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"This one looks like something that used to be sad," he said, "but now it's not anymore."

I had often thought something similar, with the way the bronze turned downward at the base, but then circled round and then rose up and out at the top.

“That’s a good way to explain that," I agreed. “A lot of time an artist will make a picture or sculpture about how they are feeling. Maybe when he started out making this he was sad, but when he was finishing the sculpture he was happy.”

"You’re a good explainer,” he said to his father. "Miss Angel is pretty," he added, apparently to no one, "but she doesn't know about all the things." He looked back over his shoulder at me. "You know about the things."

"Thank you, James."

He considered this settled and moved on to the next shelf. I had no idea what that was all about, but apparently, I came out okay in the situation, so whoo woo!

James had arrived at a display of hand-stitched ornamental pillows that Leslie had picked up from Judy and Janice last week. They were small, surprisingly intricate, with geometric patterns that managed to be both very old-feeling and very contemporary.

"These are made by two sisters," I told him. "They live up on the mountain. They've been making things together for about forty years."

"Do they like living on the mountain?"

"They love it."

“Are they your friends?”

“Yes, they’ve known me since I was a little girl. As young as you were.”

He absorbed this. Picked up one pillow very gently, looked at the back, set it down. Then he turned and gave me a look of great thoughtfulness.

"I think," James said, "that you make a good girlfriend too."

The air left the room.

I heard Adam make a sound.

"Maybe not as good as Miss Angel," James continued, with schoolyard fairness, "but pretty good. Because you know about the things." He paused. "Also, you gave me the good burger."

"Thank you, James," I managed. I did my damndest not to laugh.

"Dad?" James looked up at Adam. "Is it okay if you have two girlfriends? Because Miss Angel is very pretty and Zoe knows about the things, and probably you need both."

I lost it.

I turned toward the pillow display and put both hands over my mouth and lost it completely, shoulders shaking, trying very hard not to make a noise and failing at intervals. Behind me I could hear Adam, who was clearly attempting to answer his son with great seriousness, but totally missing the mark.

"James," Adam said. "Buddy."

"What?"

"We'll… We'll talk about this later."

"Is that a no?"

"It's a… We'll discuss it."

James, apparently satisfied with this non-answer, went back to examining the pillows.

I pressed my forehead against the shelf and breathed.

I had been worried I might be falling in love with Adam, but now I knew the truth. I was irrevocably in love with James.

Chapter Twenty