As we drove through Atlanta, I pointed out buildings that were part of projects that I had worked on. The car took us through the West End of Atlanta. I pointed out a red brick building as we passed. “This is where my dad went to college.”
“Oh, this is where your parents met?” Kit said looking out the window at the college buildings.
I smiled. It felt nice for someone to know a little about my family’s story. “Yeah, this whole area of Atlanta is rapidly changing,” I said as we passed by a new mixed-use development.
“Do you think the changes are good?” Kit asked. I could see her eyes scanning the buildings behind me as the car made its way to our destination.
“Only sometimes,” I admitted. “Neighborhoods change over generations. That’s just part of how communities work, but the change isn’t always positive. For a neighborhood like this one, with so much history, I think it’s important for the right people to be part of the redevelopment and revitalization of the area. Otherwise, it’s just gentrification.”
I thought I noted a glimmer of relief in Kit’s expression. “You seem to know a lot about urban development.”
“It’s kind of what I’m known for,” I said. “I built my career on redeveloping cities.”
“How’d you end up in Creekstone?” Kit asked, her brows pushing together.
I sighed. “The company answer is that we have a lot invested in the redevelopment of the regional hospital and all the surrounding areas, and Creekstone is part of that. But the real answer is that my boss, Braithway, wanted me to prove I could do more than these urban development deals.”
Kit looked as if she was considering what I’d said. She asked, “Do you miss living in the city?”
"I love cities, but I’ve found Creekstone to be surprisingly good in so many ways.” I put my hand on her leg and smiled at her. She smiled back, and it may have been wishful thinking, but I sensed a bit of relief wash over Kit.
Then the Uber driver pulled up to a row of warehouses. I thanked him as we got out and made sure to tip on the app. Kit walked around the car and looked at me a bit puzzled.
“Have you been here before?” I asked.
She shook her head. ?
“Welcome to The Candler Warehouse,” I said. “It’s an industrial park housing various artist collectives and galleries. At night, the galleries have parties and food trucks pull up.”
“How fun!” Kit said. “I love all these things! Art. Parties. And food trucks!”
“I thought you might,” I said with a chuckle. “I wanted to check out this one gallery before it closes for the night. Then we can eat.” I looked up at the unit numbers above the doors as we walked.
We walked past several gallery fronts that had closed before I found the right one. “It’s just over here.”
The lights were still on. I opened the door for Kit so that she walked in before me. I could feel myself getting nervous. I had planned this gallery visit for Kit, and I wasn’t sure if she’d like it or not. Suddenly, I felt an uneasiness in my stomach and worried this might be too much. Kit must have noticed because she reached for my hand and said, “What’s wrong? You look nervous.”
“It’s nothing. I guess I’m just nervous you won’t like this,” I confessed.
“I’m sure I’ll love it. This is such a cool space.” Kit squeezed my hand as we walked into the gallery.
Chapter 19: Kit
When William opened the door to the gallery, a cool blast of air-conditioning hit my legs. I felt the goosebumps as I reached for William’s hand. The gallery was small but bright. The brick walls had been painted white. The floors and ceilings had been sprayed white as well, giving the space a clean aesthetic. The gallery had a few floating walls that divided up the narrow, formerly industrial space.
A young woman wearing a white tunic dress and white Doc Martens was sitting at a large white desk toward the back of the gallery. She nodded at us but didn’t stand up to greet us. I turned to William and raised my eyebrows as I stifled a giggle. He smiled nervously at me, and I squeezed his hand. Before we walked in, William had told me he was nervous I wouldn’t like the gallery, but I was sure this was going to be enjoyable. It was something different than what we would have normally done on a Friday night in Creekstone.
We walked over to the first piece. It was a large colorful abstract done with acrylic paint. It reminded me of sunflowers. I read the title card below the painting. It was called “Shine” and by an artist named Andy Ernest.
“I know him!” I said, surprised. “He was one of my mom’s students. I remember his work from one of her student art shows.”
I hooked my arm into William’s and looked up at him. “Isn’t that cool?
William nodded. “It’s a nice piece.”
We moved a few steps into the gallery and looked at the next large piece on the same wall. It was another piece by Andy Ernest. This one was titled “Shadow,” and it had similar abstract shapes with dark blue and blacks. ?
“I can’t believe this,” I said. “I can’t wait to tell Aunt Rita.”
