The work is still in that precious stage of creation where it’s mine alone, shielded from the judgment of anyone else.
“The first time I drew something of my own it was of the cottage. Everything was change back then, but when I drew that picture—when I played around with the yellow hue of the light above the door, the shadow against the bronze knocker—I realized I could freeze time. I could keep everything just the same,” I tell him. “After that, nothing felt real until I had captured it.”
“That makes sense,” says Theo. “What you said about freezing time.”
We’ve stopped walking, caught up in the conversation. Around us, the island hums, the crowd of tourists parting around our bodies, and there we are, swept with the current, swimming sideways.
Chapter Twenty-OneLily
July 10
Lily!” I hear a voice shout. “Are you okay?”
I’m pressing my forehead against the cold wrought iron armrest of Lottie’s bench. I keep my vision fixated on the sunflowers in the garden, half expecting them to blink their large heads back at me. It’s been nearly a week since the museum trip with Theo. My heart drops down to my belly button and then back up to my throat, like a yo-yo pulled back after reaching too far a drop.
“Is it a panic attack?” a man’s voice asks.
In my disorientation, it takes me a moment to realize it’s Thomas speaking.
I nod weakly, confused for a moment about how he knows. The gallery called back. Marie Chen.
When I saw the caller ID pop up on my phone, something quick and frantic fluttered in my chest. I wiped my palms on my jeans, tucked my hair behind my ears, smoothing it down as if she could see me, and took a deep breath before answering.
“Hello?” I said, practicing the chirp of a gallerist. Better to start dressing for the part now.
“Hi, is this Lily Gardner?”
“Yes, it is.” The creature in my chest was alive then, batting its wings rapidly against the edges of my rib cage.
“This is Marie calling about your application. I’m sorry to say I cannot accept your request at this time. But thank you for your interest. It was lovely meeting you.”
The wings abruptly stopped their flapping. “Oh, okay.” Before she could hang up, I hurried to fill the dead space. “May I ask why?”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause on the other end of the phone. I imagined Marie in her undoubtedly fancy kitchen in her undoubtedly fancy home. I pictured her in an iteration of the outfit she wore the night of the fundraiser: all tailored blazers and the type of expensive leather shoes that have never seen grass. Marie is someone you could never picture in pajamas.
“You were an assistant for Clive Bozeman, which is very impressive, but when we asked him for a recommendation, he refused. I’m sorry, Lily, but we value transparency here.”
“Well, thank you for your consideration, I really app—” Before I could finish, there was no one on the line left to hear it. Marie had hung up.
How did this happen? How did the three years I worked day and night for Clive come down to this? Nothing? All those late nights, dry-cleaning runs, the coffee spilled on my shirt before seven in the morning… I never once complained. I never once said, “This is not in my job description.” I never took vacation days, always worked on holidays. I didn’t ask for credit for my ideas or complain when he took ownership over them. Now I’m unemployable.
Everything used to be wide open. Now life is solidifying. It is beckoning me like an open door, and everyone else is walking intoit, securing a future for themselves, while I stand there, paralyzed by indecision, until all of the doors slam shut.
When did this happen? When did I run out of time to waste?
I think about Henry’s offer again to introduce me to family friends in the industry. This time, with some regret.
“Lily, can you look up at me and take a deep breath?” Thomas’s voice is closer now. I look up slowly and see that he’s sitting beside me on the bench. Everything around us, including him, seems to vibrate slightly around the edges. My heart is speeding ahead of the rest of my body, my hands are shaking, and I can’t seem to take a full breath.
“We’re going to do a little grounding exercise together, okay?” says Thomas. I try to focus on his voice. “Can you name five things you can see?”
I look at the garden behind him. “A green bush, pink peonies, honeysuckles, shingles, and grass.”
“Very good. Now how about four things you can touch?”
I close my eyes and breathe. “The wood of the bench, the iron armrest.” I put my hands on my lap, gripping the sleeves of my sweater. “The cotton of my sweater, the dirt beneath my shoes.”
“Perfect,” says Thomas. He models another deep breath. “Now, how about three things you can hear?”
