Bone Dry by Kim Fielding

Author:Kim Fielding [Fielding, Kim]
Language: eng
Format: epub

WORK ON the big painting went very well. Karl arrived every morning to play while Ery painted, and at some point each day, they ended up in bed. When Ery took breaks to eat, Karl sat with him at the table, taking tiny tastes of everything, talking about his dreams or some of his travels. He helped Ery wash the dishes afterward. At sunset every evening, Karl headed back to his pond. Ery used the time to catch up on his e-mails, social media, and texts; to call his grandmother; to assure his friends that he hadn’t dropped off the face of the earth. He watched movies. And when he went to bed, he dreamed of Karl. When he woke up, he told himself that it didn’t mean anything. Of course he dreamed of the guy—they spent all day together, Ery was painting him, and Ery hadn’t seen anyone else in days.

They were good days, and they passed very quickly.

During the evening on the day before Chris and Dylan’s return, Ery and Karl stood in front of the big canvas. “It’s amazing,” Karl said, his voice reverent. “You painted exactly how I feel.”

Ery was a little overwhelmed. He knew deep in his gut that this painting was very good. It wasn’t just the best work he’d ever done—it was Art with a capital A. “You should have it,” he said quietly.

“But don’t you want other people to see this? People need to see this, Ery.”

“It’s… I think I stole some of your energy, Karl. It’s not right for me to take it.”

Karl snaked his arm around Ery’s waist and gave him a squeeze. “You’re not taking anything except what I’m willing to give. I want everyone to see what you can do. Besides, it would only get ruined if I took it.” He conked his head lightly against Ery’s. “You can’t hang a painting in a pond.”

Ery thought about the duck painting but didn’t mention it. “All right, then. There’s a gallery I’d like to show these to.” He waved to indicate the smaller canvas as well.

“Will you do more?”

“Yeah.” He had a lot of ideas; his muse had made a list. “But I’m gonna need more paint, and I’ll have to borrow Dylan’s truck to haul more canvases out here.”

The previous day, Ery had shown Karl Internet images of some his favorite artists, and he’d explained how some of those men and women were remembered and admired long after they died. Karl had been mildly impressed by the Swedish guy’s stroemkarlen portrait, but he’d been more enthused over Hokusai’s Great Wave and some of Monet’s watery scenes. He was also fond of Hockney’s swimming pools.

“Will you be famous?” Karl asked.

“Dunno,” Ery replied. “I’d just like to earn enough to quit the evil day job.”

“And to be happy?”

Ery glanced at him. “Yeah.”

Although the sun set soon after, Karl didn’t seem eager to leave. Ery was thankful for that. He used up most of his remaining food to make a strange dinner: cold cereal, sliced cheddar, an orange, and a nuked potato.

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