She expected the proposal to alarm him, but it had the opposite effect. He lifted his face to hers with a grin. “Mama wants to meet you, actu’lly,” he said. “She said to ask you to come to Sunday dinner, but I didn’t think you’d wanna do that so I didn’t say nothin’.”

She was surprised. “Well, then, that’s perfect,” she said after a moment. “Please tell your mother thank you, and I’d be delighted to come.”

Chapter 33. Morgan

Chapter 33

MORGAN

July 10, 2018

I stared at the scarred section of the mural near the lumberjack’s cheek, uncertain what color Anna Dale had intended to paint the forested background in that area. The paint was horribly abraded in the trees, and there were hundreds of places just like it throughout the mural. Thousands, probably. Places where I’d have to guess. To rely on my best judgment. The realization made me anxious. I didn’t know what I was doing, and I didn’t want to bother Oliver before every single brushstroke I had to make.

He was still working near me in the foyer and I was glad, and not just because I still needed his guidance. I liked his calm, quiet company. Crates of artwork for the gallery arrived daily now, and he’d carefully open each one, peel back layer after layer of protective padding, and check the contents over with a fine-tooth comb while making notes about it on the clipboard he carried around with him. Then he’d package the painting up again to take it to the temperature-controlled storage building where he was keeping the work until the gallery was ready. The elaborate security system was now in place and it wouldn’t be long before the display rooms were painted, the humidification system up and running, and the rooms ready to be filled with art.

When he wasn’t dealing with the art, Oliver was busy writing the wall texts that would go beside each piece. I knew he was particularly stewing over what he’d write for Anna’s mural. What could you say about a puzzle that had no answers?

Just like the blank spot near the lumberjack’s cheek. I stared at it a while longer as though the answer might magically come to me. Finally I gave in and turned to Oliver.

“I can’t figure out what should go here,” I said.

Without a word, he set down the box he was opening, stood up, and joined me in front of the mural. He chewed his lip as he appraised the abraded area. Then he pointed to another spot in the lumberjack’s section of the mural.

“Look at the way she treated similar areas,” he said. “That’ll help you figure out what she intended.”