On either side of the stove she’d placed a rocking chair, and facing it a sofa Peter had found while dumpster diving in Williamsburg. A Christmas tree she and Billy Williams had dragged from the woods stood in a corner and filled the shop with its sweet scent. Now it was decorated and under it were brightly wrapped gifts. A tray of cookies sat beside it for anyone who dropped by and bowls of candy were placed within easy reach around the store.

‘So how’d she know your art?’ Myrna had to ask.

‘How d’you think?’ Clara was genuinely curious to hear Myrna’s thoughts. They both knew what Clara believed.

Myrna thought for a moment, holding a book in her hand. She always thought better when holding a book. Still, no answer came.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Clara with a grin.

‘You don’t know either,’ said Myrna. ‘You want to believe it was God. I have to tell you, people are locked up for less.’

‘But not for long.’ Clara caught Myrna’s eye. ‘Now, in my place what would you believe? That CC was right and the work is crap or that a vagrant was God and the work is brilliant?’

‘Or you could stop listening to the outside world and decide for yourself.’

‘I’ve tried that.’ Clara laughed. ‘At two in the afternoon my art is brilliant, at two in the morning it’s crap.’ She leaned forward until her hands were almost touching Myrna’s. She looked into her friend’s warm eyes and said very quietly, ‘I believe I met God.’

Myrna smiled, not in a patronizing way. If Myrna knew one thing it was how little she really knew.

‘Is that Ruth’s book?’ Clara picked up I’m FINE. ‘May I buy it?’

‘But you bought one yesterday. We both did. Even had her sign it. You know, I think I saw her signing some books by Auden too.’

‘I lost mine somewhere. I’ll get this and if she signs an Anthony Hecht I’ll buy that too.’

Clara opened the book and read, at random.

‘Well, all children are sad

but some get over it.

Count your blessings. Better than that,

buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.

Take up dancing to forget.

‘How does Ruth do it? I swear she’s just an old drunk.’

‘You thought that about God, too,’ said Myrna.

‘Listen,

Forget what?

Your sadness, your shadow,

whatever it was that was done to you

the day of the lawn party

when you came inside flushed with the sun,

your mouth sulky with sugar,

in your new dress with the ribbon

and the ice-cream smear,

and said to yourself in the bathroom,

I am not the favorite child.’