by Claire Fogel
All kinds of wonderful new things were underway.
My father was even washing dishes so Mom could stay off her feet. They seemed closer than ever, which was wonderful to see.
Dad didn’t want to leave Mom overnight, so he wouldn’t be accompanying me to Albany this trip. Much to my delight, Amy volunteered to take his place. Amy’s company would make the Albany trip even more fun. The only thing I was worried about was the chance of more snow.
We got lucky the day we left. The sun was shining and the most recent snow had melted, so it was a pleasant drive. When we reached Albany and checked into the fancy hotel I’d booked, she was beside herself!
“Cara, this hotel is so plush! And there’s even room service! Are you sure you can afford this?”
I laughed. “Yes, I can afford this.” I knew she’d probably faint when she saw how much my drawings were selling for.
We decided we needed to look our professional best, so we wore tailored dresses, mine borrowed from Mom, and high heels—low heels for me, of course—and drove over to the Gallery around seven. Hank Jourdan, the owner’s son, greeted us with a big smile and glasses of champagne.
“You’re both old enough for champagne now, right?” He grinned at me and whispered, “I ran out of ginger ale.” We weren’t complaining.
I hadn’t seen Miss Galen yet, so Amy and I walked through the Gallery, stopping to admire all the artwork on display. When we reached my group of pen and ink drawings, Amy gasped.
“Cara, these are incredible. I never saw them framed and hung under gallery lighting before. Wow! They are really—I almost hate to say it—magical!”
Then she saw the tiny price stickers and her mouth dropped open. She whispered, “Cara, am I reading that right? Each of these drawings costs a thousand dollars?”
I was a little embarrassed. “Yeah. Miss Galen has been setting the prices on all of my work, and much to my surprise, they always sell.” I shrugged. “In the beginning, I was shocked too.”
Amy was speechless. Meanwhile, I continued to walk around the gallery, looking to see if there were any other artists whose work I might like to exhibit in my own gallery. I found two artists working in oils that impressed me. I made a note of the artists’ names.
When Miss Galen arrived, I introduced her to Amy.
Miss Galen smiled. “Nice to meet you, Amy.” She turned to me, one eyebrow raised. “I’ve been hearing a rumor that you and your handsome father are planning on opening your own gallery this year. Any truth to it?”
“Yes. Dad’s business manager is scouting locations in Thornewood right now. I’m hoping we’ll be open by the time I graduate from Barrett.”
“Excellent. Just be sure to send me all your gallery’s information when you’re almost ready to open. I have a few clients that I think you’ll be interested in.”
She left us to talk to a few people who were clustered around my drawings.
Amy was wide-eyed. “You’re that close to opening your own gallery?”
“Yep. Mr. Callahan is handling the business end of it for us. He’s looking at all the shops along the nicest part of Main Street. I want our gallery to be in the best possible location.”
Amy nodded. “Well, I heard a rumor that York’s Jewelry store may be closing soon. The owner is retiring. Mr. Callahan should talk to him.” The jewelry store was across the street from City Hall and a block away from Van Horn’s Department store.
“Ooh, that would be the perfect location. I’ll let Mr. Callahan know as soon as we get home.”
Two hours later, all of my drawings had sold, and Amy and I left to celebrate over steak dinners. I drove to the Steak House where I’d eaten before and Amy and I celebrated over mouth-watering Rib Eye Steaks.
Amy chuckled. “I’m not even going to ask if you can afford these steaks, Cara. All six of your drawings sold, so I know you can! It’s so nice to have rich friends.” She grinned.
I snorted. Despite the prices my paintings and drawings had been selling for, I’d never thought of myself as rich. I couldn’t help giggling at that thought.
The weather behaved itself for our drive home, but I was stuck in Syracuse for the next two weekends because of snow and ice. My contractor called to let me know that they had been able to finish the outside work while the weather was dry, so they just had to finish the inside, which would take only a few more days.
The next time I made it home, my studio and larger living area would be finished! I was already visualizing myself living there.
Miss Galen hadn’t booked my work in any more galleries until summer. That gave me time to concentrate on some projects I was working on in my classes. And there was also Barrett’s Yearly Art Show to think about.
There was one painting I had a sudden urge to do, one that would take courage to paint. It required climbing up into the top of my closet at home and retrieving the box I’d hidden up there three years ago. I wanted to paint Adam’s portrait. Maybe that would get him out of my system. Permanently. Hiding those sketches away hadn’t helped at all. I hoped painting his portrait might give me some closure.
I had no idea what I’d do with his portrait when it was finished. Maybe burn it.
I spoke to Harry Callahan the next weekend I was able to get home. He’d looked into the location of the jewelry store downtown and learned that the owner was indeed retiring. The store would be available to lease by the end of March. Of course, the interior would have to be completely redone to make it suitable for an art gallery, which meant new wallboard, paint, carpeting, and lighting.
When I thought of all the art galleries I’d visited, the one I’d admired the most was the gallery in Manhattan. One weekend Mr. Callahan and I would take the train into the city to take a closer look at the interior design of the Madison Avenue Art Gallery. As he put it, “Might as well learn from the pro’s, Cara.”
We were so close to actually opening our own art gallery, I was becoming more excited by the day. This had been my dream years ago. But I never dreamed it would come to pass so soon.
During the next month, I continued to work on Adam’s portrait, and Aidan Fox occasionally brought pizza over to share with me. He was still dating the woman he’d told me about and seemed happier than he’d been when I met him. I was happy for him. He deserved good things in his busy life.
As the portrait I was working on began to take shape, Mr. Goldman, my oil painting instructor this year, began to spend more time than usual overseeing my work. He would stand behind me, looking over my shoulder as I painted, occasionally making a comment or two.
“You’re taking your time with this one, Cara. But I have one question. I’d really like to know why your brush strokes occasionally seem so angry! I have no criticism of the work you’re doing. Your technique is excellent.” He shook his head, obviously a little confused. “My first guess would be that this portrait, this man, is someone you’re very angry with.”
He looked at me, eyebrows raised.
I sighed. He expected an answer.
There was no sense lying about it.
“Yes, you’re right. I am angry with this man. He broke my heart when I was sixteen.” I frowned. “I think I’ll always be angry.”
Mr. Goldman still looked confused. “Well, why did you decide to paint his portrait? That would seem counter-productive, Cara.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I guess I was hoping it would help me get over him, give me some kind of closure. Maybe I’ll just get sick of his face!”
He nodded with a slight smile. “Well, good luck with that. The painting itself will be memorable.”
Yeah, right. I can always shoot arrows at it.
March did its traditional thing, coming in like a lion but going out like a lamb. On April first, my father, Mr. Callahan, and I signed the lease on the space on Main Street, soon to be known as the Thornewood Art Gallery. Mr. Callahan was getting his wish. His rationale was that by naming it after our town, rather than Blackthorne, the ga
llery would seem to belong to the town itself. I couldn’t argue with that.
After signing the lease, we went back to Mr. Callahan’s office and made plans for the store’s redesign. Mr. Callahan suggested we call Jeff Anderson for an estimate first, before talking to anyone else. Everyone knew that he did beautiful work, so it would only depend on his schedule. Harry would call him right away.
When I asked Harry about our funds, he chuckled. “Cara, your father is putting in funds equal to yours, and I’m adding a smaller amount. Frankly, with this much money, we could probably build two galleries!”
Okay, money wouldn’t be a problem. I breathed a sigh of relief. All systems were go!
I was still living in Mom’s house on the weekends, although with all the baby paraphernalia being stored in the soon-to-be nursery, there was barely enough room for me to get to my bed now! Even Ralph seemed to be feeling crowded.
Mom had cut back on her hours at the bookstore, only working three days a week. Christina, our favorite Tarot reader, had agreed to work the other three days until Mom was ready to return to work after the baby was born. Baby would be going to work with her, which raised my father’s eyebrows, but Mom insisted it would work. Dad was reserving judgment.
Mom’s small waistline was already just a memory. I kidded her that she was becoming more well-rounded every day. She had also developed a craving for lemon tarts from the Strauss Bakery, which undoubtedly accounted for some of that roundness.
My father didn’t mind. Whenever I teased her, he’d say, “Cara, your mother is beautiful.” He was right, of course. Mom was glowing.
Jeff Anderson agreed to take on the job of rehabbing the old jewelry store to turn it into the stylish Art Gallery we envisioned. Work would begin around the middle of April and was to be completed sometime in May.
Mr. Callahan had given me the chore of choosing paint, carpeting and lighting. I’d had no idea there were a gazillion shades of white paint! I realized I was definitely in over my head when it came to the interior of our gallery. It was time to call in a professional designer.
When Mom informed me that Christina, our favorite Tarot reader, was an experienced interior designer, I was amazed. Apparently, there was no limit to the lady’s talent. She called Christina who was working at the bookstore that day, and I arranged to meet her on Sunday when the bookstore was closed.
Christina greeted me with a hug and a warm smile. “Cara, it’s so good to see you again. Just tell me how I can help.”
I unlocked the front door of the gallery and showed her what I thought was needed. The old jewelry store lighting was still in place, but it wasn’t suitable for an art gallery. The contractor would install new wallboard throughout the space, and then it would be painted. The old maroon carpet would be pulled up, to make the floors ready for new carpet.
Christina walked through the space, nodding and taking notes as well as measurements. “Okay, this will be fairly simple, Cara. We’ll use a bright, pure white for the walls, and I’d suggest a dove gray for the carpet. You’ll want flexible lighting in the ceiling that can be adjusted as needed. How does that sound?”
“It sounds perfect. Will it be possible to get the paint, carpeting and lighting quickly? I’m hoping to open the Gallery before the end of May.”
“I’ll do my best. The paint and carpeting won’t be a problem. The lighting might take a little longer. If you want to leave it in my hands, I’ll get on the phone in the morning and order everything we’ll need. Just let your contractor know he’ll have to be available to install the lighting as soon as it comes in. That should be done before the paint and carpet.”
I must have been frowning because she laughed. “Don’t worry about a thing, Cara. I think May is doable. Would you like me to design a sign for the Thornewood Art Gallery?”
I hadn’t even thought about a sign. I was so glad I’d called Christina.
The next chore was lining up the art that would be displayed. That part I was confident I could handle myself. The first person I wanted to see, of course, was Francis Sullivan. One of his oil paintings would be the “jewel” in our gallery.
I rode to Elvenwood the following weekend to speak to him. When I knocked on the door of his studio, he greeted me as he always did: “Come in, Cara.”
I told him that the Thornewood Art Gallery would be opening by the end of May and asked if he would allow me to display one of his gorgeous oil paintings.
“I’d be honored, Cara.” He walked to one end of his studio where there were three finished paintings and invited me to choose one. “The choice is yours. You’ll just have to speak to Miss Galen about the price. That’s her specialty, not mine.”
His blue eyes twinkled. “I just paint them.”
I loved all of Francis’ paintings, but there was one I couldn’t take my eyes from. He’d painted one of the old, gnarled apple trees with three happy young boys climbing its heavy branches. A much younger child was on the ground looking up at the others, his little hands over his mouth, as though afraid one of them would fall. It was delightful. I could already see it hanging in my gallery.
“Francis, I’m absolutely in love with this one. Are you sure you want to part with it?”
He smiled. “I can always paint another, Cara. You know, I may even pay a visit to your gallery once it opens. But you mustn’t tell anyone who I am. All right?”
“Of course.” I knew that Francis had always guarded his privacy carefully. I certainly wouldn’t give him away.
I had also contacted Win Mason who would be exhibiting two of his charming street scenes. I asked him to ship them to Harry Callahan, but I also invited him to attend our grand opening, the date still to be determined. He lived near Boston and said he’d try to make it.
Miss Galen had proposed two of her other artists. I’d never seen their work, but she assured me I’d love their paintings.
That left my own artwork. I’d already decided to exhibit all of my Elf drawings, although the original drawings from three years ago wouldn’t be for sale. They had too much sentimental value for me. I had a couple of watercolors to show, and I’d decided to hang the oil painting I’d done last year of my father. I wouldn’t sell that either.
It was time to get my cousin Jason involved. He’d be working full time in the Gallery, and I thought he could help coordinate the decorating jobs still to be done. I’d be at school, and I wasn’t sure how much of Christina’s time would be available.
When I drove back to Syracuse that Sunday afternoon in April, my brain was full of everything we’d accomplished as well as everything still to be completed. I had to keep telling myself that everything was under control. I almost believed it.
The Barrett Yearly Art Show was scheduled for mid-May, only one week before I would graduate. When I put the finishing touches on my painting of Adam, I stood back and just stared at it. The sketches I’d done almost four years ago had provided the outline, but I knew that most of my painting had been intuitive. It had come straight from my heart.
Mr. Goldman stopped next to me. “Excellent work, Cara. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that you’re still in love with this man.” He winked at me and walked away.
I gasped from the sudden pain in my chest. I quickly threw a sheet over the painting and hurried out of the room. I needed coffee and people around me right now.
I heard a voice behind me. “Hey, Cara, wait up.” It was Joel, who was in the same class. He’d apparently seen my speedy departure.
“You practically ran out of the room, Cara. What’s wrong? Can I help?”
I was too embarrassed by my unexpected emotional reaction to look at him.
“Coffee, Joel. I just need coffee. Maybe something stronger, if you’ve got anything.”
He chuckled. “You’ve come to the right place.”
As soon as we sat down at our usual table, Joel poured coffee for both of us and pulled a silver flask out of his jacket pocket. “Irish whiskey, good for anything that
ails you.” He poured a healthy dose in each cup and grinned at me. “Wait, I think I forgot something.” He walked up to the counter, had a quiet conversation with the second year student who was working today, and returned with a can of whipped cream.
I couldn’t help smiling as he squirted a healthy dose of whipped cream on top of our coffee. “Joel, you think of everything. Thanks.”
We began sipping at our Irish coffee, and I finally started to relax.
“What happened, Cara?”
I took a deep breath. “It’s my painting. I finished it today. Now that it’s done, I can’t look at it.”
“I saw your painting. You did an incredible job on it. Judging by your reaction, it must be someone you know.”
“Yeah. It was.”
“Was? Did he pass away?” He frowned, as though he wished he hadn’t asked.
I sighed. “In a manner of speaking. He’s just gone, not in my life anymore.”
“Ah. I get it. He’s the one you’ve been hung up on for years. He’s the reason you don’t date. Right?”
I sighed. “Yeah.”
He nodded in an understanding way. “You know, I was hoping we might date eventually, but I finally settled for the ‘friend’ category. And that’s fine. I’m glad we’ve been friends for the past three years.”
I smiled. “Me too.”
“How’s that art gallery coming along?”
“It will be opening around the end of May. And that’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. I have several other artists lined up for our grand opening, but I don’t think any of them are into abstract art. Do you have one painting you’d like to exhibit?”
He grinned. “Of course I do! At least one.”
“Well, be sure to give it to me before I leave on Friday. I’ll take it home with me. Do you want it framed?”
“No. The canvas is already mounted on stretcher bars. You can hang it that way. And be sure to give me the gallery’s address. I’d love to come to your grand opening!”
