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A week had gone by without Eli and I speaking, or seeing each other, for that matter. After that night, we did our best to avoid each other. It rained almost every day, and it was just easier to put a hood up or hide under an umbrella until I was safely within my apartment. I wasn’t sure why I kept thinking about him. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him: laughing at me, or helping me, or just listening. What I missed most of all was him just being there and listening. I felt bad that even though I didn’t mean to be judgmental, I often came off so. I couldn’t help it, but that wasn’t really an excuse either.
I could see him today.
Why do I care?
Because I need to apologize.
“Guinevere, you made it.”
The sound of Mrs. Davenpor
t's voice pulled me out of my mental battle. She wore a nice, simple beige dress under a white coat, with her gray-auburn hair pinned back. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to get back to you about this mural—”
“It’s fine, I wasn’t expecting you to drop everything and come straight over to me. How are you, my dear?”
“I’m well, thank you. I was wondering, should I call you Mrs. Davenport, or Dr. Davenport?” She was the chairwoman after all, and she was wearing a white coat.
“Whichever makes you more comfortable. Please, let me show you where I would like the mural.” She turned to lead the way.
I followed, closing the distance as we walked. I found my eyes shifting from the nurses, doctors, and patients, to the floors and walls, the different blues, whites, and grays.
Like Eli’s apartment. I snickered at that. I was right; he had set up his apartment to match the hospital. I wonder if he even realized it. Why do I care?
“Guinevere, did you hear me?”
Crap. “No, I’m sorry, what were you saying? And please, call me Gwen.”
Nodding, she repeated herself. “I asked, have you thought of anything to put up? Or done a mural before?”
“Yes, I have done a few, but never for a hospital. My first work was painting a mural at my high school; I think it is still up. I probably won’t know what to paint for a while, and my ideas might even change, unless you have thought of something?”
“Sadly, no.” She frowned, crossing her arms as we stopped before a large black and white wall with the hospital logo hanging on it. “For years, I’ve walked past here always feeling like something is missing. It’s so cold, but I can never think of what should be here instead. So if you have any ideas at all, I’ll leave it up to you.”
Having a client tell you to 'do whatever' was both an artist's dream and worst nightmare. Yes, it gave me creative freedom, but what if they hated it? Stepping forward, I ran my hands across the wall before looking up.
“Is it too big? You don’t have to cover the whole wall—”
“No, it’s fine. I think I can manage, but I will really have to think about this for a couple of days and sketch. And I have two requests.”
“Okay.”
“The first: do you mind if I walk around the hospital for a while, just to get ideas? I’ll do my best to stay out of everyone's way. I usually take photos, but I realize that might be a problem here.”
She thought for a moment before nodding. “That's fine, but please be mindful. And your second request?”
“Would it be possible for me to put up a sheet or something?”
Her eyebrows furrowed together. “A sheet?”
“When I start working, I prefer if people aren't watching me, and it helps to keep people back. Oftentimes, people are tempted to touch. I have no idea why, but they are.” And it drove me insane.
“Yes, that’s fine. When can you start?”
“Tomorrow, but for now I will just measure and think.” I pulled out my sketchpad.
“Well, please let me know if you need anything, all right? You have my number, and I’ll be walking around—”
“She means spying.”
