Unable to tear his eyes from the paintings, Daniel moved closer, craning his neck. He tried to make sense of it all, piecing together bits of the jigsaw, the little snippets of information, suspicions and fears that had enveloped him over the past few days. But not much of it added up. What he had seen in Dad"s studio was the most puzzling of all. That painting, its theme repeated ten or more times on the walls of this vast, circular room, what did it all mean?
Dad stood by his side, hands in pockets, depressed, shuffling his feet, uncertain how to begin. He coughed. “You deserve the truth, Dan.”
“I"m not sure if I know what that is, Dad.”
“I"ll try and make it clearer. The time for deceit has passed.”
Daniel squeezed his eyes shut. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but he didn"t wipe them
