It’s an image out of one of my mother’s final paintings.

Three

What feels like an eternity passes before I can get home and assure myself I wasn’t imagining things.

When I climb into his car, Isaac is irritated my meeting took so long. He huffs and snaps at me to get in and doesn’t wait for me to fasten my seat belt before he hits the gas. Rose, however, is thrilled that Victor Beschloss talked with me for over an hour and wants to hear details.

“Did he love your portfolio? He must have, considering how long you guys talked. I knew you had nothing to worry about. Can I see what you showed him?”

Since the questions come in such rapid succession, there is no need to answer any other than the last. I bring up the portfolio images and put the tablet into Rose’s outstretched hands. She oohs and aahs and makes all sorts of comments about the subjects and the bright colors. I smile as if I am listening, but in my mind I’m picturing the series of small canvases leaning along the wall of Mom’s studio.

Isaac yells at another driver and steers the car onto a less congested street. Rose continues asking questions, seemingly unconcerned by the speed of her brother’s driving or the quick succession of accelerations and stops. Rose pauses after each of her next questions, so I have no choice but to focus and answer.

No, I don’t know when they will contact the people selected for the City Art Program.

Yes, I saw one of my mother’s colleagues, but I didn’t really have time to talk with her.

“Well, when you’re working in the program, you and she will have lots of time to talk,” Rose assures me as Isaac pulls the car to the curb in front of my house.

“No offense, Meri, but get out,” Isaac says. His sister smacks him on the shoulder and he glares. “I still have to change before I meet Dad.”

“I really appreciate you driving me, Isaac,” I say, pushing open the car door. “Tell your father thanks and I’m sorry I made you late.”

Rose yells that she’ll call me as the car zips away from the curb. I wait until it is out of sight before I race into the house and back to Mom’s studio. Could the picture really be the same as the design I saw today on the bridge?

I flip though the canvases leaning against the wall.

Air catches in my throat.

There. That picture is the same image that I saw today.

I pull up the photograph I snapped of the top of the bridge with my tablet, zoom in until just the sculpted onyx iron of the image is showing, and compare it with the one in front of me. One that I had once believed was an abstract floral.

The large round centers in the tablet photograph and the painting are identical. Both have three curved petals at the top. Neither has individual petals at the bottom. Instead there is just one rounded curve that spans from one side of the round center to the other.