Page 33 of Theo of Golden

But he was also curious as to the old man’s intent. Minnette, the day after her meeting with Theo, had given Asher a glowing report about their encounter at the Fedder, but she knew very few details about the man. All Asher knew was that a man from Portugal, a pleasant newcomer to town, had purchased a number of the portraits and had expressed an interest in all the ones still on the walls.

“Excuse me, sir, good morning. I don’t mean to interrupt you, but I believe I owe you a thank you. I’m Asher Glissen.”

Theo had been studying the portrait of a little girl wearing a baseball cap. It took him a moment to reorient himself and break away from whatever thoughts filled his head at the moment. When he realized who was standing in front of him, he turned to face the younger man full on, smiled and nodded nervously, and fumbled to string a sentence together.

“Oh, well, yes, yes… of course… how nice… good morning. My, my, I’m so honored to meet you, Mr. Glissen. This is no interruption at all. I am a great admirer of your work. Uh, um, this is very nice indeed. Thank you for speaking. My name is Theo.”

Asher accepted the offered handshake with the politeness and respect due an elder. True to his habit, Theo held Asher’s right hand in both of his own. He was nothing less than spellbound — starstruck? — to be in the presence of the portrait master. His eyes shone brightly.

Asher, true to his habit, closely examined the features of Theo’s face. It would be a good face to draw, he thought. He has strong eyes.

“Shep tells me you’ve bought several of the portraits, and I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate your encouragement. That means a lot to me.” He nodded to the portrait Theo had been studying. “Her name is Lila. She’s a delightful little girl. She had just come from ballet practice when I took her picture.”

Theo nodded. “You have captured her beautifully, as you have all the others. Even her eyes are full of dance. And yes, Mr. Glissen, I have acquired several of the portraits so far, but only to give them good homes. I am very pleased that I discovered them. Young man, you are a master at what you do. Have you time to sit and visit?”

Asher received the compliments with poise. This was not his first time hearing high praise of his work.

“Thank you, Mr. Theo — is that right, Theo?”

“Only Theo, please, no ‘mister.’ ”

“Well, Theo, I’d love to visit, but I have a meeting in just a few minutes. Could you come by my studio sometime? It’s not far from here, and I’ll be there all day tomorrow. Will that work for you?”

“It would, yes, but I don’t want to take you from your work.”

“Well, I appreciate that, but my schedule is flexible. Why don’t you come in the morning, and we can visit over coffee? Is nine o’clock too early for you? Just knock good and loud when you come. I usually lock the door when I’m working.”

Asher gave Theo directions to his studio and a phone number, exchanged a few more well wishes, and then turned to leave.

Theo watched Asher walk out, watched him speak to a young couple on the sidewalk, watched him place his coffee in a cup holder between the handlebars of his bicycle, and watched him ride away. Theo took a deep breath, removed his glasses, took another deep breath, and then left the shop.

The plan was working just as he had hoped.

CHAPTER 21

When Theo had taken his first walk down the sidewalks of the Boughery, the day after his arrival in Golden, he felt as if he’d stumbled upon a place that was vintage Americana. That feeling grew with each stroll through the neighborhood. He learned that many of the extant old houses were built in the mid to late 1800s, when Broadway and downtown were the center of life in the community.

The exteriors of those houses — gables, columns, porticoes, handrails, dormers, ceilings, doors, window frames — pointed to a bygone architectural era that celebrated whimsy and individuality in residential design.

Porches were standard fare. Some wrapped around the entire circumference of the houses to which they were attached. Others were mere nooks, often beside a front door. All allowed for and seemed to encourage the blessed leisure art of sitting and relaxed conversation.

Lawns and gardens in the Boughery were well-groomed and meticulously cared-for. On spring and summer days, the scent of gardenia, tea olive, camellia, and narcissus beckoned walkers closer and closer to the yards, where those fragrant plants grew in abundance.

In the early generations of Golden’s history, houses in the Boughery had belonged to wealthy leaders in the community. More recently, during Golden’s rejuvenation, many of the houses had been purchased by an eclectic assortment of artists, young families, professionals, and affluent history buffs who were willing to live at the borderlands of an increasingly gentrified town center to the north and a chronically impoverished low-rent district to the south.

An abiding hope that the downtown would continue to flourish and, at the same time, retain a healthy regard for the city’s past was a common trait amongst the tribe of Boughery residents. They were proud and protective of their little province, Asher among them.

At 8:58 a.m., Theo arrived at 107 South Broadway, on the west side of the median. It was a three-story house — pewter gray with green trim, red front door, and wraparound porch on three sides. Though obviously intended to be a residence at its inception, Asher and Brooke had bought it cheap and converted it into a studio.

Asher did most of his work there, awash in natural light and able, through an assortment of strategically placed windows, to see trees and sky at all times with a mere tilt or turn of his head.

Theo climbed five steps up to the porch and knocked on the door. He was a mixture of mild uneasiness and eagerness at the prospect of conversation with the young prodigy. As he waited for Asher to answer, he surveyed the porch. It was deep and long on the front side with a balustrade of turned hourglass spindles.

The porch ceiling was painted powder blue. An old superstition held that such a practice was effective at keeping bad spirits from entering a house and also at keeping spiders from spinning webs in the corners. Perhaps it worked. No bad spirits seemed to be present as Theo waited for Asher’s welcome, nor did he see any spiders.

Bronze wind chimes, still and silent at the moment, hung at one end of the porch. An assortment of wicker furnishings, neatly organized and cared-for, filled the area without crowding it. Theo was making mental notes of flowers and plants around the lawn when he heard footsteps inside the house.

Asher opened the door and wiped blue paint from his right hand with a towel, before holding it out to Theo.