“I know,” I said. “I saw her drawings. But—nonetheless, I think you owe her a vote.” I set my hand on Tyler’s. He took it, gratefully, and it surprised me, how easy it was to make him feel something, now that I would never feel anything again. “DROP OUT, and all those last performances. I don’t care if you think they’re bad. They’re hers. She was a part of this. She should get to vote at least once.”

“She didn’t vote. That wasn’t her role.”

“That’s completely unfair,” I said. “Her notebooks are crystal clear. She wanted people to see that film.”

“She ruined our lives,” Marlin said, looking up at me. “She put her dead body in our hands. She asked us to validate something that we can’t validate.”

“No, she didn’t,” I told them. “She didn’t ask. She told. She did exactly what she wanted. It’s not yours to hold hostage. You don’t get to choose for her. I don’t care if you think it’s bad. It’s hers.”

Eight eyes, pained and sharp, snapped onto mine. They knew I was right.

“A,” Tyler said before I was even done speaking.

“A,” Jes followed.

“A…A,” Marlin stammered. They all looked at Jack.

“A,” he said. “Absolutely A. She wanted to be her own person so badly.” He sat down and put his head between his knees. “This is going to ruin my life,” he said. “Goodbye job. Goodbye to my wife and children. Hello bankruptcy. Hello prison.”

“I don’t even know who we would call,” Marlin said. “I don’t know where to start.”

“I do,” I told them. “I know exactly what to do.”

*  *  *

Three weeks later, the completed frames were affixed to the dry paintings, like big plates of melted candy, or panels from a spaceship. They were flawless. We sealed my seven old maids in crates like wooden coffins and the preparators came. I hovered, buzzing like a fly, every muscle tense, as they loaded my paintings into the truck and drove away.

Tyler stood behind me as the white square of the sea container disappeared through the trees.

“I don’t want to give it up,” he said, looking around at Pine City.

“I know.”

“I would have done anything to keep this from you.”

“I know that too.”

I kissed him, to see what it would feel like, if there would be anything. It was a good kiss, one that had my back up against the truck and threw my judgment to the wind. For a split second, I wanted to bury myself in him, to run my fingers through his hair, to curl up in his bed with tea and bourbon and his body and mine. And then I remembered, and I stopped feeling anything at all.

When I let go, I got in the truck and drove, and drove, and drove.