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“Environmental studies,” he said. “It was my idea to use the tech here to help the natural ecosystem.”

I recalled the hologram I’d seen earlier at the visitor center and smiled in approval. “Nice.”

“If I can’t escape the family business, at least I can see to it that it’s used for good and not evil.”

“My mother would like you, Mason.” The words slipped from my lips before I’d thought them through.

“I’d very much like to meet her sometime if she’s anything like you.”

He knew all the right things to say, that was for sure.

“I hope we have that chance,” I said, staring down at my empty bowl, running a finger over the kraken’s tentacles.

Mason’s hands squeezed mine in the center of the table, and when I looked up into his kind, encouraging face, my heart cracked open.

“She has cancer,” I said, letting the words fall heavy in the air between us. Once I’d uttered them, there was no taking them back.

His hands squeezed harder.

“It was hard leaving her there during chemo, but she insisted.” My voice broke, and I stopped before the lump in my throat became tears spilling out of my eyes.

“I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been,” he said softly.

I nodded, still unable to speak.

“It’s a gift that you’re so close to her,” he said. “I don’t know her personally, but between her beautiful statue and amazing daughter, let’s just say I’m a fan.”

“Then you’ll like the next part of our date,” I said, the decision suddenly made. “I want to see the gallery filled with her life’s work.”

Mason smiled warmly. “I’d be honored.”

I wanted to clean up our table, but Mason assured me a robostaff member would be by shortly to take care of everything. So hand-in-hand, we strolled the rest of the path to the museum as the nanosuns set, basking us in the soft blue light of a non-existent moon. The eerie absence of crickets and other nightly visitors wasn’t as hard to swallow with Mason at my side.

“Here we are,” he said, opening the door to the domed building.

It seemed none of the other visitors chose the museum as a nighttime haunt, so we had the place to ourselves.

We entered another enormous lobby, like that in our hotel, except there were no other floors to explore beyond the winding spiral of the sprawling structure. The glass floor lit beneath the touch of our feet, and glowing arrows guided us toward the right. Floating letters announced the entrance to the hall beyond as the Susan B. Meadows wing. A small gasp escaped me at the sight of my mother’s name, and Mason pulled me close.

“You ready for this?” he asked, concern darkening his brow.

“Yes.”

He waited until I drew a deep breath and led the way through the holographic words and into the dimly lit hall. Inside and along the walls hung my mother’s paintings every six feet or so on the path, each individually illuminated by a spotlight so every piece stood out as a spark along the way, drawing the visitor’s attention.

Spaced about ten paintings apart stood alcoves sporting the smaller sculptures I’d seen in my mother’s studio growing up. Always in motion, usually featuring animals like horses or wolves, each one felt as though it were a snapshot of life.

When we reached the third group of paintings, I halted halfway down. Tears blurred my vision as Mason patiently held my hand. The fantasy world in the picture captured a wooded glen where a unicorn knelt beside a young princess, surrounded by a halo of fairy light. It had hung in my room growing up, where I spent hours staring at, wondering if I did so long enough, would I be able to slip inside and live in that world, like Narnia.

When I glanced Mason’s way, I was stunned to find him contemplating the picture before us, head tilted and deep in thought.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” he asked, voice echoing in the silent hall.

“I suppose it looks like me,” I said. “Though she painted it when she was pregnant with me.”

“She knew your soul,” Mason said, wiping the moisture from my face.

I smiled up at him, and he tugged me toward more works of art in the hall of memories.