turned toward the dressing room.
Gregory caught her by the arm. “We’ll wait for you,” he said. “We’re going to check out Will’s paintings.”
Ivy saw Suzanne out of the corner of her eye, drumming her fingers on the top of a trunk, her pinky ring flashing.
“We’ve already seen them,” Ivy told him.
“Though we didn’t know which were his,” Beth said. “The artists’ names are still covered.”
“They’re watercolors,” Gregory told them.
“Watercolors?” Ivy and Beth repeated at the same time.
“Will,” Gregory called out. “What’s your entry number?”
“Thirty-three,” he replied.
Beth and Ivy exchanged glances.
“You painted the garden where Ivy wants to sit for hours,” Beth said.
“And the snake,” Philip said.
“And the woman with blossoms falling around her like snow,” Ivy added.
“That’s right.” Will continued to work, arranging his customers before the camera.
“They were amazing!” Beth said.
“I like the snake,” said Philip.
Ivy watched Will without saying anything. He was being the cool Will O’Leary again, acting as if his paintings and what they said about them didn’t matter to him. Then she saw the quick turn of the head, as if he were checking to see whether she was still there. She realized then that he had wanted her to make a comment.
“Your paintings are really … uh …” All the words she could think of sounded flat.
“That’s okay,” he said, cutting her short before she could come up with the right description.
“Are you coming along for a second look?” Gregory asked impatiently.
“Be out in a minute,” Beth replied, hurrying toward the dressing room.
Philip was walking to the dressing room and undressing at the same time.
“I can’t,” Ivy said to Gregory. “I play at five o’clock and I need to—”
“Practice?” His eyes flashed.
“I need time to collect myself, to think through what Pm playing, that’s all. I can’t do that with everyone around.”
“I’m sorry you can’t come,” Suzanne said, and Ivy knew she was making progress. Still, it hurt her to see Gregory turn away.
She dawdled in the dressing room long enough for the others to go. When she came out, there were only two customers left, trying on hats and laughing.
Will was relaxing in a canvas chair with one leg propped up on a trunk, studying a photograph in his hands. He turned it facedown when he saw her. “Thanks for stopping by,” he said.
“Will, you didn’t give me a chance to tell you what I liked about your paintings. I couldn’t find the right words at first—”
“I wasn’t fishing for compliments, Ivy.”
“I don’t care whether you were or weren’t,” she said, and plopped down in the chair across from him. “I have something to say.”
“All right.” His mouth curved up slightly. “Shoot.”
“It’s about the one called Too Soon. ”
Will took off his hat. She wished he had kept it on. Somehow—more and more, it seemed—looking into his eyes made it difficult for her to speak. She told herself they were just deep brown eyes, but whenever she looked into them she felt as if she were going into free fall.
The eyes are windows to the soul, she’d read once. And his were wide open.
She focused on her hands. “Sometimes, when something touches you, it’s hard to find the words. You can say things like ‘beautiful,’ ‘fabulous,’ ‘awesome,’ but the words don’t really describe how you feel, especially if you were feeling all that, but the picture made you—made you hurt some, too. And your picture did.” She flexed her fingers. “That’s all.”
“Thanks,” Will said.
She looked up at him then, which was a mistake.
“Ivy—”
She tried to look away, but couldn’t.
“—how are you?”
“I’m fine. Really, I am.” Why did she have to keep telling people that? And why, when she said it to Will, did it feel as if he could see straight through the lie?
“I have something
Gregory caught her by the arm. “We’ll wait for you,” he said. “We’re going to check out Will’s paintings.”
Ivy saw Suzanne out of the corner of her eye, drumming her fingers on the top of a trunk, her pinky ring flashing.
“We’ve already seen them,” Ivy told him.
“Though we didn’t know which were his,” Beth said. “The artists’ names are still covered.”
“They’re watercolors,” Gregory told them.
“Watercolors?” Ivy and Beth repeated at the same time.
“Will,” Gregory called out. “What’s your entry number?”
“Thirty-three,” he replied.
Beth and Ivy exchanged glances.
“You painted the garden where Ivy wants to sit for hours,” Beth said.
“And the snake,” Philip said.
“And the woman with blossoms falling around her like snow,” Ivy added.
“That’s right.” Will continued to work, arranging his customers before the camera.
“They were amazing!” Beth said.
“I like the snake,” said Philip.
Ivy watched Will without saying anything. He was being the cool Will O’Leary again, acting as if his paintings and what they said about them didn’t matter to him. Then she saw the quick turn of the head, as if he were checking to see whether she was still there. She realized then that he had wanted her to make a comment.
“Your paintings are really … uh …” All the words she could think of sounded flat.
“That’s okay,” he said, cutting her short before she could come up with the right description.
“Are you coming along for a second look?” Gregory asked impatiently.
“Be out in a minute,” Beth replied, hurrying toward the dressing room.
Philip was walking to the dressing room and undressing at the same time.
“I can’t,” Ivy said to Gregory. “I play at five o’clock and I need to—”
“Practice?” His eyes flashed.
“I need time to collect myself, to think through what Pm playing, that’s all. I can’t do that with everyone around.”
“I’m sorry you can’t come,” Suzanne said, and Ivy knew she was making progress. Still, it hurt her to see Gregory turn away.
She dawdled in the dressing room long enough for the others to go. When she came out, there were only two customers left, trying on hats and laughing.
Will was relaxing in a canvas chair with one leg propped up on a trunk, studying a photograph in his hands. He turned it facedown when he saw her. “Thanks for stopping by,” he said.
“Will, you didn’t give me a chance to tell you what I liked about your paintings. I couldn’t find the right words at first—”
“I wasn’t fishing for compliments, Ivy.”
“I don’t care whether you were or weren’t,” she said, and plopped down in the chair across from him. “I have something to say.”
“All right.” His mouth curved up slightly. “Shoot.”
“It’s about the one called Too Soon. ”
Will took off his hat. She wished he had kept it on. Somehow—more and more, it seemed—looking into his eyes made it difficult for her to speak. She told herself they were just deep brown eyes, but whenever she looked into them she felt as if she were going into free fall.
The eyes are windows to the soul, she’d read once. And his were wide open.
She focused on her hands. “Sometimes, when something touches you, it’s hard to find the words. You can say things like ‘beautiful,’ ‘fabulous,’ ‘awesome,’ but the words don’t really describe how you feel, especially if you were feeling all that, but the picture made you—made you hurt some, too. And your picture did.” She flexed her fingers. “That’s all.”
“Thanks,” Will said.
She looked up at him then, which was a mistake.
“Ivy—”
She tried to look away, but couldn’t.
“—how are you?”
“I’m fine. Really, I am.” Why did she have to keep telling people that? And why, when she said it to Will, did it feel as if he could see straight through the lie?
“I have something
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