This time I was sure I’d gotten it right. The wandering one had been located.My linen skirt rustled as it moved through the field and I had to keep a hand on my sunhat because the playful breeze was determined to whisk it away. I found myself wishing that I had time for some kite-flying.The man sitting on a camp stool at a large easel put down his paintbrush and smiled at me in a vague, distracted way.“Hello, Thomas,” I said in my calmest voice. “I’ve been looking for you.”“Hello,” he said back, brow wrinkling as he tried to recall my name and face. “Do I know you?”“We’ve never been formally introduced. My name is Nicodemus Smith.” I didn’t offer my hand. “Oh.” A line appeared between his sandy colored brows. “You’re my first visitor today. I came out here to paint the meadow. I always thought that grass would look like this over here.”I nodded. Thomas’ medical records said that he was colorblind. It was probably this ailment that prevented him from noticing that the traffic light he ran was red instead of green.“Do you know what that building over there is?”
