"Stay in touch, Joe." Mo patted his arm and turned towards the crowd. Rhiannon was standing in front of a large photograph, head tipped back, absorbed.
"Isn't Vermeer a painter?" she asked as he moved next to her.
"Yep, Dutch, sixteen hundreds—I think. Not many paintings survive, but they're all great."
A tag on the wall beside the photograph read, Jade Willow Lady / Vermeer. She was wearing a white cook's jacket. Her glossy black hair was pulled back and pinned up behind her head. She held a spatula in front of her. Her free hand was palm up, ready to reach. It was as though she had seen Mo with the camera and had paused as she was turning toward the grill. Light fell on her face through wisps of steam. The print was taller than it was wide, cropped below her forearms. The background was distinct but shaded. The light was all on her face as she considered her balance in the act of maintaining it. She was magnificent. She rose above time by letting it go, holding nothing back.
"He, uh . . . painted a girl, a young woman, in much the same way, although she wasn't cooking anything."
"Awesome," Rhiannon said.
"Jade Willow Lady."
"Who?"
"She cooks at Tops in Kaneohe. Mo and I went to look at her once.
That's what I called her."
"So beautiful," Rhiannon said. Joe went for more wine.