Page 68 of Worth the Trip

“You touched it three times.”

I opened my mouth.

He lifted one eyebrow.

“Four if we count you pretending to reorganize the shelf after you put it back.”

“I was straightening it.”

“Sure.”

Ms. Renee handed him the bag.

I looked at it.

Nyla’s message came back.

Let him be nice to you without turning it into a debt.

I accepted the bag when he handed it to me.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

And that was it.

No speech from him.

No refusal from me.

We walked out.

The gallery two doors down held Black life across enormous canvases. Grandmothers braiding hair on porches. Men bent over domino tables. Children running through sprinklers. Families gathered around Sunday tables. Lovers dancing in kitchens.

Near the back, one painting stopped me.

A Black woman stood alone at the shoreline with an enormous blue sky behind her. Her dress moved in the wind, waves reaching toward her feet, but nothing about her posture looked like waiting.

The brass plate beneath it read Enough to Remain.

Landon came to stand beside me.

He didn’t ask why I’d stopped.

I appreciated that.

We stood there for a while, sharing the same painting without trying to determine what it meant for the other person.

Eventually, I moved.

He moved too.

Outside, late-afternoon light had turned the storefront windows honey-gold.

Landon nodded toward a path beyond the trees.

“Come on, Hershey. One more stop before dinner.”