“That’s mine?”
Mr. Alvarez smiled.
“June brought you on Saturdays.”
A memory surfaced.
Paint on my fingers.
Popcorn.
A huge dark room full of red chairs.
A woman with silver earrings kneeling to tie my shoe.
I had always thought it was a dream.
“Eleanor,” I whispered.
Mr. Alvarez nodded.
“She adored you.”
Something in my chest shifted.
My mother had not erased this place completely.
She had given me pieces.
I had simply been too young to know where they belonged.
Mr. Alvarez leaned against the wall.
“What do you think of the plans?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Good.”
“You don’t want me to approve them?”
“I want you to think.”
He nodded toward the mural.
“Your mother thought. Eleanor thought. Harlan thinks too much.”
I laughed.
“That seems to be the consensus.”
“Buildings are easy compared with people,” he said. “A building tells you when something is wrong. Crack. Leak. Bad wire. People hide their damage behind nice coats.”
