“Because he told me his name was Adam, but it wasn’t.”
Taysha’s shaking her head.
“I know you warned me about him, but how was I to know that everything he told me was a lie?”
“What did he tell you?” Kevin says.
“He claimed he was a grad student here, and he had keys to the whole building, and he took me to one of the studios and showed me a painting he said was his, but later I met the student who actually painted it.”
“So this guy was running around CALINVA pretending he’s a student. That doesn’t prove he has anything to do with the fire or vandalizing Krell’s painting,” Kevin says.
“He hates Krell.”
“So does half the school.”
“That number seems high to me,” Taysha mutters.
“The point is,” Kevin says, “where’s your proof?” He’s angry, and I’m not sure what’s made him madder: that I hung out with a scumbag or that I didn’t tell him about the guy before.
I suck in a breath as if I’m diving into the deep end, and dig my fingers into my hair.
“What are you hiding, Sabine? What don’t you want us to know?” Kevin snaps.
“What the hell, Kevin?” Taysha reaches for me, but I wave her off.
“Is this why you’ve been so upset lately?” Kevin says.
I nod, and try to find my voice. “I’m involved. In this mess with Krell and Art Basel. I’m involved.”
“No, how are you involved?”
There’s no way out but the truth. “That was my painting in Miami. Not Krell’s. It was a copy, not the original.”
“Oh no! No no no!” Taysha folds her arms over her chest, but Kev sucks in a breath and closes his eyes, which hurts so much more. Taysha can’t believe I’m capable of crossing the line like this, but Kevin totally accepts that I am.
“Go on,” he says. “Tell us how it happened.”
I start with the day Adam approached me at Artsy, and tell how I went from visiting Krell’s studio to copying Duncan, then Adam going missing, and my painting being swapped for Krell’s. I explain how I had nothing to do with the vandalism at Art Basel and am as shocked as they are about how it’s hurt Krell.
Kevin has barely looked at me since I began my story, and now he can’t stop shaking his head. “I can’t wrap my head around why you’d do something so stupid. Going into Krell’s studio behind his back, and painting a copy without permission.”
My face goes so hot, it feels sunburned. “I don’t know. I was scared, I was an idiot.”
Taysha jumps in. “He played her. Sabine’s a victim here. That guy manipulated her.”
Kevin ignores her. “Was that really it?” he says, his voice breaking. “Why didn’t you come forward when you knew the paintings had been switched? You didn’t even try to fix the situation.”
“Yes, I did! I tried to find Adam, I asked people if they knew him. I quizzed Julie about his car, and I figured out he had an accomplice.”
“Yeah, you.”
This stings worse than if Kev slapped me, and I count to five before I answer. “Not me, a girl who looks like me. I saw her on tape at the pawnshop paying for my guitar.”
“Wait. You said…No, sorry, you let me believe you picked up your mom’s guitar.”
His cheeks are red and blotchy. This is one lie too many, and Kevin’s sympathy’s run out.
“Kevin, stop it.” Taysha’s gripping the arm of my chair. “Can’t you see she’s trying to turn this around?”
The muscle in his jaw twitches and anger’s blowing off him like smoke.
“Please, Kevin. I need your help. I don’t know how to get out of this mess.”
His voice is so calm, so carefully constructed, I feel him forcing himself not to snap. “The answer’s pretty clear since you only have one option.”
“What’s that?” As if I don’t already know.
“Confess. Show Krell the guy’s picture since he’ll probably recognize him. How about hire a lawyer before you have to turn yourself in to the police.”
Even though I’ve been thinking the same thing, it sounds a hundred times worse coming from Kev. “I hoped you’d say something different.”
“I guess I could have lied and told you what you wanted to hear, but that hasn’t proven to be an effective strategy so far, has it?” he says.
I’ve got no witty comeback, and we must all sense we’re done talking, because Kevin and Taysha move their chairs back and I stow my sketch pad away. Kevin’s the first to get up.
“Call me later,” he says. “Let me know how it goes.”
“Kevin?” I jump out of my chair, but he’s disappeared around a corner. No kiss. No hug. No looking back.
Taysha puts her arm around my shoulder. “Give him a few days,” she murmurs.
“Sure,” I say, but my insides are ruins. I swallow back my tears, because if I let go now, I’m not getting off this roof.
“You got a lawyer you can call?”
“Ironically enough, I’ve got a direct line to one of the best criminal lawyers in LA.”
“Not the one who bought your painting?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
Taysha walks me back to the lobby and offers to drive me home, but I tell her no, I’ve got to go to work. Each block I walk feels like ten, and I’m barely conscious of where I’m headed until I’m standing next to my car in the alley. I climb into the backseat, curl up in the corner, and stare at the brick wall outside the window.
Tears trickle down my face, and I dig into my pain, letting it loose until my chest is heaving. I rage at Adam and God and fucking fate, and drivers who hit people and run away. And I rage against myself when there’s no one left to blame. I made my own choices. Adam didn’t force me to copy Krell’s painting. I wanted to.
My clothes are soaked with sweat when I finally lean my head back against the seat. The sky beyond the sunroof is faded blue.
Help me, Mom. I’m so messed up. Help me.
I see her cradling her wrist, her thumb rubbing the word inked into it. When her eyes meet mine, they’re disappointed, but still loving. You can’t fix the problem if you’re not honest about how you’ve messed up. Time to come clean, baby.
I wipe the last tears off my cheeks. My hand shakes as I dig my phone out of my bag. I steady my breathing and dial, but I’m still thrown when the phone only rings twice before a receptionist answers.
He rattles off the firm’s name, but my mouth is so dry I can’t speak before he rattles it off again.
My thumb hovers over the end-call button for what feels like forever, but at last I hear myself say, “I’d like to speak to Casey Stiner. Can you please tell her Sabine Reyes is calling and I need her help.”
Casey Stiner drives me to Krell’s house. We idle at a crosswalk while kids walking home from school dart in front of her car to catch up to their friends.
Turns out Casey was classmates with Rachel Krell at law school, a fact I learned when we met and I revealed the chain of events that led me to seek legal counsel. Sitting as I am now in her passenger seat, that chain of events feels locked around my wrists.