She stared at the paper in Oliver's hands. She could see a crayon sketch of her son's face on the white surface. The resemblance was remarkable, knowing Dale scribbled it in haste.
But she still remembered how he could draw anything without much effort. He was that good. He could conjure images and transfer them into paper with only the help of his imagination.
"That looks exactly like you." Jules heartily commented, not wanting her son to notice the awkwardness between her and the man he called his uncle.
But she also recalled how Dale would draw her face, page after page, one better than the other. He would say that he wanted to capture the perfect image. But did he?
She doubted since she was never perfect.
"I thought so, too." He nodded in agreement while holding onto the sketch in his tiny hands. "Thanks, Uncle Dale. I will hang this in my room." Her young son turned to the man in the room.
