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It angered me that we had to hide this. To protect her from something that felt so real and innocent.
But it wasn’t real. It wasn’t innocent. And as Amanda walked down the hallway to tend to Lanie, my stomach settled down into my toes.
I was in deep trouble.
CHAPTER 21
Amanda
I was ecstatic for my gallery meeting. I took time piecing myself together, choosing the right outfit and dusting a bit of makeup on. I dug out my portfolio from one of my suitcases I still hadn’t touched, sighing as I opened it. This was it. I had been calling galleries all over the mountainous cities. I was evening calling as far east as Raleigh, trying to find a gallery that was interested in hanging my artwork. This was the only connection that had panned out into an interview, and I was a nervous wreck.
A knock came at my door as I grabbed my coat. I stuck my arms into it as I reached for the doorknob, and smiled when I saw Brian and Lanie standing there. The little girl launched herself into my arms, giggling and smiling as she held me close. Brian was standing there with an exasperated stare on his face, and I reached out for his hand as I held Lanie.
“She wanted to come over and see you before you left,” Brian said.
“And what about you?” I asked.
He bent down and placed a light kiss on the top of my hand as Lanie laid her head on my shoulder.
“Good luck,” Brian said.
“Thanks.”
I gave them both one last hug, then I headed into town. I was rehearsing all the questions I could possibly be asked, making sure I had all the right answers that pertained to me and my style of artwork. I wasn’t willing to sell something that wasn’t my style to get this gallery showing, but when I got there, I found myself in for more than I bargained for.
“Oh, you’re selling the gallery?” I asked.
“I am,” the owner asked. “Isn’t that why you called?”
“Honestly? I thought you were looking to showcase someone’s artwork. But, I’ve always had dreams of having my own gallery one day. Could I still take a look around?” I asked.
“Sure, help yourself.”
The gallery owner seemed flustered. He was running around, trying to pack things up and slash prices. Boxes were strewn about in corners as he patched holes in the walls, sweat dripping down his trembling brow. The space was nice. Clean and simple, with plenty of wall space to hang artwork. There was a cash register area in the back along with a section of the space that was quartered off with another wall.
“What’s back there?” I asked.
“I use it for storage, but the person who owned this place before I did used it as a small showroom. They blew glass, and they kept their more delicate pieces back there so kids wouldn’t get to them easily,” he said.
“Makes sense.”
“So, a few questions.”
“Okay. Shoot,” I said.
“Why do you want an art gallery?” The question caught me off guard. None of the questions I practiced in my head were going to do me any good in this scenario. I racked my brain to try and piece my answer together as images of my ex came flooding back to my mind. Memories of him telling me to stop chasing my idiotic dream and memories of him snickering at my artwork whenever I was finished. I could feel the pain of his existence wafting through my body all over again, and I had to swallow deep to keep my tears at bay.
“Everyone has a place in this world. Their life. Their passions. Their expression of art. All of it has a place. I want to find mine,” I said.
“So you want a gallery to find yourself?” the owner asked.
“No. I want a gallery because I want to show people in my life that my artwork has a place in a community that would love it for what it is.”
“What type of artwork do you specialize in?” he asked.
“Anything that sends shivers down my arms. A scene or a moment. An emotion or a dream. A painting is simply a snapshot of what moves us. But it’s the emotion behind the painting that brings it to life. I want to fill my own gallery with life.”
I could see him grinning out of the corner of my eye as I lost myself in my mind.
“If I sold you this gallery, what would you do with it?” he asked.
I panned my gaze over to him before a small grin crept across my face.
“The walls would be lined with artwork, but not that one. The wall that serves to quarter off that space would be reserved for local artists who want to showcase their work. That little room back there would be a small store. Small paint tubes and canvases and brushes. I’d want to hold art classes of all sorts. Those wine-and-paint programs, things for children, maybe therapy classes to help those struggling with depression or anxiety. I want it to be a community place. A place where people can come and enjoy, or they can come and do. May I ask you a question?”
