Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes
The next of Brendon’s customers they visited was an older lady by the name of Emma Holde. Clutter lined her hallways and stacked itself in piles on the coffee table, the bookshelves, the wide windowsills. But it was the careful sort of clutter. The memories one didn’t wish to toss when memories happened to be all that was left.
Orion stared at the picture—rolling river waves, a boat race in the springtime, a man standing at the helm of one Dandelion Roar while three children crawled about the prow and the sun counted another day in lives worth living.
“That’s me standing beside him,” said Emma, voice aged and fine. She gave a sigh and a secret smile for Brendon, wisps of variegated gray tickling her cheeks. “He got the likeness of us all down, even to the way Gina used to twist her knees in when she was little.”
“How long have you had it?” asked Orion. The picture hung over a well-loved sofa. A focal point in the room. A memory welcoming all the others piled up along the walls.
“Three years,” murmured Brendon.
“That’s right,” agreed Emma. “Three years ago. Tommy commissioned it for me and Gina sifted through all the photos to give Brendon what he needed. Tommy even took him for a tour of a boat the like we used to have. Not the Roar, of course. It’s been long since it sailed its last voyage.”
Orion turned from examining the painting, his gaze cutting across the bookshelves, over the trio of cats lounging in the early sunshafts, and settling on Brendon.
“When was the last time you sailed, Ms. Holde?” Continue reading