"Why blueberries?" my father asked.

"I remember the smell of the ripe fruit from the bushes beneath the room where you slept," said my grandfather.

"That's a shitty collection to put together for a one-woman show," said the short man. "You'll have to paint them all over."

I stared at the canvases that circled the room. I slumped to the floor, sitting in an invisible blueberry patch. The sun slit in through the tall windows to warm me. I shivered.