Ed went on with the painting, as if he always did this, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd actually painted a wall, especially with a roller. It was laborious work with the broomstick handle. He did his best not to hit the ceiling.
"Well, I thought.... you were a painter." Betty remembered.
"Yes, that's right. Mostly..pictures." He scratched at the corner of his eye, wondering where he would go from here. He was taking his sweet time. Funny, how he'd missed conversation and of course, a home cooked meal.
"Like an artist?" She winced with her arms crossed.
"Yes." He imagined. He didn't think of himself as a real artist. He was good at reproducing paintings, making them look like somebody famous..art. But he really didn't do that anymore. It wasn't something, one would advertise to everyday people.
"I'm not a liar." But he didn't completely believe that. "I..I can't say I've got a true calling." He told her he was born here, but he'd been in an orphanage, most of his life. "I really wanted to take care of my son, but I was just a teenager and well, I guess I didn't try hard enough."
"A son? Where is he?" Betty voiced a concern. He could see she was finding him interesting. He couldn't help but smile. He liked it when people found him interesting.
"He's..he's with a foster family," Ed said, thinking he better get this room done and be on his way. She'd already fed him lunch. He might get lucky and she'd let him eat dinner, too.
Betty studied the dark gray walls. He waited to see if he'd done it to her satisfaction. It looked fine to him. Just a little wet.
"We'll get the room ready for you." She told him, he'd have to help her get the bed from the attic. "I think I can find a few more jobs for you to do, around here."
Ed looked at her stunned. Was she serious? He wanted to hug her, but thought it was best not.