“We know he’s talented.” Jesse’s mother spoke up. “But Daddy’s right. We need him at home. He the only boy. And if he ain’t in school, he should be here helpin’ and not workin’ on that picture of yours, either.”

Oh, dear, Anna thought. Not only was Jesse going to quit school but she was about to lose him in the warehouse as well.

“Let the boy keep workin’ with Miz Anna on the picture.” Aunt Jewel spoke up, and she said it forcefully, as if she were the one to have the final say on the subject. “It’s not doing any harm and it’ll come to an end soon enough, right?” She looked at Anna for confirmation.

“In a few months, yes,” Anna said, relieved by her support.

So, that was that. Thanks to Aunt Jewel, Jesse would continue working with her, but he was finished with school.

That night, Anna got down on her knees to pray, the first prayer she could remember uttering in a long time.

Dear Lord, she said, don’t let this young man’s talent go to waste.

Chapter 35. Morgan

Chapter 35

MORGAN

July 11, 2018

“It’s a stretch.” Oliver frowned as he studied the framed medallion in my hands. “Why would Jesse tie the opening of the gallery to the date he received the National Medal of Arts? I mean, why tie it so … obstinately to that date?”

“That’s what Lisa said,” I admitted, setting the frame down on Oliver’s table in the foyer. Lisa had been unimpressed with my discovery. “Do you think the date is just a coincidence, then?” I asked Oliver. “Do you think he just pulled August fifth out of the air?”

“That’s as good a guess as any.”

I looked down at the medallion. “I guess it doesn’t matter,” I said. “We’re stuck with August fifth, one way or another. Lisa already sent out the invitations, so that’s that.”

I looked over at the mural, wondering how far I’d be able to get on it today. One thing was certain: I wasn’t getting anywhere on it by standing there talking to Oliver, so I gave up thinking about the medallion and walked toward the mural, my gaze on the lumberjack’s wrinkled pants, my task for the day.

I was working alone in the foyer shortly after lunch when Oliver came into the room from the hallway, lowering his phone from his ear. I could tell with one glance at his face that something was wrong. His jaw was tight, his eyes staring unseeing into the distance.

I set down my palette. “What’s the matter?” I asked.

He looked over at me, a surprised expression on his face as though he’d forgotten I was there. “Nothing,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“Your face,” I said. “You look … worried. Upset.”