𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐕: 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭

"Your toe will be fine, Connie," Niccolo said with an exasperated sigh. "Leave her be."

"When'd you get so old? You sound like Mr. Braus."

Connie tried to steal the ice from your wrist, but Niccolo slapped his hand away. "Stop it. It's too late in the night to act like children. Use the liquor to numb it instead."

"Night is the best time to act like children." Connie uncorked the whiskey with his teeth, spit the cork across the room, and swigged a couple of mouthfuls of swill.

"You best find that cork before you leave, or I will find it for you and shove it where the sun doesn't shine."

"Yeah, yeah, Nicco. Don't get your panties in a knot; I'll find it." Connie offered you some liquor, which you politely declined, before stretching himself along the sofa. His forearm draped over your shoulders to speak with you more directly, "How ya feelin', squirt? I thought we were lookin' at a demon possession after you hit the floor. Gave everyone a real fright that only fireworks could fix. Shame you missed 'em."

Your face hardened, and Lucy's hair stuck up along her back at Connie's statement. Before you could answer, Niccolo jumped in, "She's fine. She needs only ice and rest, but if you are so determined to pester us until midnight, take your dirty shoes to the front door."

"Such a nag," Connie moaned as he placed the bottle on the table and stood up to carry his shoes away. On the way back, he stopped to pick up the wrapped square. "Hey, Nicco, why don't you open up this present the tall one brought, and then we can have a few drinks and be young before I head home. You missed the light show, so I gotta entertain you somehow."

"Not now, Connie."

"Oh, come on! I hate surprises, and I wanna know what's in here! Probably not even half as good as one of my presents, but it's worth taking a look-see, right?"

Connie tugged off the twine and began peeling away the wrapping. Truthfully, you shared the fool's curiosity regarding the secrets hidden under the thin paper. It was a painting–that much you were certain of. What else would an artist send along?

No matter how beautiful the sketches in his little black book might have been, they were just that: sketches. You wanted to feel the best of your beloved's talents one last time through rich paints and soft lines only to go to sleep pretending that some part of him still existed beside you in an icy house.

Unfortunately, Niccolo stood to steal the gift from the fool's hands before Connie could get far and chided, "Didn't your mother ever teach you to mind your manners?"

"She did, but I never listened."

"Can we open it?" you asked softly. "Please?"

Niccolo acknowledged you with weary eyes and another heavy sigh. "Fine."

He tore through the wrapping, and the golden edges of a beautiful picture frame appeared. Niccolo's grip on the fully unveiled piece tightened as the wrappings fell to the floor, and both hands trembled through white knuckles. You tried to peek from your seated position, but you were too small to get a good look with him standing.

"Come on, let's see it!" Connie exclaimed as he rushed over to get a better view. The fool's impish expression fell upon seeing whatever the image was. All Connie offered as a clue was a soft, "Oh." Connie reached for the center of the canvas–his finger making contact with the paint. He quickly pulled away and clutched his fingers as though he had been burned.

"What is it?" you asked, but neither of them heard you. "Niccolo? Connie? Hello?"

With bone-white hands, Niccolo set the canvas onto the coffee table. You shifted with Lucy to the cushion's edge to take in whatever beauty the picture was sure to behold, expecting that the glittering lake or some beautiful flowers might appear. You hoped for tiger lilies, but you couldn't have anticipated the mirage that materialized instead of windswept waves or pretty petals. No one could have.