The Woman Who Fell To Earth

Chapter 12

Sun

David sat on the sofa, clutching the Mollines painting on her lap, looking at it intently.

"You still haven't set that down?" Art asked loudly, walking into the living room from the bathroom, his electric razor buzzing.

David did not look up from the painting. She caressed the edges with her fingertips. "It's only been a day," she said. "I've missed it so." She held it up to her chest.

Art passed by behind the couch, picked up something on the kitchen table and walked back toward the bathroom. "We need to find a place to hang it," he said. That felt good to say. Find a place for David to hang her painting in Art's apartment. Give her some permanence, give Art some feeling of David's permanence at least.

"Yes," David said distantly. She looked around the room at the walls. "I need to have it framed first. I'm so paranoid that something may happen to it."

"Is that why you won't let go of it?" Art asked. He said it as a joke, but David didn't seem to take it that way.

"Maybe," she answered, her voice drifting out the window.

"Maybe," suggested Art, "we can shop for a frame today. We could walk around the city, look in shops." He was still riding high from happy hour and the day at the museum. Usually one to hole up for the weekend, now he had a hunger to get out there on the streets, amongst the people. He used to think that, had anyone even noticed him in school, he would have been voted Most Likely to Become a Recluse, especially after spending his entire life sharing bedrooms with half a dozen other children. But today, he felt different. Today he had David. "So what do you say?"

"I'd like that," said David. "Just let me throw on something besides this t-shirt." She hummed a tune that Art couldn't place as she methodically worked her way through her stacks of clothes. Her idea of throwing on something was unlike anyone else Art had known or even heard of. She slipped on a pair of wide, high-waisted cream trousers and tucked in a white button-down shirt with a deep v-neck. She looked at herself in the mirror, tucked her hair behind her ears. She pulled on a pair of nude leather ankle boots and topped off her look with a floppy cowboy hat with colorful embroidery under the brim. She angled it so it covered one eye, the regular eye. "That'll do," she said happily. "Let's be off then."

Art felt a little underdressed in a plain gray pocket T and slim indigo jeans, but not as underdressed had David not outfitted him with a new wardrobe. Art supposed she did it on purpose so that she would never have to worry about being embarrassed around him, like she had chosen sets of Garanimals that he could never mess up.

They stepped out into the cool spring air and journeyed down the street, past the convenience store, past the bar, both glancing in the window as they passed. They walked by Jodi's thrift store, but it was closed. David peered in the windows, looking for a frame. Seeing none suitable, they walked on.

David stopped abruptly. She reached out her arm and stopped Art across his chest. "What is it?" he asked.

"There," said David, pointing ahead.

Art followed her finger. "The Ritz?" he questioned. "They don't sell picture frames at the Ritz."

David raised her eyebrows. "Maybe not, but I bet they have a lot of fabulous frames." She walked briskly toward the front doors. Art thought about trying to stop her, but he knew there was no point. And anyway, he was a little curious and a lot excited to see what she had in mind.