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It was all so surreal as I handed the check over to him.
“So, what do you plan to do first?”
“What?” I asked.
“With the gallery,” he said, chuckling. “What do you plan on doing first?”
“I’m going to repaint all the walls. I’ve found that a cream color benefits all paintings, and if I’m going to be hanging all sorts of different paintings with different emotional depths, I need a background color that compliments them all.”
“Spoken like a true artist. What else?” he asked.
“I’m going to turn that back room into a little store and get it stocked with a few things. I want to encourage the community to paint, even if it’s just for fun. Even if it’s just for their kids, or to relieve stress or to try something new. I want to have things on hand people can purchase if they come in and have a creative wave hits them.”
“I’m jealous. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that,” he said, grinning.
“And I want that back wall to be reserved for local artists who want to hang their art somewhere. You know, who want to get it out there or simply have it hanging for people to appreciate. Maybe I could do something with the local schools where we could showcase the kid’s artwork on Saturday nights or something. We could bring in finger foods and drinks, and it could be a donation night, and the proceeds could go to the school to bolster their own funding.”
“See, that passion right there is why I chose you.”
“I’ve wanted this ever since I drew my first picture when I was a preteen,” I said, smiling. “I’m ready for it. I actually feel ready for something like this.”
“You look ready,” he said. “And with that, the place is all yours.”
He dropped the keys into my hand and I started shaking. This was real. This was actually happening. I stood up and shook the man’s hand before he pulled me into a hug. Tears slipped out of my eyes and were soaked up by his shirt. He patted my back before he released me, then he made his way to the front door.
“I’m going to go get this filed, and I’ll make copies for myself. I’ll slide the originals underneath the door by the end of the day.”
“Sounds good,” I said.
“Good luck,” he said.
I watched him leave before I jumped and clapped my hands. My mind was swirling with all sorts of possibilities as I walked around the room. My heart was filled with happiness, and my soul felt like it was at peace. I closed my eyes and drew in the familiar scent of the mountain town around me, feeling more at home than I had since my grandmother first won custody of me all those years ago.
“I wish you were here,” I said, whispering. “I wish you were here to see this.”
She would’ve loved it. My grandmother would’ve thrown a party over this. She would’ve opened up a bottle of wine, poured herself a glass, and then teased me by getting me grape juice. We would’ve taken the first sip of the wine right in the middle of this floor as I talked her through my plans for the place.
I missed that woman more than I could stand.
But now, it was time to figure out what to do with that cabin. All the money I had saved up would go toward fixing up this place and changing its name. And the inheritance money wouldn’t be near enough to fix up the cabin. I opened my eyes and drew in one last breath, feeling my grandmother’s presence surrounding me.
I could hear her voice echoing off the corners of my mind.
One step at a time, booger. One step at a time.
She always told me I had a way of tripping over myself, of getting in my own way and overwhelming myself with things I had no control over. I could feel myself slipping into that overwhelming space she’d always talked about right now. She told me that identifying it and admitting it was the cure for overcoming.
And I could feel myself growing stronger by remembering her voice.
I made my way to my car after locking the gallery doors behind me. Now was a time for celebration. Brian and I had an important conversation to have tonight, but for now, I wanted to rejoice in my new life with them. I went back to the cabin and threw myself into Brian’s arms, his smile bright as I flashed him the keys.
“I have an art gallery,” I said in disbelief. “I can’t believe I have an art gallery.”
“What all has to happen with it?” he asked as we piled into his truck
“Not much. Painting the walls, getting the floor cleaned and waxed. Stocking the small store I’m going to have with supplies. Hanging artwork on the walls. The only big thing will be setting me up for monetary transactions and changing the name of the place.”
