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avoid using any examples of places she’d worked on with Andrew. Although she felt like she’d come to a better place in regards to her grief, she still felt fragile enough that she didn’t want to rock the boat. Besides, there were enough images that she didn’t have to rely on those.
    It was easy talking about the buildings, why she’d taken on the jobs she had, and what creativity she’d needed to use to “reconstruct” them. She was in her element.
    “See this house?” she asked, pointing to an American Foursquare in Nashville. “Nothing structurally wrong with it. As you can see, everything is still intact. Well, the inside was a little rough, but that’s another story,” she smiled. The students laughed.
    “I was hired by a couple, newlyweds with money, to do this rendering.” She flipped to the next image, which showed her painting. “They wanted to restore the house, which was looking tired and worn, to its original splendor. And they wanted to be as historically accurate as possible. So, as you can see, in my painting I added the shutters, mended the porch and columns, patched up the roof, and repainted it. They knew the original color was this dark green and my painting helped them see what the final result would be.”
    A young man directly to her left raised his hand. “So after you did this, did an architect or contractor come in and make the changes based on your painting?”
    “That’s normally what happens,” she replied. “But in this case the couple was a DIY pair who loved HGTV and they did most of the work themselves. I should add, too, that this was a very quick job for me. They only wanted the front of the house done. It took me about two weeks and since I live in Nashville I didn’t have to leave town. Not only did they want to see what the finish product would look like, they wanted something nice to hang in the foyer, too.”
    “So you’re kind of like a plastic surgeon,” a girl with honey-colored hair called. “Except instead of showing ‘after’ images, you show ‘before’ ones.”
    The other students laughed, Taryn along with them. “You can look at it like that, yes.”
    The young man who’d spoken earlier gazed at her thoughtfully, his chin resting on his hand. “I imagine you have to have quite a bit of historical architectural knowledge to be able to do this job, right? And know about a LOT of different time periods and house styles.”
    “Yes,” she nodded. “I’m constantly researching and learning something new. I’ve worked in Arizona, New Mexico, San Francisco–places where the architecture can be vastly different than what I grew up with in Nashville. After all, I grew up in a subdivision where all the houses looked the same. So yeah, there’s a lot of research involved. I’m not just an artist; I’m also a historian to an extent.”
    “And an urban explorer.” The statement came from a petite redhead with a long, peasant skirt and a leather jacket. She smiled shyly at Taryn when she looked at her. “I’m sorry. I Googled you.”
    “I’m not as much of an urbex as I used to be,” Taryn admitted. “The cost of gas and too many spiders put a stop to that. But I do love exploring old buildings and taking pictures. I like to imagine what a place used to look like, before it became neglected. That’s why I went into this job.”
    The redhead smiled in agreement. “Me too. That’s why I signed up for your class. I love your photography, especially the pictures of the old mental institution up in Danvers.”
    Taryn noticed other students making notes now. Great , she thought wryly. Now they’re all going to go home and Google me for sure.
    The hour and a half passed by faster than she’d expected. Most of the students came up to her afterwards and welcomed her to the college. The redhead was the last to leave and held back a little, waiting for everyone else to leave the room.
    “Hi,” she offered hesitantly as she made her way up to