The third was all grays. Soft, heavy, blurred at the edges, like looking at the water through fog. After the intensity of the first two, it should have been a relief. But it wasn’t. It was worse, somehow. The other two were dramatic. This one felt simply empty and sad.
“I almost didn’t include this one,” Delphine said, her voice quieter now. “It’s not the showstopper. People tend to walk past it. But the series doesn’t work without it.”
“Because it’s the numb part,” I said.
She turned to look at me, her eyebrows raised. “Yes. Exactly.”
We moved to the fourth. Something changed in the palette, a warmth buried in the blue, an amber undertone pushing up from beneath the surface like light trying to reach the top of the water.
“This is the turn,” Delphine said.
“I can feel it.”
“Most people say that, even if they can’t explain why. It’s the color temperature. Maren shifts from cool to warm so gradually that your eye registers it before your brain does.”
The fifth painting was the one that stopped me. Pale blue and silver, almost translucent, like the ocean at dawn before the wind comes up. There was so much gentle light in it. Like the first morning after a bad storm, when everything was fresh and new. A new beginning.
“This is my favorite,” Delphine said, with a slight smile.
“Why?”
She was quiet for a moment. “I love the colors but also the way it makes it easier to breathe. For me.”
“Is it hard for you to breathe?” I asked.
“Sometimes.”
“I get that. And I feel all that in the painting too. It’s like a book you want to read over and over because of the way it slows a racing mind.”
“That’s right. This one reminds me of someone I know,” Delphine said. “Someone who has that same vibe.”
“They must be a nice person to spend the weekend with.”
“I wouldn’t know.” She fiddled with her necklace again, her expression pensive. “I wish I did, though.”
Questions nearly burst out of my mouth, but she moved us to the last piece, and I followed.
The sixth was wide and open—sky and sea finally distinguishable from one another, a clear horizon line for the first time in the series. The colors were blues and silvers, with a band of white where they met. I had to stare at it for a few minutes to understand what was bothering me. I’d expected a resolution to the story. A happy ending, like a sunset or a sunrise or anything that promised everything would be fine. Instead, it was just all this space. And we had to figure where it took us next.
I stared at it, aware that Delphine was watching me, probably waiting for me to say something.
“What is it?” Delphine asked. “What do you see?”
“I assumed it would be a happy ending. All wrapped up nice and neat.”
“Like a sunset?”
“Yes. Or a sunrise. But it’s more of a question. Like, what’s next? There’s all this space, and now you have to decide what to do with it.”
She didn’t respond right away. When I turned to look at her, she had gone completely still, her gaze on the painting. “That’s it. That’s the story I was trying to tell.”
“You nailed it,” I said.
“Dorian.” Someone touched my elbow. It was Esme, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I think Poe is making a break for it.”
I turned just in time to see a flash of orange disappear through a doorway behind the front desk.
“Was that—did he just go into my office?” Delphine asked, her composure cracking just slightly.
