Chapter 7
My phone buzzed. It was an unknown number.
"Is this Ms. Leila Schmidt?" a man's voice asked.
"Yeah," I replied.
"I'm Vernon Ward, the curator at the City Art Museum. We've seen your previous work and would like to invite you to participate in next month's Young Artists Group Exhibition," Vernon said.
I froze.
"Ms. Schmidt? Are you still there?" Vernon asked.
"Yeah, but... something happened to me recently. I might not be able to participate," I replied.
"Something happened?" Vernon asked, his voice full of concern. "Is it serious?"
"I lost the vision in my left eye," I said.
There was a long silence on the other end.
"Ms. Schmidt, if you don't mind me asking, is your right eye still okay?" Vernon asked.
"Yeah, it's fine," I replied.
"That's enough," Vernon said, his voice suddenly firm. "Art is created not with your eyes, but with your heart."
I said, "But—"
"Van Gogh only had one ear, and Beethoven lost his hearing completely, but that never stopped them from becoming true masters," Vernon said.
I gripped the phone tightly.
"Of course, I understand what you're going through. Take your time to think about it, and let me know your decision next week," Vernon said.
After I hung up, I sat alone in the darkness.
Outside, the setting sun bathed half the sky in a warm orange-red glow.
My left eye couldn't see this beautiful scene.
But my right eye still could.
I started trying to paint again.
At first, it was really tough. I had to keep shifting my position, searching for the best angle.
Without depth perception, I had to rely on other cues to judge distance and perspective.
Like shadows, perspective, and the relative size of objects.
June came over every day to keep me company while I practiced.
"That line's crooked," June said.
"I know," I replied.
"The shading here is off."
"I know."
"So why are you still painting?"
"How else am I supposed to get better?"
June hugged me. "Leila, you're so strong."
Strong?
I just didn't want to give up.
That night, I put on my eye patch and headed to the convenience store to pick up a few things.
In front of the drink shelf, I reached out to get a can of Coke.
Since I couldn't see to my left, my hand bumped into someone standing next to me.
"Sorry," I said.
"It's fine. Leila?" the person replied.
I turned my head and saw Harvey.
He looked at my eye mask with a complicated expression.
"It really is you. Roderick said you two broke up, but I couldn't believe it at first," Harvey said.
I picked up the Coke and said, "Yeah, it's true."
"Because of your eye?" Harvey asked.
"Sort of," I replied.
Harvey hesitated for a moment. "Actually, I saw something that day."
There it was again.
"What did you see?" I asked.
"When Caitlin was getting the cake ready, I saw her..." Harvey hesitated for a moment. "Never mind, it's all in the past."
"Harvey," I said, looking him straight in the eye, "tell me."
He sighed. "I saw her putting something on the tray, very carefully."
My heart skipped a beat.
"And then?" I asked.
"Then she saw me and smiled, saying it was a surprise for you, and asked me to keep it a secret," Harvey said.
"Didn't that seem weird to you?" I asked.
Harvey gave a wry smile. "I thought it was some kind of prank prop. Who would have thought..."
So that was what happened.
"Thanks for telling me," I said.
"Leila," Harvey called out, stopping me. "Do you need me to testify?"
I shook my head. "No need."
"Why? If I do, you could prove—" Harvey started.
"So what if I prove it?" I cut him off. "Would Roderick believe it?"
Harvey fell silent.
So what if I had proof?
In Roderick's heart, Caitlin would always be the innocent one.