Page 95 of Hello Stranger

I could feel myself losing. In advance.

I had a bad feeling. I took a picture of the portrait so far and texted it to Sue for her professional opinion.

Her reply was immediate:Nope. Creepy.

Salvageable?I texted back.

Not a chance.

“I don’t think the grid is working,” I said to Joe.

Joe shrugged. “Okay. What’s next?”

I consulted my list of ideas. “Let’s turn you upside down.”

So that was our next attempt. Joe lay on the sofa, hanging his head backward over the arm, and I turned the canvas upside down and tried to sketch him like that.

Sue’s response to this one was a simple two words:Police sketch.

So we moved down the list. I tried having him describe his face to me and painting with my back to him.

Maybe the third time would be the charm.

But no.

Sue’s final response was the worst of all:Serial killer.

Okay.

We were done here.

I set my brush down and took a second to rub the kinks out of my hand. Had I ever cramped up while painting before?

Never.

Joe must have been cramping up, too, somehow. Because he watched me working on my hands for a minute, then looked up decisively and said, “I think I need a break.”

We’d been at it since five o’clock, and now it was ten.

“Oh,” I said. “Sure. Of course.”

He started walking toward my door, and when I didn’t follow, he turned back to wave me in his direction.

Bybreak,I thought he meant, you know, a turn about the room or something. “Are we… going somewhere?”

“We need to get some air.”

OUTSIDE, WE STROLLEDfor a bit.

Then Joe asked, “Who have you been texting all night?”

Was there any way in hell I’d be telling Joe that I had no ability to judge if my own portraits were any good?

No.

“Is it your friend who eloped?”

“I’m just getting her opinions,” I said. “On the portraits.”

---