Morning sunlight stretched across the Mississippi dancing creating a sparkling picture. Paul stood with his paintbrush in his mouth. On an easel in front of him stood a blank white canvas. The paint on his easel waiting a dip from his brush but his hand could not take the brush from his lips. He felt a tear roll down his cheek, but he could not bother to brush it away. How many times had he painted this river? He watched a bird soar overhead musing and in which lifetime he laughed to himself. In frustration, he sat on the wall of the ledge that he was before. He glanced over his shoulder back at the house where everything had started. It was here in which he met his wife. A second tear rolled down his cheek as he realized with a fierceness the raw emotion which was the love for his wife. He pictured her still in bed her hand curled under her cheek, and her hair spilled on the pillow. They had been married one year, and he was now the stepfather to a two-year-old boy.

Paul wiped away the tears and stood up tall putting down his brush. The new family was here on a visit as they had finally received news that the painting that they had been searching for had been located. Tonight they were to all meet at the Villa Medina as old friends and new were reconnecting to finally bring the painting and the mystery home. Paul had decided to wake early and try to begin a painting that he planned to donate to the city. They planned to stay the week and see and reconnect with family and friends. The Villa Mediana had been restored and the caretakers' house in the back had been prepared for their visit. It was just the right size for the three of them. In the small living room suitcases were left unpacked as they had arrived late. They had flown into st Louis rented a car and arrived while everyone slept.

 Paul was restless and had made sure his family was asleep and snuck out of the house with his painting supplies. He knew one person would be awake, and he thought perhaps she would meet him. He dialed the cellphone, and a soft voice had promised to be there in a half hour. Paul put the phone back in his pocket. He sat down and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and pulled one out and lit it. When his wife had found out he was smoking she had been so disappointed in him. They had been walking in Central Park pushing the stroller with their son in the middle. She had not looked at him and said simply that she knew that he was smoking and that he should stop. He had nodded to her and had not stopped. He had become as good as hiding things as she had.