Chapter 18
Zoey
Disappearing cat and missing roommate aside, Zoey was delighted to be at the Portland Art Museum.
She’d seen so many wonderful exhibits since she’d moved here: the LAIKA one, the Japanese-print one, the Guillermo del Toro Pinocchio one.
She even allowed Nick to snap pictures of the two of them with the sculptures outside, feeling a light fizz of pride as these immediately ended up on the family text thread.
‘I love this place so much,’ she whispered, as she looped her arm through his and dragged him up the entrance ramp. ‘As much as the downtown library. As much as the rose garden. As much as Powell’s.’
Nick pressed a hand to her forehead. ‘Feeling okay in there? I don’t think I’ve seen you this effusive before.’
‘I’m a complicated woman,’ said Zoey. Well, it was mostly that the circumstances around her were complicated. But things were starting to feel less complicated. Like she could see the future. Grasp it, even. ‘Thank you for bringing me here,’ she added, softly.
He squeezed her hand. ‘Anytime, babe.’
With Alice padding beside them, they strolled through the cavernous rooms of the museum, pausing to drink in block and screen prints from around the world: vibrant Indian patterns made from wooden blocks, a huge orange floral mural from a Japanese artist, linocut and silkscreen pieces from local makers.
Zoey’s heart sang as she found herself surrounded by thick paint textures and swirling ink patterns.
‘These are so gorgeous,’ she said, marvelling at a seascape with curling aqua waves being traversed by a bright orange ship.
Nick, meanwhile, was awed by a massive peacock that shimmered with blues, greens, and golds. ‘Reba would love this one. Or the wallpaper over there.’
‘I think that block-printing a room might possibly be less frustrating than hanging actual wallpaper,’ mused Zoey.
‘We can try it at the house if you want. My study is looking grim.’
Zoey considered this. ‘We could do a mushroom print.’
‘And if it looks terrible, we’ll just lock the door and throw away the key.’
‘That’s basically what I plan to do with Winslow’s room. Or just pretend I’m Ripley from Aliens and blowtorch the whole thing.’
‘Your landlord would definitely understand,’ said Nick.
Zoey nodded. ‘It’d be classed as a property improvement.’
They wandered through a room overhung by a series of huge, arching prints. The first was printed only with yellow, with a new colour added with each print. The final one was a glorious rainbow stippled with golds and silvers.
‘What if we kissed under the rainbow?’ said Nick, dipping his head to do just that.
Zoey rose up on her toes, losing herself in his touch. She could feel the heat crackling between them – so much so that she was half surprised the prints around them hadn’t caught fire.
They broke off when a group of older gents entered the room, canes and false teeth clacking.
‘Young love, eh?’ said a guy with bright blue eyes that sparkled beneath some of the bushiest eyebrows Zoey had ever seen. ‘You hang on to her, you hear?’
‘I plan to,’ said Nick, with one of his trademark grins.
Zoey just about melted into the floor.
‘Can you take a photo of us?’ asked one of the old guys, holding out a phone in a thick case. Zoey obliged, taking half a dozen shots as the men posed together. Alice sat by them, tail thumping the glossy floor tiles as she was told over and over what a good girl she was.
As Zoey conducted this impromptu photoshoot, Nick put on his thick-rimmed reading glasses to peer at a map display. Dammit, she loved it when he wore those. Too bad that in addition to the old guys there were absolutely cameras in here, or she might drag him off to the nearest storage closet.
‘Children’s literature, children’s literature … Aha, here we go.’ He tapped at a section on the map, and he and Zoey slowly made their way towards it, pausing to read descriptions of various pieces and marvel at the intricate linework.
The children’s literature section was in a small room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining two of the walls, with the other walls featuring pulled-apart books with their pages pinned on clotheslines of fishing wire.
‘Ooh, Beth Krommes!’ said Zoey, poring over the black and yellow art for The House in the Night. ‘Isn’t she incredible?’
When she was done examining each page, Nick nudged her over to the centre of the room, where a low table had been set up with simple printing materials – potato stamps, wood blocks, squares of linoleum.
‘Want to make a print?’
‘I absolutely do.’ Zoey pulled up a chair and started putting together a design bordered by florals and stripes in a little wooden frame. Nick, meanwhile, got straight into the potato stamps, creating a green starry night on a piece of black paper.
‘It’s the view from your farm,’ she said, in realisation. ‘From the top of the hill.’
He poked out his tongue in concentration. ‘Hang on, just let me add a tow truck …’
She shoved him – but gently, so as not to mess up his work. ‘You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?’
‘Probably not. Just think of me as Evil Rick Astley. Never gonna let it go,’ he sang under his breath as he stamped away.
Shaking her head, Zoey carefully painted the blocks of her design, then readied a sheet of paper to press over it.
As she did, a strange feeling overcame her.
She could feel the hair on her neck rise up, as though a chill had swept through the room.
Or like the time she’d gone for an evening walk with Ainsley up Mount Tabor and they’d turned to find a dozen coyotes staring at them.
‘Is that guy … watching us?’
A middle-aged guy in head-to-toe Carhartt swayed in the doorway.
He seemed drunk, or … something. There was a vacantness behind his eyes, and something feral in his expression.
He took a step forwards, and Zoey jerked backwards, toppling her chair behind her.
Nick leapt in front of her, shielding her from the guy.
A zombie. Definitely a zombie. There was no denying it, no dressing it up in excuses or explanations. Was there? Because Zoey was definitely seeking explanations right now.
A thickset security guard Zoey recognised from one of the bars on Belmont came running in, radio buzzing with activity. He positioned himself in front of the guy, ushering him back out of the room with calm yet firm words.
The guy grunted something, but relented. Zoey exhaled slowly, grateful for Nick’s presence in front of her.
‘That’s just Hank,’ said the security guard apologetically. ‘Sorry about that. Must be low blood sugar or something, because usually he just hangs out and looks at the art. But this past week …’
With a shrug, the security guard turned back to Hank, ready to escort him off the property.
But then—
‘Fuck,’ exclaimed the security guard. ‘That motherfucker bit me.’
Great. As if Zoey didn’t have enough on her plate.