“Oh, they can wait,” Hal replied in a caressing tone, but the reporter was already thrusting his notes into a satchel and slinging it over his shoulder. The young man’s chest was concave, his limbs long and his fingers thin and white. His physique reminded me of a piano prodigy’s, but I knew who he was—the architecture critic from a major art magazine. Hal wasn’t making a building with Shoe Cathedral, though. So why the huge fascination?

And then I knew: architecture. The new museum.

“You’ll talk to Vera, then?” Hal said as he followed the critic out. “I mean, just mention it. I can’t spread myself too thin with these matters, but I’d love to know her interest level.”

“I’ll talk to Vera,” the critic said, and held out his hand. “Great to meet you, finally. The legend in person.”

Hal gave a pleased chuckle. “Mary will show you out.”

“No need. I can find my way,” said the critic, moving off with alarming speed.

Just as I was about to follow him away, Hal motioned me back inside the office. He shut the door softly before whipping around to me. His eyes were hard, and his slumped cheeks wagged with his words.

“Are you out of your freaking mind?” he said. “Who gave you the authority to interrupt me like that?”

“Nelson told me to keep you on time,” I said. “I’m sorry—”

“Nelson has no idea what it takes to talk to these people,” said Hal. “Time.” He snorted. “It’s not time.”

He stared into the office with its tangerine carpet and modernist couch, the chrome cabinets. “Look at this crap,” he said. “It’s like an intern picked it out. People are so good at playing like they care, but only some of us really care, you know?”

I nodded automatically. I said, “Absolutely.”

“And even fewer of us would stake our lives on it,” Hal said with a little catch in his voice. “The rest just want money.”

I fought to keep my expression sympathetic. “He’s supported artists for forever, though,” I said carefully. “Hasn’t he?”

“Of course he has,” Hal said. “Why, are you an aspiring artist, too?” His tone was sly.

“No,” I said.

“Good. What else needs to be done out there?” he said, and pointed in the direction of the gallery. “Does it look finished to you?”

It took me a moment to realize what he was asking. Me, the gallerina.

“The damaged column,” I said finally. “I wonder if there should be echoes of it elsewhere.”

“Echoes,” mused Hal. “Tell me more.”

“A broken shoe here and there. So your eye might catch them, but not your mind.”

Hal peered at me, the steel in his gaze softened by curiosity.

“Hiding in plain sight,” I couldn’t resist adding.

“Thank you, Mary,” he said, and walked over to the blue couches. “Bring in the next one, okay?”