“Not really…” I shrug. “I know you took over your dad’s business. Do you like it?”
“I never had a choice. It was supposed to be my brother. He was the smart one... I always thought I’d just take care of the horses, but…”
I don’t say anything. I can’t say I know about the horses. I don’t want to say I know about his brother.
“When my brother died, I knew I’d have to take over one day.”
“I’m sorry about your brother. You said he had a prism too?”
“Yeah, a rectangular one.”
The museum lights flicker. I glance up. It happens again.
“It must be the storm,” Hoyt says, eyeing another painting.
“What storm?” I ask, looking around—there are no windows here.
“It’s snowing,” he says casually.
“Is it? I didn’t know.” I pull out my phone.
There’s a text from Aaron:Don’t be stuck in the storm. Come home.
“I heard they’re expecting a foot of snow. That’s why I’m leaving tomorrow,” Hoyt says, glancing at my phone.
The realization that he’s leaving makes me feel sad.What am I doing?
“You came here knowing a storm was coming?” I ask.
“I wanted to see you.”
His words strike something deep inside me.
We walk in silence for a few minutes, observing Pacific wooden masks from the twentieth century.
“I should go home,” I say, trying to make sense of my actions.
“Why? Is your fiancé calling?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
He stops walking. “Are you going to tell me what you wanted to say at the party?”
“Can you tell me what you know about the prisms first?”
“Right. Let’s go somewhere… else. Too many people here.” There are only three other people nearby.
We turn a corner, where the tapestries hang on display, when the lights go out.
“The generator will kick in soon,” a guard says.
I’m not sure how close I am to Hoyt. I move an inch, and his hand brushes mine. He curses in pain.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Fuck, this hurts.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I can’t see.”
