The Memory Painter

The old man grumbled and set up the board for another round. Linz won the next game too and he gave her a sharp look, obviously reassessing his assumption that the pretty girl would be any easy win.

What her opponent didn’t know was that she had been Junior Grandmaster at age fifteen, the most prestigious title awarded young players. As a child, she had pursued chess with an all-consuming passion and had only relaxed her obsession when she entered high school, where she took care to downplay her various talents in order to fit in. Most teenagers didn’t appreciate a know-it-all chess champion with a scholar’s mind beyond her years. It was only in college that she embraced her eccentricities and found the confidence to allow herself to openly excel. And when she began a fast track to earning her PhD in neurogenetics, she was no longer self-conscious that she was the smartest girl in the room because everyone was brilliant.

The old man moved on to another table with a disgruntled look.

“This table open?” someone asked.

Linz looked up and froze. It was the man from the museum—her man, the one she had almost followed.

Her mind racing, she computed the likelihood of this outcome given the variables. Impossible. In a city the size of Boston, the chances of their meeting at the museum and then running into each other at another random location was one in a billion, if not more. For the first time in her life, she had no idea what to say.

“You’re quite good,” he said, sitting opposite her.

In disbelief, she watched him reset the pieces. They were going to play chess. She and Mystery Man were going to play chess.

He must have followed her here. But within seconds she torpedoed that idea. She would have noticed him trailing her, plus he had been deep inside the museum when she had left.

“The old man you just beat usually likes to boast that he’s a top-ranked player in the Chess Federation,” he told her with a quizzical smile.

“You’ve played him before?” she asked with surprise, wishing he would look up and meet her eyes, but he kept them fixed on the board.

“I’ve been coming here every week for the last couple of months.”

The news came as a disappointment instead of a relief—he hadn’t followed her. This was bizarre chance, nothing more.

Linz decided she would postpone winning to extend their time together. However, within the first three moves, two things became apparent: he was an expert at chess, and her strategy to prolong the game wasn’t going to work.

They had completely different styles. He was lightning fast with his choices, mercurial even, while she was meditative. He won after six moves. Like her previous opponent had done with her, she had underestimated him.

Her ego thoroughly trampled, she vowed to annihilate him in the next round. “Again?” she asked sweetly.

He chuckled and nodded, studying her hands. His refusal to look at her was beginning to drive her crazy.

But then his eyes met hers. “Why were you at the exhibit?”

She stared back at him, her mouth suddenly dry. “My mother used to work there,” she blurted.

He waited, as if knowing there was more to the story. Somehow, his unwavering gaze pulled the truth from her.

“She died when I was only six months old. Sometimes I like to imagine she’s still alive and that we’ve lived a life together…” Linz trailed off. Although it had been muted by time, the ache of her mother’s loss had always remained, and she never spoke to anyone about those feelings. Today seemed to be the exception.