Page 57 of Memories of the Lost

“Over here,” she said. “These are obviously just sketches, and they’ll be less on the nose when I finish.” She pointed to the gazelle girl and the crow woman. “Like those.”

“Jesus!” Krish exclaimed. “These are really good. I wasn’t expecting an artist of ...”

She waited.

He had the grace to finish. “Such power.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you mind?” He gestured to the other paintings curing on rails along the wall.

“Go ahead.”

As he followed the paintings, stopping at each one with the kind of attention that let her know he had some knowledge of art, she looked at Liam. “You could have warned me,” she whispered.

“I tried. It went to voice mail every time.”

“Oh.” She’d been asleep for at least a couple of hours, and honestly, could have gone for the rest of the night. She couldn’t remember when she’d been so tired. Empty. Thoughts of her mother wafted through hermind, and she pushed them away, tightened her fingers around Liam’s. He glanced down, pleased. Light came through the upper windows, fading now with the day, but it washed his face with something like holiness, and a spot beneath her ribs ached. She wished he didn’t have to go so far away.

Krish rounded back to the sketches of Liam as an angel. “What’s the plan for this work?”

“The painting, or the series?”

“Both, I reckon.” His arms were crossed. Closed position.

“I have a show in four months at the Helen Appleward gallery in Manhattan. This painting will be ...” She almost squinted into the distance, as if the painting in its finished form hung out there somewhere. “I’m not sure, but in this vein.”

“His face will be recognizable?”

“His face is kind of the point.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“Krish,” Liam said.

“It matters, don’t you think?”

Tillie stepped in. “I didn’t know. But my friend Jon told me today that he’s—you—are, as he said, a ‘rock star’ meditation teacher. With, like, an app and workshops around the world, right?”

Liam looked sad. “Yeah.”

“And you had no idea before this?” Krish demanded.

“No.” She crossed her own arms. “This isn’t an attempt to exploit his fame. It’s just ...” She looked at the sketches, the wings. “What came to me. It’s how I see humans, not as themselves but other things.”

Krish gestured toward the gazelle and the owl being, side by side. “Like that?” He looked down his nose at her, and she suddenly saw a Belgian Malinois. Most dogs were hostile or eager to please, but a Malinois knew he was better than you.

“Everyone. I’m seeing a Belgian Malinois when I look at you.”

One eyebrow rose in disdain. “A dog?”

“Lean, smart, loyal,” she countered.

Liam said, “Bro.” The word carried layers Tillie couldn’t decipher, but the top notes were annoyance and maybe a request.

Nodding, Krish said, “You must see what the connotations are, his face as an angel, representing himself as divine.”

“I see your point in a way. In a big way, actually.” She pursed her lips. Disappointment rivered through her limbs, along with a rise of anxiety. If she ditched this, she’d be even more behind, and it was feeling like a core painting. “I might be able to—” She broke off, knowing the whole point was the visual of his face. “I don’t know. If it won’t work, it won’t work.”