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“I mean with a, um, friend. I’ve never been to the beach
with friends. My mom’s taken me here a few times. Not for a
long time, though.”
“So, when you paint, do you just remember things? Or do
you have to look at something?”
Emily thought about how badly she’d wanted to paint Dani.
She’d make herself wait for that. Until she had a perfectly
formed image in her head. She knew she couldn’t ask her to sit
for her and assembling that memory so that the painting was
perfect would take more than just a few days. Emily wanted to
paint not just what was on the outside but bring what was on
the inside to life as well. She couldn’t do that until she knew
Dani better.
“I guess a bit of both. Sometimes I look at things.
Sometimes I paint from memory.”
“Do you draw too?”
“I guess I do.”
“Did you learn it?”
“With lessons?” Emily grabbed up a handful of sand and let
the warm grains run over her fingers. She buried her hand in
them after, digging deeper for the colder, wetter sand below.
She liked the way it felt cool on her palm and warm on the
back of her hand, yet it was only an inch or so difference in
depth. “No. I never had lessons. My mom never would have
agreed to that. I guess I learned what I learned from watching
her. She’d never explain anything. She doesn’t like to be
bothered when she paints. I was never allowed to touch
anything, but she did let me watch if I was quiet. I started
showing that I was good at it in school. Art class. And when
that was obvious, I think my mom was even more alarmed.
