“The bridge was navy blue. Navy blue tells me it’s weak.” She was a statue in front of me. Her face was full of confusion. I fought the tightness in my chest and cleared my throat. “The rest was olive green and pinks . . . all but the bridge.” I shook my head to get the image of the navy blue from it. I tapped my temple. “It was navy blue. It didn’t fit. Navy doesn’t belong in good compositions.”
