Jessica reclaimed my arm and we walked down the hallway to the living room. I always thought of the living room as "The Great Hall." It ran the length of the front of the house and must have been seventy feet long but also included the formal dining room at the end. In the center against the outside wall was a huge brick fireplace, the large oil painting over it replaced by a large lighted wreath. Carolyn laughingly had once described the room as "Baronial." She said she could picture Indiana Jones asking to see the "tapestries."There was a cheery fire in the fire place and the furniture was set up in groups around the room. Garlands with silver and gold ribbons were draped around the room and the whole place smelled of evergreen. A huge brown leather sofa was directly in front of the fireplace as always. I smiled as I saw it. I had sat there many times - in happier times.A giant evergreen dominated the far corner near the side windows and in front of it was Carolyn, her back to us.I. But at the same time, it was hard not to dwell on how lost I felt. Each painter we passed seemed so sure of themself—so comfortable in their own skin. He waved to someone across the room, and turned back to me.“So have you started that masterpiece yet?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, “I remember you said you wanted to do something big.”My brow furrowed. I’d confided in Peter under the twin intoxications of sleep deprivation and alcohol that I wanted to go large-scale with my first real work. A big, beautiful, blank canvas; something with infinite potential, something with space for me to explore.“No,” I admitted, “Still waiting.”“Waiting for what?” he squinted.“I don’t know. The right moment?” I dropped my eyes, “My muse. Or inspiration. Or whatever. Furor poeticus... Something like lightning,” I felt my cheeks heating, “Something that’ll hit me, and tell me exactly what to do.”“Uh-huh,” he nodded sardonically, “Got some bad news for you, Foster. It doesn’t work that way.” He.
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