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Finally, I clear my throat and manage to take a step back so our bodies aren’t pressed up against each other.
Come on, Natasha. Be normal. You’ve got this.
“My daughter is a bit of an artist,” I say. “And you?” What made him decide to come here today? I know he’s an art teacher. Does he have kids, too?
“Me too,” he smiles. “I love coming to stuff like this because it lets me display my sketches. Besides, kids are the best critics. A few of my students are here today. They’re totally honest. If something is bad, they just tell you. Kids don’t shy away from being real with you the way that adults do.”
“I don’t think anyone could find anything to criticize about your drawings,” I say. “You seem very talented.”
Does he blush a little when I say that?
Strange.
For such a tall, self-confident man, he doesn’t seem to be used to people thinking he’s good at what he does.
Interesting.
“Thank you,” he says politely. “I’d love to see your daughter’s work, too.”
“It’s hard to miss her display,” I say. “She imitated the work from your, uh, jewel room. She liked the pictures of you and your brothers so much that she decided to make her own. She put her own spin on it, of course, but she thinks your pictures are incredible.”
He smiles. It’s a real, genuine smile. He seems quite happy, quite content. It seems as though he knows exactly what he’s doing right now.
“That’s quite flattering,” he says.
“Well, I’m sure you know that your gallery has quite a bit of interesting art in it. Or did.”
“It still does,” he says.
“But the gallery is still closed, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Any plans to reopen?” I ask hopefully. “I’d love to visit sometime.”
He shakes his head.
“Sadly, my mother is ill, so all of our time goes to taking care of her,” he says.
“I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard.” I wonder what happened. Emily isn’t my favorite person, but nobody deserves to get sick. They certainly don’t deserve the end-of-the-world kind of sickness it sounds like Emily has.
“Cancer,” he says.
“That’s rough.”
“Yeah, to put it lightly. She doesn’t have a lot of time left.”
“I’d love to visit her,” I find myself saying. It’s probably a terrible idea.
“Really?” Trevor looks just as surprised as I am.
“Really,” I nod. “If you don’t think she’d mind.”
“I’m sure she’d be thrilled,” he tells me. You can come by anytime. Do you have our address?”
“Uh, no,” I say.
“Give me your phone.”
