She wasn’t quite sure how to respond, and so she just signed, “It’s awesome. Beautiful.”

Burke pulled the iPad back over and signed, “It’s called sketch-noting or visual note-taking. It enhances your memory and retention of information because it gives your brain access to written and visual cues. You can see that even the different fonts are distinctive and hierarchical. These then combine with drawings and images and containers in a sort of narrative flow. I can also record complex patterns and concepts more quickly using visual mnemonics. You’ve heard that a picture is worth a thousand words, right? Well, thoughts and ideas that may take someone else five paragraphs to describe, I can manifest with a single drawing. It helps me to see patterns and details that I may have otherwise missed. It all probably looks like chaos to you, but it’s really only for my own purposes, so that’s okay.”

LJ had only understood half of what Burke had told her, but she could watch his hands move and his eyes sparkle all day, no matter what he was signing.

“That is so fascinating,” she said. “You are amazing.”

His cheeks turned red. “Thanks, but most people think I’m a weirdo, or a nutcase,” he signed.

“They’re missing out.”

“Thanks, kid.”

She frowned, not appreciating such a derogatory term that made her feel like a child. She was a woman, and she was tired of everyone treating her otherwise. If the comment had come from Uncle Nic, she would have snapped at him, but with Burke, she decided to let it slide.

Light flooded the dimly lit bar as the bouncer admitted three young guys who swaggered in like they owned the place. They looked drunk already, and their clothes were rumpled, like they hadn’t changed them in at least a day.

With the sudden illumination, she noticed for the first time the hideous stuffed horse’s head, which had been mounted in a place of distinction above the bar. She grimaced and shook with a tingle of revulsion. What kind of a savage would cut off a horse’s head and then name his club after it? Her Uncle Romeo, she supposed. What a lovely family she had been born into. She was fairly confident that she was the only vegan of the bunch.

Her revulsion at the dead animal’s head was quickly forgotten as one of the club’s newcomers slammed two one hundred dollar bills down on the bar. LJ crinkled her nose up at him. He wore a leather jacket with a tank top underneath, which showed off a wide array of tattoos, most of them involving skulls or naked women. He smelled like he had overdosed on tanning oil and hair gel and looked like he belonged on an MTV reality show, one which didn’t depict reality at all.

“What are you boys having, Wally?” the prune-faced bartender asked.

LJ read the old man’s lips and chuckled at the newcomer’s name. She turned her attention back to Burke, who was focused solely on his sketch-notes. His jaw was tight, and his brow furrowed. Something in his artwork must not have been making sense to him.