We drove out of the canyon and past the village. It was peaceful sitting in the truck quietly, watching the scenery. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been a passenger in a car—or truck. Hayword and I always took separate cars wherever we went, in case one of us wanted to leave before the other, or in case I had a date—or a sudden burst of inspiration which would send me to the art studio. At least that was what I told Hayword.
It was strange Hayword never questioned me about the studio or what I did there. In the beginning he had asked if he could see some of the paintings. But then he stopped asking.
Didn’t know what that meant. Figured he was respecting my space, man.
I smiled. “My space, man.” Could be a title for a movie.
Mark took Highway 1 to 10. I leaned back, ready for t
