Page 81 of Seven Days in June

“Ask her to name the capital of Maine, though,” Eva said with a smirk.

“Mom!” To Shane, Audre replied, “I’m really not that impressive. I’m just wildly verbal for my age. But thank you. And don’t be a stranger.”

With that, she shoved her artwork under her arm and headed off into her room. And then stopped abruptly.

“Oh,” said Audre, turning around to face them. “Quick question.”

“What?” asked Eva and Shane simultaneously.

“Which one of you is the turtle?”

“I’m sorry?” asked Eva.

“Which one of you is the turtle? You know, the one who leaves and comes back and leaves again, while the other waits?” she said, spinning on her heel. “It’s a metaphor, writers. Think about it.”

She left them alone as they stared straight ahead. Looking at each other might have started a fire.

Later, they loitered on the sidewalk in front of her brownstone. It was just after dinnertime, and the Park Slope sidewalks, overrun with out-of-school kids all day, were quieting down. The sun was setting in rosy lavender streaks. Audre was upstairs, collaging. Shane and Eva couldn’t stop touching each other—a hand on a shoulder, fingers tracing cheekbones, indulgent hugs—and they’d stopped trying. All was right with the world.

Eva had writing to do, so Shane had to go. They’d been in the process of saying goodbye for almost a full hour.

“Well,” he said. “That was the highlight of my week. The second highlight.”

“Audre liked you.” Eva was trying to manage her giddiness. She felt as if she were going to explode all over Seventh Avenue.

“And y’all are just magical together,” he gushed. “She’s incredible.”

“Thank you,” said Eva, beaming.“Friend.”

“Anytime. Friend.”

She lightly knocked her shoulder against his. He knocked her back.

“Well,” he said, cracking his knuckles, “I’m gonna go. Let you finish hexing me in book fifteen.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” started Eva hesitantly. “I need your opinion. How would you feel if Sebastian were white?”

“That’s one hell of a hex.”

“No, I’m serious.Cursedis going to be a movie. Which is so exciting. But the director wants to make Sebastian and Gia white. You know, mainstream appeal.”

Shane couldn’t help but laugh. “Me? White? Nah, stop playing.”

“Believe me, it’s not a joke,” she said, tucking a few escaped tendrils back into her topknot.

Seeing her resigned expression, Shane knew she was serious. “You can’t green-light that. Come on. You’ve got too much integrity for that bullshit.”

“I really just need the movie to be made.” With a little shrug, she leaned against the front gate. “Besides, the characters are mythological. They can be any race.”

Shane stared at Eva for several beats, trying to discern if she believed what she was saying. Or if she was talking herself into it.

“You know you can’t do that,” he said, dismissing the idea.

“I need this movie. It’ll afford me a break, so I can do other things.”

“Your job as an artist, aBlackartist, is to tell the truth.”

“My job as asingle-momartist is to make money,” she pointed out. “I already know the truth.”

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