Lucy and Jay wandered around talking about their hopes and dreams like patchwork quilts. Above them hung colorful pieced beauties in kaleidoscope patterns.
"I auditioned for a television show once," Lucy hummed, sliding away from Marilyn's left hem toward a row of chairs for a cooking demonstration.
Jay, taken aback, replied, "Would you like to be famous one day?" She didn't seem like a fame digger at all.
"No, it was an art show," she chirped. "An art contest really, produced by Sarah Jessica Parker."
"I had no idea you were an artist," he demurred, fame digger sirens suddenly silenced in his brain.
"I've entered my photographs in this fair for twenty years now, every single year..."
They paused in front of a display of vibrant glossies and matte monotone portraits behind glass.
"I never even place," she sighed. "I would settle for honorable mention. But nothing."
He turned his eyes to mentally photograph her downtrodden, almost tearful gaze. A hug might be out of the question, considering her father's watchful gaze flitting in and out from between grandchildren and displays. All he could do was love her from a foot away, and comfort her with his gaze.
Suddenly her eyes went from sad to distracted, and then into shock, and then fear. Flabbergasted, she began to reach the anger stage, pointing one shaking index finger at a blue ribbon portrait, her mouth gaping open and blue eyes white with disbelief.
Confused, Jay followed her delightful little finger to its destination... And then...
Lightning sprang from his heart when he realized it was a photograph of Lucy.
An intensely beautiful portrait, actually, in black and white, through a window... Or a curtain... Or a waterfall...
His eyes darted to a name on an attached Best In Show ribbon.
Carlos Mafalda.
CARLOS.
He didn't know who he was, but he would kill him.
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