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It’s best said… in person.

Are you serious?

Very.

Okay, well… do you or do you not live in the country?

Yes, but I’m still in the city until tomorrow.

I can meet today.

All right, where?

I think about my apartment. I don’t feel comfortable taking him there. There’s Akira’s place, but I want to talk to him alone.I’m at the museum right now, I text back.

Right now?

Too busy?

Which museum?he asks.

MFA—465 Huntington Ave, Boston, MA 02115.

Then comes his reply:See you soon.

Eleven

“If a man devotes himself to art, much evil is avoided that happens otherwise if one is idle.” – Albrecht Dürer

Somehow, I end up in the musical instruments section, my mind busy with all the questions I have for Hoyt.I need information.That’s what I’m doing. My invite has a purpose. I have a reason. I tell myself.

The collection includes flutes, whistles, panpipes, and other instruments spanning from ancient times to the late twentieth century.

I stop to study a cane flute with six finger holes. Its surface is covered in engravings of a battle. I wish I could hear its sound. Moving on, I find another cane instrument—a nineteenth-century Spanish panpipe, held together by strings. Apparently, I’m drawn to music whenever I need an escape from my feelings.

When I reach the wooden drums, my heart begins to beat in rhythm. An English bass drum, adorned with white and blue ensigns, sits next to a mallet.

I check my phone—Hoyt will be here any minute. The rhythmic drumroll continues to beat in my chest until he arrives.

Hoyt seems a little out of place in the museum—he moves slowly, as if worried he might break something if he’s not careful. He’s dressed in jeans, a plaid button-down, and a corduroy jacket.His hair is tied in a man bun. He looks a bit wild in this city environment.

“Have you been here before?” I ask when he finds me in the sculpture gallery. I’m eyeing a sarcophagus adorned with relief carvings from the Hellenistic period when he walks over.

“First time,” he replies, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“Not an art fan?” I ask, trying not to let his... scent distract me.Is that cologne?

“Can’t say that I am. I grew up in the country. You?”

“I grew up here.” I gesture to the museum.

“Like your parents work here or something?”

“No, but we came here a lot.”

I detect something citrusy mixed with musk. I shake my head to distract myself.

“And you still come often?” he asks.