Page 49 of Memories of the Lost

Then, to distract herself, she looked up the website for Jon’s gallery and scrolled down to the painting that had obsessed her. And of course, there it was.

Why hadn’t she done this before?

Never mind. The painter’s name was Shiloh. The text was the blue of a live link, but when she clicked on it, all it said was,Shiloh paints her travels around the world.

Not much. Why was she so reclusive?

She ran a search forShiloh, painter, and all that showed up were a couple of galleries and the same information. Frustrating. What if Tillie were some big-time buyer and wanted all of her stuff? What, then?

The thought was so judgy, she had to laugh at herself. Shiloh was not obligated to be online for Tillie’s pleasure. And who knew? Maybe her way was better.

At the bottom of her very plain website was a Yahoo! address. Not expecting much, she opened a fresh email and typed:

Hi, Shiloh. I’d love to talk to you about one of your paintings in Tillerman’s Gallery in NYC. It’s kind of important.

Thanks,

Tillie Morrisey

Almost immediately, an email came back:Thanks for your inquiry. I’m out of the country and checking email sporadically. I’ll get back to you when I can. Shiloh

Reading it, Tillie felt frustration rising, tangling her mind. When would she ever get answers?

And then she heard herself. Honestly, what was the big deal? She’d been losing her mind over a painting that wasn’t even to her taste. Maybe Jon was right, and she was just fixated on all this stuff because she didn’t want to face how much she missed her mom.

Just in that moment, she missed her even more. Wished that she could rest her head on her mother’s shoulder and let her soothe this roiling ball of emotion.

And yet, even that little fantasy was complicated by the questions surrounding the news story and the little girl.

Mom, what did you hide from me?

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Jon arrived, looking shiny clean and rested in a green activewear hoodie and expensive jeans.

“You look good,” she said.

“Thank you.”

She picked up her coat but dropped it on the floor. Picked it up, then dropped her keys; picked them up, but a lipstick rolled out of her bag. “Damn it!” She grabbed it before it could disappear under the couch.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. “Maybe it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie.”

She gave him a look. “If it was you, would you let them lie?”

“Girl, I’d poke them until they woke up and started barking, for sure. But I’ve also never had anxiety so bad that I almost ended up in the hospital.”

“Fair enough.” She tucked everything in her purse and shoved her arms through her coat sleeves, pulling hair out and flinging it over her shoulders. “I have to find out what she was lying about. Why. Maybe that’s the whole reason I’m screwed up in the first place, that she had some dark secret she never told me.”

Solemnly, he nodded. Touched her shoulder. “Let’s go, then.”

When they were well underway and out of the Manhattan traffic, he said, “Itisweird that she never told you about this other girl.”

Tillie chewed her lip. “Maybe it was just too hard for her to talk about?”

“So she just never told you that you had a sister? That’s a stretch.”

“Yeah, that’s a lot.” She sighed. “But there was a lot that was not exactly ... ordinary about her.”