I blinked in surprise at her question. “No, I’m not.”
She nodded slowly and seemed to look past me. “It has its advantages, I suppose.”
I tucked my hair behind my ear, not sure what to say.
“I’m so sorry,” she said after a brief pause. “I’m being rude. Forgive me, it’s difficult not to be preoccupied these days.”
“You don’t need to apologize. You’ve been through a lot.”
“I’m sure you remember the classroom.” She gestured toward the back of the gallery. “We’ve been using it as a staging area as we sort through everything. Your painting is back here.”
She turned and walked away, so I followed. The classroom was much as I remembered it when Theo and I were there last, with stacks of paintings against the walls and others on display easels covered with canvas cloths.
Gina paused and looked around wistfully. “Believe it or not, this was Edwin’s favorite place. I think he enjoyed teaching even more than painting.”
That made me smile. “I can relate to that. I’m a high school teacher.”
“Are you? How nice. What do you teach?”
“Art, actually. And I manage to throw in a bit of art history.”
“That’s lovely.” She hesitated, as if a thought had occurred to her. “I was just about to pour myself some tea. Will you join me? I don’t have proper mugs, just paper cups. But I do have lids, so you could take it with you.”
“Sure, that would be great. Thank you.”
An electric teakettle and a ceramic teapot that had been used for beverages and snacks during Edwin’s classes sat on a side table. She poured tea into two cups and handed one to me.
“It’s English breakfast,” she said. “If you’d like sugar or a lid, every-thing is on the table there.”
“Thank you.”
She took a sip of her tea. I tried mine and it had already cooled enough to drink. She’d brewed it stronger than I usually did, but it wasn’t bad.
“Do you mind if I ask about the gallery?” I said. “Is someone going to reopen it, or do you know yet?”
“It’s possible. I have an interested buyer who’d like to reopen.”
I took another sip. “I hope so. We need an art gallery in Tilikum. And this classroom is such a wonderful space.”
She gestured to a wooden folding chair that was already open and unfolded another for herself. I lowered myself into the seat.
“His classes were very popular.”
“I loved his class. He had such a gift. Not all artists can convey what they do in a way that encourages their students the way he did. I learned so much from him.”
She smiled, but there was something odd about it, like her mouth smiled but her eyes didn’t. “That’s nice to hear.”
A hint of discomfort crept through me, and I took another sip of tea, more to give my hands something to do than because I wanted to keep drinking it.
“He was good at teaching technique,” I said, feeling the need to keep the conversation going. “But it was more than that. He made his students believe they could be more. That they could be artists.”
She nodded along as I spoke but didn’t reply.
I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Maybe I was upsetting her by talking about her late husband. I adjusted my glasses nervously and it took me a second to realize there was something off about my vision. I moved my glasses again, but it didn’t go away.
That was odd.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to talk about something…something…” I couldn’t seem to find the word.
