CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

After Jon dropped her off, Tillie fell face first into her bed and pulled the covers around her, exhausted. Comforted by the scent of Liam in the sheets, she slept and, for once, didn't dream of cats or girls or anything else. She simply slept, hard, until the buzzer rang. Jumping up, she saw it was nearly six, and staggered over to the speaker. "Hello?"

"Hello," Liam said. "It's me."

She buzzed him in and glanced in the mirror to make sure she didn't look too wild. Just once, it would be nice to be ready for him rather than being a mess. She smoothed her hair and her shirt and waited for him to knock. One, two, three, with energy. It lifted her out of her fog. She flung open the door.

"Oh."

He was not alone. A gravely handsome man stood beside him, his dark eyes unreadable.

"Tillie, this is Krish, my oldest friend and now my business manager." He presented her in return. "Krish, this is Tillie, my ..." He looked back to her, vulnerability in his eyes. It touched her. "New friend."

She accepted the outstretched hand. A dry, firm grip. He was prepared to dislike her, she thought. "Come in."

Liam touched her waist as they came in, then bent to kiss her cheek. So polite. "I'm afraid I have only water or black tea or coffee to offer. I can't seem to get myself to the grocery store. There is literally almost nothing in my cupboards."

"We're fine," Liam said. "I wanted Krish to meet you and see the work you're doing because he's the one who can give permission for using my image."

"Uh ..." It knocked her off-center, and she felt unpleasantly ambushed. "I'm sorry, I'm just sort of—" She touched her forehead. "I had a big morning, and I fell asleep when I got back here."

Krish nodded, his hands folded in front of him like a deacon's.

"If you mind," Liam said, picking up on her discomfort, "he can come back. Or I can come back, too."

"No, no." She took his hand without thinking, and he smiled gently, his fingers curling around hers. Their team, solid.

"Over here," she said. "These are obviously just sketches, and they'll be less on the nose when I finish." She pointed to the gazelle girl and the crow woman. "Like those."

"Jesus!" Krish exclaimed. "These are really good. I wasn't expecting an artist of ..."

She waited.

He had the grace to finish. "Such power."

"Thank you."

"Do you mind?" He gestured to the other paintings curing on rails along the wall.

"Go ahead."

As he followed the paintings, stopping at each one with the kind of attention that let her know he had some knowledge of art, she looked at Liam. "You could have warned me," she whispered.

"I tried. It went to voice mail every time."

"Oh." She'd been asleep for at least a couple of hours, and honestly, could have gone for the rest of the night. She couldn't remember when she'd been so tired. Empty. Thoughts of her mother wafted through her mind, and she pushed them away, tightened her fingers around Liam's. He glanced down, pleased. Light came through the upper windows, fading now with the day, but it washed his face with something like holiness, and a spot beneath her ribs ached. She wished he didn't have to go so far away.

Krish rounded back to the sketches of Liam as an angel. "What's the plan for this work?"

"The painting, or the series?"

"Both, I reckon." His arms were crossed. Closed position.

"I have a show in four months at the Helen Appleward gallery in Manhattan. This painting will be ..." She almost squinted into the distance, as if the painting in its finished form hung out there somewhere. "I'm not sure, but in this vein."

"His face will be recognizable?"

"His face is kind of the point."

"Do you know who he is?"

"Krish," Liam said.

"It matters, don't you think?"

Tillie stepped in. "I didn't know. But my friend Jon told me today that he's—you—are, as he said, a ‘rock star' meditation teacher. With, like, an app and workshops around the world, right?"

Liam looked sad. "Yeah."

"And you had no idea before this?" Krish demanded.

"No." She crossed her own arms. "This isn't an attempt to exploit his fame. It's just ..." She looked at the sketches, the wings. "What came to me. It's how I see humans, not as themselves but other things."

Krish gestured toward the gazelle and the owl being, side by side. "Like that?" He looked down his nose at her, and she suddenly saw a Belgian Malinois. Most dogs were hostile or eager to please, but a Malinois knew he was better than you.

"Everyone. I'm seeing a Belgian Malinois when I look at you."

One eyebrow rose in disdain. "A dog?"

"Lean, smart, loyal," she countered.

Liam said, "Bro." The word carried layers Tillie couldn't decipher, but the top notes were annoyance and maybe a request.

Nodding, Krish said, "You must see what the connotations are, his face as an angel, representing himself as divine."

"I see your point in a way. In a big way, actually." She pursed her lips. Disappointment rivered through her limbs, along with a rise of anxiety. If she ditched this, she'd be even more behind, and it was feeling like a core painting. "I might be able to—" She broke off, knowing the whole point was the visual of his face. "I don't know. If it won't work, it won't work."

"Permission is not technically required, though, is it?" Liam asked.

She turned, surprised. "Not for something like this, actually. Art is considered free speech, so as long as I'm not using your image to sell something, it's fair use. And because you're a public figure, the rules are even more lax."

"But you'd be selling the painting," Krish said.

"I mean, yes. But it wouldn't be considered commercial." She shook her head. "Never mind. I don't want to cause you trouble."

"Thank you," Krish said. "The optics would be terrible."

She shrugged her agreement. "I hear you."

"I'm going to get out of here, then." He shook her hand. "Good to meet you." He pointed at Liam. "See you tomorrow morning, bright and early, yeah?"

His face was stony. "Yeah."

"Last one."

"Here," Liam returned.

Krish let himself out.

Tillie scowled. "That was really weird."

"Sorry. I thought it would help if he met you."

"Help what?"

"Get the release signed," he said, but his gaze shifted away, and she sensed that wasn't the whole story.

"It's all right." Her phone buzzed somewhere across the room, and she realized she hadn't checked it since she got home. She moved to pick it up from the nightstand. The new notice was a message from Jon, and a long line of other notices scrolled down the screen. She should deal with them, but it felt exhausting.

"Have you eaten?" she asked. "I'm starving, but I don't want to go out."

"Takeout?"

"Or I could order some groceries, and we could cook. Nothing fancy, maybe just some omelets and toast?"

His expression lightened. "That's sounds amazing. Red onions, maybe. And avocado?"

She nodded in happiness. "And some crazy seedy bread."

"Sun-dried tomatoes."

She opened the grocery delivery app on her phone and started adding items. The vegetables and eggs and bread. "Anything else?"

"Hot chocolate and milk."

She laughed, adding them. "Done." She ordered and set the phone down without opening the messages or email or any of the other things tugging at her attention. Instead, she crossed the space between them, lifted her arms around his neck as if they'd been together a hundred years. "Hi."

He exhaled and rested his forehead against hers, his hands on her waist. All at once, the world outside fell away, and she was standing in a circle that felt like home. Him, her, this. She couldn't possibly speak that aloud, so she simply rested there, forgetting everything but right here. Now.

Her phone buzzed again, and she reluctantly pulled it out of her pocket. Jon again. "Sorry, I need to look at this. I've been out of touch for a few hours."

"Go ahead. I'm going to wash my hands."

"Oh, look," she said with a smile. "Three voice mails from Liam."

"Told you I tried." He grinned and disappeared into the bathroom.

Jon's messages were straightforward. At 4:07: Checking on you. Doing OK?

At 4:55: Checking again. LMK when you get this.

At 6:12, just now: Worried. Text me, or I'm coming over.

She typed: I'm fine. Just fell asleep. Liam here now. Will call tomorrow.

His reply was swift. Good. Have fun, baby , punctuated with an emoticon of a face with a tongue hanging out.

She laughed, carrying the phone to the couch, where she looked at the other notices. Nothing enormously important. Texts from a couple of acquaintances, headlines from news apps, an email from her gallery inquiring over her progress. Flicking open the app with her thumb, she started to respond that all was well when another one caught her eye. It was from Shiloh, the artist who painted the work that started all this madness.

Tillie Morrisey! I know your work, woman!! How amazing to hear from you. I'd be glad to help, but I'm not sure which painting you're talking about. There are a few locales in that series. Which one did you mean?

I'm getting on an overnight train so won't have much service until tomorrow (Vietnam time), but I'll keep an eye out for your email.

Can't get over it! I love your work!

XO

Susan Heever a.k.a. Shiloh

Tillie's hands started shaking. She typed out a fast reply:

Susan! So pleased to meet you this way. Sorry about that—I should have said the number. Which now I've forgotten. It's a porch against a forest, with two figures (maybe children) and a cat. A plant with big leaves. I can get the actual number, but that will be tomorrow.

Thank you so much.

Tillie

"What's up?" Liam asked, returning. He sank beside her, body angled to give her his full attention. She loved the way he listened with his whole being.

"It's the painter. She got back to me, but I forgot to include the number of the painting, like an idiot."

He shook his head. "Don't talk about my lover that way."

She smiled. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too."

The food was delivered, and they cooked beautiful omelets and avocado toast with hot chocolate. "It's not sunflower bread," Liam commented, "but pretty good."

Tillie nodded in agreement, glad to be at home, to be eating ordinary food. "I love that bread. I used to make it all the time when Jon and I lived together. We were poor as hell, and the bread got us through a good many months."

He smiled. "He's a good friend to you."

"The best."

Quiet acoustic indie music played on the speakers, and as if to add the exact perfect note to the scene, rain pattered against the skylights. Sated, they pushed their plates away. Liam picked up a deck of tarot cards from the table. "Do you mind?"

She held out her hand, mock scowling. "Don't get your energy all over my cards, man."

"I thought you liked my energy all over you."

"This deck was my mom's," she explained. The cards were as soft as an old pair of jeans, and she shuffled them easily, once, twice, again.

"Did you find what you were looking for in Fox Crossing today?" he asked.

"Not really. It would be easier if I knew what I was looking for, but all I know is that my mom was lying to me my entire life."

He said nothing. Lamplight spilled over his pale hair, picking out sparks of gold, and she imagined adding gold to the painting she wasn't going to paint. The Listening Angel .

She shuffled the cards again. "What are you hiding, Mom?" she asked capriciously, split the deck, shuffled again.

"Mother card," she said, declaring the meaning she sought, and turned over The Empress. Her lips quirked. "Daughter." She pulled The Fool and laid it down. Card three was their relationship, The Moon.

"Secrets," Liam interpreted.

"Surprise!" she said, laughing, then drew the next card. The Chariot. A card of movement and power.

Liam whistled. "A lot of Major Arcana there, love."

Challenges: The Tower. "Of course," she said, rolling her eyes.

The final card was The Hierophant, which represented the need to seek the help of a spiritual mentor, a need for perspective. Tillie frowned, trying to think who that might be in this case. Who could help her sort this out?

"Draw one more," Liam said.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

She turned it over, and they both laughed. Knight of Wands. "That must be you."

He spread his hands with a grin. "Ta."

She absorbed the arrangement, moved the cards infinitesimally, touched The Empress. "This is the wrong card for my mother," she found herself saying. "She was soft-spoken and kind of ... timid."

"Maybe The Empress is you."

She glanced at him, then spoke more honestly than she would have to almost anyone but Jon. "Maybe one day, but not now. I do feel this is right for me, The Fool. Fresh new experiences." She searched her mind for a powerful woman mentor but couldn't come up with one.

Abruptly, she scraped the cards into a pile. "The last thing I need is more introspection." She stacked them together, shuffled, shuffled again, then again. "Tell me about your day."

His expression had been open and cheerful, but the expression slipped, so classically a face falling. "It was all right."

"Doesn't sound like it."

He touched her thumb, pulled her hand into the cradle of his palm. "I tried to rearrange things to get some time off." His eyes were a shimmery pale aqua that seemed unreal. She wanted to paint that color, the layers of depth in them. "To be with you a little longer."

She swallowed, curled her fingers around his. "Doesn't sound like it worked out."

"If it was just me, it'd be a breeze, but a lot of people are counting on me."

"I didn't go look you up, by the way. Jon told me about you, but I wouldn't let him keep going. I wanted to respect your wishes."

"Thank you."

"It sounds like you're pretty famous."

"Must not be too famous, because you didn't know me."

"Not really my world."

"Fair enough." He traced the edge of her thumb. "Not really mine, either, to be honest. I didn't really plan for any of it."

"How did it happen?"

He tugged her hand. "Come here, and I will tell you."

"I'll crush you."

"Nah." He kissed her fingers, and she allowed herself to be pulled into his lap, straddled his thighs. A hand slid under her shirt at the back.

"Tell me," she said, and ran her fingers through his hair, loosening it.

"I chased a woman to India," he said. "It was a bad idea. We did a lot of drugs, and I made a disaster of the good life my mother gave me." He lifted the hem of her shirt, urged her to raise her arms. She did, and he tugged the shirt over her head. "She left me in Rishikesh, and I spent a year sinking as low as I could go."

She slipped her fingers under the collar of his shirt to feel the heat of his skin. "Then you found a teacher. Mentor?"

"Teacher. I was lucky that he turned out to be a good one, a man with principles and lineage, and he took me in. I studied with him for five years, then went home to Auckland." He traced the scoop neck of her bra with his fingertips. "I was teaching there for a couple of years. Getting some traction."

"Mm-hmm." She leaned in to kiss his neck, his warm throat. His hair brushed her nose.

"And then Krish said we should make an app." Her bra fell to the floor. "And it took off."

"Took off?" She stood and pulled him to his feet, walking backward to the bed. He shed his shirt, paused to step out of his jeans, followed her to the bed where she, too, was clothes-free. Their skin met.

"A million followers in two years."

"Holy shit," she said, and then he was kissing her, and there was no more conversation.