Page 59

After about forty-five minutes of anxiety-ridden driving, I pass what must be the most gigantic mega-church I’ve ever seen. It feels surreal to finally see the very building that pulled Laine away from me. The building that stole her from me. The building thatchangedher.

I take a minute to sulk, but then stiffen my posture and keep driving. I’m not letting this affect me right now. I can’t. I just need to get to Tatum, let her think I’m actually taking it in, and get her out of there.

As soon as I arrive at the gallery, Tatum bounces toward me, wearing her usual toothy grin across her face as she goes to hug me.

The gallery smells woodsy, and the floors and ceiling are covered in vibrant swirls of what must be every single color to ever exist.

“Come on, I think it’s over here!”

Tatum grabs my wrist and leads me down a dimly lit hall to the left of the main entrance. The walls are littered with paintings of medieval-looking cats, women by grand water fountains, and olden-day circus jugglers in super tall hats. I divert my eyes from the walls and focus on Tatum’s braids swinging as she walks with a pep in her step.

Eventually, we reach the room number listed in the news article. Tatum dramatically opens the double doors, and I follow her inside. As we walk in, a putrid smell hits me, and the room feelsstuffy. It’s evident that nobody’s been in this room in years until Laine’s painting got hung. The drywall has spots that are peeling off, each of the floor tiles creaks when we step on them, and the whole ceiling appears to be moist from a leak that never got fixed.

“You’d think with the amount of money this area has, they’d keep everything up to date. This room looks a gazillion years old.” I pull the collar of my shirt over my nose and keep my eyes toward the ground, afraid that if I look up, dripping water may fall into them.

“Look, over here!” Tatum beckons me over, ignoring my obvious comments about the exhibit room.

I join her in the far left corner, where the picture of me is hanging. I take a good look at the face, then the body, all the way down to the feet. I can tell the girl in the painting is me, but I hardly recognize her. In the painting, her eyes are narrowed, and there’s a smirk across her face.

She looks to be seducing someone. Who? The painter, perhaps? Either way, she looks like a panther ready to pounce. I hate every bit of it. My eyes scan the canvas from left to right in disbelief, until finally, they reach the name and description placard beside the thin frame. The placard readsTemptationby Laine Loveum.

I can’t believe it. I can’t believe how she would just change the whole meaning of the painting. It hurts even more now, knowing that she’s changed even her depiction of me to temptation of all things. The very thing she was afraid of most. The very thing she tried so hard to avoid.

This painting, the thing that brought us closer together, was now one of a villain. The painting that was supposed to be—or at least I felt it was—a symbol of us. A symbol of the significance of who we were together. Laine had turned our love, and technically, mybody, into something universally frowned upon.

Politely, yet dismissively, I tell Tatum I have to go and then book it to my car. I can’t be here anymore. I can’t stand here looking at the aftermath of a fallout with the one person in my life besides my mom who felt stable, looking at a painting that became a symbol of what broke us just as fast as it became a symbol of what bonded us.

I need to leave. I need to get in my car and drive and cry and yell.

Once I reach my car and get in, I fight against my better judgment and call Laine.

To my surprise, she picks up.

“Are you serious?” I ask hastily, anger boiling in my chest.

There’s a silence through the line, but I can just barely hear her breathing, so I know she’s there.

“What changed, Laine? Why are you doing this?”

Still, she doesn’t talk, so I hit her with what I know will get her to say something.

“You know, maybe youarejust like your father.”

There’s a faint whimper that comes through the phone speaker. I can tell I’ve landed right where I wanted. Right where she’s most vulnerable.

“What did you say?” Laine responds through gritted teeth.

“I said…” I bite my lip, calculating my next words carefully as the anger is now completely taking over me. “Maybe you will end up just like him. I mean, you’re doing exactly what he did. You’re following this extremely rigid path for perfection and leaving no room for imperfections.”

Her breathing gets heavier as the volume of my voice rises.

“You’re expecting to live this perfect, picket-fence lifestyle to avoid becoming like him, but you’ve failed to realize that that’s exactly how he started off, isn’t it?

“You had this picture-perfect family until the pressure of keeping up with it became too hard, and he cracked. You said ityourself ! So why are you so goddamn hellbent on following this path so intently when you know how it ends?”

There’s a long pause. Suddenly, my car feels just as stuffy as the outdated exhibit room, and it becomes hard to breathe.

“He cracked.” She swallows a big gulp. “Because he gave in to temptation.”