Page 63 of Possibly Texas

“Do what?”

“Diminish a compliment with an excuse.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I had fun painting it.”

He smiled back. “You’re really good with colors.”

“Honestly, though,” I asked, “if you weren’t there when I painted it, would you know what I had painted?”

“No,” he said.

I sighed.

“But I would be able to tell how you felt,” he said. “It was…inspiring.”

I looked down at my feet so my rosy cheeks were hidden in the shadows.

For what felt like an eternity of seconds, we stood in the barn, me by the door, Auggie by his worktable across the room.

“Have you seen the fliers?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“The fliers? Around town? I think they have one at the post office, Starbuck’s—there might have even been one up at The Pueblo today?”

I shook my head.

“They’ve been up for a while,” he teased.

“Tell me about the fliers,” I said with a laugh.

“It’s the annual Fourth of July BBQ the day after tomorrow.”

“Makes sense. That is the fourth.”

He laughed. “There’s lots of good food. Music. Amos usually adds at least one extra song to the line-up at AMOR. There’s dancing and stuff. Mingling. Fireworks once it gets dark. That kind of thing. It’s all free.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Do you…wanna go? With me?” he asked. “Like a buddy thing?”

I smiled.

“We could eat until we puke and watch fireworks and stuff. It’s usually…it’s fun. Yeah.”

“I’ll go,” I said. “On one condition.”

Auggie squinted at me.

“You have to tell me what this is.”

“Huh?” he asked.

“Your art…installation?” I gestured vaguely around the room. “Tell me what it is.”

More duct work—big enough for two men to fit inside snaked around the room, twisting and turning, over and under. The large metal cylinder—maybe a section of an old silo—still sat at the center of the room under the skylight. I desperately wanted to know what Auggie was creating. I would have gone to the Fourth of July BBQ with him, even if he refused to tell me, but I had an opportunity to learn about his work, so I took it.

“It’s an observatory,” he said. “Kind of.”