A look of uncertain mischief lightens Peony’s expression as she takesin the room from her new vantage point. A room that wasn’t designed with young kids in mind. And I’m sure if given a chance, Peony could get into all kinds of curiosity-motivated trouble. Especially if she’s anything like I was as a kid.
“Do you like to draw?” I remove several sheets of blank paper and a container of crayons from the side cabinet and put them on the coffee table. I grab a page and a green crayon and kneel on the floor, close enough to Peony so she can see what I’m doing, but far enough away so as not to scare her.
I start drawing a friendly dragon. Or a winged horse that looks slightly ill.
Peony studies the crayons for a beat and selects a red one.
Athena points at it. “What color is that?”
Peony lifts the crayon, showing it to her. “Red!”
“Very good. Should I draw something too?”
Peony hands Athena a blue crayon, and Athena begins drawing, the tip of the crayon effortlessly gliding across the page.
Peony scribbles on the paper in front of her.
“What are you drawing?” I ask her.
She doesn’t reply or acknowledge me. She just keeps making patterns and squiggles.
The door opens, and Zara enters carrying a tray filled with our food.
She peers down at my paper. “That looks great, Garrett. Um, what’s it supposed to be?” She tilts her head to the side as if that will help her figure it out.
“A dragon. A friendly one.” I grab a red crayon and draw flames shooting from its mouth.
Zara chuckles, the rich, throaty sound pouring over me like sweet molasses, soothing my dented self-esteem at my sad artistic abilities. “Yes, the flames make it look very friendly.”
I grin at her. “Right?”
She puts the tray on the other side of the coffee table, avoiding Peony’s picture. “That’s pretty, Peony. And wow, that’s amazing, Athena.”
The image of a young girl’s face stares at me from Athena’s paper. It’sonly partially finished, but what she has done is impressive. The fact she drew it with a crayon makes it more so.
“You’re an artist?” I’m unable to tear my gaze from the two soulful eyes. The soulful eyes and side-swept bangs and the bridge of the girl’s nose are the only things Athena has drawn, but they’re mesmerizing. Deep-to-your-soul mesmerizing.
Athena shrugs, her expression neutral, if not a little sad—much like the girl on the paper.
I expect Athena to keep working on the picture, to bring the girl’s face fully into view, but she returns the crayon to the container and pushes the page aside. “Where did you learn to draw like that?” I ask.
Another shrug. “Here and there.”
“I would love to be able to draw like that,” Zara tells her.
“You draw?” In all the years I’ve known Zara, I don’t remember seeing anything she’s drawn, other than when we were in elementary school.
She snicker-snorts. “I haven’t drawn since Mrs. Dixon’s sixth-grade art class. Her reaction whenever she saw my projects was enough to tell me I should find something else to focus my energy on. Anyway, I’ll be right back with the drinks.”
She leaves, and the awkwardness I feel around Peony and Athena presses down on me again. Usually I don’t have trouble talking to women. Usually I don’t find myself in this situation. “So, you were living in North Carolina?”
Athena isn’t paying attention to me. She’s drawing something new. “That’s right. Where mermaids like to gather and lure sailors to their demise.” She says it so casually, like it’s an everyday fact.
Or at least I assume she doesn’t actually believe mermaids exist. “Did you grow up there?”
“Sure.” Her answer is half-hearted at best. A non-real answer. She removes three crayons from the container and holds them out to Peony. “Which color should I use next?”
Message received. The topic isn’t up for discussion.
