Almost Home

Chapter Four

When he sees me standing there, my book on the ground and my hands up in surrender, he looks startled.

"What are you doing here?"

I drop my arms, suddenly embarrassed, "I was reading before you scared me. What are you doing?"

He closes the door, slinging a small drawstring bag off of his shoulders, "I come up here to draw."

"Draw?"

He nods, pulling a giant sketchbook out of the bag, as well as an old, number two pencil.

"You draw?"

He nods again, looking more confused by the second, probably wondering why I just asked the same question twice.

"Are you any good?"

"I'd like to think so," he holds the sketchbook out to me, "Here, look and see for yourself."

I take the book from him, sitting down and flipping it open.

Easton takes the seat next to me, a respectful distance away, peering slightly over my shoulder as I go through the pages.

The first picture is of an elderly woman with short, springy curls and a thin, almost embarrassed smile.

"My grandma," he chuckles, "She didn't want me to draw her, but I convinced her."

"Easton," I run my fingers over the smooth paper, "This is incredible."

"I'm alright," I see him shrug out of my peripheral vision, "Her nose is a little less crooked than what I drew, her eyes a little less dull. I didn't quite get her smile right."

"Have you ever thought about selling your drawings?"

He scratches the back of his head, "A couple times, but I always cower out of it. What if people don't like the drawings they paid for?"

"I don't know how they couldn't," I reply, honestly, flipping the page and exposing a picture of a teenage girl.

The drawing is black and white, but I can tell by the shading he'd done that her hair is black anyway, so it doesn't really matter.

Her hair isn't only black, but has light waves. It's on the longer side, reaching to the very tip of her belt and hiding from view the school name on the front of her jersey.

She's in a softball pose - a helmet over her head, her hands grasping the facemask, staring at whoever took the picture with a slight glint in her eyes.

I feel like if I stare long enough, the girl will come to life before my eyes.

"Did you really draw this?"

"That's Bethany," he says, still peering over my shoulder, "And yes, I really drew that. See?"

He points to the bottom corner of the page where, scribbled very hastily, EJT is written, as well as the year.

This one was drawn almost three years ago.

"EJT?" I ask, "Easton-"

"James," he gives a bashful smile as I look over at him, "Easton James Trout."

"That's a very stereotypical middle name," I poke fun and he grins.

"I know. It wasn't my dad's idea."

Taking the hint that it was his mom's idea and that he doesn't want to talk about it, I just flip the page.

I continue flipping through picture after picture, each one more impressive than the last.