Chapter 5
Back on the porch behind Leo’s modest brick row house, the afternoon shadows lengthened into deep indigo pools. A sturdy wooden table sat beneath a buzzing amber porch light, covered in old newspapers and damp rags. Leo sat on a wooden crate, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, pressing his thumbs firmly into a fresh block of reddish-brown clay. The failure at the gallery hung in the back of his mind like a persistent hum, but the tactile resistance of the material beneath his fingers drove the memory away. Across from him, Marcus leaned against the wooden porch railing, carving a piece of driftwood with a small pocket knife.
"You're rushing the base," Marcus observed, pausing his knife mid-stroke and pointing the blade toward Leo's hands. "If the roots aren't deep enough to anchor the trunk, the whole thing tilts when you add the branches. It's basic physics, just like Arthur said."
Leo frowned, smoothing out the uneven mound with a wet sponge. "I want it to be bigger than the last one."
"Bigger isn't better," Marcus replied, his voice softening. "Detailed is better. Make every root mean something. Make it look like it's fighting to stay in the ground."
As if summoned by the conversation, the heavy wooden gate at the side of the porch creaked open. Arthur stepped into the warm circle of light cast by the porch lamp, carrying his canvas camera bag over one shoulder. He didn't wear his professional jacket anymore; instead, he wore a simple dark sweater that made him look less like an investigative journalist and more like an ordinary neighbor. Leo looked up nervously, suddenly remembering the cold atmosphere of the gallery and the man who had recorded every second of his humiliation.
"Mind if I sit?" Arthur asked, gesturing to an empty folding chair near the edge of the porch.
"Depends," Marcus said, narrowing his eyes as he stepped between Arthur and the work table. "You here to cover another story, or are you just wandering around neighborhoods you don't belong in?"
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Arthur held up his hands in a gesture of absolute peace, smiling faintly. "Fair question, kid. But my camera bag is zipped shut, and I left the tripod in the car. I just wanted to see how the tree was coming along."
Leo looked at Arthur, noticing the kind crinkles around the man's eyes that had been hidden behind the professional glare in the gallery. He nodded slowly and pointed to the chair. Arthur pulled it up, sitting down with a quiet sigh of relief and resting his forearms on his knees as he watched the wet clay take shape under the boy's fingers.
