Annette Vetter Adventure #1

       “What kind of paint are you using for your art project?” Chris asked as she leaned back against the pillow on her bed.

       “I thought I’d try oils,” said Annette. She paged through a magazine that had been lying on the end of the bed. “Most the kids are using them.”

       “Some are using watercolors,” said Chris, “but I’d like to try a different medium.”

       “What else is there besides oils and watercolors?”

       Chris smiled. “My father used to experiment with different kinds of paint.” She hopped up and went to her closet. “In fact, I might still have some of them, unless they got thrown away when we moved.” She opened the door and began rummaging through boxes.

       Annette put the magazine down, her curiosity aroused as she noticed the many boxes in Chris’s closet. “What kind of paint is it?”

       “They’re expensive paints,” said Chris, “and what I’ve got is rather old. When my father left us, he must have forgotten them. I’ve saved them for ten years... I don’t know why.” As she dug through the clutter, she handed Annette piles of books, games and keepsakes.

       “What’s this?” Annette unrolled a canvas Chris had dropped in her burrowing. She blew dust off it and slowly unwrapped it.

       “Oh, here they are.” Chris dragged a large metal box into the room.

       Annette stared at a portrait of a man done in oils. He had a lean face with long, straight hair, narrow eyes, and a mustache. His expression showed eyes that were gentle and loving, suggesting a smile.

       Chris took the canvas from Annette and turned it toward the light. For a moment, it seemed as though she was overcome by strong feelings. Annette noticed a tremble on Chris’s lips and moistness in her hazel eyes. “I didn’t know I kept this,” she murmured.

       Annette noticed something written on the back of the canvas. “What’s this say?”

       Chris turned it around.

       “Self-portrait?” Annette stared at her friend. “It’s your father?”

       Chris nodded. “He did it a long time ago. I always saved it.” She swallowed and blinked, then handed the drawing back to Annette and turned her attention to the metal box.

       Annette studied the portrait of Chris’s father. She could see the resemblance.

       “Darn, it’s stuck,” complained Chris. She shook the box and a lot of things inside rattled. Then she frowned. “Maybe I won’t use this paint after all. It’s probably all dried up, anyway.”

       Before Annette could comment, they heard voices coming from the living room and the front door slammed shut.

       “Sue must be home,” said Chris.