you listening to me?"
"Of course I am! That was a sad story about those Indians." He put the car back into drive and got on the road. "How come you know all these stories about art? Some people don't even learn about that stuff until they enter college. Well, so they say..."
"I thought you were going to sign up for classes online Riley. You have enough money and you're very smart. You can't get too far in life without a college education. Please do sign up, you'll be so happy that you did. I'm bugging the crap out of you to do this because I believe you can." They both were silent. Riley pulled into the drive way. Elizabeth unbuckled her seatbelt, grabbed her stuff and turned toward him.
"Please stay for dinner! I positive Abby and Ben won't mind. If I'm correct, which I most likely am, we're having your favorite: spaghetti and meatballs."
Riley perked up and agreed to stay. Getting out of the van, he called the teenage girl over.
"May I carry your things for you?"
"You certainly may," she replied while handing her things to him.
Author's note: I do not own ANY of the artisits or their paintings! I also don't own All American Burger. I just put that in b/c Nic Cage was in Fast Times at Ridgemont and he worked there in the movie. So it's a little joke. BTW: I don't like this chapter at all, so please be kind.
