“It won’t be your fault. It’s not fair she laid that on you. Just do the best you can. It’s all anyone can ask.” He squeezed my shoulder lightly as he handed my phone back to me, and in a few minutes, I felt a bit of the tension leave my body as I listened to that Mary Travers woman—the one Oliver said I looked like—sing about leaving on a jet plane.

You have integrity. I thought that might have been the nicest thing anyone ever said to me. The words ran through my mind as I finished the siding on the house and began working on the sea of grass in the lower right-hand corner of the mural. I was getting closer and closer to Anna Dale’s signature, which I would save for last. It was going to feel so good to work on those rounded gold-hued letters in the handwriting that was now as familiar to me as my own.

Shortly after midnight, I pulled out my earbuds to listen. Everything was still. The hammering had stopped in the back rooms. I heard truck doors slam outside and knew Adam and Wyatt had left the gallery through the rear door. In another minute, Oliver walked into the foyer.

“Time to go home,” he said to me.

“I’m going to keep working.”

He looked from me to the mural. “It’s late. You’re exhausted. Come on. You can come back early in the morning.” He nodded toward the front door of the foyer. “I’ll drive you back to Lisa’s.”

“I need the time,” I said.

“You’ll only start screwing it up if you keep at it tonight.”

I looked at the grass of the Mill Village. It was nothing more than a blur of green to my exhausted eyes. He was right.

“Okay,” I said.

He waited while I cleaned my brushes. Then we walked out to his van side by side.

“Had a long talk with my son today,” he said, once we were on the road.

“About Smith Mountain Lake versus Disney World?”

He hesitated. “More about ‘Dad versus John, his stepdad,’” he said, turning onto Broad Street. “It was pretty deep. He told me he feels guilty because he realized he loves John.”

I reached over to touch his arm. I felt a tenderness toward him as well as sympathy for Nathan. “What did you say?” I asked.

“I told him he never has to feel guilty about loving someone.”

I smiled to myself. “Great answer,” I said. “Was it hard to hear, though? That he loves John?”

“Yes and no.” He glanced at me as he made the turn onto Lisa’s street. “For obvious reasons. I wish I could be his only father figure, but I want my kid to be happy. The more good people he has in his life, the better.”