It was three o’ clock in the morning, the next day, and Quinn was awake – she had been since one o’clock. She couldn’t stop thinking about how much she wanted to know where Joseph was and who he’d become. Was he still alive? She took out tubes of black, red, yellow, ochre violet-red, pink, green, veridian, light blue, white, brown, light brown, dark brown, orange, and blue acrylic paint, a Royal paintbrush, and a blank canvas. As she sat down, in her dining area, and put her art supplies on the table, and began painting.
Once she was finished with her masterpiece, she looked at the clock which read 5:00. She decided to let it dry, and started cleaning up and putting away her stuff. Her painting was a modernistic rendition of an African baby in her mother’s arms. The colors seemed to come to like on the canvas.
The phone rang as she washed her hands and brushes in the sink. She dried off her hands on a nearby kitchen towel, then picked up the phone. It was a woman. “Hello?” asked Quinn.
“Hello, can you put Max on the phone?” asked the woman.
“I’m sorry, he doesn’t live here. But if you’d like I can tell him you-”
“What?! He’s not here? He has to be… Who am I talking to?”
“Quinn. Who’s this?”
“I’m one of Max’s friends. When did he move?”