Oriana hadn’t had much of a chance to go over everything else that Kendra had sent about Larry. She assumed that once she drove to Nederland, met him in person, and saw the other paintings that he surely had hidden away up in the mountains, she’d learn as she went. The fact that Reese was along on this adventure with her thrilled her to no end. For decades, they’d been separately churning away at their private careers. They agreed they’d taken the separate-but-together thing too far.
Up in the air, Oriana studied the clouds over the countryside and speculated about Larry’s life till now. “A loner in the mountains.” She shook her head. “I’m sure he’s spent years behind his easel, watching the seasons change out his window, waiting for nothing.”
Reese stroked her thigh and smiled. He had a Diet Coke on the little airline table, plus a package of salty snacks. “You’re going to show Larry the world,” he said.
When the flight landed in Denver, they got out, grabbed their suitcases at baggage claim, and whisked off in their rental four-wheel-drive Ford within the hour. As October neared, the leaves on the trees edged toward red, orange, and yellow, and the mountains stood out sharply and clearly against the bright blue sky. Reese confessed he was tired and took a short nap on the way to Nederland, promising her that he’d perk up by the time she was ready to meet Larry.
Reese fell asleep right away, leaving Oriana to sit in silence, gripping the steering wheel hard and glancing over at Reese. He looked paler and thinner than he had just a week ago, didn’t he? His cheeks were sunken in. Or was it just the light, playing out across his face? She made a mental note to make sure he ate all his dinner, plus some of hers, tonight.
The hotel in Nederland was not as luxurious as the one back in Manhattan, but it was built more like a log cabin, with little hot tubs tucked inside each outdoor balcony. As Reese continued to rest in the hotel bed, Oriana sat in the hot bubbles and gazed across the mountains, marveling at how enormous they were. She wondered if Larry had grown up here, or if his soul had drawn him here so that he could paint such sensational scenes.
She had so many questions for him. She hoped she wouldn’t forget one.
Larry expected them at his place by three thirty. His cabin was tucked into the woods and up a steep driveway. Reese missed it twice during their quest to find it. When they finally parked, an old yet very tall man stood in the entry to the garage with his hand raised. Oriana popped out of the passenger side, grinning. Larry looked every bit like the “hidden genius” she’dhoped he was. He’d been handsome with intelligent eyes that spoke of hundreds of thousands of hours of thinking alone.
“Larry Calvin Johannes,” she said as she approached, reaching for his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Larry’s voice was gravelly but friendly. “Can’t believe you came all the way from the East Coast.”
“Your painting spoke to me,” Oriana said. “It took my breath away when I first saw it.”
Larry sniffed and slid his hand through his hair. “You know, I painted that thing so long ago and sold it immediately after that. I haven’t seen it in years. I wonder how it made its way out east?”
“The art circuits are strange like that,” Oriana said. “Things end up in the wildest places. I have a ton of stories just like yours.”
Larry’s cheek twitched, as though he didn’t like the idea of his story being anything like other people’s stories. Oriana fixed it immediately. “But I’ve never seen a painting like yours,” she declared. “Tell me you have more like it? I have numerous interested buyers, and I can’t very well give them all the one painting I have of yours.”
Larry grinned, looking bashful. “Come on in,” he said, beckoning for Reese and Oriana to follow him. “I have some sweets and coffee for you. After that, we can talk about my paintings.”
Larry served them a banana cake with a decadent caramel frosting that made Oriana’s head spin. Reese, exhausted and clearly starving, ate two slices and thanked Larry, smiling.
“Do you do hard labor for work?” Larry asked Reese, frowning.
“I make apps,” Reese said.
“What’s an app?” Larry asked, narrowing his eyes.
Reese waved his hand and said it wasn’t anything important. “Oriana hates talking about technology,” he said.
“So do I,” Larry said, lacing his fingers together. “I’m at home out here in the mountains. No television. Just a radio, a phone, and my paints.”
Oriana felt more alert than ever. Was it possible that he’d been out here for decades, painting and painting and painting? “I want to see them,” she breathed, ready to abandon the rest of her cake. This was the next era of her career that they were talking about.
Larry led Reese and Oriana down a long hallway to a windowless room, which he kept dry and clean. Stacked against the wall were what looked to be twenty or thirty paintings, most of them unframed. Oriana could hardly believe it. It was a treasure trove.
“They’re delicate,” Larry explained. “It’s why I don’t let any light fall on them.”
“How old are they?” Oriana asked.
Larry rubbed the back of his head. “A few years, I guess. I’ve been working on and off since the seventies. The one you have back in Manhattan was painted in maybe seventy-three? Seventy-two?” He squinted at Oriana.
“It was dated seventy-two,” Oriana said, smiling. “Good memory.”
“As I said, I haven’t seen it in decades,” he said.
Together, Oriana and Reese studied the twenty-six paintings that Larry had worked on and then hidden away through the years. Just as she’d suspected, they were sensational: emotional and hard-edged and often terrifying, involving a person on the brink of nature. The characters included in the paintings seemed entirely real, which left Oriana to speculate that they were people Larry had once known, people who’d come in and out of his life. Finally, she asked him about it.
“They were certainly in Nederland at one time. I haven’t been anywhere else in decades, after all,” he explained. “Maybe someof the people featured in the paintings are still here. I don’t know. I keep to myself these days. But I used to go for long hikes. I used to see them, my neighbors, the people who came up to Nederland so they could get away from the rest of the world. People like me, but so different from me. I don’t know if I’m making any sense.”
