Read Perfectly Hopeless for Free Online Page B

want.”
     
    She stayed still, only moving her eyes to get a better look at Henri’s bedroom. His personal space, the place he probably stored all his memories in. “What’s that on your dresser?”
     
    Henri stopped what he was doing. He handed over the paintbrush and retrieved the large leather bound book. It was by far bigger than any book she had ever seen.
     
    “ Those are all my paintings.” He took the paintbrush back handing over the book.
     
    “ Wow, Henri.”
     
    “ Everything I’ve ever drawn is in that book,” Henri explained. He started back on his latest work of art while Maven looked at his old work.
     
    Maven now understood his technique. Everything he painted was in black. But his work didn’t need color. It spoke volumes devoid of fancy blues or reds or any shade in between. It was beyond her wildest imagination. Henri painted a world of optimism where maybe someone else saw none.
     
    A distorted setting of old buildings with a gorgeous young woman in the center of all the disarray, but even amidst all that was tragic her face held a loveliness that made you overlook the pain all around her.
     
    Maven looked up from the picture. “Why?” She turned the painting toward Henri. He barely looked at it, busily working on the portrait of Maven.
     
    “ I was young. That’s the way I saw life back then.”
     
    “ But I don’t get it. Explain this to me. To me it’s beautiful.”
     
    Henri nodded. “It is. Life is dreadful, but that doesn’t take away from what we all are. I guess that’s what I was trying to capture.”
     
    She closed the book. “Well, I think you captured it.”
     
    Henri looked at her puzzled. “You don’t want to look at anymore?”
     
    “ I do. But I want to be the very best subject matter.” She leaned against the pillows, adjusting her hair so it fell perfectly against her exposed shoulders. Henri smiled behind the canvas. More than anything he just loved looking at her. He could paint her without her being in the same room. He remembered every inch of her.
     
    “ It will be the best.” He squeezed out some more paint on the scrap of paper he was using.
     
     
     
    Twenty minutes later Henri’s painting was nearing completion. Maven was stiff and growing restless, but she knew whatever Henri was doing behind the canvas was worth the wait. She watched out the window at the roving dog by the pond. The flurry of birds as they headed for the trees, as well as the orange sun setting off in the distance, it was beautiful.
     
    She imagined Henri probably sat in the window a lot. If she were him she would. Being around Henri was peaceful. It was easy and uncomplicated. She looked at Henri, his head bowed, the soft swipes on the canvas singing a tune. His eyebrows furrowed together. He was serious when he painted.
     
    “ Tell me about your life in Tennessee.” She blurted. She sat up a little, crossing her legs Indian style and folding her hands in her lap.
     
    Henri peered over the canvas, his brown eyes connecting with hers. “What do you want to know?”
     
    “ What kind of boy were you in high school?” She was trying to imagine Henri surrounded by a crowd of students, him being one of them. It was hard to know who he fit in with. What drove him, even what kind of grades he got? Did he have a girlfriend back at home? Or was he the sort to secretly admire you from afar? She wanted to know everything.
     
    “ I played baseball.”
     
    “ What position?”
     
    “ Shortstop.”
     
    “ What else?”
     
    Henri scratched his nose, smearing paint on himself, but he was none the wiser. Maven cracked an amused grin.
     
    “ What’s so funny? You don’t like shortstops?”
     
    “ No. It’s your face.” She giggled, covering her mouth with her hands, but that wasn’t enough to contain the sudden fit of laughter. Henri rolled his eyes. He sat the canvas down and got up.
     
    “ It’s my face.” He headed to his closet, pulling open the door