Page 61 of Sparking Sara

“So you help sell her paintings?”

“I sellher,” he says. “Her vision. Her talent.”

“I hope she can continue to paint,” I say, running my fingers across the top of some brushes sticking out of a mason jar. “Do you think talent like that is forgotten?”

Oliver shrugs. “I like to think talent is inherent. Besides, she was talented even before she started selling her paintings. So even if she can’t remember how successful she is, I’m sure she remembers how to paint.”

I stare at all the supplies in her studio.

“Come on,” Oliver says. “Let’s have some cappuccino.”

We spend the next thirty minutes talking about all the places he’s been. All the places Sara’s been that she doesn’t remember. He shows me some souvenirs on the shelves. An Akubra ‘Crocodile Dundee’ hat from Australia. A Pashmina shawl from India. A beaded necklace from South Africa.

“You should show these to her,” I say.

“She’ll see it all when she comes home.”

“That could be weeks or months,” I say. “You should talk about all these things with her. And showing her pictures and souvenirs might help make it more real to her.” I stare down at my drink. “You should bring her cappuccino. In fact, maybe I could make her one and take it with me.”

Oliver’s phone rings. He steps away from the kitchen counter and answers it. It sounds like an urgent call.

“Was that about Sara?” I ask.

“No,” he says, putting his cup in the sink. “I have to go. Gallery crisis.”

“Oh,” I say, gesturing to the cappuccino machine. “I was hoping to …”

He looks at his watch. “I don’t have the time. But if you want to, go ahead. Just make sure the front door locks behind you.”

“Sure thing. Where do you keep the travel cups?”

“Cabinet,” he says, waving his hand towards the entire wall of cabinets on his way out. “Later, mate.”

I search through every cabinet and finally find some thermal cups in a drawer underneath the cappuccino machine.Logical spot,I think.

Before I leave, however, I take one last peek at Sara’s studio. I stand in the doorway, taking a longer look at her paintings. And then I have an idea. An idea that I hope will be the answer Joelle was looking for.

~ ~ ~

I walk into Sara’s room, carrying a box so large, I almost drop it on the floor before I can put it down.

Her eyes go wide, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s a woman of few words.

“Well, what do we have here?” Donovan says, walking in behind me.

“I thought she might like to have these,” I say, pulling some of the larger blank canvases out of the box. I go to Sara’s bedside. “I have paints, brushes, basically everything I could find lying around your studio.”

Sara’s mouth drops open. “I … I have a studio?”

“You do. It’s in your apartment.”

“You … went?” she asks.

“I met Oliver there for coffee this morning. Oh, that reminds me”—I dig around in the box, hoping it didn’t spill—“I brought you this. Sorry, it might not be so hot anymore.”

She takes it, looking up at me with questioning eyes.

“It’s cappuccino. Oliver said it’s your favorite.”

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