Page 103 of All In
“Why?” he said, his voice thick. He was pacing the living room now, his hand carving through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I felt my stomach drop to my feet, biting my lip to keep from interrupting.
“Okay. Okay, fine. When?” He stopped pacing. “Tomor— What do you mean,tomorrow?”
Now I was scared. “What is it?”
“Fine,” he snapped into the phone. “We’ll leave now.”
Theo hung up and looked at me. “Eme says the Wynn Galleria is shutting down. They’re moving all the exhibits out immediately to make room for more casino space.”
“Why?”
“They weren’t making enough money.”
I leaned against the counter for support. “Where will Jonah’s glass go?”
“Pittsburgh,” Theo said. “Carnegie Mellon is going to take it permanently.”
I closed my eyes as relief gusted out of me. “Oh, Teddy. Thank God. That’s a good thing.”
“How is that a good thing?”
“Because it means his art isn’t going to be shut away in some storage unit,” I said. God, just the idea of it made me ill. “It’s not going to be taken down and stored in bits and pieces in boxes. His legacy…it’s going to go on.”
“Yeah, but he’s not…” Theo inhaled raggedly. “He’s not…home.”
I went to him, wrapped my arms around him. “I know,” I whispered, thinking of his cathedral. His peace.
He let me hold him a moment, then pulled away, his voice hard again. “If we leave now, we might make it. To see it one more time. Before they dismantle it.”
“You pack our clothes,” I said. “I’ll find us the fastest flight back.”
The best flight I could find left Saturday morning and arrived at McCarran at two in the afternoon. We raced to his truck in the long-term parking, then hauled ass down the Strip to the Wynn Galleria.
We were too late.
Wilson, the security guard on duty, shook his head and unlocked the door for us. “You have about an hour,” he said. “Then the contractors show up and start tearing down walls.”
“Why so fast?” I asked.
“Money, miss,” Wilson said. “Why else?”
He let us into the gallery, and we walked down its long side. It looked like it had been looted. Nothing on the walls except outlines where paintings had hung. Placards described sculptures no longer there. At the end of the hall, I put my hand in Theo’s and we rounded the corner together.
Tears sprung to my eyes. Nothing remained. Only cables and wires, hanging down from the ceiling like stringy hair. Empty hooks and fasteners where a sun had blazed and where water had flowed. The platform where the sea life had lurked was empty except for some sparkling pieces of orange glass.
Theo slowly knelt by the broken glass. His fingers pushed small shards of shattered orange glass around the cement. I worried he’d cut himself. I doubted he’d feel it if he did. His jaw was clenched, his eyes hard and shining, staring at the glass as if he could will it to become whole.
He picked up a shard.
“Careless…clumsy…assholes,” he seethed, his chest heaving. He turned to me, the tears standing out in his eyes, the pain floating on the surface. “Didn’t they know? This is it. This is all that’s left of Jonah. If it breaks, it can’t be fixed. It can’t be replaced. Didn’t theyknowthat?”
I shook my head.
His voice cracked open. “Thereisn’tany more.” His face crumpled and he hunched down over his knees. “He’ll never make any more. It can’t be replaced. He’s not here to fix it. He’s nothere. He’s…”
He sank his face into his hands. A sob ripped out of him. Then another. I put my arms around his shuddering shoulders as Theo finally let it all go. All the pain he’d kept buried for so long. He buried his face against my neck, and I pulled him to me, kissed his hair, his cheek, his temple. I didn’t say a word. I held onto him, same as he’d held onto me when I was drunk and drowning.
