Free The Gallery by Barbara Steiner

she thought.
    â€œWho did you copy?” He swung around and stared at her. “Where did you find a picture like this?” His eyes were steel gray daggers, nailing her to the table behind her. She was surprised at the emotion in his voice.
    â€œI resent what you’re saying, Mr.—” She caught herself. They had given him so many nicknames behind his back, she nearly called him another name without meaning to. “Mr. Hunter. I painted this picture. And tomorrow I’ll have another. You’re out of line.”
    She took the picture and, wrapping it in a soft dry paint rag, placed it in her tote bag.
    â€œI hope you didn’t learn your teaching skills, your method of criticizing a student’s work at Bellponte College. I plan to study there next year, and I’d hate to think the teachers are anything like you.” She minced no words in cutting him down. She had a great deal of respect for Mr. Rodriguez. She had none, she owed none, to Eric Hunter.
    For the second time that day, she left school. Only a few minutes before the class was over, but she realized she couldn’t paint any more today anyway, especially in the art room. With Eric Hunter looking over her shoulder. Doubting. That would be the way to shut up his accusations. To let her watch her compose a similar picture. But it was useless.
    She was going to Johnny’s house. She was suddenly worried about Johnny Blair. A strong, deep concern sent her towards his house, almost at a run.

nine
    H ER INSTINCTS WERE right. Johnny was upset. His mother was glad to let LaDonna in. “I hope you can talk him into practicing. He’s not very good company right now.” Mrs. Blair smiled and pointed towards the next room. LaDonna thought she was probably used to Johnny’s moods, but she seemed concerned about him as well.
    Johnny spoke as soon as he saw LaDonna, as if he was really saying, go away, don’t bug me about this. “I can’t go back up there, LaDonna. I keep thinking about that room, about Katherine.” Johnny sat staring out the family room picture window at the rain that had started gently falling, the rain that was predicted to turn to snow by night. A flock of small birds, knowing the weather was changing, fed frantically at the bird feeder. Flames danced as fire crackled in the fireplace.
    â€œYou have to, Johnny. You need that piano. This one just isn’t the same.” La Donna indicated the old-fashioned upright that Johnny had started playing on when he was five. She fingered a few keys. The instrument had a lovely tone, but nothing like the baby grand in the practice room.
    She sat on the bench for a few minutes, keeping Johnny company in his misery. Maybe she had the solution.
    â€œI’ll go with you. I’ll stay in the room and listen to you practice.”
    â€œYou don’t want to do that. You’ll get bored. I’d worry about you being there, getting bored.” Johnny splayed the fingers of both hands, long slender fingers, and looked at them as if they held the answer to his dilemma.
    LaDonna knew that after about five minutes Johnny wouldn’t worry about her. He wouldn’t know she was there. “I never get bored with your music, Johnny. But if I do, I’ll tell you. We can go get that pizza I promised.”
    Johnny thought about that for a time. Finally he stood up. “Okay. I’m going nuts sitting around here.”
    Now Mrs. Blair worried about them getting wet. She insisted they take two umbrellas and that LaDonna borrow her raincoat.
    Outside, lowering her umbrella and sharing Johnny’s, LaDonna laughed. “I don’t know if I could take that much mothering. I’m so used to being independent.”
    â€œShe means well.” Johnny put his arm around LaDonna’s waist to keep them together under the ribbed taffeta. LaDonna felt warm inside and out and as cozy as she had in the family room.
    â€œShe wants her