When the knock came on her door this time, Natalya didn’t snap at whoever it was to go away—not if there was a chance it would make a pregnant Jessica climb the ivy arbor again.
She called out, “It’s open,” before she came out of her reverie enough to recognize her mom’s knock.
“Oh, you’re painting again. That’s wonderful, honey.”
“Am I?” It didn’t feel like she was “painting.” It wasn’t something she was doing because she liked the process, which she did. The images were simply too clear to keep inside her head. Actually this one was still only part of an image, but it was being too insistent to deny.
“Don’t know what else you’d call it,” Mom moved closer.
Neither did Natalya, so she didn’t argue the point.
She pointed to the Joy painting propped on her dresser to distract her mothe
