The Memory Painter

Linz saw the closed look on his face and tried to repair the moment. “That was delicious.” In fact it was the most delectable meal she had eaten in a long time. He had served Greek food. She had tried not to read too much into his choice of cuisine and stuffed herself with dolmas, hummus, spanakopita, and decadent pistachio pasta. She assumed he had ordered it from some swank restaurant, but the last thing she wanted to do now was ask in case he might bring out a painting of some famous Greek chef. “Can I help?” she offered.

“That’s okay. I got it.” His voice held a hint of frustration.

She watched him stack their plates, unsure if this was a signal that the evening should come to an end. Although now that she had seen the Van Eyck, she was eager to see the rest of his work, but she felt nervous about asking. “Do you mind … if I take a peek at your studio?”

He hesitated only a fraction of a second. “No, I’d like you to,” he said, before disappearing into the kitchen with the plates.

Left alone, Linz got up and approached the Japanese silk screens, thinking again about how exquisite they were. But the thought fled her mind when she stepped around the partition. Over a hundred paintings on the walls greeted her, ranging in size from modest portraits to grand canvases.

She sensed a great energy in the room, bombarding her psyche—every image stirred her to life. This silent audience broke her heart, made her want to weep, to laugh, to even scream. She loved every single painting—was moved by their beauty, their tragedy.

She was unaware of her feet moving; she needed to look at them all. But there were too many to take in. She stopped at a painting that was propped against the wall in the corner, and crouched to get a closer look.

Bryan came in and hovered behind her. Without turning around, she asked, “Who is she? This is the woman from the wedding photo.”

“Her name was Diana Backer.”

Linz glanced up at him and saw the question in his eyes.

“Do you recognize her?” he asked.

“No. Should I?”

“She was a friend of my father’s who died before I was born. I found her picture last night.”

Linz tried to make sense of what he was saying. “You saw her picture after you had already done the painting? So when did you do this?”

“The night we met. You inspired it.”

His meaning was clear. She stood up. “Oh, no. Don’t bring another dead person into the equation.”

“It’s not an equation. It’s a feeling.”

Linz was at a loss. She pretended to glance at her watch. “You know, it’s getting late. I should go. Thanks for a lovely dinner.” She knew she sounded a bit formal, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t know how to deal with this.

“Just hear me out for a second. Look at Diana’s painting again. Please.”

“No, I should go.” Linz made it to the door but then turned around. Bryan looked completely shattered. So she ignored every rational thought running through her head and put down her purse and stayed.

*

They sat quietly on the floor in front of Diana’s portrait. Linz checked her watch again. The minutes felt like hours. “I don’t know, Bryan. I’m tired.” And this is crazy.

“Don’t give up. What do you feel?”

“What do you want me to feel? The same way I felt about the other painting? Well I don’t.”

“Why can’t you see it?” Bryan was getting frustrated. “You’re not trying hard enough.”

“How can I? I’ve never dreamed about this woman,” she stressed.

“Well I have, more than once. I…” He trailed off. Suddenly the zipper on his sweatshirt seemed to fascinate him.

“You what?” she prompted, not sure she wanted to know.

“I was her husband. We were married.”

Linz couldn’t help the nervous laughter bubbling up inside. That sounded like a proposal. “Okay, I think we should stop there. Thanks again for dinner.” She gathered her things and started to head toward the door, intent on leaving this time.

He followed her. “Don’t run away. You feel something. I can see it.”

Linz didn’t know what she felt anymore. She hadn’t been prepared for this new turn of events. “Bryan, I really have to go.” She opened the door and turned to look at him.

Bryan tucked away a stray hair dangling by her cheek, as if he’d been doing it for years. “All right, but that doesn’t mean I won’t think about you.”

He was making this very difficult. “Just please don’t bring any more paintings into this relationship,” she pleaded, kissing him softly. His lips fit hers perfectly. “Good night,” she whispered.

“Tomorrow’s Friday. Are we still going to play?” he asked.

“So you can gloat?” she teased.

Bryan leaned against the door and watched her head to the elevator. “You know we’re going to play tomorrow.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that and waved without turning back.