Chapter 9 - CHLOE’S ART ROOM
The guest room became Chloe’s studio.
That was her idea.
Not mine.
Paula had slept there for almost a year.
After she left, I planned to turn it into an office.
Chloe stood in the doorway and said:
“Can I have it?”
“For what?”
“Art.”
I smiled.
“Absolutely.”
We painted one wall sage green.
Installed shelves.
Bought a drafting table secondhand.
Hanging lights.
Storage bins.
A corkboard.
Chloe pinned her first drawing above the desk.
A dinner table.
Two plates.
One huge.
One tiny.
I stared.
“What’s this?”
She shrugged.
“The old house.”
“This is the same house.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“It feels different.”
Children understand architecture emotionally.
That evening, we ate at the dining table.
Same table where Mark had laughed about me funding his lifestyle.
Chloe had crab legs.
I had sushi.
No imported wine.
Neither of us liked it anyway.
She cracked a shell badly and sent crab juice across the table.
Then burst out laughing.
I laughed too.
For a moment, I thought about replacing the table.
Then decided not to.
I did not want every object associated with them removed.
That would still let them control the space.
May you like
We could overwrite memory without denying history.
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