“You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” Conley said when he found Brian in the kitchen mid-Friday morning, his hands clasped tightly around a large mug of coffee.
“I was up late, but…” Brian’s face glowed. “I finished it and I think it came out pretty good.”
“So I can finally see it?”
“Yes. I hope you…well…”
“Bri, whatever you’ve created, I know I’ll love it if it’s half as good as your drawings.”
But what if I don’t? Do I tell him? He’s said, more than once, painting is not his forte. Yeah, I do. I need to be honest with him. If I lie…That thought gave him pause because he had, more times than he liked to think about. But not when it comes to things that are important to him. He’s not stupid. He’d know I was lying if I say his painting is wonderful and it’s only adequate.
Brian
