Chapter 13
Afraid she might waste his precious, worth–their–weight–in–gold supplies, Alonzo hurried off and wheeled over a cart loaded with standard paints, fresh canvases, and a full set of brushes.
They picked an empty studio. Dora told Dewey to take his time and have fun with it–she wanted a painting from him.
Then she followed Alonzo out to the courtyard pavilion for coffee and
conversation.
“So, you’re saying you’re not actually some rich young heiress, and your real family’s barely making ends meet?”
After hearing the full “switched at birth” saga. Alonzo frowned so hard his brows nearly met in the middle
How could something so ridiculous–and straight out of a soap opera- actually happen? Swapping babies Have everyone’s brains turned to mush” he thought
He let out a long sigh “Well, maybe it’s for the best that you left the Hendrix family All those rules and expectations would’ve smothered your artistic talent. The Acosta family might be broke, but that just makes it easier–come live here and be my apprentice. I’ll make sure you’re well–fed and taken care of ”
Dora took a slow sip of her coffee and glanced sideways at him “Give it a rest. I’m not becoming your apprentice”
Alonzo’s face fell instantly, twisting into a dramatic pout. “Come on. I’ve devoted my whole life to art I’m in my sixties, never married, no kids–and now you’re telling me I don’t even get to have a protege? You’re really
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gonna let me die alone with no one to pass my legacy to?”
Dora was unmoved. “You’re only sixty–three. Not exactly ancient. And besides, didn’t I already bring you a potential candidate?”
Alonzo looked thoroughly unimpressed. “You mean that kid? He doesn’t look like an artist. Real geniuses are always a little weird. Like you. Like, me.”
Dora chuckled quietly but didn’t argue.
She wasn’t all that concerned whether Alonzo took a liking to Dewey or not. The real reason she came was to borrow his studio and supplies so Dewey could paint something for her school project. Visiting Alonzo was just a nice bonus–it had been a while.
Around noon, a housekeeper came to call them for lunch. Dora walked back toward the main house with Alonzo, stopping by the studio to check on Dewey first.
He was completely in the zone. To him, the paints were like playmates. He lay sprawled on the floor, tiny hands smeared with red paint as he joyfully covered the canvas, completely absorbed in what he was doing.
Seeing the mess, Alonzo looked away, pained. It hurt just watching his materials get “used” like this.
But then he caught a glimpse of the painting–in–progress–and suddenly, something shifted in his gaze. In that messy, unrefined work, his
weathered eyes saw something alive–like the first bloom of spring. Raw, vivid, and full of promise.
“Dewey, go wash your hands at the outdoor sink. You can finish after lunch.”
“Wait–just one more thing!” Dewey didn’t even glance up, digging
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through the paint box until he found the blue and yellow tubes. He squeezed both onto the palette, swirled them together with wild abandon-
Then splat–his little hand smacked right into the paint.
Another splat–he pressed his palm firmly onto the canvas, leaving behind. a bold, messy handprint.
“All done! Dora, this one’s for you!” Dewey shouted as he scrambled to his feet and skipped off to wash his hands, brimming with excitement.
Dora picked up the painting and flashed Alonzo a smug smile–she didn’t need to say a word; the look on her face said it all.
Alonzo’s eyes swept over the canvas like a scanner, back and forth, slowly stepping closer as if he’d stumbled upon some rare treasure. His face was filled with awe.
Up close, it looked like nothing more than chaotic splashes of paint. But from a few steps back–it was a galaxy.
Instead of using the typical deep blue for the backdrop of space, the canvas blazed with fiery reds. The stars, usually painted in soft whites or pale yellows, were rendered in bold black:
A total inversion–warmth where there should be cold, darkness where there should be light. The unexpected color choices shattered convention, yet somehow worked perfectly, revealing a vibrant, passionate inner world.
The finishing touch was a child–sized handprint–blue and green mixed together–pressed right onto the canvas. It seemed to represent the heart of this blazing cosmos: a symbol of Earth, cradled within the universe. At the same time, the handprint hinted at something deeper–generations of people safeguarding the beauty of our shared home.
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“A genius… This kid’s a genius!” Alonzo exclaimed, his eyes glued to the canvas. He looked like he wanted to reach out and touch it, but didn’t dare ruin the still–wet paint.
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