Page 63 of Resilience on Canvas

Henry pulled out the little eight-by-eight-inch canvas and handed it to his father.

He fought a wince the moment the canvas left his hand, and his eyes fell to the pavement.

They found a crack in the brick walkway, and Henry tried to keep them there so he wouldn’t have to watch his father’s reaction to the painting of Robert’s farm—barren except for the little sapling sprouting from the powdery topsoil.

Henry had improved on the painting he’d started weeks back, texturizing the ground some more and including Robert’s farmhouse in the background.

“Henry Sherwood.” Henry’s stomach clenched from the sound of his father’s voice. “Did you really paint this?”

Keeping his head low, Henry tilted his chin up, barely meeting his father’s eyes.

“Yes?” Are you asking him? Or telling him? “Sorry, yes. Yes, I painted it. It took me... a whole twenty hours maybe. Not, uhm, not all at once, of course. Just, you know, a few days?”

His father whistled.

“Robert wasn’t kidding. It’s better than half the paintings I’ve seen in the city so far. Definitely better than what we have hanging in the bank. Hell, I swear it’s even better than some of the paintings they have in that museum on the fourth floor of the Veterans Building. ”

Henry balked. “Oh, that’s... that’s nice of you to say, Pop, but it ain’t that good.

” Chewing on his lip, Henry came over to his father’s side and pointed to one of the leaves of the sapling.

“I mean, see how I ruined this part here? It’s my brushwork.

I’m still learnin’. I had only ever tried to paint a couple of times back when we were still in Oklahoma City, but then I never managed to find the right paints when we were in Guymon.

I managed to misplace my old brushes, too, in the move. So, I’m still... sloppy sometimes.”

“Jesus Christ, son,” his father said with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Henry’s cheeks burned. How could he not be? It was the only thing he knew.

Or, well, it had been. Until he’d met Robert.

Immediately, Robert’s many compliments started replaying in Henry’s head at once, round and round like a carousel, and Henry’s first instinct was to try to force them away.

But when he then caught sight of the majestic-looking City Hall building—only feet from where they were—he remembered that he needed to be more confident in himself, especially now.

Because, holy heck, him and Robert’s whole future hinged on him being confident enough to convince the people running the special federal program that he ought to be considered for it.

And so, Henry let Robert’s compliments keep playing, the lovely words ringing in his head like the chime of a bell.

Finally, they were starting to ring true.

Straightening his posture, Henry took the canvas back from his old man and studied it for a moment.

“Yeah, maybe it is kind of a nice painting.” He let his eyes linger on the scene—the browns and greens and golds—and found himself smiling the tiniest bit.

It wasn’t a bad painting. Not at all. He shuffled closer to his father and traced the sapling with his index finger.

“Do you see the little plant here? It’s supposed to be, uhm, symbolic, you know?

Of our future here. Or, of me and Robert’s future, I mean.

It’s the hope we both have to build somethin’ special together. ”

Henry’s father’s brow creased, his eyes narrowing as he continued to stare at the picture. Henry wondered if he’d still like the painting now that he knew what it represented to his son.

“You really are in love with Robert,” his father said. “Aren’t you?”

Henry’s stomach fluttered. Did his father actually want to know the truth? Because this... this was not something Henry could lie about.

Gathering his courage with his next breath, he said, “Yeah, I am, Pop. I love him so much. So, so much. I love him so much that... that I think of him as my husband, in a way. I know that’s not what you want for me, but... but it’s what I want for me.”

Henry watched his father’s lips purse as he thought on Henry’s words. All the while, Henry’s stomach continued to churn as his heart beat faster and faster, his blood pulsing in his ears.

Henry’s father wet his lips and said, “I’m sorry I’ve had such a hard time letting myself believe it.

I’ve always known that you weren’t...

the same as the other boys. But still, I had convinced myself that maybe you were just shy or.

..” He trailed off for a moment. “So, when Robert came to us saying that Clara wanted to marry you, and you said you’d be open to it. ..”

“I shouldn’t have said yes,” Henry said. “I know that now. But I wanted you to be proud of me, Pop. I feel like you’ve never been proud of me. Not once in my whole life.”

Henry’s father closed his eyes. He sucked in a trembling breath, and each reverberation sent little ripples of fear and worry rolling through Henry’s body.

He hadn’t never admitted none of this before.

Not to either of his folks. And while he wanted his father to know the truth, to know that continuously being made to feel like he was falling short of his father’s expectations had given him the impression that maybe he wasn’t loved, he really hoped his father wouldn’t hate him for being honest.

“Well, I’m sorry for that, too, son,” his father said, his voice cracking as tears sprang to his eyes.

“I’m proud of you. Of course I’m proud of you.

” Henry’s lip started to tremble, his own eyes filling with tears too.

“But maybe I’ve been trying too hard to make you follow a certain path. One that wasn’t yours to follow.”

Henry tried to swallow past the lump in his throat.

“Do you ever wish you had someone else for a son, though? Someone... better?”

His father’s eyes went wide. “Lord, no, Henry. Is that really what you think? Do you really think I’ve been wishing for a... a different son?”

Henry lowered his head. One tear fell from his eyes.

“Sometimes.”

“Never.”

“Even now? Even though I’m tryin’ to work for this Federal Art Project? Even though, if they hire me, I won’t still be tryin’ to find some other kind of work instead?” Henry paused. “Andeven though I’m... with Robert?”

“Even though,” Henry’s father replied without even the slightest bit of hesitation.

Just like that, more tears started to fall from Henry’s eyes.

It was exactly the thing he needed—confirmation of his father’s love—and it slammed into him like a battering ram, stealing the wind from his lungs.

For the next chunk of forever, Henry stood there on the brick walkway in front of the most beautiful City Hall in the whole stinking country, crying while struggling to take a proper breath .

His father pulled him in for a hug. “I’m proud of you, son,” he said. “And I want you to know that whether or not these Works Progress Administration folks hire you, I’ll still be proud of you.”

“Really?” Henry said through a sniffle.

“Really. And if they hire you only for the funding to run out in a couple months, you can come to me for help if you need it. Hell, you can even move back home.” He huffed a soft laugh.

“Well, as long as me and your mother still have money left, that is. Christ, if we have even one more wave of bank closures in this country, I swear I might lose my mind.”

Henry chuckled, though it came out a little like a choked sob. He took a few breaths to try to compose himself so that people nearby wouldn’t think he was sobbing.

“Yeah, I hope not,” Henry finally said once he felt like he had successfully reined in his emotion. Slowly, he backed out of his father’s embrace. “Do you really mean that, though? Can me and Robert really move back home if we needed to?”

“I mean it.”

“We could stay in the same room?”

Henry’s father teasingly rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

They smiled at each other. His father’s eyes were still shimmering with emotion, though he hadn’t let his tears fall like Henry had. Still, those unshed tears were proof enough of his father’s sincerity.

“Thank you,” Henry said.

“You’re welcome.” His father nodded toward the building. “Well, you better head in. Impress them federal employees with that painting of yours.”

“I brought my sketchbook, too.”

“All the better.”

Henry’s smile broadened, his father’s love settling in his heart and warming his chest. He knelt to return his canvas to his backpack and then tried to soak up the last of his lingering tears with the right cuff of his shirt. When he stood, his father clapped him hard on the shoulder.

“Go get ’em, Henry Sherwood.”

Henry’s muscles tensed. Oh, how he wanted to continue this streak of honesty.

“Uhm...” He closed his eyes to force the words to come. “It’s Henry Davis now. Or, not officially . I might never be able to change it for real. But that’s how I think of myself now.”

“Really?” his father said, surprisingly sounding more amused than upset. Henry managed a nod in response. “Alright, then, Henry Davis it is.” He shook Henry’s shoulder a bit. “Go on in there and impress them, Mr. Henry Davis.”

Henry pursed his lips to try to contain his burgeoning smile. “I will.”

He turned on his heel and began walking toward City Hall, the pulsating fear he had been feeling earlier—the one that had been roaring in his ears—now tempered to a soft murmur.

Henry held his head high as he headed inside what had to be one of the most magnificent buildings in the entire country, and even as he found himself taken aback by the lustrous lobby with its intricate moldings and beautifully carved ceiling, his confidence stayed strong within him.

When Henry spotted the sign for the office he needed, he took a pause, bracing himself for the inevitable earthquake of worry to shatter his self-worth, but instead, he felt a sort of certainty in himself that he hadn’t never felt before in his whole life.

Only moments before, he had stood tall in front of the man whose love and respect had, for so many years, seemed just beyond his reach, and he had found the strength within himself to be honest—honest about who he was and what he wanted and whom he loved.

Even though the possibility of rejection or reprehension had terrified him, Henry had still mustered the courage to say his truth.

Finally, Henry felt like he had truly earned his nickname.

Little wolf.