Fini Read online

  To George Moore, always and forever my favorite Leftie.

  Copyright 2021

  M Leigh Morhaime

  First Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design: M Leigh Morhaime

  Editor: K Alta

  Contains scenes that may trigger some, depicting loss, trauma, mental illness.

  Please contact me if you wish for further details.

  Chapter One

  “Alright, it’s about that time.”

  Finleigh’s shoulders sagged as she looked at the clock. It was already 5 till 7, which meant that class was over for the day. She looked between her canvas and the empty vase in front of her. The assignment had been to paint the vase provided then to paint something either in it or beside it. Still, her vase was empty. She’d spent the majority of the class on the shadow casted off the vase. It was always hard to be an artist and perfectionist. She sighed and continued to stare at the canvas as everyone around her was packing up. She felt Ian come around, as he always did at the end of class. But this time, instead of continuing around the circle, he paused just behind her and crossed his arms.

  “I know, I know. I didn’t get far enough. I just couldn’t get this shadow how I wanted it.”

  For a moment, Ian was silent. Finleigh started to speak again but Ian gently put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Do you need to be somewhere?”

  Finleigh furrowed her brow. “Um.”

  “I mean to say, do you have a bit of time once everyone leaves? I think I could help you with this.”

  Finleigh thought for a moment. Her stomach growled but her need to figure out these shadows was overpowering. “Yeah, I have some time.”

  Ian nodded and went to the door as the last of the class filed out. He gently shut the door and strolled over to the stack of blank canvases he kept in one corner. He grabbed two as well as a case of brushes, paint, and pencils. Still without a word, he went to two easels opposite of where Finleigh sat. He set the canvases up and repositioned the canvases and stools to where they almost touched each other. He nodded his head to let her know to join him as he sat on one stool. Finleigh stood and started to grab her supplies. “No, just leave all of that.”

  Finleigh found her way to the other stool.

  “You’re an artist, Finleigh. But you are also a perfectionist, am I right?” Finleigh nodded. “You can’t be both at once. Art requires you to let go and just feel it. You have to get out of your mind. You have,” Ian paused. “You have an immense talent, but you aren’t letting it out. Why did you join my class?”

  Finleigh sat for a moment and thought about how it did come to be that she was here. She’d been painting nearly her whole life, but it was always just a hobby. She wanted to do more with it but always had trouble feeling as though she’d finished a piece. She couldn’t get out of her head long enough to let the brush flow. She thought maybe it was her technique and she heard from her roommate that there was an art class nearby. It was more money than she really could afford to spend on a class but found a way anyway. Something just made her feel like it was what she needed. “I need help with my technique.”

  “No. You don’t.” Finleigh was slightly taken back by his bluntness. “Your technique is fine. It’s your mind that has you trapped. It’s why you have trouble with shadows. The shape of the vase is definite. However, the shadow depends on where you sit, on where you look, sometimes, on even how you feel and perceive it. That’s where you cannot be a perfectionist.” Finleigh just nodded. “Here, let me show you.” Ian leaned to his container and pulled out a pencil. He shifted his easel slightly to the side so that she could see it a little better. “Come closer.”

  Once Finleigh was positioned less than a foot away, Ian took the pencil to the canvas and swiftly began drawing. Finleigh had assumed he was going to draw the vase but soon, she saw the image of a face form. The moment she recognized it as her own, her mouth fell slightly open. “You see here, we have the definite lines, the lines that no matter where you look or how you stand, they remain the same. This is something I have no doubt you can do.” Finleigh nodded again. “So, let’s see it.” Ian passed his pencil to her and nodded to her canvas.

  “Wait, you want me to draw you?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I paint. And I’m not in figure class yet.”

  “You aren’t here because you need to learn how to be an artist. You are an artist. Yes, a pencil is different from a brush, but the strokes can remain much the same.”

  Finleigh took a deep breath and willed her hand to steady. She’d painted and even drawn figures before but only from other images. She licked her lips, let out her breath and let the pencil meet the canvas. Of course, she started with the lines she knew. She outlined his face, finding that she went off much of it from memory. Soon, she had his entire outline.

  “Good. Now, let’s add these shadows. Let’s add some definition.”

  Finleigh brought her attention back to his canvas and watched as he quickly and effortlessly added in details. He barely looked at her the entire time. “Notice, I’m not relying on what my subject presents to me in this moment. I’m using it for inspiration but letting my hand tell me where it should go.” Without lifting his attention from his canvas, Ian told her, “Now, you try it. And I know you can because I saw that you actually did most of the outline without needing to study me.”

  Finleigh felt her face brighten just a bit and quickly turned her attention to her canvas again. She hesitated but took another deep breath and closed her eyes. Imagining his face instead of looking directly at him. Again, she let out her breath and began drawing again.

  This time, they both continued in silence. By the time Finleigh found herself getting towards the end, she realized he had stopped drawing. Shocked, she actually felt as if she had finished—or at least mostly finished—the piece. She sat back and took it in. She didn’t hate it. It wasn’t perfect but she didn’t hate it.

  “See, you’re not here to learn technique. You’re here to learn how to let go.”

  Finally, Finleigh spoke up. “I’ve never truly finished a piece before. I have countless canvases at home just partially or mostly done. None that I have felt were truly done.”

  “Does this feel done to you?”

  Finleigh thought for a moment, tilting her head to take in the full image. “Yes, it kind of does.”

  “You’re right.”

  Finleigh stole a glance at his canvas but then couldn’t take her eyes off it. Undeniably, it was her, but depicted in such a peaceful way that she knew it could never have been based off a photograph. “That’s amazing.”

  Ian let out a small chuckle. “It took me years to get to this point. Years of struggling to let go and just let my canvas tell me what it wanted to look like. And trust me, in the beginning, that sounded ridiculous. How could a canvas tell me anything? Isn’t it our brains that makes up the art? But I finally had a mentor that taught me to let my brain tell me the outline but to then let my hand make up the rest.”

  “To let go.” Finleigh echoed.

  “Yes. Now, I have a proposition for you.”

  “Okay.” Finleigh said, slowly.

  “You don’t need my class.” Finleigh furrowed her brows. “But I do think I can help you. I offer one-on-one classes to those who are already artists but just need some extra direction.”

  “Your mentors
hips.” She offered, knowingly.

  “Yes. I think you would benefit from a mentorship more than you ever would in my standard class.”

  Finleigh felt her heart drop some. She was familiar with his mentorship and wanted it more than anything. However, she couldn’t afford it. She could barely afford this class.

  As if sensing her apprehension, Ian said, “I won’t charge you extra.”

  “No.” Finleigh argued. “That’s not fair. This is your livelihood, and you can’t give it out for less than it’s worth. Plus, don’t you have a waiting list for your mentorship program?”

  “I call it a waiting list. But to be honest, those on the waiting list are those that either aren’t ready for a mentorship or,” Ian paused, looking for the right words, “those that will never be ready.”

  Finleigh laughed a little. “Well, that’s a nice way of putting it.”

  “Yeah, I try not to break anyone’s spirit, but I also probably shouldn’t let anyone keep their hopes up either.”

  “Yeah, Elle would probably be pissed if she found out I got a mentorship before her though.” Finleigh thought of the girl that sat beside her sometimes in class. Elle was obviously head over heels for Ian and didn’t do much to hide it. Finleigh saw her stare at him more than any piece sitting at the center of the room.

  “She’s been on that waiting list since the moment she stepped foot in this class, and she will remain on that waiting list.” Ian exhaled, shaking his head.

  Ian had never seemed like the type to try to use his class to meet women and she couldn’t help but feel relief that he stood firm.

  “Ouch.” Finleigh laughed.

  “I’m sure you’ve seen her work. She doesn’t need a mentorship. She needs…hell, I don’t know what she needs but it’s not anything I can teach her.”

  “I think it’s more about her ulterior motives than her art.”

  Ian shook his head and Finleigh saw some redness rise to his cheeks. “Yeah, I don’t teach this class to find women.”

  “Hey, I never once thought that. But I think someone needs to tell Elle that.”

  They both let out a laugh.

  “Now, what do you say, will you accept my mentorship? You can just transition to that and we’ll keep the fee that you already paid for the class as the same.”

  Finleigh took a deep breath. She wanted to more than anything but was admittedly scared.

  “Finleigh, you are an amazing artist. You must know that. And I’m not trying to say I’m the best, but I think I can help you and teach you more.” Ian leaned towards her. “I think I can help you finish some pieces.”

  Finleigh smiled. “That would be awesome.”

  “Good. Now, I have some availability Wednesdays and Thursdays. Which day works better for you?”

  “Let’s go with Thursdays.” Finleigh sometimes babysat her brother’s daughter on Wednesdays if she left work on time.

  “Alright. Sounds like a plan. Now, I’m starving. How about you?”

  Almost as if on cue, Finleigh’s stomach growled yet again. She looked up at the clock and saw that it was already 8 o’clock. “Oh wow. The time.”

  “Oh, do you have to go?” Ian almost sounded slightly disappointed.

  Finleigh smiled, finding that she wasn’t ready to go home yet. “No, not yet.”

  “Good.” Ian got excited. “I was kind of hoping we could order some food and then, if you’d like, maybe talk a bit more about your art. To truly mentor you, I need to know about your art and who you are, as an artist but also as a person.”

  By the time their food came, they had relocated to the tattered couch that Ian kept in the corner of the studio. Finleigh had shared nearly her entire journey as an artist, from the day she remembered picking up her dad’s paintbrush.

  She had been home alone that afternoon and had grown tired of the children’s watercolor paint sets her parents frequently bought for her. She wanted to try her hand at acrylics. She had never been allowed in her dad’s art room without him there so she knew she would be in trouble if she was caught. So, she paid extra careful attention to the sounds and time.

  Soon, she was sneaking into the room nearly every chance she could. She hid the canvases that she painted on at the back of her closet. She tried to make sure she never used too much of one paint tube each time, hoping he would never notice.

  “The day my dad caught me, I was sure I was going to get in so much trouble.” Finleigh laughed between bites of Lo Mein.

  “Did you?” Ian asked, fully immersed in her story.

  “Actually, no! My dad had come home early from work that day and I guess I was so caught up that I didn’t hear the front door open. Not that I would have had time to clean it all up. Next thing I know, he’s standing behind me with his arms crossed and not saying a damn word.”

  “Shit, that’s terrifying.”

  “It was! But instead of yelling, he pulled up his stool and just sat down. I couldn’t paint anymore though. I was too scared. So finally, he stood up and took the paintbrush from my hand. I really thought I was in for it then. My dad can stay so silent for so long.”

  “What happened?”

  Finleigh chuckled at the memory. “He called my mom and let her know that we were going to the store and that he didn’t know when we would be back. Then he told me to go wait for him in the car. My heart was racing the whole time. I swear, I went through every possible scenario until I’d convinced myself he was just going to take me to the middle of nowhere and leave me there.”

  “I’m assuming he didn’t do that?”

  “Nope. He took me to his favorite art store and bought me like $200 worth of supplies.”

  “No way.”

  “He bought me my own smaller stack of canvases, brushes, a full paint set—acrylics, a shorter easel, and a stool small enough for me. “

  Ian’s face broke out into a huge smile.

  “It was amazing. When we got home, we didn’t even stop to talk to mom or my brother. He just carried all of my new supplies into his room and set me up beside him. We painted for hours that night. I tried to mimic what he was painting and he let me. He’d swipe a few strokes and then pause, watching as I did the same. I’d say, it was probably the best bonding experience I ever had with him. Just the two of us, quietly painting. Even to this day, my dad isn’t big on talking.”

  “But his actions that day spoke volumes.”

  “They really did. The next day, he told me to show him all that I’d done. He knew I had a stack of canvases somewhere. So, I pulled them all out of my closet and he set them up beside many of his.”

  “Were they finished?”

  Finleigh chuckled. “They weren’t. I’d never really been able to finish one because I was so afraid before of getting caught. And then I just never went back to them once I put them in my closet.”

  “Do you still have them?”

  “My dad does.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  Finleigh pushed her food around her container. “Yeah.”

  “Does he still paint?”

  Finleigh looked off, thinking about her dad’s arthritis. She simply shook her head and willed her tears not to fall. “His arthritis started to get really bad just before I started college. At first, he just painted less. But now, I couldn’t tell you the last time he painted.”

  “Oh.” Ian stated, obviously sad for her.

  “Yeah. It’s…” Finleigh paused, urging herself to push forward. “It’s actually why I changed my major in college.”

  “To what?”

  “Business.”

  “You were an art major?”

  “I was. But seeing how much pain he was in, both physically and emotionally, I just couldn’t do that to him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I could still paint but he couldn’t. And he kept telling me to keep going but I just couldn’t be happy doing it full time anymore. For nearly a year, every time I picked up a brush, I just broke down
in tears. Finally, I just stopped trying.”

  “How long did you go without painting?”

  Finleigh pursed her lips. “I stopped when I changed majors just before the start of my sophomore year. I didn’t pick up a paintbrush again until my senior year when I took an art class elective. Even then, I only painted in class or for class. I didn’t really start painting again on my own until a few months ago, just before I found your class.”

  Ian’s mouth dropped open. “Finleigh.”

  “I graduated college three years ago.”

  “You went almost 6 years without painting?”

  Finleigh nodded and set her food on the coffee table.

  “How’d you get started again?”

  Finleigh gulped. She wasn’t ready to share the real reason she picked her brush up again. “I found some canvases on sale one day.” She shrugged, trying to pass it off but she could tell Ian didn’t quite believe her.

  His eyes had narrowed but he didn’t push the subject. “So, of all the recent pieces, still none of them are finished either?”

  “Nope. I just can’t seem to find the ending.”

  “That has nothing to do with your art. You’re searching for something in life.”

  “Yeah.” His statement ricocheted through her mind, bringing too much truth.

  “I think you’re also still mentally looking for permission to finish something.”

  “Permission?” Finleigh echoed.

  “Yeah, you didn’t have permission as a child at first. Then you did, but you’d been in such a habit then. But then, your dad couldn’t paint anymore, and you felt like you didn’t have the right to continue on your own. Now, you still don’t feel like you have permission to paint.”

  Finleigh felt her eyes begin to sting.

  Ian gently lay a hand on hers. “Finleigh, what you and your dad have together is magical. But it’s not something you two have to always do together. I know you say he isn’t a man of many words, but I bet he wants you to keep painting. It’s not just a hobby you two do together anymore. It’s your way of carrying on his legacy. And you don’t need his permission. Your art is rooted in your relationship with him. But it needs to grow on its own too.”