“I don’t like this kind of art,” Sadie said. “Not normally. It’s because I like to know what I’m seeing. The angel across from Fletcher’s Field: That I understand. Or the statue in Philips Square. I look at it and I see Edward VII keeping an eye on The Bay where I used to work. Or the ones in Dominion Square. You’ve got horses. You’ve got men. You’ve got a lion. What could be clearer than that? Then I look into your friends’ gallery in Westmount…” She shrugged. “It’s because I’m afraid I’ll get it wrong, I think. Oh, I know Bernie and Mac say there’s no wrong. Miss Savage told us that all those years ago. I didn’t believe her then. I’m not sure I believe Mac and Bernie now.
“But this.” She pointed to View. “This I think understand.” She winked. “Even if I cheated.”
Erik smiled in spite of himself. “Cheated?”
“I researched her last time I went to the library.” Sadie paused. “She saw so much, this Naomi Blake. She lost so much. As hard as my life has been, I can’t imagine how she could keep going, how she didn’t get all hard and bitter like I got. And my life wasn’t anything as bad as hers.”
Erik kept his eyes trained on the sculpture. “You aren’t very subtle,” he said softly.
“I’m too old to be subtle,” Sadie began, hesitated, then plunged ahead while she still dared.
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