“She’s interested in you too, Stella. She asked about your photos.”
“Bea, she didn’t even introduce me,” Stella said. “At the studio. An hour in that room and Sam never once said my name. Carmen noticed me on the way out—because Carmen’s a decent person. But Sam was right there. She heard Carmen ask who I was. And she didn’t say a word.”
“She probably just—it was exciting. Carmen was right there and?—”
“You introduced me, Bea. You. Not her.”
The dark was quiet. The rock outside the window. The wind chimes on the porch barely moved.
“She asked me about my photos the first night,” Stella said. “For about thirty seconds. Then she asked about your series.”
“That’s not?—”
“I’m not mad. I’m just telling you what happened.” Her voice was flat. Careful. “She lights up for you. She fades to black for me. And I don’t think it’s because she doesn’t like me. I think it’s because you paint.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Bea asked.
The bed frame creaked as Stella turned on her side. “You paint. She paints. She can see herself in what you do. I don’t reflect her back to her. So I’m not interesting.”
Bea lay in the dark and felt the sharp thing in her chest get sharper.
“Stella—”
“I’m fine. I’m just saying what I see.”
Bea turned on her side and looked across the dark at Stella’s bed. She couldn’t see her face. Just the shape of her under the sheets.
“I’m sorry,” Bea said.
“Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything.”
“I didn’t notice either. At the studio. Not until the door.”
“I know.”
“I should have noticed.”
“Bea. It’s not your job to make your grandmother see me.” Stella’s voice softened. “But yeah. It would have been nice if she’d said my name.”
They were quiet for a long time. The wind chimes moved once and went still.
“She’s still something, though,” Bea said.
“Yeah,” Stella said. “She is.”
Bea closed her eyes. The layers were still behind her eyelids—the light, the linen showing through. Carmen Sandoval had touched her shoulder with paint-stained hands and told her she had a good eye. And when Carmen had finally noticed Stella at the door, Sam had been standing right there and said nothing.
Both things were true.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Margo saw it when she came through the kitchen door at ten. A small white card in a plastic stand, centered on the table between the salt and the pepper, in Joey’s handwriting.
RESERVED — MR. KLEIN — INDEFINITE
She picked it up, looked at it, and set it back down. The window light fell across the empty seat.
“Joey, what is this?”
