Page 75 of Guitars and Cages

Alexia nodded. “Ice cream sounds good. Why don’t you go take a shower and get dressed so we can go?”

“Yay!” he exclaimed, tearing around the room grabbing his things, and then rushing to go get a shower. We hung out and waited for him, checking out his drawings as we did. Alexia drove us to the art museum in her car, a green VW bug; funny, but that car was fitting for her. After she parked, Alexia turned to Rory, who was staring out the window at one of the sculptures in front of the museum.

“Now remember, no touching, okay?”

Rory nodded enthusiastically. “Okay.”

I grabbed Alexia’s backpack off the seat next to Rory and handed it to her. “I’ll hold his hand so you can take your notes and things.”

She smiled, seeming so much more upbeat than earlier. “Thanks.”

We all got out and headed in. I was holding Rory’s hand at first, but it was crowded and I was suddenly concerned about the possibility of him getting away from us, so I picked him up and set him on my shoulders, much to his delight. I let Alexia lead us around; she knew what she needed to see for her classes, and there was plenty to look at whenever she stopped to take notes.

“What’s that?” Rory asked, bouncing a bit on my shoulders.

I glanced up to see that he was pointing to a black-and white-image that at first seemed to be blots of shapes and an imprint of twigs. I moved closer, so we could both get a better look. “I don’t know.”

We stood there for several minutes. I could feel Rory leaning, trying to look at it from different angles. “It looks like there’s a person there.”

“Where?” I asked, looking harder. I ever tried cocking my head to the side.

“The big shape with the twigs growing out of it. Look, there’s an arm; it looks like she’s got her hand in her pocket.”

I looked closer, and suddenly I could see exactly what Rory meant. “It looks like the head is turned backward.”

He laughed when I pointed it out.

“Why are the twigs sticking out of her; wouldn’t that hurt?” Rory asked.

“I’m sure it would. I guess maybe the artist just wanted to draw her that way.”

“Just because?”

“Yup.”

“That’s funny.”

I had to agree. I glanced over to see that Alexia was still studying a particular painting, so Rory and I moved over to one that looked like it had been done with chalk. It was broken into three parts, each one showing a different angle of figures with long, long flowing hair. The lines and the spill of it reminded me of water, and the way Gage’s hair used to flow over his shoulders when we’d go swim. The figures in the drawings almost looked tragic, bent and curled around themselves as if in pain. I was reminded of the scent of hay and rain, because rain had been the scent of Gage’s favorite shampoo. On the heels of that thought I found myself wondering what kind of shampoo Conner used. God, I needed to get a grip on those kinds of thoughts. They were only going to get me into trouble.

Rory’s voice cut through my thoughts. “She looks sad.”

“Yeah, she does.”

“I wonder what happened.”

I stared thoughtfully. “I was kind of wondering, too.”

“Do you think her mom left?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“’Cause sometimes I curl up like that when I think about my mom. I wish she’d hurry back. She doesn’t call as much as she used to.”

“When was the last time you talked to her?”

I was pretty sure I felt him shrug, but I tapped his foot to get his attention just in case.

His voice was soft, sad. “I don’t remember.”