At the top, a bar glittered with champagne. “I suppose with the right man, anyone would like that bath,” Lena said. Another woman might have been embarrassed, but not her Lena. Her granddaughter threw her head back and laughed. Passion like that eclipse, like the painting, the kind that makes a woman want to jump into the bath with a man after a sweaty day.” “See, the sun and the moon are converging. This painting is about an eclipse.” Ethel pulled her granddaughter close. Lena threaded her fingers through Ethel’s. “After all this time, another minute won’t hurt.” If only she could smoke inside. Her curls were dripping, and the dress she’d spent so much time choosing was splotched with rain. A sun and a moon hung together in a sky ignited by shades of orange. The oversize canvas once served as the backdrop for a ballet, a Russian Romeo and Juliet, and Ethel had studied it so many times she didn’t need to look to see its brilliance. Ethel Zane stood next to her granddaughter, Lena, in the museum’s rotunda and tried to catch her breath by pretending to examine the painting in front of them.
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