Looking forward to it as well. Let me know if you need anything, is her message.
I smile at her offer, but as my mind turns to Kasey, I suddenly feel selfish for being here, not there. He’s dealing with everything I don’t want to deal with and I’ve never put that on him, or taken that off of me. I hit his auto-dial and he answers almost immediately. “Everything is fine,” he says, greeting me. “I’m quite capable, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“You are incredible,” I say. “Which is why I never want to take advantage of you.”
“Please, Faith. Use me. Your mother did.”
“My mother abused you.”
“Okay. Your father used me. Use me like he did, but with less involvement.”
“How is the inspection going?”
“They’re on the other side of the property,” he says, “and we don’t even feel like they’re here. Does this inspection get you out of probate?”
“It’s a step to getting us out of all this mess soon,” I promise, reading the concern beneath his question. The winery has been his life, all his adult life. “And we’re close. The bank note is caught up. The bills will be by Monday. And Thursday, I’m going to talk to you about finally getting you the appreciation you deserve.”
“I don’t need anything from you but some trust. Your father trusted me. Now it’s your turn. Let me run this place.”
“My father would roll over in his grave if he knew I didn’t plan to run the winery.”
“I loved your father, kiddo, but on this he was wrong. His obsession with you running this place was illogical. You have a dream. Most of us never make ours come true. Be the exception.”
“Thank you, Kasey. I’m looking forward to talking Thursday.”
“Me too. Now. Am I safe to promise vendors money by Monday? Because I have someone waiting for me right now.”
“Yes,” I say. “Monday at the latest.”
He lets out a breath. “I have to tell you. I’m relieved.”
“Me too,” I say. “All is well.”
“That is good news for us all.”
We exchange a few more words, and when we disconnect, I am feeling really good about Nick’s idea to offer incentives, maybe even some ownership, to Kasey. He deserves it, and with the financial troubles moving behind us, he’ll be the reason that I can keep the winery and focus on painting.
Exiting the car, I lock up, slip my purse over my head, a flutter of anticipation in my belly as I race toward the door. Sara must see me on a camera somewhere, because she opens the door before I can knock, greeting me in a pink Allure t-shirt. I step inside the gallery and she pulls me into a hug, greeting me with such warmth that I feel like we are old friends. Only I don’t have any old friends and certainly none I’d want to call friend again. It’s not long before I have my own pink Allure t-shirt on and we begin touring the gallery while she shares her vision for the structure of the displays, and actually asks for my thoughts. We get excited together talking about random ideas.
By ten, we enter the private business area, pass the reception area, and several offices before Sara presents me with an office. “This is yours for as long as you can help.” She shoves her long dark hair back from her face. “There is a break room on the other side of the office area with lots of coffee options. And,” she sits down in front of me, “these are all the new artists who have submitted for the gallery’s consideration. I picked my top ten. What I’m hoping is to see what your top ten will be and then we can debate, narrow it down, and take ten options to Chris. He’s basically endorsing them, so he gets the final say, even though he says he trusts me. I want him to pick.”
And they already picked me. Chris Merit endorsedme.“I’m excited to do this.”
“I’m excited to have you here. Take your time. Chris is deeply absorbed in finishing a painting right now, and he won’t look at our picks until he’s done. I just need to pick this weekend. I’m in the back far corner office if you need me, or,” she grabs a sticky note and pen, and scribbles down her number, “just text me.” She laughs. “Because why wouldn’t you text me a few doors down?”
We share a laugh and she leaves me to work. I stare at the painting in front of me, which is, of course, an incredible Chris Merit black and white cityscape. I study the technique and I really don’t notice anything else about the office for a good ten minutes. Only then do I notice bookshelves lining the wall to my left, filled with art books I’d love to study at some point. Right now, though, I have work to do and I remove my purse and I’m about to stick it in a drawer. It’s then that my phone rings and I pull it from my purse and note Nick’s number.
“Hey,” I say, answering. “How is that client situation?”
“Bad. He needs Abel. We’re meeting with him at two. How are things there?”
“Fabulous. I love this place and Sara. Thanks for having Rita text me, Nick.”
“I’m not trying to run your life, Faith,” he says.
“Not on purpose,” I say. “It’s your nature to take control and in case I’ve sent you confusing messages, I do want to be informed, but I feel immense relief to have you handling this situation for me, Nick.”
“I actually need to talk to you about your mother. Were you aware that she had a gambling problem?”