on
      tiles,
      sometimes
      as
      murals,
      but
      mostly
      just
      tile
      by
      tile
      to
      stand
      on
      its
     
     
      own,
      that's
      all
      the
      time
      she
      had.
      Mostly,
      she
      said
      she
      was
      referee
      in
      the
     
     
      shop,
      repair
      person--
      fixing
      chipped
      paint,
      or
      pieces
      that
      blew
      up
      when
     
     
      fired,
      or
      just
      dipping
      the
      piece
      for
      a
      woman
      watching
      her
      Rolex
      and
      put-
     
     
      ting
      her
      coat
      back
      on.
     
    

    
     
      They
      tell
      me
      it's
      relaxing,
      coming
      here
      and
      painting,
      and
      if
      this
      is
     
     
      the
      most
      relaxing
      part
      of
      their
      days,
      we're
      in
      trouble.
     
    

    
     
      Katie
      wasn't
      sure
      why
      Sophie-Anna
      chose
      to
      work
      on
      seascapes
     
     
      when
      she
      had
      the
      chance,
      but
      maybe,
      she
      thought,
      it
      was
      the
      usual,
      the
     
     
      grass
      is
      always
      greener.
      She
      knew
      that
      Sophie-Anna
      thought
      Katie's
      life
     
     
      must
      be
      so
      peaceful,
      slow,
      tranquil.
      Sometimes,
      in
      the
      evenings,
      when
      they
     
     
      were
      talking
      long
      distance,
      Katie
      would
      count
      five
      sirens
      over
      the
      course
     
     
      of
      their
      conversation.
      The
      car
      alarms
      were
      too
      numerous
      to
      keep
      track
      of.
     
     
      Why
      don't
      you
      come
      and
      visit?
      Katie
      would
      always
      ask.
     
    

    
     
      And
      the
      answer
      was
      always
      the
      same,
      the
      business
      was
      busiest
      in
     
     
      the
      summer.
      Regular
      clients,
      and
      tourists,
      birthday
      painting
      parties,
      and
     
     
      wine-tasting
      painting
      parties
      which
      produced
      some
      of
      the
      ugliest
      ceramics,
     
     
      Sophie-Anna
      said,
      you
      could
      ask
      for.
      But
      the
      partyers
      had
      such
      a
      great
     
     
      time
      and
      were
      nice
      to
      her.
      PAINTED
      LADIES
      didn't
      advertise
      the
      wine-
     
     
      tasting
      bookings
      because
      they
      didn't
      have
      a
      liquor
      licence,
      but
      word
     
     
      seemed
      to
      keep
      business
      steady.
     
    

    
     
      Celeste
      promised
      to
      get
      her
      out
      of
      jail
      right
      away
      if
      need
      be.
      It's
     
     
      not
      like
      cash
      is
      going
      to
      be
      a
      problem,
      she'd
      say.
     
    

    
     
      For
      two
      weeks,
      Katie
      and
      Sophie-Anna
      would
      leave
      the
      beautiful
     
     
      white
      interior
      of
      the
      townhouse,
      for
      the
      colours
      of
      PAINTED
      LADIES.
     
     
      Descending
      the
      suspended
      stairs
      each
      morning,
      and
      heading
      for
      the
      front
     
     
      door,
      Katie
      would
      think,
      I
      don't
      want
      to
      leave,
      why
      can't
      I
      just
      stay
      here?
     
    

    
     
      She
      would
      let
      her
      right
      hand
      absently
      drift
      from
      supporting
      cable
     
     
      to
      supporting
      cable--
      the
      stairs
      were
      supposed
      to
      look
      like
      they
      were
      float-
     
     
      ing
      on
      air,
      and
      the
      vertical
      metal
      cabling
      didn't
      actually
      look
      like
      it
      could
     
     
      possibly
      be
      holding
      up
      twelve
      stairs--
      and
      she
      would
      think,
      I
      can't
      do
      it
     
    
   
   
    
     
      anymore,
      I
      can't
      stand
      teaching
      at
      the
      university,
      I
      can't
      stand
      to
      be
      where
     
     
      anyone
      knows
      me,
      I
      can't
      stand
      being
      who
      I
      am.
     
    

    
     
      And
      then
      at
      the
      bottom
      of
      the
      stairs,
      facing
      the
      front
      door
      which
     
     
      was
      already
      open
      with
      Sophie-Anna
      there
      saying,
      C'mon
      already,
      Katie
     
     
      would
      think,
      And
      who
      is
      it
      that
      I
      am?
     
    

    
     
      What
      was
      she?
      It
      was
      easier
      to
      list
      what
      she
      wasn't.
      Not
      a
      mother.
     
     
      Not
      a
      mother-to-be.
      Not
      a
      woman
      who'd
      chosen
      to
      never
      have
      children.
     
     
      Not
      a
      tenured
      professor.
      And
      certainly,
      not
      an
      artist,
      so
      why
      was
      she
      going
     
     
      to
      a
      ceramic-painting
      place?
     
    

    
     
      She
      knew
      what
      was
      getting
      her
      up
      and
      out
      in
      the
      mornings.
      A
      few
     
     
      things.
      Katie
      didn't
      want
      to
      be
      alone
      in
      the
      house
      when
      Celeste
      got
      up--
     
     
      mornings
      were
      her
      worst
      time,
      and
      the
      energy
      in
      the
      house
      was
      quite
      terri-
     
     
      fying
      then.
      Even
      the
      white-on-white
      furnishings
      and
      drapery
      seemed
      ten-
     
     
      sion-filled,
      not
      to
      mention
      all
      the
      glass
      cubes
      where
      walls
      should
      have
     
     
      been.
     
    

    
     
      When
      Celeste
      was
      happy,
      and
      Sophie-Anna
      was
      happy,
      times
     
     
      which
      coincided
      inexplicably
      Katie
      thought,
      the
      townhouse
      was
      a
      haven.
     
     
      At
      times
      when
      she
      was
      miserable
      back
      on
      her
      island,
      her
      sister's
      home
      was
     
     
      where
      she
      longed
      to
      escape
      to.
      But
      she
      realized
      she'd
      been
      picturing
      times
     
     
      after
      about
      three
      in
      the
      afternoon.
      Relaxing
      and
      delicious
      dinners.
      Wine
      in
     
     
      fancy
      glasses.
      Fires
      in
      both
      fireplaces.
      Evening
      light
      through
      the
      skylights.
     
    

    
     
      Morning
      was
      time
      to
      be
      on
      a
      Toronto
      street,
      walking
      to
      a
      blatantly
     
     
      trendy
      coffee
      place,
      admiring
      the
      people
      who
      had
      courage
      to
      park
      their
     
     
      luxury
      vehicles,
      engines
      still
      running,
      flashers
      flashing,
      in
      the
      street,
      while
     
     
      they
      bought
      their
      decaf,
      non-fat
      lattés.
      Where
      she
      lived,
      everyone
      drank
     
     
      double
      cream,
      double
      sugar
      coffees,
      and
      so,
      on
      those
      clear
      December
     
     
      Arabica
      mornings
      with
      her
      sister,
      Katie
      thought
      the
      contrast
      was
      startling
     
     
      and
      significant.
      She
      didn't
      want
      to
      think
      why.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      [atl
      [17]