The Memory Painter

Bach’s Air on the G String blared from the speakers. Linz sat at her dining room table, nursing a third cup of coffee and placing puzzle pieces together. Last night had been her worst sleep in ages. From the moment she had recognized the painting, she had been wired. Then an even stronger anxiety had gripped her after she had spoken with the artist. What had compelled her to suggest her place? A coffeehouse would have been better.

Already nervous, she looked around her immaculate living room but could find nothing to clean. She forced her attention back to the five-thousand-piece puzzle she had begun earlier this morning, now already half-finished, and tried to calm her nerves. The whole thing was probably just a strange coincidence, and no doubt this meeting today was entirely unnecessary. Maybe she should cancel.

She picked up her phone to call him but then hesitated. The clock already read ten minutes past ten. Most likely he wasn’t even coming. It was probably for the best.

*

Unknown to Linz, Bryan had been standing outside her door for the last ten minutes, unable to ring the bell.

Just ring it, you idiot. He forced himself to do it.

Seconds later, Linz opened the door. Her “hello” died on her lips when she saw him standing there.

“You!” she exclaimed.

He saw the disbelief on her face, the accusation.

“You’re the artist? Penelope and Derek’s artist?” she demanded, incredulous, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“Yes. Bryan Pierce.” He felt a twinge of guilt. At least he’d had some time to get over the shock after recognizing her voice on the phone.

“This is not possible,” she said, her voice rising.

“I’m afraid it is.” He tried to be gentle.

“We randomly meet three times?”

“We only met randomly once,” he said, confessing, “I followed you to the Square.”

“You followed me?” She crossed her arms defensively, blocking the door.

Inwardly, Bryan groaned. Now she thought he was dangerous. “I was intrigued,” he said, settling on a miniature version of the truth. “The third time was your doing,” he reminded her. “You called me about my painting.”

“But that’s still random. I didn’t know who you were,” she argued, not sounding mollified at all.

“Well, I didn’t know who you were either,” he said. “We’re two strangers who happened to play chess together at the park and then you saw my exhibit … a little serendipity at hand, that’s all.” Like hell, he thought to himself, but he had to do something to put her at ease. She looked ready to scream and bolt the door. For good measure he added, “I’m perfectly harmless. I promise. You can call Derek and Penelope.”

Hearing those two names seemed to have the desired effect. After a moment she visibly relaxed, most likely convincing herself this wasn’t as improbable as it seemed.

“Serendipity.” She stepped back with a wry smile, offering him entry. “Okay, then. We’ll call it that. Thank you for seeing me.”

Bryan came in and Linz shut the door, standing there for an awkward moment, as if hesitant to join him. Bryan wandered around, pretending to admire the view. Her place was a low-rise on Back Bay with a scenic view of Charles River. With its Zen-like atmosphere, walnut wood floors, skylights, and vaulted ceilings, the space felt serene yet luxurious at the same time.

Near the windows stood the most enormous, serious-looking home telescope he had ever seen. The metal plate said it was an observatory-class Celestron Pro, and it had probably cost a fortune.

“You’re a serious stargazer,” he guessed.

“I studied a little astronomy in college,” she said. “Do you know anything about astronomy?”

The hint of a smile played on Bryan’s face. “A little.” He left it at that.

Linz eased away from the door. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please. Black,” he said, watching her head into the kitchen. His body sagged with relief as she left the room, and he collapsed onto the couch. Closing his eyes, he put his head in hands and reminded himself: I am Bryan Pierce. I am here now. I’m here now. I’m here now. He repeated the mantra for a full minute until he regained control.