A Discerning Eye (continued)

It is only when the doorbell rings on Thursday that I remember my promise to Astrid and David. I completely forgot to set up the paintings. They're in the third bedroom, where I store completed work. I'll bring the stuff downstairs now. They'll wait. Maybe they brought me polenta watercress confit in a doggie bag.

They have indeed brought me a doggie bag. It's a wicker picnic basket, the kind that French people keep in their basements and Americans try to buy at flea markets. They are smiling and look every inch the windblown happy couple.

I experience a moment of terrible jealousy.

continued

Fiction, New Fiction, Writing