The gallery smelled like fresh paint and dust that had almost been beaten out of the corners.

Three days.

The number sat in my head every time I looked at a wall that still needed adjusting. I walked the main room slowly, checking sight lines, the way the light fell across the largest canvas, the scuff on the floor that would show under heels. Work was a clean place to put my hands. If I kept moving, the hospital corridor and Ben on his knees and Alena's *yes* had less room to expand.

I checked my phone. No Mara.

I called my mother.

"I sent for Mara yesterday," I said....