“You paint,” she said. “Yes.” “Have you painted the ship yet?” A curious thing happened to my stomach. It didn’t sink so much as it seemed to disappear and leave a void between my heart and the rest of my guts. My knees tried to buckle. The steel in my hip went hot. The back of my neck went cold. And warm, prickling fire ran up the arm that wasn’t there. “Yes,” I said. “Again and again and again.”
