"You were right. Those paintings are so explicit they belong in one of those magazines. No wonder he's keeping them behind a locked door."
"Well, no one ever said your mother was shy," Cary offered with a smile.
"Thanks for reminding me," I spit back. I got up and charged out of the studio, my arms folded, my head down. Cary hurried behind, but I kept walking. Ulysses trotted alongside.
"I'm sorry. I just don't know what to say. I was just as surprised as you were."
I stopped,by his truck and stared out at the sea.
"Obviously, they were very close when they were younger, for her to have done that. That must mean something," Cary continued.
"Maybe," I said. "Maybe she was just being his model. She never told me anything so I can only guess."
"Just come out and ask Kenneth," Cary suggested. "And tell him what? That I went spying in his closet?"
"Well . . ."
"I don't want him to hate me," I said. "He'd never tell me anything then." I spun on Cary. "I don't want anyone to know about this."
"Sure," he said quickly. "Who would I tell, anyway?"
`It's not that you would tell anyone. It just might slip out one day."
"It won't," he promised.
"It would be better if you weren't here when he returns," I said nervously, checking the road into town for signs of Kenneth's jeep.
"Okay. We can talk about it all later, if you want."
I nodded. Quickly, before I realized what he was going to do, Cary reached out and put his arms around me to draw me closer and hug me.
"Everything will be all right," he promised. Then he got into his truck and started the engine. He smiled and waved as he backed it up and drove away. Ulysses and I stood watching the truck bounce over the dune road until it disappeared from sight.
I returned to the house to do some cleaning, and nearly an hour and a half later, I heard the sound of Kenneth's jeep and the quick honking of its horn. Curious, I came out of the house, dust rag still in hand, and watched as Kenneth drove his jeep faster than usual down the dune toward the house. He shut off the engine and leaped over the driver's-side door without even bothering to open it. From where I stood I could see that he had a small package under his arm. I had never seen him so excited.
"I've got it!" he cried, his face beaming.
"What is it?" I asked nodding at the package.
"Not this," he said. "This is just a new tool I needed," he added quickly and took my hand. "Come, quickly!"
"Where?" I asked, starting to laugh at his newfound enthusiasm.
He pulled me along, around the corner of the house and back toward the studio. He thrust open the door but stopped after we entered. We were facing the block of marble. He stood in the doorway, still holding my hand and staring at the marble block. Then he nodded and said, "Yes, yes, yes." He looked at me, nodded again, and looked at the marble.
"What is it?" I asked, now holding my breath.
"The vision. It finally came to me. It happened as I was on my way back home. I was thinking about you."
"Me?"
"And then I looked toward the ocean and it just burst before me, the whole finished work."
"But why me?"
"Because you're the center of this work," he said, nodding at the marble.
"I am?"