I snag the scene at the park and open it. It plays in front of me—each word, each gesture. I get to the part where Gram tells Yakov to say hello to Margaret for her.

That’s it!

Me: Okay, so I just sort of remembered something. My gram told Yakov to say hi to Margaret. And then on the way home, my gram mentioned one of her first friends here was named Margaret. Do you think it’s the same person?

Max: It might be. I don’t know many people with that name. But I guess it might be someone else. If it is the same girl, that would mean he married her friend but was in love with her? That’s serious messed-up drama right there.

I giggle, imagining Max’s smirk as he types this. I flip through the rest of the album in search of more pictures of the mysterious tall man, but I don’t find any.

I’m about to tackle a new album when Dad hollers that dinner is ready.

Max: Ask your gram about Yakov and the picture.

Me: Haha. You like the drama

Max: He could still be her handler and they fell in love, but they couldn’t do anything about it because of orders. I still think they’re spies. No offense to your gram—she’s awesome. Do you remember your memory of the woods and the man yelling she’s a traitor? And what about how it would get her one day? Explain that.…

I don’t answer him. He’s right—I can’t explain that yet. I’m quiet during dinner, waiting for the perfect time to ask about Yakov. Gram laughs and teases Dad. Clay hides half his food under his plate, and Mom paints in the air with her finger.

Mom once told me she sees colors everywhere. At any given time, she can mix them and pull them together to create art no one else sees. When she does it, it looks like she’s conducting an imaginary symphony. Even when she’s away from her studio, she can create masterpieces in the air around her.

“What does it look like?” I ask, suddenly curious. What’s it like to make art out of everything you see? Is that why it’s so easy for her to shut people out?

Mom startles, as if she’s forgotten I’m there. I nod to her invisible painting, and she smiles. “It’s of you and Clay, of the time we went to the zoo a month ago.”

“You mean five months ago,” I say. “On the first Wednesday, January second, and it was a free day. It rained the first ten minutes and we bought an umbrella, but then it stopped so we didn’t need it after all.”