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Parker takes the baby from Blake. “Could you bring them in while Skye and I talk terms?” She asks him.
Blake nods and makes his way out to Marta’s car.
“There’s no need to make this complicated. You can put whatever price on them you want. I’ll have the buyer make the check out to you and hold onto it until you come in and pick up your payment.”
“Aren’t you supposed to take a percentage on consigned sales?” I ask.
“Maybe if the work wasn’t as good as yours. I’d want compensation for having to look at something I didn’t like. But I’m happy to hang these. In fact, I’m thinking this one would look very nice in our apartment. What do you think?” She asks over my shoulder.
“Whatever you want, baby.”
I jump at Blake’s gravelly voice behind me.
“Congratulations, Skye. Another sale,” Parker says smiling widely.
Blake props my paintings up along the front counter and cupcake display case while Parker and I settle on a price for her second painting and I set the prices for the others.
“Thank you for this,” I say getting ready to leave. As confusing and unsure as so many other things are in my life right now, it’s good to know I have this to keep me focused.
“Skye,” Parker says in a way that threatens to flush all the good feelings down the drain. I’m hesitant to acknowledge her, instead, just walk out and pretend I didn’t hear. But she said it plenty loud and considering the size of the check she just handed me, I owe her my attention. “I don’t know if I should tell you this or not because I don’t want to give you false hope that I have any control or say in her decision…”
I’m less worried and more intrigued and walk back toward her. “Don’t worry, Parker. I’ve never been much good at getting my hopes up. I pretty much live in a constant state of low expectations.”
Parker giggles. “It really is crazy how much you remind me of myself. That’s why I can’t keep this from you any longer. My sister, Mina, is the curator at a gallery. Like I said, I can’t guarantee anything but I’d be happy to put in a good word if you were to send her your portfolio.”
My brain is screaming at me to say something but all I can do is stand there with my mouth hanging open as all the times I’ve been told I’m not good enough play over and over behind my eyes. It’s so hard to believe Parker’s being serious when no one’s ever believed in me or my art before. Because of Parker and Theron, there’s finally a part of me that wants to believe in myself.
“Oh, don’t cry. You’re supposed to be happy.” Parker pulls a napkin from the holder on the table next to her and hands it to me as the tears roll down my cheeks.
“I am happy. Overjoyed. And overwhelmed. You’ve already done so much for me and I don’t understand why. You barely know me.”
“If I’ve learned anything from living in this little town, it’s the joy of helping others. Blake barely knew me but he was there for me when the weight of taking on this business got to be too much. It’s time I passed that courage onto someone else.”
Wiping away my tears and grasping at the courage she’s offering, I say, “I’ll do it. I mean… I’ll try.”
“Good.” Parker pulls another napkin from the holder and bends over the table to write on it. “Here’s the gallery’s email address. Care of Willamina Rose. Let me know when you send it and I’ll give my stamp of approval.” Parker winks and hands me the napkin.
I read it several times, still in disbelief. Parker’s sister is Willamina Rose.TheWillamina Rose of The Rose. One of the hottest galleries in Chicago.
Connections are what make or break an artist. Even the best artists are overlooked because they don’t have the right connections. This could actually work.
“I truly don’t know what to say, Parker. Just… Thank you. For everything.”
“Thankyou, Skye. Please, bring more when you can. I have plenty of wall space here.”
Parker pulls me in for another hug before we say a final goodbye.
Despite my confusion over everything happening or not happening with Theron, I leave Parker’s Place with more confidence than I’ve ever had in myself and my art, a nice stack of cash to show for it, and for the first time, a solid direction for my future.
seventeen
THERON
“Wewouldn’tneedtosell if I wasn’t the only one around here working his ass off to keep it going.” I’ve yelled those words so many times over the months that they’ve lost all meaning. And from the unaffected look on my mom’s face, she’s stopped hearing them.
“How many times do I have to tell you? It’s not your job to keep it going. And it’s not your decision to make,” she argues.
I know that but it doesn’t change how I feel. I can’t let my home, my dad’s life’s work, go without a fight. “It was Dad’s decision," I fire back. "You know he never would have decided to sell this place. He never would have let things get so far behind he’d have to consider it. This isn’t right.”
