Nine

Andrea parked the minivan next to her display and began the unhappy task of taking down the paintings no one had wanted, the paintings she had poured her soul into, and through which, she had regained some hope for the future.

As she wrapped the first painting in a ragged blanket to protect the frame, she heard a familiar voice from behind, "Good Lord! Where have you been hiding all this talent? I had no idea, Andi."

"Mark?" Andrea said, astonished as she turned to face Mark Kendrick. "Did you make a wrong turn somewhere. You're a little out of the neighborhood, aren't you?"

"You never know where I'll pop up," Mark said. He looked again at the paintings and shook his head slowly. "You're no slouch, I'll say that for you." Mark pointed to an abstract of Dutch iris in deep hues. "That one, wow! You can just feel the emotion that went into that; it's remarkable."

"You're not playing with my head, are you, Mark?" Andrea looked over her shoulder at the paintings that remained on the panel. "It's been a rough day."

"They're great, Andi. Surely, you know that," Mark said.

"All I know is, you seem to hold the minority opinion." She frowned at Mark, "But, why are you here? I know you like art, but driving three hundred miles to look at an art fair seems a little excessive."