Auntie Erin reached an aged, mottled hand upward to rest it on Ross’s thigh. She was a mentally spry woman in her late 80s. However, respiratory difficulties caused her body to tire quickly. A few years earlier, the constant exhaustion forced her from her home of sixty years to an assisted-living apartment. The transition was easier than expected, and it was the catalyst for bringing Auntie Erin’s great-nephew, Alan, to town.

“Please be careful, Ross. I knew that I should have borrowed a small stepladder from the maintenance office. Standing on a stool like that isn’t safe. I’ll never forgive myself if you fall. Why don’t you come down, and we’ll do this the right way.”

Ross didn’t mind taking some risk. The picture hanging was a cause for celebration. It was the first painting he’d ever sold. The bold brushstrokes depicted an early morning impression of the Mississippi River. Deep, vibrant colors filled the canvas. Ross was particularly proud of how he captured the fingers of sizzling color that spread across the sky at sunrise on summer days in the upper Midwest.

Alan discovered the work in progress one day while visiting Ross. It rested on an easel in the center of the home studio. Alan showed photos of the painting to his Auntie Erin, and she immediately fell in love with the work. “It’s beautiful! It’s perfect, too! It can replace that tired old print that’s hung over my couch in the living room since I moved. Whatever he’s asking for it, tell your friend I’ll give him $100 extra. It is for sale, isn’t it?”

Auntie Erin’s interest was enough to encourage Ross to finally finish the work more than eighteen months after it began. The price for the painting was a mystery. After phone discussions with two different college art friends, Ross placed a $600 price tag on it. He said to Alan, “That includes the extra $100.”

Stepping backward with her cane in hand, Auntie Erin held fingertips up to her mouth and exhaled with relief knowing that the hanging process was nearly complete. “I think it is tilted slightly to the right. Can you straighten it back the other direction?”

“Like this?” Ross shifted it toward the left and wavered on the stool. Auntie Erin gasped. After brief visions of reflexively sticking his hand right through the center of the stretched canvas to catch himself. Ross managed to regain his balance. The wall below the painting was a much better place to touch as he his right foot to the rung of the stool just below the seat.

Auntie Erin waved her hands. “Oh, please, do be careful. Did Alan tell you what happened to him when he was a teenager? It was horrifying.”

“I think he told me multiple stories about his life as a teenager. He hated high school. He said that he hung out in a stairwell during lunch hours with two other friends to avoid bullies. At least that was at one of the three high schools. What’s the story you were thinking about?”

“Please, come down all the way, and we’ll move the stool back to the kitchen. I’ll fetch you a glass of iced tea, and we can sit and chat on the couch.”

“That sounds perfect, but don’t you move that stool. I’ll take care of it. Go ahead and make the iced tea.”

Ross carried the small stool to the kitchen and washed his hands in the kitchen sink. Auntie Erin filled glasses with ice cubes from an old-fashioned metal tray. Ross said, “I still can’t believe you bought my painting. I hope you do like it, and I hope you aren’t buying it just to be nice.”

“I don’t hang things on my walls that I don’t love.” Ross blushed in response to her comment. A bright pink color spread across his face up to his hairline.

Ross said, “And you were telling a story.”

The ice cubes clinked in Auntie Erin’s glass as she set it on the coffee table. “Oh yes! Alan was probably only fifteen years old. He decided to change the bulb in the light fixture attached to a ceiling fan in his bedroom. Against his mother’s request, he chose to stand on a chair to reach the fan.”

“And he fell?”

“He not only fell, but he also tumbled into his dresser. It held a ceramic lamp that Alan loved since he was a little boy. The lamp shattered, and he landed in the middle of the floor with cuts on his face and a broken arm. I was visiting at the time, and I can still remember the blood-curdling screams as his mother raced up the stairs.”

“Wow. No, he hasn’t told me that one. Is that the scar above his right eyebrow? It gives him character.”

Auntie Erin nodded and smiled. Ross gazed into her eyes. He was grateful that Alan brought them together. He missed his Grandmother Spencer a little less with Auntie Erin in his life.

Auntie Erin’s eyes were the windows to a lifetime of valuable wisdom. The only problem was figuring out how to draw it out. She tapped her glass with a fingernail. “What are your dreams as a painter?”

“Dreams? I’ve not thought of it that way. I just enjoy painting when I have the time to do it.”

“Do you mean to tell me you have no dreams for painting in the future? You have tremendous talent. Are you keeping those dreams hidden?”

Ross sighed and shook his head. “I guess I dream of being noticed someday. What painter doesn’t have those dreams?”

“And there’s something more?”

Ross squirmed on the couch suddenly feeling slightly uncomfortable. He didn’t like the heat of the spotlight. More often, he preferred to fade into the background helping out others when needed.

Swallowing hard, Ross said, “I dream of being a painter. That’s what I want to do with my life. I feel most alive with an easel, canvas, and brush.”

Auntie Erin smiled. “There, doesn’t that feel better? Never keep your dreams inside. They exist for you to make them come true.”

“Well, right now, I’m trying to earn enough money to keep paying my rent. I don’t need to worry much about painting. It’s not like the world’s beating a path to my door. That one up there on the wall is the first I’ve ever sold.”

“And it is lovely,” said Auntie Erin. She sipped her tea slowly. “Do you work on commission? Most artists work on commission, don’t they?”

The question felt overwhelming. Ross loved the idea of working on commission, but no one ever approached him about it. He painted in college, but it wasn’t his major, so he didn’t take part in the senior art show where many of his friends sold their works and some received commissions for new pieces. Working on commission sounded like the foreign territory of a legitimate artist.

“I’ve never had a commission, so I guess the answer is no.”

“I think I’d like to commission a painting.”

Ross was instantly sorry when he blurted out, “Please don’t do that because you feel sorry for me.”

“I think you know me well enough already to know that I wouldn’t do that.” Auntie Erin gestured up toward the painting above the couch. “You did a lovely painting of the river. Could you do one of a house?”

“I suppose so. I usually work from photographs. Is there something in particular you want?”

“I’d like you to do a piece for Alan and Diego, and I’d like you to feature my old house where they live.”

Ross’ palms began to sweat. He rubbed his hands on his jeans and nodded. “Yes, I think I could do that.” His nerves felt taut as rubber bands as he imagined seeing one of his paintings every time that he visited his good friend Alan and his partner, Diego.

“Take your time with it, but I will pay you $1,000 when it’s complete.”

“I’ll try to finish it before…” Ross broke into a sweat when the dollar figure registered. He held the cold glass of iced tea against his forehead.

“Before? You like to keep your thoughts to yourself. Don’t cut yourself off.”

“Please don’t tell Alan or any of my other friends. I’m thinking about moving. I wonder if I need to go to the Twin Cities or Des Moines.”

“You’re thinking of leaving Coldbrook Bend? What do you expect to find somewhere else?”

“I…I don’t know if I should be talking about personal things like this. Are you sure that it’s okay?”

Auntie Erin laughed softly. “I’m an old woman. I like to think that on occasion I have some useful thoughts to share with younger generations.” Then she leaned close across the couch. “And on other days I’m just a nosy old woman.”

“Honestly, you make me miss my grandmother. She was so smart. I always thought she could see right through me. I’m a little lonely here in Coldbrook Bend. Finding men here is hard. Alan found Diego, but he was like the bright shiny needle in a haystack, and they met somewhere else first. With more men to choose from in a city, I think I’ll stand a better chance.”

“Maybe you’re trying too hard.”

“Or maybe I’m not trying at all.”

Auntie Erin’s voice sounded wistful as she said, “Single isn’t so bad either. My husband passed almost thirty years ago. Many of my family members, Alan’s parents included, insisted that I should look for someone else. I was lonely, but I never did look. I learned to value myself, and it was a good lesson to learn.”

Ross nodded. “It was nothing like being married, but I was in a relationship for two years back home in Middleton.”

“Is it okay if this nosy old woman asks what happened?”

“I don’t think we ever saw eye to eye. Maybe it was the age difference. Ultimately, Andrew let me go. I cried for three days. He had a photo of us together on a side table next to the sofa in his living room, but the only thing he said at the end was, ‘Perhaps it is for the best.’ Andrew talked like that. He’s a lawyer in Middleton, and the whole town thinks he’s great.”

Auntie Erin tapped the side of her cheek with her fingernail. “He let you go?”

“I wanted to move. I wanted us to go to the Twin Cities where he had clients, but he loved Middleton. I still don’t understand why. We didn’t even have a coffee shop, and the grocery store was more of a quick stop.”

Ross hadn’t spoken with anyone about Andrew in months. As he formed the words, he remembered those moments when Andrew shed his shirt and revealed his chiseled hairy chest, and he smiled showing those crinkly little wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. Ross loved kissing him. Andrew was fifteen years older, and he was a man with years of experience who knew how to kiss.

“Why did you come to Coldbrook Bend if you wanted to escape to Minneapolis?”

Ross raked his fingers through his blond hair. “I was scared to move too far away from home. None of my family wanted me to go. Middleton is only an hour away, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I guess I hoped that Andrew would ask me to come home.”

“Have you ever told anyone else about hoping he would ask you to come back?”

“No. You’re the first person here that I’ve even told his name.”

“Another of those hidden dreams.”

“My sister Linda was furious. Even though I’m an adult, she thinks I ran away from home. She thought I had a perfectly good boyfriend and wasn’t satisfied with him. She told me I’ll be sorry ten years from now.”

“Are you sorry now?”

Ross raised his head and stared into Auntie Erin’s eyes. The blue color faded with age, but the inquisitive gleam was still apparent. He thought about everything he’d experienced in Coldbrook Bend over the past two years, and the new friends he’d made. Ross thought about working in Diego’s office and walking Alan’s dog Boomer on weekends. Then memories came back of the miserable days when he worried that his relationship with Andrew was fake.

Sweeping his fingers through his hair once again, Ross said, “No. I guess I’m not. So do you think I should stay?”

“I can’t make that decision for you, but I do have a suggestion.”

“What’s that?

“Stop hiding those dreams, and start living them instead. I have one last question, Ross.”

Ross grinned. “I hope I can answer it.”

“When is your birthday?”

“Oh, that’s an easy one. It’s November 15th.”

“Oh, mine is in June. I like birthdays. Do you?”

“I do. I always felt fortunate that it came before Thanksgiving and Christmas. That way celebrating it was more like a prequel instead of having it get lost in the crush of holidays.”

Auntie Erin smiled, and Ross loved the way the wrinkles deepened at the corners of her eyes. She said, “I’ll make a deal with you. We’re going to make both of our birthdays special this year. They will be birthdays to remember.”