“ ‘Did he push your hand against the heater?’ I asked.

“He didn’t answer. He turned the page. A painting by Gauguin.

“I said, ‘Everything’s going to change. I’m your kin. I’m Pops’ grandson and you’re Pops’ son, you know that, don’t you?’

“He didn’t say anything. Obdurately he looked back at his book and again he turned the page. A painting by Seurat.

“I told him my name. I told him everything would be better. I was about to leave him when I said, ‘One day you’ll get to go to Amsterdam to see Van Gogh’s work in person.’

“ ‘I’d settle for New York,’ he fired back, ‘so I could see all the Impressionists and the Expressionists at the Met.’

“I was stunned. His words were so clear, so crisp.

“ ‘You’re some kind of genius,’ I said.

“ ‘No, I’m not,’ he said. ‘I just read a lot. I read all I wanted to read in the branch library and now I’m working on the Books-a-Million store in Mapleville, where I go to school. My favorite books are about art. Couple of times, Pops brought me books on art.’

“That was an astounding revelation. Pops and books on art. Where would Pops get books on art? What did Pops know of books on art? Yet he had done it for this bastard son whom he allowed to live in squalor in this place.

“Thank God I still had some more money, about fifty dollars. ‘Here,’ I said. ‘This will work wonders at the bargain table. Don’t steal anymore.’

“ ‘I never stole,’ he said. ‘That’s my mother talking. You listen to my mother and you’d think Charlie pushed my hand up against the heater.’

“ ‘Gotcha. The point is, you can buy some to own with that.’

“ ‘Who’s your favorite painter in the whole world?’ he asked.

“ ‘Hard to say,’ I answered.

“ ‘Like if you could only save one painting from the Third World War,’ he pushed, ‘what would it be?’

“ ‘Have to be Renaissance. Have to be a Madonna,’ I replied, ‘but I’m not sure which one. Probably one by Botticelli, but then maybe Fra Filippo Lippi. But there are others. Just not sure.’ I thought of the beautiful woman inside nursing the baby. I wanted to mention her in connection to a Madonna but I didn’t.

“He nodded. ‘I’d save Dürer,’ he said. ‘Salvador Mundi—you know, the face of Christ with the hair parted in the middle.’

“ ‘That’s a good choice,’ I said. ‘Maybe much better than mine.’ I hesitated. We’d come a lot further in this conversation than I’d thought possible when I drove out here. ‘Listen to me,’ I said. ‘Would you like to go off to a good school, a boarding school, you know, get a fine education, get out of here?’

“ ‘I can’t leave Brittany,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t be fair.’