She squirmed in her seat. “Confession. Those times you thought you saw me? You did. I was taking pictures of you so I could get the right angle in the drawing. Do you like it?”
“I’m…” Tom cleared his throat, staring at the portrait. “I’m touched, thrilled, speechless. I never guessed. And I love you. For thinking of this.”
“I took a picture in my head when we got married. Remember when I stood at the end of the aisle and stared at you before walking to you?”
“Yeah. I do.” He took her hand. “I was knocked off my feet. You were beautiful.”
She moistened her lips. “I planned to draw it. But I couldn’t get past all the emotion to paint the moment clearly. But you in an everyday pose and so darn handsome in your uniform? And the way the town reacts to you when they see you that way?” She etched the vision with her hands. “They love you, respect you, as much as I do – only different. I wanted that in the portrait, and the two should hang together. Because my perception of you at sixteen is not the perception of a woman who adores her husband.” She watched his face, trying to discern his expression, but he dropped her hand and cupped the drawing as if precious.
“Where?” He cleared his throat again, and she touched his face. His eyes, a magnificent shade of blue she loved, were flush with tears. “I’ve told you how much the baseball one meant to me and that was before I fell in love with you.”
A blush spread across her cheeks. “Yes, you have. I was in love with you, too – well, as much as a young girl can be, before I even drew it. It’s why I did. It’s time for the baseball one to come out of our bedroom – then and now is how I saw it.” She lifted her hands to approximate the spacing.
“I think over there.” He pointed to a side wall by the antique credenza they’d bought together as a wedding present to each other. The wall had stayed blank because they’d found no art that didn’t outshine the antique, but the two portraits would enhance not detract.
He carefully placed the drawing on the side table. “I have one more gift, too. It’s not exactly a gift. It’s something I found.”
Puzzled, she let him move to the closet in the hallway. What was he doing?
He came back with a large cardboard box. The flaps were crisscrossed on the top, and it was old and bent in places. He set it on the coffee table. “Another family should be in consideration for the mural.” He popped open the flaps, and she leaned to peek.
Her eyes widened. “My grandparent’s wedding picture.” She grabbed his hand before he could give it to her. “What is this box?”
“Pretty sure it’s family history. Yours. Bunches of pictures and notes.” He rubbed her knuckles and sorted past one of her grandfather and his engine to another picture. “This one is my favorite.”
Summer gasped, tears flooding her eyes. “My grandmother in her garden with me and my little wagon.”
“And a tiny Summer Girl. What were you? Three?”
Summer nodded, lightly tracing her grandmother’s happy face. The color photo was faded and bent on the corner, but overall in pristine shape.
“This one framed for your art room would keep your grandmother present.” He eased onto the sofa and lifted her to his lap.
“Where was this box?”
“Storage room.”
She dropped her face to his shoulder, inhaling his scent to help conquer the overwhelming emotions. She’d turned away from so much and couldn’t do it anymore. He knew it. “The things you think of,” she sighed.
He rubbed her back for long silent moments, his other arm around her waist. He kissed her softly and with such reverence she fell into his world, desperate to be only there.
More long moments passed, his mouth on hers. His deep husky whisper washed over her. “Merry Christmas, honey.”
She dropped her forehead to his. She’d drawn him in uniform, the man Echo Falls leaned on. He’d given her a gift from her past. Between them lay canvas and pictures, but both said the same thing.
They saw each other clearly.
This was where she belonged, the truest gift of all.
Her heart quieted, soothed by the rightness. “Merry Christmas, love.”
Four Months Later
Summer painted. The town watched.
The fire department parking lot had been cordoned off for her to work. The final decision had been hers. She’d looked at eight spots, rejecting the water tower, overpass into Echo Falls, and the gazebo outright. The fire department downtown had the space for her to work, the visibility of the mural to the whole main street area, and had the eagle eye of the fire personnel to keep vandalism at bay. In fact, the crew was watching her now. The towns people gathered across the street. Business boomed on Main Street. The party atmosphere had become normal.
Tom checked on her regularly, fascinated as always with her creative process. Jonathan had been here over the weekend, evaluating the progress. He kept her grounded in the professional. Yet, the work had become more dear to her than anything she’d done except for Tom’s drawings.
