When the pile of destruction rose knee-deep, he tossed the mallet down and grabbed the wire, lashing the pieces together into a column like the others, but misshapen, torn, distended. It took me a few minutes to interpret, and then my breath snagged in my throat. It was a genius move. It was typical Hal, to have one element in his architecture violent and distorted while the rest arched in harmony. But Hal had not done this, and the man with the mallet looked like he wanted to strangle someone. With his large, fisted hands.

Finally Pearson caught me staring and looked up. “What?” he snarled. “What? You want to take some pictures for publicity now?”

I let his voice ricochet through the gallery for an uncomfortable moment. I let my eyes fall to both phones, one and then the other. Then I answered.

“No,” I said in my best civilized voice. “Could I get you a glass of water?”

With wooden movements, Pearson set down the wire and shoes he’d strung together. Then he picked up the mallet and tossed it toward the edge of the room. Sweat made his forehead shine, and when he met my eyes, he wore a ragged, disbelieving grin. It was the first time I’d seen him smile, and his stretched mouth made his head look larger, clownish. But the expression in his eyes was gouged and hurt.

“No, I don’t want water,” he protested. “You don’t need to stay, though. Isn’t it almost six?”

It was 5:50. “I’m heading out soon,” I said. “Hal said to call him. He came through about an hour ago.”

He looked alarmed. “Did you tell him where we were?”

“I didn’t know,” I said. “I assumed you were getting lunch?”

He nodded, but mistrust flickered in his face. “Right,” he said, turning away. “I’ll call him.”

My phone hummed. Ray. Anyone there?

Only P, I texted back. Angry. But calmer now.

Pack up. I’m at same coffee shop.

Pearson was staring at the distorted column, his shoulder slumped, forehead dripping. “Are the others coming back?” I asked, wishing that I had an obvious motive to stay yet also relieved to flee.

He shrugged.

I gathered my few things. “I have to go. You’ll lock up?” I called to him.

“If I ever go home,” he muttered and walked up to the desk. His black shirt clung with sweat. “Hey, sorry for my performance.”

“Seems like it was a breakthrough.” I gestured at the distorted column. “It’s so Hal.”

Pearson regarded his own handiwork and blew out a breath. “We’ll see.” His voice was light, but his eyes did not hide his bitterness.

RAY WAS WAITING OUTSIDE THE coffee shop. “You okay?” he said when he saw my face.