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Looking across the garden, she delightfully leads a group of ten elementary students in their art lesson. She uses her hands to demonstrate how to hold the paintbrush comfortably and how much pressure to apply to the paper in front of them. With a large flourish of her brush in the air, she smiles and tells them to start painting.
Charlie quit her job at the auction house when we got into the developmental stage of the gardens. The Creative Coalition was her concept, and I wanted her to be a part of every decision. She was thrilled and thankful to be included. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
She catches me watching her, but that’s nothing new. It’s hard to take my eyes off her. Against a backdrop of blooming rose bushes, her cheeks turn the prettiest pale pink when she smiles and sends a small wave in my direction. Her yellow dress is bright and happy, just like her. Like today, from the moment I met her, she’s been my own personal sunshine, and I revel in her rays.
That kiss after my book signing was a promise. From then on, we’ve been together. As clichéd as it sounds, those six months we spent apart gave her the chance to finally deal with Jim’s legacy of betrayal and guilt. As much as I wanted to stay by her side, I became a barrier to her in dealing with her trust issues. Without me there, she could do what I couldn’t—heal her broken heart. Although it hurt my own heart to let her walk away that August, it was best for her.
I thought about her all of the time. I picked up my phone to call her at least three times every day, but I would set it down again, knowing she had to make the next move. The hard part was not knowing if she ever would.
She did. Thankfully.
Today, I sit in the garden of the nonprofit organization we started last year, which introduces the humanities to underprivileged children. The kids go on field trips to museums and the New York Public Library in Manhattan. They volunteer at local charity organizations to learn compassion and take a variety of courses, such as writing, painting, and sculpting, free of charge.
Grace left me twenty-five million dollars. My family was livid that I got the bulk of her estate, but they were more shocked that she left the remainder of her money to the New York City Department of Education to be used to continue the in-school art program she supported while she was alive.
Charlie and I used eleven million of it to buy a condemned building for the land and the lot next door. It was torn down, but we utilized the existing foundation to support a smaller eco-friendly, two-story building that houses our offices and three classrooms. We turned the remainder of the land, including the vacant lot, into a large green space christened Grace’s Garden. We wanted to build something beautiful among the dilapidated surroundings, and I think we succeeded.
“How are you?” I ask as Charlie sits down next to me on the bench.
“I love being here.” She takes a deep breath. “I love this program and the kids and the hope I see in their eyes. I love,” she says, turning to look me in the eyes, “you. Thank you for loving me.”
“You’re thanking me for loving you?” I quirk an eyebrow.
“Yeah, I guess I am thanking you for loving me.”
“The pleasure’s all mine.” I chuckle.
She stands and looks around. “I need to confirm the trip to MoMA for next week. Will you cover the class for me?”
Standing up, I salute her. “Consider it covered.”
Walking to the class, I think about my family and how much has changed. My mother has visited the gardens several times, even bringing my dad for a picnic once. She likes it here, and she likes Charlie. She once told me she was happy I’d found someone who loved me for me and not my money. We both knew that was as close as she would get to admitting she was wrong for pushing her social agenda on me. Deep down, I know she respects that I stood by my beliefs.
But it pleased both my parents and Charlie when I finished my degree just over a year ago. I went to school while the Coalition was being built. I have a degree now but not in business like my parents wanted. I earned my Bachelor of Arts in English. I did it for me this time.
My mom recently came to our apartment with three copies of my latest book for me to sign. She was giving them to friends and was proud that I’d made my way on my own. She didn’t apologize for not supporting me years ago, but we’re in a good place these days. I consider that progress in rebuilding our relationship.
