I had noticed that Ian used one photo of each in my outfits and put them in a collage before painting. Ian then got out a chilled bottle of pinot noir...and poured it into two wine glasses. We sipped our wine and talked about our lives, jobs, and families. He then told me that the wine we were drinking was from a winery in Sonoma that his aunt and uncle on his mother’s side own and operate. I was still in awe of seeing myself in a painting. Then all of a sudden, Ian put down his glass and softly. It wasn’t that she didn’t love the job, bigger museums had offered her jobs with better money and more prestige, but she always turned them down. She stayed because she wanted to be with the collection. But on nights like this, alone, in the dark, it was too easy to think of the building as her own tomb. She felt like one of the slaves buried with the old kings, tending the dead forever. Someone knocked on her office door. She jumped. ‘Dr. Hiller?’ said a voice. She groaned, Marcus. She’d. More

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