We didn’t. In fact, I had plans for dinner with Blaine, something I wasn’t excited about conveying to Roy.

He looked to me. “You mind?”

“Of course not. If this is working, you should continue as soon as you can.”

“I’ll be here,” he said to Dr. Woolcott.

“Great,” she said. “See you both tomorrow.”

See you both. She’d actually only see Roy. I had a dinner date with Blaine. Now to find the right time to let Roy know.

I smiled and took his hand, pushing Blaine to the back of my mind. “How did it go?”

“It was strange,” he said. “But I think…it was good.”

“That’s great! You want to tell me about it?”

He paused a moment. “I’m not sure. It’s not like I want to hide it from you, but I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it.”

“That’s okay.” I tried to sound bright, but I was a little bummed that he didn’t want to talk about the session. Frankly, I found the whole thing fascinating and wanted to know more.

Maybe Lacey would be willing to talk about her session, but that wouldn’t be until Monday at noon.

“What now?” I asked, as we got into a cab.

“Let’s go back to my place,” he said. “I want to show you the piece I’ve been working on.”

“Wow.”

Words scrambled in my mind, words of magnitude and beauty for the piece Roy showed me. But all that came out was, “Wow.”

“Not everyone appreciates abstract the way you do,” Roy said.

“I appreciate all art,” I said. “Especially yours.”

The blues and grays were haunting. They created a spiral—sort of. When I looked closer, I saw that the spiral was only an illusion. What I was actually seeing were tiny brushstrokes that all flicked downward. Quickly downward, as if someone were freefalling from the sky.

“Have you ever gone skydiving?” I asked.

“No. Why?”

“The movement of the painting. I feel like I’m falling. Falling fast.”

“Yes. Falling.”

“Have you ever fallen off something?”

“No,” he said again.

“Hmm.” What could he be saying in this painting? “Why did you paint this, Roy?”

“I felt it. So I painted it.”

A-ha. Perhaps he felt like he was falling into a pit as a result of this buried memory. His attempt to find the key.

“Don’t overthink it,” he said.

“I’m not.”

He chuckled. “You are. Your cute little forehead is all wrinkled.”

When he said the words, I consciously relaxed my facial muscles. Yeah, I was overthinking it.

“Do you ever paint something without a reason?” I asked.

“Every piece of art has a reason,” he said, “but it’s not always something esoteric and philosophical. Sometimes, I just feel like painting, so I do.”