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“What if nothing does?” It was a fear Nina hadn’t even realized she had, and she suddenly wondered if real artists felt that way. Did writers fear never having another book idea? Did painters worry about never being inspired enough to pick up a paintbrushagain?
“You’re human, sweetie. Something will. Havefaith.”
“Faith?” Robin had never struck Nina as particularlyreligious.
“Not necessarily in God or whatever, but have faith in yourself, have faith in the universe’s infinite ability to move you, to bring you into the presence of the divine.” She laughed. “Whatever thatis.”
“To bring me into the presence of the divine,” Nina murmured. She smiled. “I likethat.”
“Me too.” Robin hesitated. “Hey… are you free nextFriday?”
“I thinkso.”
“Why don’t you come with me to this workthing?”
“Whatthing?”
“It’s just a small dinner to celebrate our last trip to India and raise money for the next one thissummer.”
“Sounds like this ‘thing’ is actually a fancy fundraising dinner,” Ninasaid.
“Not so fancy. Just a bunch of hippie do-gooders trying to pry a few dollars out of the hands of our more affluent brethren. But they’ll be showing a short movie about our work there. I think you’d find it interesting. Plus there will befood.”
“In that case…” Nina smiled. “But are you sure it’s okay if I comealong?”
“Everyone gets a plus-one. So be my plus-one.”
Nina had no idea what she’d do at a fundraising dinner for an NGO, but she was here, in this moment in Robin’s living room, being offered a window into somethingnew.
“I’d loveto.”
