But I’d had the chance. The big break. I’d been considered by a major gallery owner who had loved something I did. That was more than most artists got, regardless of their talent and training and outlook.

So I’d done it. I’d made it through the doors, and that—much to my surprise—was enough. There was a spring in my step as I lugged the paintings down the street. I wasn’t going to make it, but I hadn’t sold my soul, either.

I’d give the flower paintings as presents, maybe even keep one or two. Maybe send one to the lesbians, since they were so nice to play a part in getting me today’s chance.

But right now, I wanted to go home. I wanted to go home and play with my dog and sit on my battered front porch and watch another sunset.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

John

He knows what is happening. Barb is going to take care of him forever now.

He is sliding away, not toward, and he still has not said the right words. The flower word that will save his wife. The other words he wants to say. He needs his girls to be here, and Barb, and when that happens, he has to be ready. He has to be here.

But the world is grainy and blank, and the feelings come without words. He keeps trying, but he is slipping down the mountain he was trying so hard to climb. The snow is too heavy, and he is so tired. Days pass, and he is unaware. Sometimes everyone is here, sometimes he seems alone, sometimes he is asleep and sometimes in the snow. He has to say the words. He has to tell his Barb about the long-ago.

And then one day, he wakes up on the patio, in the chair that lets his legs stick out straight. It is warm and his daughters and wife and his friend with the warm rain voice are all here.

This is his chance, he knows. It will not come again. He knows that, too.

He grabs the arm of the person closest to him. Juliet, his oldest, his perfect girl, and she jumps. “You!” he says. He forces his mouth and his brain to work together. “Poor,” comes out, the word tortured and heavy.

The women look at each other, confused.

“Pour?” Sadie asks “You want a drink?”

“No!” He looks at Juliet again. “Prow. Prow.”

There is a silence, and the word slips away, Juliet’s word, and John’s eyes are wet because she didn’t understand, and now the word is gone.

“Proud,” Barb says. “He’s proud of you.”

She knows. She knows! John nods and takes Juliet’s hand and kisses it.