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    Summary

    “Why did you start drawing?” Nicky asks, as if the question had cost him some earlier shyness, and he has just decided he would rather pay than continue to owe.

    “Because my hands were restless,” Joe says, not bothering to be clever. “Because I needed to tell the world it could not decide the shapes of things without me. Because it was the only way I knew to talk back to beauty and not be punished.”

    Nicky exhales a small, rueful breath. “I started with a church,” he says. “Not because I believed. Because I liked the quiet. The way the light was something you could measure and also not measure.”

    “You still like the quiet.”

    “Yes,” Nicky says. “Though I am learning to like certain kinds of noise.”

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