beginning of last summer, before he’d had a chance to buzz his locks. Before he vanished.
“I do know him,” Asia said. Her voice was low, almost a murmur, like the babble of a brook running over rocks. Her finger traced the edge of the paper. “There was someone who looked like this, who came into the restaurant. But with a scar.” She traced a line from her temple to her cheekbone. “Here.”
“That’s Will.”
Asia met Will?
Gretchen shifted uncomfortably. “He’s—” There were many things that Gretchen could have said here, but she chose, “This picture is of his brother.”
Asia nodded. She didn’t ask any of the usual questions:
What happened? How did he die? Was he sick? Were they close? How did you know them?
She just sat with Gretchen. Normally Gretchen hated those questions. But, somehow, having them just sit there unasked was worse. Almost involuntarily: “It was an accident. Tim drowned last year.”
“You were there.” It wasn’t a question.
“No.” Gretchen’s voice wavered. “Will was, though.”
“What happened?”
“Nobody knows.”
Asia tilted her head, looking at Gretchen carefully.
“Will can’t remember. And the body was never found.”
Asia took a moment to digest this piece of information. “Sorrow,” she said.
It was such a strange thing to say.
Sorrow
. Yes, that was what she felt, in many different ways. Overwhelming sorrow.
With deliberate slowness, Asia turned to the next drawing.
“Do you like art?” Gretchen asked suddenly.
“Doesn’t everyone like art?” Asia asked.
“Not really.” Gretchen shrugged. “That is, a lot of people aren’t very interested in it. People our age, especially.” This was one of the reasons that she found it so hard to talk to the girls in her prep school in New York City. None of them was interested in the things she was interested in. Frankly, most of them didn’t seem interested in
anything
.
Asia seemed to absorb Gretchen’s comment for a moment. “True. I suppose not everyone likes all art. But everyone likes some kind of art—dance, music, movies …”
“I guess I meant visual art.”
Asia smiled, and Gretchen studied her face.
She is charming, that’s for sure
, Gretchen thought. It was more than just the fact that she had taken care ofGretchen’s angry customer. There was something in her voice, in her fluid manner, that made people feel relaxed around her. For some reason, Gretchen felt as if she knew Asia. Yet there was something a little reserved about her. Gretchen felt a coldness radiating off her, like vapor from dry ice.
“Were you thinking of some particular visual art?” Asia asked.
“There’s an exhibit at the Miller,” Gretchen said. The Miller Gallery was the tiny local gallery that often showed surprisingly excellent work. It featured local artists, which—out here—meant world-renowned artists. The list of luminaries who had started their careers there was bright enough to light the eastern seaboard. “ ‘Gifts of the Sea,’ it’s called. It’s terrific. I went there the other day. You should check it out.”
“Perhaps I will,” Asia said. She passed by Gretchen on her way to take a plate from Angel, and her physical presence gave Gretchen a shiver.
There’s definitely something cold about her
, Gretchen decided.
Cold as the bottom of the sea
.
Chapter Five
From the
Walfang Gazette
Local Boy Breaks Into First Church
A local boy is accused of breaking into First Church on Dune Avenue yesterday. “I don’t know how he got in,” said the church administrator, Marion Wheeler. “But he didn’t harm anything. I just came running when I heard the music.” According to witnesses, Kirk Worstler, 15, climbed into the balcony to play the church organ. “I didn’t even know he could play the organ,” said Adelaide Worstler, Kirk’s older sister. “But he seemed to know what he was doing. I had to drag him out of there.”
“Don’t eat the merchandise,” Will
“I do know him,” Asia said. Her voice was low, almost a murmur, like the babble of a brook running over rocks. Her finger traced the edge of the paper. “There was someone who looked like this, who came into the restaurant. But with a scar.” She traced a line from her temple to her cheekbone. “Here.”
“That’s Will.”
Asia met Will?
Gretchen shifted uncomfortably. “He’s—” There were many things that Gretchen could have said here, but she chose, “This picture is of his brother.”
Asia nodded. She didn’t ask any of the usual questions:
What happened? How did he die? Was he sick? Were they close? How did you know them?
She just sat with Gretchen. Normally Gretchen hated those questions. But, somehow, having them just sit there unasked was worse. Almost involuntarily: “It was an accident. Tim drowned last year.”
“You were there.” It wasn’t a question.
“No.” Gretchen’s voice wavered. “Will was, though.”
“What happened?”
“Nobody knows.”
Asia tilted her head, looking at Gretchen carefully.
“Will can’t remember. And the body was never found.”
Asia took a moment to digest this piece of information. “Sorrow,” she said.
It was such a strange thing to say.
Sorrow
. Yes, that was what she felt, in many different ways. Overwhelming sorrow.
With deliberate slowness, Asia turned to the next drawing.
“Do you like art?” Gretchen asked suddenly.
“Doesn’t everyone like art?” Asia asked.
“Not really.” Gretchen shrugged. “That is, a lot of people aren’t very interested in it. People our age, especially.” This was one of the reasons that she found it so hard to talk to the girls in her prep school in New York City. None of them was interested in the things she was interested in. Frankly, most of them didn’t seem interested in
anything
.
Asia seemed to absorb Gretchen’s comment for a moment. “True. I suppose not everyone likes all art. But everyone likes some kind of art—dance, music, movies …”
“I guess I meant visual art.”
Asia smiled, and Gretchen studied her face.
She is charming, that’s for sure
, Gretchen thought. It was more than just the fact that she had taken care ofGretchen’s angry customer. There was something in her voice, in her fluid manner, that made people feel relaxed around her. For some reason, Gretchen felt as if she knew Asia. Yet there was something a little reserved about her. Gretchen felt a coldness radiating off her, like vapor from dry ice.
“Were you thinking of some particular visual art?” Asia asked.
“There’s an exhibit at the Miller,” Gretchen said. The Miller Gallery was the tiny local gallery that often showed surprisingly excellent work. It featured local artists, which—out here—meant world-renowned artists. The list of luminaries who had started their careers there was bright enough to light the eastern seaboard. “ ‘Gifts of the Sea,’ it’s called. It’s terrific. I went there the other day. You should check it out.”
“Perhaps I will,” Asia said. She passed by Gretchen on her way to take a plate from Angel, and her physical presence gave Gretchen a shiver.
There’s definitely something cold about her
, Gretchen decided.
Cold as the bottom of the sea
.
Chapter Five
From the
Walfang Gazette
Local Boy Breaks Into First Church
A local boy is accused of breaking into First Church on Dune Avenue yesterday. “I don’t know how he got in,” said the church administrator, Marion Wheeler. “But he didn’t harm anything. I just came running when I heard the music.” According to witnesses, Kirk Worstler, 15, climbed into the balcony to play the church organ. “I didn’t even know he could play the organ,” said Adelaide Worstler, Kirk’s older sister. “But he seemed to know what he was doing. I had to drag him out of there.”
“Don’t eat the merchandise,” Will
Similar Books
