Page 89

She laughs. “That may be the most honest definition of finished I’ve ever heard.”

“It isn’t perfect.”

“Few things are.” She smiles.

Laura finishes slicing the tomato, then glances toward me. “Are you going to call Meredith?”

I nod and take out my phone. The picture of my painting sits beside Meredith’s name.

Laura turns back to the cutting board while I tap it.

The phone rings four times before she answers.

“Hello?”

“This is Kell.”

There’s a brief pause. “Kell the painter?”

“Yes.” Behind me, Laura smiles without turning around. “I finished it.”

“That was fast.”

“It took two days.”

“I’d call that fast.”

“I don’t know what normal is.”

Meredith laughs softly. “Fair enough. Are you still willing to sell it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a price?”

I hadn’t thought beyond finishing it. I turn toward Laura. She’s cutting the tomato again with a level of concentration that makes it obvious she knows exactly why I’m looking at her and has decided not to help.

“I don’t have one,” I tell Meredith.

“That’s all right. Would you like me to make an offer?”

“Yes.”

She names a number. For several seconds, I don’t answer. The phone feels suddenly heavier against my palm, and my grip shifts around it once before I find the right place for my fingers again.

Across the kitchen, Laura stops cutting. I repeat the number.

Her knife stays suspended above the cutting board. Meredith says, “That isn’t me being generous because you’re new. That’s what I’m willing to pay for the painting.”

I think about the canvases leaning against Laura’s dining-room wall. She bought those. She bought the paint, brushes, drop cloths, the wedge I like, and the canvas Meredith wants. I don’t know what any of it costs because the numbers on the shelves mean nothing to me unless someone tells me what they say.

“Is that a lot?”

Meredith laughs softly. “For a first sale? Yes.”

“Is it too much?”

“No.”