Orfyn

 

 

I step back from the brick wall and admire the painting of the girl.

This time, she’s balanced on the limb of an oak tree. I can’t tell you who she is, but she keeps showing up in my paintings. She has hair the color of a sunrise, and a smile like Mona Lisa’s, but not. The world’s already got one of those. If you’re going to paint, why do what someone else has already done?

It’s simpler working in the light of day, and a lot more peaceful. I still paint on walls, but now I get permission first. And the owners have been psyched about having my work liven up their buildings. I’m still a street artist, but now I’m a legal one.

I pull open St. Catherine’s door and head to the fridge to grab a grape soda. Sister Mo calls for me to come into her office. When I get there, she’s seated at her desk, and in the chair in front of her is the Bishop! Perched at the ready in one of the chairs lining the wall is a man in an ash-gray suit and a blood-red tie.

“Out painting again, son?” the Bishop asks as he gets up to shake my hand, which is a first.

Why is he acting so friendly? We’ve never said a word to each other. “Every day I can.”

“And how is your head?”

“I’m feeling fine, Your Excellency.”

I don’t remember anything about it, but Father Burke told me how I got jumped while painting one night. They beat me up so bad, I ended up in a coma for more than a month. The kids threw me a party when I came back home to St. Catherine’s, which was cool.

Sister Mo gestures to the Suit. “Kevin, this man is a lawyer, and he needs to have a word with you. Come sit down, you.”

My past might finally be catching up to me, but Sister Mo doesn’t look worried. So why is a lawyer here to see me?

The Bishop gestures to the other chair. “Sit next to me, son.”

When you’re an orphan, and nobody has ever called you son, and then our church’s top guy does it twice, it stops you in your tracks. What’s going on?

“Kevin,” the lawyer starts, “I’m with Tennison, Franks, and Stuebmann in Newark. First, let me offer my condolences.”

“Why?”

“I’m sorry to inform you of the passing of Bartholomew Wakowski.”

“Who’s that?”

“He was a big fan of yours.”

I’m guessing he doesn’t mean me, the guy who was abandoned at the orphanage. This has to be about my paintings.

The lawyer hands me a thick, manila envelope. “This is Mr. Wakowski’s Last Will and Testament.”

Sister Mo looks as curious as I am.

When the Bishop pats me on the hand and says, “I’m sure it’s good news,” I don’t doubt for a second he already knows what’s in that envelope.

Watch out. He’s going to take a big interest in you from now on. It sounds like good advice, but I have no idea where the thought came from. It’s been happening a lot since I got beat up.

The Suit opens his leather folder and begins to read. “I, Bartholomew (Bat) Wakowski, being of sound mind and rather unsound body, bequeath my entire estate to Kevin Ward, a resident at the St. Catherine’s Home for Children. Tell him to paint the world as it should be, and that he has more family than he realizes.” The lawyer chuckles. “Mr. Wakowski could be a little eccentric.”

When none of us laugh along, he coughs. “Mr. Wakowski was an extremely successful video game inventor. Interestingly, he was also an art collector. His estate includes a number of very valuable paintings, as well as a substantial portfolio of holdings. There’s also a house in New Jersey, although we haven’t yet been able to gain access.”

I look at the Bishop. He’s smiling ear-to-ear. Now I understand why he suddenly wants to become my best bud.

“This has to be a joke,” I say. “I’ve never met the guy.”

“Oh, it’s quite legitimate,” the lawyer says. “And might I add that my firm has counseled Mr. Wakowski in the past, and we would be eager to provide legal services to you … uhm … ”

I guess he’s not sure how to address me now that this Wakowski guy has turned me into something more than a charity case. At least he didn’t use son.

“You can call me Orfyn.”

When the Bishop and lawyer leave, I say to Sister Mo, “I don’t understand.”

She comes around the desk and puts a thick arm around my shoulder. “I’ve been a nun for a long time, and one thing I know is there are angels all around us. And you have one watching over you.”

As strange as this all is, I smile at the thought.

Sister Mo smacks me on the head. “And don’t be too full of yourself, you. You can’t go around disappointing angels.”