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“Grandma, I’m hungry,” Mikey whines, interrupting us.
Ms. McClure frowns. “I was in such a rush from the hotel, I forgot his cereal.”
“I have some granola bars and fruit snacks. Does he like chocolate chips?” I ask.
When she nods, I move to my bag behind the counter and pull out two granola bars, one chocolate chip and the other peanut butter.
“Which one, buddy?” I ask, squatting in front of Mikey.
He chooses the peanut butter one, and I open it before handing it to him.
“Sit down and eat so you don’t get crumbs all over Ms. Richmond’s gallery,” his grandmother tells him.
I smile as I watch him do as he’s told. Ms. McClure hands him a small tablet that he takes with one hand. Without question, he places the granola bar down in the seat next to him so that he can turn on his favorite game before he goes back to eating.
“I don’t like to give him too much screen time, but that thing comes in handy sometimes,” Ms. McClure says with a laugh. “Anyway, like I said, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. It’s just that I received a call a couple of months ago from Diego Townsend.”
My eyes go wide. I already know what she’s going to say before she tells me the rest of the story, but I let her keep talking.
“He said he heard about how wonderful my daughter’s art is from you.”
I nod, not knowing what to say just yet.
“He explained how hard you were working here in Williamsport to open the art gallery. Then he went on to tell me how he felt like he knew Sharia just because of the way you talked about her and her art.”
She pauses and smiles at me.
“Listening to him talk about my baby …” Tears fill her eyes as she shakes her head.
I squeeze her arm consolingly.
“I miss her.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “So many of my days now are filled with caring for Mikey, making sure the bills get paid, and work. Most of the time, I don’t have time to feel just how much I miss her.”
“Ms. McClure—”
She waves a hand in the air. “I’m sorry, I didn’t come here for you to see me cry.” She meets my eyes. “I came here because of the way that young man talked about my daughter. Because of you. He believed Sharia’s art can and will still touch many others. Her story will live on. He believes it because of the way you talked about it. And then he asked me if I could believe it too.”
She wipes a tear away.
“I came here today to ask you if you would do the honor of featuring my baby’s art in your gallery?”
Her question steals my breath.
It’s not just that I’m gaining an artist that I’ve wanted to have in my gallery for months. It’s the fact that Ms. McClure, this mother, trusts me with the legacy of her deceased daughter.
“The honor, Ms. McClure, would be all mine,” I reply.
I don’t know who moves first. Maybe we both moved at the same time. All I know is that somehow, we ended up in one another’s arms. Tears streamed down our faces. Mixed in with the mourning and sadness, though, was hope. And love and adoration.
As if he didn’t want to be left out of the moment, a tiny arm makes its way around my leg. I glance down to see Mikey hugging both his grandmother and me. There’s an ear-to-ear grin on his face.
I don’t know if he truly understands what’s happening, but it feels like his mother is in this room with us. Something falls into place and the doubts that have been running through my mind for months regarding my gallery are erased.
My mind goes to one person. The one person who knows me inside and out. Who holds all of my secrets and who has proven time and time again that he is my soulmate.
After we dry our tears and go over the logistics of featuring Sharia’s work in my gallery, I give Ms. McClure and Mikey a hug before they leave for the day.
I immediately call Diego. It goes to voicemail since he’s still at work.
