We took off, and I let her set the pace. I wasn’t so much interested in pushing myself physically as getting her mind off of whatever was bothering her. Family stuff I certainly could relate to. I could also relate to not wanting to talk about it. I hadn’t talked about my dad’s death to many people. The guys from the station had come to the funeral and paid their respects. My mom broke down almost every time I came by. I’d watched my sisters cry and held them through the sobs, pushing down my own.
But I wouldn’t talk about it. I couldn’t. I’d hardened against the waves of grief that seemed to crash over all of us. They came less frequently as time passed, but the pain hadn’t lessened and neither had my anger. We’d all thought his slow decline had come from age and a lifetime of backbreaking work. We didn’t find out until the end that cancer had been eating away at his body for years. He’d worked through it. Took new jobs, carried on with life, a little slower, thinner, weaker. We never knew until the end. He’d been robbed, and so had we.
At an intersection, Liv looked up to me. “Which way?”
“This way.” I pointed to the right. Without a second thought, I took her in the direction of a place I’d avoided for nearly a year.
We jogged another few blocks before the old studio came into view. My heart raced, not from exertion but from a rush of emotion I wasn’t sure I was ready for yet. I considered passing by and circling back to the place where we’d started. Instead, I slowed in front of the run-down stretch of storefronts, not unlike a few others we’d passed. Not all of this part of Brooklyn had been revitalized and not every venture had made it. That’s what made this place cheap enough to rent, and I’d refused to let it go.
I stared at the old metal door marked with a dozen worn stickers and no other indication that it led to my father’s old workshop. A padlock and chain protected its contents.
“What’s this?”
Beside me, Liv was catching her breath and looking between me and the door that represented a Pandora’s box of unwanted emotion for me. I opened my mouth to speak, but I struggled for the words. Instead, I went to the lock and spun the dial through the combination until it clicked open. I unhooked the chain. Each movement resonated inside of me. I felt like I was moving forward mechanically, forcing myself through each step. Even though I’d contemplated this door a dozen times before, having Liv with me seemed to push me through.
I opened the door that led up a narrow staircase. The air was stale, but tinged with the smells of the studio ahead—wood, chemicals, and even the faintest scent of the homemade wine he’d made here too. I pushed on until we stepped into the large studio. There were no dividing walls, only places designated for one function or another. This was his sanctuary, his place away from everything, to create and simply be.
Liv touched my arm, and I caught her thoughtful gaze.
“This was my dad’s studio. I haven’t been up here since he died.” I swallowed over a grimace. “Sorry, Liv. We can go.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.” She scanned the untouched shadowy room. “Can I look around?”
“Sure.”
I imagined it all through her eyes. It must look like a real dump. Immediately I hated myself for letting it sit this way for so long. I opened the shades. Billows of dust floated through the air. Dozens of boxes of materials sat against one wall. Another wall was distinguished by an extended work surface where an unfinished project lay scattered. Vats, a short wine rack, and the rest of his winemaking operation filled one corner. Then, where the light hit the strongest, an entire wall of glittering color. His art, a lifetime of work that hadn’t made its way into the hands of friends or strangers. The pieces he’d kept for himself.
Liv went to them, walking along with wonder in her eyes. That wonder reminded me of the admiration I’d had for my dad’s art since I was a boy. That same wonder had brought me into the trade. Now I didn’t do it for the money but as a way to keep him close. She paused in front of one piece—a sun and a moon, joined. Shimmering gold and bright yellows blended into a night as cool and vibrant as Liv’s unforgettable eyes.
“You can touch them,” I said. I joined her and marveled at the piece that always seemed to be the centerpiece of his collection. “This one was always my favorite. Dad used to tell me it meant rebirth and strength. I didn’t get the rebirth thing for a long time. Had to grow up enough to appreciate what that really meant. But I liked the strength part. I remember always wanting to be strong like him.”
She turned toward me, her eyes soft. “You are strong.”
“On the outside, Liv. Not in all the ways that matter, though.”
She didn’t speak, and I cursed myself for getting too close to a topic I didn’t want to talk about. But for some reason, she made me want to talk, even if it hurt. Even if it was awkward like it was now.
“I’m glad you brought me here. Seeing this reminds me that some people don’t give up.”
I searched her eyes for meaning until she looked down and toyed with the small charm that hung from her bracelet.
“I used to paint in college. Majored in it, actually. But I haven’t picked up a brush since I left campus. It’s been years now.”