Phil saluted Henry. “See ya, buddy.”
In less than a minute, Phil and Darla said their farewells and left me staring at the door.
I wandered to the next painting, which was so similar to the last that I had to glance back to make sure I’d moved.
My temples began to pound, drowning out the recorded trumpet that was galloping up and down the scales. Seeing Darla and Phil shouldn’t hurt, but it did. I hated them both. I hoped Lois hadn’t told Darla to include me in her quest for a condominium. I would rather starve than earn a commission from her. And now I was stuck driving Henry home. Normally I was pretty quick with a comeback, but what would I say to him in the car?
I inched around the gallery, which was filling with more people. I heard complimentary remarks about the show, people using words like avant-garde and sophisticated. The red dots, the words of praise, the respect Candy had earned: Everything rattled me.
From midway across the room, Henry strolled over and stood next to me. I traveled at a snail’s speed, hoping he would get impatient and leave. But he stayed close by until I’d finished inspecting the last painting.
“What did you think?” he asked.
“I love her stuff.” I wondered if he could tell I was stretching the truth. “Did you know we roomed together in college? I’m so proud of Candy.” That was a fact. I admired my friend even if I didn’t understand her art. As I read the painting’s title my mind whizzed back to the figure drawing class she and I had taken together. I remembered glancing at Candy’s work and seeing a drawing that looked like it had been executed by a child—stiff and out of proportion.
“Back then, I thought I had all the talent,” I said. “But she never gave up, the way I did. Now look at her.”
“Your life’s not over yet. I saw real ability in the drawings you did in class. Have you been sketching?”
“I did one the other day I liked.”
“Bring it to class on Monday, and we’ll talk about it.”
“Okay.” He would probably forget all about this conversation by then, I thought. And why would it be a big deal? I told myself to relax as I reexamined the last painting. Henry may be my teacher, but that didn’t make his opinion the final word.
“Look, about the ride,” he said. “If it’s too much of an inconvenience, I’ll hop in a cab.”
“No, it’s all right, I don’t have to be anywhere.” I felt foolish for not being more cordial. “Phil said you live near me.”
“Well, you know Phil and his imagination.”
“Yes, I do.” All too well, I thought. He made up the plot as he went along.
“He mentioned you live over by Green Lake, and I’m way up on Capitol Hill.”
It would add fifteen minutes to my drive, but I said, “It’s fine, I’m glad to help.” It wasn’t as if I was needed elsewhere.
Out on the sidewalk the evening breeze crept up the sleeves of my jacket. I rubbed my forearms, then shoved my hands in my pockets. Henry and I waited for the light to change, then crossed the street. Three people approaching from the other direction forced me to walk close to him. My arm bumped against his in an awkward way. I only wanted to get this chore over with.
I led him to my car and crawled into the passenger side to remove the clutter off the seat. “There you go,” I said, tossing the last paper into the back. When I reached my own door, he’d already gotten in and unlocked it. The instant I started the engine, oldies music blared out of the radio speakers, making us both jump, then laugh. I switched off the radio as quickly as I could.
“Sorry,” I said. No need for the heater. Warmth was radiating up my neck to my cheeks.
I headed east, passing under the freeway, then driving north on a quiet avenue. For several minutes neither of us spoke. I considered asking Henry questions about my drawings and whether he really thought I had talent. I figured now was the ideal opportunity, but I was too nervous. What if he didn’t give me the answers I was seeking?
“You and Phil seem to get along pretty well,” he said.
I slapped the turn indicator as I thought of all the times I wanted to strangle Phil. And tonight would be added to the long list.
“We’ve found a way to coexist, for our child’s sake. When we fought, it only hurt Rob.” I glanced over to see Henry looking at me.
“I’ve met Rob several times. A fine young man. And he’s off at college?”
“Yes.” My fingers began to throb, and I realized I was gripping the steering wheel. I loosened my hold. “The truth is, things haven’t been going well for me since he left,” I said with staggered words. “I’ve been bumping around aimlessly.” Now, why had I told him that?
“I’m sorry.”
I fiddled with a button on the dashboard. “I shouldn’t have bothered you with this.”
“It’s all right, I’ve been there myself. There was a time when I didn’t think I’d ever laugh again. Here, take a left at the light.”
A hollow gap of silence followed. I glanced over to see his head pushed back against the headrest, his eyes closed.
He cleared his throat. “One day I was the happiest man alive. I had a loving wife and two beautiful daughters.” His words sliced the air like a blade. “The next day, I was sitting in an oncologist’s office looking at my wife’s mammogram and biopsy results, talking about radiation and chemotherapy.”
I took the corner slowly, as if an injured person were on board. No one in my immediate family or close circle of friends had been diagnosed with breast cancer, for which I was grateful. Of the
