the phone call—about what Anna and your dad were talking about.”
“Kinda. I’m more mad that he would lecture me about telling the truth when he’s lying to me.”
Billy shook his head. “Yeah, I wouldn’t like that either.”
From a close distance, a snooty-looking salesman watched the pair. A minute later, another salesman appeared from a back room and, with a practiced eye, he glanced around the gallery nodding every so often. His gaze settled on Phoebe and, without taking his beady eyes off of her, he whispered something to the other man before turning on the heel of his highly polished shoe and disappearing into a back room. Phoebe hoped she was just being paranoid, but it sure seemed that everyone in the town seemed to know her—and most of them didn’t seem very happy she was there.
“That’s a nice one,” Billy said, pointing to a painting of an elderly woman sitting at her kitchen table.
“I bet she’s waiting for her husband to get home. Look at the beautiful table.” Phoebe pointed to the table in the center of the painting. “If you look at the candles from this angle, the flames seem to flicker.” She glanced at Billy and smiled, comfortable to be talking about art. “She looks happy. I think it’s wonderful that even though they have probably been married for fifty years or longer, she still takes the time to set a nice table.”
Billy’s eyes examined Phoebe’s face. “How do you see all that?” Billy asked. “I mean, your mind must be so . . .” he paused and glanced at the painting. “Your mind must be so full of beauty. What else do you see?”
“Well . . .” she hesitated and considered her words for a moment. “. . . I think it’s their anniversary and I bet she is planning to surprise him when he gets home.”
“I hope he didn’t forget.” Billy joked.
“Yeah, that would be bad.” Phoebe laughed as she imagined the man walking in, at that very moment, with a lovely bouquet of flowers for his wife.
“So, is that your goal in life? To be an artist?” Billy asked. “You sure seem to know a lot about this stuff.” He motioned his hand through the air.
“Sort of. I mean, I want to study art but my dad is so weird about it—he sent me here instead of letting me go to New York.” She studied the old woman in the painting. “That’s where I’m supposed to be—at NYU’s summer art program.
“Why aren’t you there, then?”
Phoebe thought about how to answer Billy’s question. She had no idea what, if anything, he knew. “I did something stupid and coming here is my punishment. He wouldn’t even let me bring my art supplies.”
Billy studied her face for a moment. “What did you do?” He held his hands up with his palms facing her. “I promise not to judge.”
“Look at her face,” Phoebe said, pointing to the painting. “The detail is amazing.”
“That’s not gonna work.” Billy let out a chuckle. “You can’t change the subject and think you’re gonna get away with it. Now . . .” He moved so his body blocked her view of the painting. “Tell me what you did. I bet it’s not all that bad. I’ve probably done a lot worse.”
“I doubt it.” Phoebe could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. How could she tell Billy she’d gotten arrested for graffiti? He would think she was a complete loser.
“Now I have to know,” Billy laughed and added sarcastically, “What did you do that got you banished to this horrible place?”
“Well, part of it was a misunderstanding. There’s this guy Jaxon . . .”
“Jaxon? Is he your boyfriend?”
“Sort of,” Phoebe said. She glanced at the salesman across the room. He was talking on the phone
“Kinda. I’m more mad that he would lecture me about telling the truth when he’s lying to me.”
Billy shook his head. “Yeah, I wouldn’t like that either.”
From a close distance, a snooty-looking salesman watched the pair. A minute later, another salesman appeared from a back room and, with a practiced eye, he glanced around the gallery nodding every so often. His gaze settled on Phoebe and, without taking his beady eyes off of her, he whispered something to the other man before turning on the heel of his highly polished shoe and disappearing into a back room. Phoebe hoped she was just being paranoid, but it sure seemed that everyone in the town seemed to know her—and most of them didn’t seem very happy she was there.
“That’s a nice one,” Billy said, pointing to a painting of an elderly woman sitting at her kitchen table.
“I bet she’s waiting for her husband to get home. Look at the beautiful table.” Phoebe pointed to the table in the center of the painting. “If you look at the candles from this angle, the flames seem to flicker.” She glanced at Billy and smiled, comfortable to be talking about art. “She looks happy. I think it’s wonderful that even though they have probably been married for fifty years or longer, she still takes the time to set a nice table.”
Billy’s eyes examined Phoebe’s face. “How do you see all that?” Billy asked. “I mean, your mind must be so . . .” he paused and glanced at the painting. “Your mind must be so full of beauty. What else do you see?”
“Well . . .” she hesitated and considered her words for a moment. “. . . I think it’s their anniversary and I bet she is planning to surprise him when he gets home.”
“I hope he didn’t forget.” Billy joked.
“Yeah, that would be bad.” Phoebe laughed as she imagined the man walking in, at that very moment, with a lovely bouquet of flowers for his wife.
“So, is that your goal in life? To be an artist?” Billy asked. “You sure seem to know a lot about this stuff.” He motioned his hand through the air.
“Sort of. I mean, I want to study art but my dad is so weird about it—he sent me here instead of letting me go to New York.” She studied the old woman in the painting. “That’s where I’m supposed to be—at NYU’s summer art program.
“Why aren’t you there, then?”
Phoebe thought about how to answer Billy’s question. She had no idea what, if anything, he knew. “I did something stupid and coming here is my punishment. He wouldn’t even let me bring my art supplies.”
Billy studied her face for a moment. “What did you do?” He held his hands up with his palms facing her. “I promise not to judge.”
“Look at her face,” Phoebe said, pointing to the painting. “The detail is amazing.”
“That’s not gonna work.” Billy let out a chuckle. “You can’t change the subject and think you’re gonna get away with it. Now . . .” He moved so his body blocked her view of the painting. “Tell me what you did. I bet it’s not all that bad. I’ve probably done a lot worse.”
“I doubt it.” Phoebe could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. How could she tell Billy she’d gotten arrested for graffiti? He would think she was a complete loser.
“Now I have to know,” Billy laughed and added sarcastically, “What did you do that got you banished to this horrible place?”
“Well, part of it was a misunderstanding. There’s this guy Jaxon . . .”
“Jaxon? Is he your boyfriend?”
“Sort of,” Phoebe said. She glanced at the salesman across the room. He was talking on the phone
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