"Few people really understand the artistic vision," he said. "Or appreciate it. Somehow, I think you do."
"Why?" I asked, curious to know what he had seen in me.
"It's just a feeling I have, an instinct, and my instincts have always been accurate, especially when it comes to people," he added, his eyes darkening to tell me some of those accurate instinctive readings were unpleasant.
But what was he really telling me with these words and those eyes? Was he saying I would appreciate the artist's instinct because I had inherited it from him?
"For now," he continued, "I think it would be best if you didn't mention this to anyone else, especially your uncle Jacob and the rest of the Logans. Their thinking, like too many others', I'm afraid, is quite narrow. They just wouldn't understand. Can you do that? Can you keep a secret for a while?"
"I'm used to secrets," I said pointedly, but he just smiled and nodded.
"Good." He turned back to the marble. "I know I haven't been this excited in years," he said. And then he looked at me again, "And I know now it's because of you."
I looked at the block of marble and just like him, I suddenly saw that it was more than stone.
It was possibly the way to my father and to the truth, and to the happiness I hoped lay just behind it. I couldn't wait to begin.
2
A Model's Life
.
All the way back to Uncle Jacob's house,
Kenneth talked continuously about his new art project, barely pausing to take a breath between sentences. He described the mythological background, the idea of creating Neptune's daughter, how art helps us to understand problems in the modern world and why he believed the artist was the only true prophet. Sitting in his jeep as we drove along, I felt as if I were sitting in a college classroom. He made it all sound so interesting. I noticed when he spoke about the things that were close to his heart, his whole face brightened; he seemed to rise out of his visions and ideas and become more vibrant. I was too shy to say it, but often, when I played my fiddle and closed my eyes, I felt just the way he felt now. Maybe that was the link that would bind us together, I thought, our mutual artistic loves.
"I'll see you bright and early in the morning," he declared when we stopped at the house.
"Tomorrow, we'll begin."
"Okay. "
He grabbed my elbow as I started to open the door. "And remember what I said. Let this just be something between us for now, okay?" His eyes were full of warning.
I nodded and stepped out of the jeep, feeling his eerie gaze on my back.
"Don't do anything different with your hair. It's perfect as it is," he said. I started to smile. "It's the way I saw her in my vision. Bye," he said and drove off.
What did he mean? It's the way he saw her in his vision? Was he looking at me, as I had thought, or was he seeing some mythical creature, some figment of his imagination, or even a young girl from his past, created out of memories? Wasn't I the most important thing in his life right now? Or was it Mommy taking away my happiness from beyond the grave? I was more confused than ever when I turned and walked into the house.
Uncle Jacob was coming down the stairs as I entered. He looked as if he had been taking a nap. His hair was disheveled, his face was full of crinkles, and his eyes were glassy. The shadows on his unshaven chin resembled bruises. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows and he wore his fur-lined slippers over his bare feet. He paused on the steps and stiffened when I gazed up at him.
"He ought to bring you home a little earlier so you can help Sara with dinner," he said.
"I'm sorry. I'll tell him."
Uncle Jacob grunted.
"So, what's he been up to?" he asked. "Did he come forth and confess his sins yet?"
"I don't know about any sins."
He smirked with skepticism.
"When's he supposed to pay you?"
"Every two weeks is what he told us when he first came to the house," I reminded him.