Page 151 of Something Like Winter

from when I was eight and is the first painting I ever did.”

Tim searched the crowd. If Ben was here, wouldn’t he be right up

front?

“I owe this art to a lot of people. The subjects in each piece, of

course. My dog Chinchilla, or Eric, who was a father, a hero, and much

more to me. Even strangers, like the old woman I saw lying in the grass

at the park, staring up at the clouds and giggling like a little girl at what

she saw there.”

Tim licked his lips, eyes sweeping the crowd once more. No Ben.

Well, if he was here, Tim could only hope he was listening. “So many people have inspired me, but only one gave me the

courage to show my paintings to other people. I hope he’s here

somewhere tonight, and as I finish this clumsy speech, I’d like you all to

clap for him, not for me. Thank you, most of all, to Benjamin Bentley.” The resulting applause was impressive. Tim turned off the amp and

gave an awkward little bow. The room began to clear, but some visitors

remained behind to speak with him, asking him about certain paintings or

even prices. The attention was wonderful. Why had he fought against

this for so long? But as good as it felt, Tim kept searching the room, kept

hoping. Then, in the center where a sculpture or some other work of art

should be, was the ultimate masterpiece.

Ben looked small and uncertain, but still very much himself. Tim ran to him and scooped him up in his arms, spinning him

around. “I’m so glad you’re here!” Tim set him down reluctantly. He

could have run off into the night with him. Soon enough… “And even

more glad that you’re late! I just gave the most embarrassing speech!” “I thought it was really good,” Ben said with a hint of mischief. Tim felt his face flush, but this was all positive. Ben wasn’t broken

or morose. A little more reserved, maybe, but still his Benjamin. And he

was here! “I thought for a second that Allison had changed her mind,”

Tim said.

Ben appeared puzzled. “Where is she, anyway?”

“Running an errand for me.” They eyed each other for a moment,

soaking up the details. “Hey, have you seen much of the paintings?” “A little,” Ben said, “but a tour from the artist himself would be very

informative.”