The Memory Painter

She took in the mess with a “my God, this place is a pigsty,” and disappeared into the kitchen.

Bryan didn’t follow her. He stood motionless at the door, overwhelmed by the force of an unexpected recognition—his mother was Anssonno.

Dazed, he sat down on the sofa in disbelief. His son was right here. Immense joy and sorrow overtook him.

“Don’t you ever eat?” His mother’s question startled him.

Bryan wiped his eyes and called out. “I’m actually starving. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Ducking into the bathroom, he splashed water on his face and tried to get his emotions in check. He sat on the edge of the tub and closed his eyes, just breathing, and let the grief flow through and out of him. He thought of all the years he hadn’t known—had directed only anger toward her—and wanted nothing more than to ask her forgiveness. Anssonno had been beside him all this time, nurturing and caring for him, and he had been blind to it. His prayer from a thousand years ago had already been answered.

After several minutes he was finally able to compose himself, and he joined her in the kitchen. “This looks wonderful. You came at the perfect time.”

“I did?” She couldn’t have looked more astonished.

“Yes. Thank you.” He took her hand and squeezed it, overcome by an incredible love. For the first time, he saw the same love that he had felt for Anssonno mirrored in her eyes. He could finally understand her desperate need to protect him, to give him the best life, to see him happy, because he had once felt the same for her. She simply hadn’t known how.

She stared at him, a puzzled look on her face. “You okay, kiddo?”

He looked at all the food spread on the counter and fought the lump in his throat. “Never better.”

Barbara rummaged through the cabinets to find a plate, opened up containers and started serving. It felt like Thanksgiving. Bryan didn’t even bother to sit down.

“Sweetie, at least sit. It’ll digest better.” She poured him some milk and headed to the dining table. Bryan chased after her—Michael and Diana’s storage boxes were out there.

“No! Mom, I want to eat in here. It’s messy…”

“What on earth are you doing with this?” she said, frozen in shock, staring at Michael and Diana’s portrait sitting on the shelf.

Bryan thought fast. “I found it in a storage box at the restaurant and wanted to do a painting with a similar composition. You know, a technical study.”

He winced inwardly at the lame excuse, but his mother seemed to buy it. “Well, you’re the artist. These were old friends of your father’s. He has their things. Just put it back when you’re done.”

So she knew. Bryan couldn’t hide his surprise.

Barbara gave him a look. “He doesn’t know I know. Your father’s so worried about upsetting me when it comes to these two.”

He couldn’t resist. “Why would you be upset?”

“Honestly? I wouldn’t. I dated this guy a few times before I met your father and he has this misconceived idea that I was a jilted ex when nothing could have been farther from the truth.”

“But you were jilted.”

Barbara didn’t ask why he thought that, but explained, “I was about to break it off. Michael just beat me to it. Your father was his best friend, so it was a little awkward for a while.”

“This was the guy whose wedding Dad was the best man in?”

“He was going to tell Michael he couldn’t do it, but I talked him into it. They were like brothers—he had to. Diana even called and asked if I would like to come, said she wouldn’t mind.” She studied the portrait, looking a bit wistful. “A sweet gesture, but I had already planned a trip out to California to see my parents.”