He had expected they’d take the Miller Brewery tour, with its inoffensive but unremarkable lagers. Sprecher Brewery was something else entirely. Completely local and amazing variety. Even the sodas surpassed expectations. The root beer was some of the best he’d ever tasted, but the cream soda was perfection.
Sitting at his desk, alone with his squeaky cheese, Al admitted to himself that for the first time since arriving in Milwaukee, he’d had fun. Lou’s uninhibited enthusiasm for the local establishments was infectious and soothing at the same time. He hadn’t realized how tightly wound he had become. Spending time with Lou felt like putting a soothing agent on a fresh wound—the relief was instant. He couldn’t wait to see what they would do next.
• CHAPTER EIGHT •
Al walked across the white, narrow bridge and stepped into the perfect eighties-movie-version of heaven, the Quadracci Pavilion of the Milwaukee Art Museum, often called the Calatrava after the architect who designed it. White surrounded him, reflecting bright, clean sunlight off every surface. The marble floor resembled the purest vanilla ice cream sparingly swirled with the darkest, richest fudge. The walls were a matching pristine white, broken only by the asymmetrical arches leading to long, gleaming hallways and into the museum proper. Above him rose a two-story cathedral ceiling of glass¸ crosshatched by large white exterior beams that were currently spread like the wings of a bird in flight. At dusk, the wings returned to rest against the main building, but during the day they soared. The comparisons to a bird were apt; he could almost feel the wingbeat poised to happen.
From the outside, the white frame looked skeletal, but not in an eerie way. More like seeing dinosaur bones at a natural history museum. Al scanned the room looking for Lou. He didn’t see her waiting. Good. He didn’t want her to have to wait for him again like she did a couple of weeks ago at Northpoint Custard. He walked toward the lakeside windows, which came to a V overlooking a sidewalk following the rocky breakwater below—like an infinity bridge. The glass slanted up and out, allowing you to lean forward over the edge, creating the uneasy feeling of falling until you hit the glass. He could see smudges lower on the pane, evidence he wasn’t the only one drawn to this view.
A huge mobile of floating red, black, and blue dots hovered over the entrance, an homage to minimalist balance. Displayed between two stories hung a remarkable blown-glass sculpture of bold colors. It reminded Al of exploding confetti and streamers—a celebration frozen forever.
Al kept looking for Lou among the scattered visitors. Nervous energy vibrated through him, amplified by the soaring architecture, leaving him slightly breathless.
• • • • •
Lou watched Al look upward at the Calatrava’s wings, reaching toward the sun already high in the sky even though it was only ten in the morning. A smile lit her face as she watched him admire the beautiful building. She’d picked the art museum as their second excursion for two reasons: One, it provided a perfect foil to the beer and cheese. This outing didn’t involve any special food, though she had packed a basket of snacks so they could eat on the lakefront. And two, even to a highbrow like Al, the museum was gorgeous. You could always find something new to admire.
“Your first time here?” asked Lou when she stood close enough. Al’s head turned quickly to her voice and a smile flashed and disappeared. Her nerves jumped with delight.
“I’m looking for the duct tape. Isn’t that how you do things in Milwaukee?”
Lou playfully glared. “We found special white duct tape so you couldn’t see it, then covered it with Italian marble.”
Both took a long breath. Lou looked around and nodded toward the nearby Chinese exhibit. “Shall we?”
Lou led as they entered into the quiet hall. A wide, winding path led visitors past multicolored silk tapestries, elaborately carved furniture, and enameled decorations that once belonged in the Forbidden City.
“Can you imagine what it must have been like for those first people to view these items after being locked away for more than eighty years? Pretty cool, right?” Lou said.
“Quite amazing.”
Lou looked over at Al to decide whether he was serious or sarcastic. He had already wandered off to study an elaborate cloisonné. She could feel the distance as he walked farther away, a bungee cord stretching and stretching until it would fling them back together. With each step, her tension heightened, urging her to close the gap and ease the discomfort, the building panic of being alone. She couldn’t tell whether it was her lingering grief from Devlin or Al’s unexplored allure, but she wouldn’t yield to it.
Lou glanced around. Painted on the wall were a variety of sayings attributed to the Qianlong emperor. One piqued her interest: “Delight is indeed born in the heart. It sometimes also depends on its surroundings.” Lou stood and stared at the words, letting them settle into her, burrow into her bones, become part of her. She would find joy again—she knew it now. She felt better here, away from everything and everyone who required something from her.
On most days, delight kept itself hidden from her, so she would go places where it frolicked—like right here, right now. Delight at the beautiful objects, delight with her sometimes stiff companion, and delight at the freedom from immediate responsibility. She would savor her delights where and when she could. Her tension melted away. With a deep, cleansing breath Lou turned to move on to the next object and bumped into Al with an “oof.”
“Sorry,” she said, the contact sending sparks down her spine.
“Quite all right; feel free to continue bumping into me. That seems to be our thing.”
“Ha! Funny English guy.”
• • • • •
Al had hoped Lou would bump into him. He stood behind her while she stared at the wall for just that reason. Intrigued by her interest, he started to ponder the quotes on the wall, too. Delight—he couldn’t remember the last time he felt delight. Maybe before Eton, when he and his parents took road trips through the English countryside, stopping in little village pubs for lunches, traipsing over hilltops to see what was on the other side, and sharing a hearty meal at the end of the day. Wait—that wasn’t quite true. During his last outing with Lou, eating a buttery, cheesy burger and tasting fried cheese curds for the first time, with the sun shining and the world humming, he had felt delight. There had been no cynicism, no pretension, just pure enjoyment. Perhaps it was more about surroundings than the emperor had envisioned.
Al put his hands on Lou’s shoulders to steady her and enjoyed the flash of warmth on his fingers and the startled look on her face. He pulled his hands away and turned to the last few items before they entered the obligatory end-of-exhibit gift shop, then went on to the regular museum. Even though he no longer touched her, his fingers retained the heat, which spread through his body. Yes, definitely more to do with the surroundings.
Al and Lou wandered into a new room, where one wall displayed simple squares of red, yellow, and blue. On another wall, a cornflower-blue plastic rectangle leaned like a giant forgotten building block. Clear and orange squares protruded from yet another wall, similar to shelves you might see in a trendy European loft.
“This room insults me,” said Al.
Lou smiled at Al’s barb.
“Not a fan of minimalism?”
“Not in the least.”
“I like its potential. You could turn it into anything. You’re only limited by your imagination.”
“Show me, don’t tell me. Art isn’t about what I can do. I know that. I want to see what the artist can do. I look at this and think the artist couldn’t be bothered to come up with anything original, so he ripped off Lego. It’s lazy.”