“Or one of the most noted collage artists of the nineteen nineties.”
It took him a minute. Then he looked back at the truck. “That’s Clyde?”
“Yep.” I shut the glove box. “Be right back.”
This time, he didn’t hesitate. He was out of the car in a flash, falling in step behind me as I walked back over to the trailer. “Clyde,” he called out. “What’s the problem?”
“Who’s that?” Clyde asked Morris, squinting into the dark.
“Mr. Sushi.”
I handed Morris the flashlight, and he went around the front of the trailer, picking up the toolbox on his way.
Theo was just looking at the paintings, his eyes wide. “These are yours?”
“Yeah,” Clyde replied, his attention on Morris. “Just emptying out an old storage unit over in the Cape. Hey, you need any help up there?”
There was a clank. “Nah, I’m good. I found it.”
“These are . . .” Theo said, approaching the trailer and running his finger along the edges of the canvases. “There are so many of them. I can’t really make out the details, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen—”
“Got it,” Morris called out, reappearing. Clyde stepped in front of Theo, cutting him off both in view and midsentence, then reached out for the spare as Morris handed it out. “It’s not in great shape. The ones on rentals never are. But it should get you there.”
“Great,” Clyde said. “Thanks.”
“You need help putting it on?” I asked. It was one of my dad’s rules that all of us girls had to be able to aptly change a tire before he’d hand over the keys to any of his cars.
“Nah, I’ll be fine.”
Morris and I looked at each other. “It’ll go faster with two pairs of hands,” Morris said, picking up the jack.
“Oh, and I can help, too,” Theo offered. However, as Morris squatted down by the flat tire, Clyde beside him, Theo didn’t move. He was still looking at the paintings.
“This is,” he whispered to me as they got the jack into place, “seriously amazing. Seriously. I don’t think Ivy, or anyone else for that matter, had any idea he had work that hadn’t been seen and cataloged. The possibilities for this are mind-boggling.”
“Or,” I said, “they could all be nothing, which is why he never showed them to anyone.”
“This is Clyde Conaway. As far as anyone knows, he has a very limited oeuvre.”
“Which means . . . ?”
“Even if they’re nothing,” he replied, “they’re something.”
There was a clank. “Shit,” I heard Morris mutter.
Clyde adjusted the flashlight. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks. This lug nut’s just being a bitch.”
Of course it was a female. I sighed.
Theo said, “Ivy’s going to freak. Especially if this means he might be considering the idea of a tour.”
“A tour? Of what?”
He took a quick glance at Clyde, who had his back to us, before moving closer and inching aside the drop cloth over the side of one painting so he could study it. “We figured it was the longest of long shots. But she’s been pressing him to consider participating in some kind of exhibition to be timed with the release of the film.”
“Really,” I said.
“It would, of course, be very limited. Exclusive. A handful of dates in major cities. The interest is there. It’s just been a matter of persuading him. Which it looks like maybe we did.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ve got to call Ivy.”
I looked back at Clyde, who was helping Morris slide the spare onto the wheel base. “Theo . . . I don’t think you should do that until you—”
“Hey, Ivy,” he said, either not hearing or just choosing not to, that drive or pushiness again drowning everything else out. “It’s me. Listen, you’re not going to believe this . . .”
He walked away, still talking, into the darkness. I glanced back at Clyde and Morris, then at the paintings, lined up lengthwise in front of me. Who even knew what was on those canvases, or if any of us were supposed to see them at all. There was a reason people did things alone, under the cover of darkness. I shut the trailer doors.
“That should do it,” I heard Morris say a moment later. He was getting to his feet, wiping his hands on a rag. “Just don’t ride it too hard.”
“Will do,” Clyde told him. “Not going much farther anyway. Can I give you some cash or something, for your trouble?”
“Nah, I’m good,” Morris said, heading back over to me. “Where’s Sushi?”
“On the phone,” I said.
He grunted, as if this just figured, then walked back to the car. As I watched him go, Clyde joined me, locking the trailer doors.
“He’s a good kid,” he observed.
“He has his moments.”
I could see Theo now, walking back up into the light. He was still on his phone, his face animated. I thought of that night back at Gert’s with the milk crate, when I didn’t yet understand any of this. I wasn’t sure I did now, actually. But I knew enough to say, “You should know . . . he’s talking to Ivy. About the paintings. I tried to stop him.”
“It’s all right,” he said. “I figured as much as soon as I saw him get out of the car.”