“Who is this woman, Henry?”
He looked terrified.
“Answer me. These paintings—who is she?”
He swallowed hard. “I paint… to hold on to time.”
“What does that mean?”
“I told you not to come in here.”
“Please. Just trust me.”
“Trust you? You’ve been painting another woman for years! Who is she? Your mistress? Did you decide to cheat on me in your old age?”
“Rosie, it’s not what you think.”
“Then explain it.”
He hesitated. “I will. It’s a long story, and you may not believe me. But you deserve the truth… just not today.”
“After sixty years, you still can’t tell me?”
I walked out of the garage, shaking.
