My drawing of Clay was featured in a magazine.
“You’re very talented. I’d love to buy a piece.”
I’m surprised and pleased. “I don’t have any ready. Soon,” I go on quickly.
I have been drawing lots since I got back to Boston. It’s the one thing that’s better, the only time I feel vibrant and alive.
She hands over a business card. “Call me when you do.”
I’ve never sold a piece of my art, except for at the auction, which only half counts because people were supporting a charity. The prospect of earning money from my work is thrilling. I haven’t let myself entertain that possibility since art school.
After promising I’ll call her, I finish closing up at the café. I’m heading home from work as I go into my social media.
She’s not the only one who found me.
As I walk up the stairs of the walkup, I see I’m tagged hundreds of times.
It’s unbelievable.
But there’s also an email.
Dear Nova,
I’m writing on behalf of the Kodiaks organization to invite you to create a special art installation to be completed on site in Denver.
Discretion is important, so if you intend to accept, please meet me to discuss the details and next steps.
Sincerely,
James Parker
Owner, Denver Kodiaks
What the hell?
It’s mysterious and so hard to believe that I check the return email address to make sure it’s not a hoax.
But it’s the same format as Harlan’s, only the name is different.
James Parker.
I thought I left this behind me.
Evidently not.
As kids, Mari and I used to set paper lanterns on fire every summer with our hopes and dreams in them. Seeing them float up into the darkness was freeing.
I stomp to my bedroom and dig through the back of my closet. My fingers close around Clay’s jersey, and I yank it off the hanger it’s been on since I put it there a month ago.
Back in the living room, I retrieve a lighter from the drawer in the coffee table.
This is moving forward. This is closure.
I huff out a breath as I hold the shirt up.
I flick the lighter until an orange flame dances on the end.
My heart accelerates.