“Sweetheart, you have a son. That’s a good thing.”
“Did I fuck up?” he asks, and I’m not sure I follow.
“Hop, no.” Liam wipes his eyes. “No. We made that decision together. I don’t regret not trying again. Not for a second.”
“You promise?”
That cracked question breaks my heart right open. I’ve been so in awe of him as an artist that I somehow skipped over how very deeply human he is.
Liam puts his hand on his heart. “On my grandfather’s soul.”
Those are the words Hopper needed to hear. Tears stream down his face.
Several moments later, a smile cracks his face.
“I have a son.” He pats my cheek. “Myson.”
I smile back at him, and he turns on his heel, heading toward the back.
Uh…
He turns around again and shoves the phone in my hand. “I need to sculpt you. I’ll be right back.”
I bring up the screen. “Er…”
Liam shakes his head. “Hopper doesn’t always share what’s in his head before he acts.”
“Oh.”
“He’s getting supplies,” Liam explains. “Can you make sure he eats before he gets started? He won’t stop until he’s done.”
“Sure?”
Hopper comes in from the back with a block of fresh sculpting clay in one hand and a heavy D-shaped slicer in the other. Seemingly unaware of our presence, he sets aside the head he was working on and drops the new materials on the table with a heavy thud, rattling his tools. He disappears again, returning with a stack of newspapers under his arm, a roll of masking tape around his wrist, and a wooden sculpting base in his other hand.
I wiggle the phone at him. “Liam says you have to eat first.”
Hopper lets his head fall back and stares at the ceiling like a disappointed toddler. He then sets down the supplies and goesto the kitchen. He comes back seconds later with a delivery bag from a local sandwich shop and pulls out a huge sub. He rips it in half, hands me one of the halves, and lifts his chin.
“We better eat, or Liam’s gonna nag us to death.”
I bark out a laugh, and Liam, still on the call, shouts, “I wouldn’t nag you if you didn’t come back from Austin with your clothes hanging off you.”
“This is what I have to live with,” Hopper says, tearing into his sandwich with a manic grin. With a mouthful of meat and bread, he clarifies, “Hot husband who supports me and makes sure I eat.”
“Damn skippy,” Liam retorts. “Boone, I’ll be there in a few hours. Are you good to hang with him? I’d like to meet you.”
“Of course. I like making art with Hopper.”
By the time we end the call, Hopper’s already finished his half of the sandwich. I quickly scarf the rest of mine. After washing our hands, Hopper returns to his craft table.
I watch, spellbound, as he efficiently anchors the sculpting base to the edge of his table with clamps, then selects a single sheet of newspaper, carefully balling it up. Using the masking tape, he fixes the balled-up newspaper to the pole, then chooses another sheet of newspaper, building on what he’s already put together, layer after layer, newspaper and masking tape, to something the approximate size and shape of a softball.
When someone is a genius in his field, you expect them to start with something fancier than the materials you’d find in your basic art class. Then again, maybe his genius is in what he can do with basic materials.
There’s a lesson in that, I think.
I’ve also been seriously underestimating his strength. Despite his trim, strong figure, I’d assumed his age meant I’d be stronger. I’m wrong though. It’s hard to tell under all the tattoos, but the man is made of steel.
