Page 38 of Crystal Iris
“Yes, when I need to be alone or... when I’m missing them.” I didn’t plan to be so open, but the words fly out.
“I’m sorry, have they... passed away?”
“My mom died when I was young. My dad decided he didn’t want to be a dad anymore and left.”
He stops in front of a Greek bronze sculpture of Apollo.
“Iris, I’m sorry,” he says, his green eyes locking onto mine.
“Thanks, I’m... I’m recovered, I think.” I look away, feeling a tightness in my chest.
He gives me a faint smile.
“I’m sorry about your dad, too.”Shit, that slipped out.
“And did your friend tell you that too?”
“No, I looked you up.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“I’m glad you did.”
“Why?”
“I like that you were… curious about me.”
My prism pulses, and my stomach turns.
We enter the painting gallery. Hoyt stops in front of Monet’sFisherman’s Cottage on the Cliffs at Varengeville.
“Do you like it?” I ask, noticing he seems genuinely interested.
“I love the ocean. Living in the countryside, I don’t get to see it much.”
“My favorite part of this one is that there isn’t a path to the house. We’re left wondering…”
We move to the next wall.
“My mom loved this one,” I say, eyeingPortrait of a Dancerby Nicolas Lancret. “See her turned foot? She’s a dancer. My mom liked to dance. And this one,” I add, walking over to the next painting. “My dad used to say it’s about a father. The man is gently holding his daughter’s hand while yelling at his son, who is playing with a sword. My dad used to joke that’s why he loved having a daughter. I was sweet, like the fruit the girl’s carrying in the basket, and I’d never try to fight him. I never looked up the true story. I like the one he made up.”
“You do seem comfortable here.”
“I come here a lot. I’m an art history professor.”
“Oh, where do you teach?”
I can hear him breathing in the quiet room.
“Harvard.”
His eyes lock onto mine. “That’s impressive,” he says.
