I just want to shower off all this muck. We’ll talk about donating the books later.
If I never have to smell musty pages again for the next decade, I’m cool.
Over in the corner, behind the boxes, there’s a painting propped against the wall. I’ve noticed it a few times, but I doubt that’s the awesome secret.
I shuffle over and shake away the worst of the dust before I remove the grey tarp and gently turn it over.
I’m confronted with a picture so pretty I gasp.
It’s a striking scene: brilliant blue sky, lively yellow flowers, and lavender rioting across green grass.
In the center, next to the flowers, there’s a pair of little white shoes. They could be kids’ shoes, judging by the small size.
The big grey tabby cat sprawled out next to them adds to the sense of size, sleeping in the shade of a tree at the edge of the flowery field.
The Maine countryside.
Possibly a familiar place, if that’s the same lake I think it is in the distance.
It must be this house, a long time ago, back when it was full of love and life with perfectly maintained gardens that stretched down to the water.
“What did you find?” Kane joins me.
“Just an old painting.”
“That’s a stunner. Damn, those colors—looks like it was just finished yesterday. What’s up with the shoes? Sophie had a pair almost like that when she was a baby.”
“No idea. It’s a little odd.”
I tilt my head, studying the scene.
There’s something familiar about the style, too, though I can’t pin it down.
Did they hire someone to paint the backyard?
I gently wipe more dust off the glass frame, revealing the signature, and frown.
Where have I seen this before?
Another painting at Mom’s house comes to mind. But this one was a close-up of vibrant red flowers in a tall white urn with wavy blue stripes.
It might’ve had the same signature.
No, I’m sure it did. Just like this one, it’s gold, and I’ve seen that art a thousand times.
“Huh,” I mutter, sinking down on my knees.
“You think this is it? Your holy relic?” Kane’s gaze sharpens.
“No, but… I think my grandma might’ve painted this. I never knew her. She died a long time ago.”
I look closer at the corner and wipe more stray dust until a gold signature pops out.
May Blackthorn.
My heart skips.
Gramps called me May until his dying day. Because I reminded him of my late grams in spirit, he told me.
