“We have some time, and we can help you.” Jack stood up. He had no patience for my panic. “I don’t have to be home this weekend. Jes canceled a gig in the city. Marlin pushed her meetings. Ty—whatever, Ty’s at your disposal. But if you don’t want us here, we’re happy to leave.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head, clutching my stomach. “No—don’t go. Stay. Just—just give me a minute,” I muttered, gesturing to them to stay seated. “Finish your coffee.” Marlin took a sip. Jes turned another page.

Scowling furiously, I dragged lumber, blocks of foam, tools, and adhesives into the middle of the studio. When I was ready to speak, my voice trembled with adrenaline.

“I need help making frames.” The words pushed into each other. I paused, shook my head to clear the anxiety, and searched for reference photos on my camera. When I found an old one I passed it to them on the steps and tried to explain.

“I like it when the frames look like Fruit Roll-Ups made in outer space by very sentient aliens,” I heard myself saying. “They should have a gritty-translucent-fruit-leather depth…and sometimes they should sparkle. I mean, like a lot, a lot of sparkle. Like a disco.”

“So?” Jack sounded annoyed.

“Uh, so—we have to make them. The frames, I mean. From scratch. First we make two dummy paintings. One is to make the mold, the other is to cast the frames. We stick the foam to one of them, and I’ll carve it. Then we coat the foam in layers of latex—that’ll make the mold—and then we have to make seven casts, one for each painting. They’re all different colors. There’s a chart in there. And, um, we also have to make silicone nubs for the back part. That’s for the wall.”

They blinked at me dispassionately.

“That’s it?” Marlin asked. They seemed unimpressed.

“Well, I mean, then I need to put the frames on the paintings and build the crates.”

“I think we should make two, maybe three molds,” Jack said. “It’ll go faster.”

“Won’t they look different?”

“No. We’ll make one, then the other, from the same positive. It’ll be exactly the same.”

“Trust him,” Tyler said. “All those objects in his nets—he makes them, as you say, from scratch.”

After that—it was like I didn’t even need to be there. The four of them worked in the smoothest, easiest concert I’ve ever seen; they had a rhythm and a pace all their own. They didn’t reach for the same tools, or the same lumber, or step in the same place—not once. I was the one in the way, and soon backed off.

“Call out the measurements,” Tyler ordered.

“What?”

“For the dummies. Call out the measurements as we cut.”