Hailey

Halloween was just a couple of weeks around the corner, and I had officially put up my inspired paintings. My fall leaf scenes and my already-carved pumpkins were selling so quickly, I hadn’t had any time to touch any more of the portraits of Bryan. I was drawing them in all the ways I remembered him. All the smiles and the twisted positions and the brooding moments. It was my way of coping with the loss of him and the fact that he wasn’t coming back. I had to take my sister’s advice and prepare myself for the worst. What I’d done to him was unthinkable and unforgivable, and no man in his right mind would ever come back to a woman who had done that to him.

I blew out the candles sitting in all the pumpkins as the front door opened. I turned around, ready to tell the person that I was about to close down, but I stopped dead in my tracks. A man was standing in my doorway wearing a fitted suit that clung for dear life to his body. He was tall, lean, chiseled in an unassuming way. His hair was auburn and slicked back, gelled in these curls that fluttered down the back of his head. His beard was trimmed neatly against his face, boasting of brown and red tones that reminded me of the autumn season that had fully encroached upon our small area of San Diego.

There was a grin on his face that set itself into a strong jawline, and for a second, I had to hold my breath.

His hands came up to his stomach as he pushed several rings back down onto his fingers. They were all various colors and set into various bands, and they were hypnotic in a way. I had no idea what color his eyes were. In one moment, they were light blue like his button-down shirt, and the next, they were black like his suit.

I had no idea who this man was, but he seemed to recognize me.

“Are you Hailey Ryan?” he asked.

He had a bit of an accent like someone in his family had grown up in England.

“I am. Welcome to my gallery. I hate to say it, but I’m about to close up. Is there anything I can help you with?” I asked.

“I wanted to introduce myself. The name’s Max Wentmore.”

He approached me with his long-legged stride and held out his hand. His fingers were long and dexterous, covered in calluses only another artist would recognize. A smile peeled across my face as I shook his hand, his gaze unwavering from my face as I drew in a deep breath.

“An artist, I see. Are you passing through?” I asked.

“My accent might give that impression,” he said, chuckling. “But, I am not. I’m another local artist. I settled here a couple years back.”

“Oh! Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Wentmore.”

“Please, call me Max,” he said. “Your painting sitting near the window. It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Someone you know?” he asked.

“Someone I used to know,” I said.

“Ah, and there’s that sadness I clocked in the brushstrokes. An old lover, perhaps?”

Suddenly, I didn’t enjoy this polite intrusion any longer.

“Where is your gallery located?” I asked.

The grin on his face was becoming very unsettling as the night sky slowly started to blanket our part of town.

“A few minutes north. Uptown, I believe is what everyone around here calls it.”

“Ah, I looked at a few places there. None of them really called to me,” I said.

“Why is that?” he asked.

“The place was already beautiful. It didn’t need any more beauty, but this place had a haunting beauty to it. I wanted to breathe my version of hope into it. You know, try to revive the community, so to speak.”

“You wanted to shine your beauty into the darkness in the hopes that people would be drawn to it and out of their own darkness,” he said.

“Yes. Exactly.”

“I believe that’s why I was drawn to uptown,” he said. “Not because of your philosophy, but because of the dichotomy.”

“What dichotomy is that?” I asked.

“My art holds something called a dark truth.”

“Care to explain?” I asked.

“It just takes a more realistic perspective. Uptown is full of beauty in a way that is materialistic, but deep beneath, there’s a seedy underbelly that no one enjoys talking about. They want to appear fine on the outside, but beneath is a boiling truth desperate to get out.”

“You want your art to pull their own personal truths from them,” I said.

“Exactly. Plus, I had a gallery in a different part of town when I first landed here. It fell through because the location was horrendous. Uptown gives me much more exposure, especially with the online presence I’m garnering.”

“Online presence?” I asked.

“Yes, I sell some of my artwork online. I also dabble in graphic design. It really is a wonderful marketplace. Are you online?”

“Can’t say that I am,” I said.

“Oh, well. It’s a wonderful frontier. You should really think about it. I could help you set yourself up nicely.”

“Should I choose to go that route, I’ll keep you in mind,” I said.

“It’s hard to get a good buzz without a decent physical location. I have to say, I’m a bit envious.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Because you’re in a terrible location, but everyone talks about you.”

“They do?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. It’s why I had to come down here and see it for myself. Your success is quite the envy of the San Diego art community.”

His eyes were dancing around my gallery, almost as if he was trying to find my recipe for success. His physical presence had been comforting, like an old friend that had just waltzed back into town. His voice was a bit mesmerizing. He could’ve read the ingredients off the back of an oatmeal raisin cookie, and I probably would’ve wanted to eat it. But there was something in his eyes I couldn’t place.

Something that was genuinely curious as to why I was doing better than he was.

“Do you have any pictures of your artwork I could see?” I asked.

The smile that beamed across his face pulled one across mine.

“But of course,” he said.

He pulled out his phone, and I scrolled through the endless array of art pieces. Paintings of women gazing out windows and men sitting alone at tables. Portraits of people with sadness in their eyes, even while their bodies were adorned with beautiful fabrics and jewels. There was something heart-wrenching about his pieces. There was something about them that seemed so familiar, that called to me in a way art hadn’t in a very long time.

I came across a picture of a young boy walking down a dirt road, a wagon with only three wheels being pulled behind him. I felt tears rise to my eyes and watched one drip down onto his phone, and that’s when I felt his hand curl around mine.

“It’s an honor to be able to pull that type of emotion from you,” he said as he took his phone back.

“Why don’t you sell a couple of your paintings here?” I asked.

“Come again?”

“Yeah. I could display them here and sell them for a small commission.”

“How much?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Ten dollars off every painting,” I said.

“For these pictures and the size they are, that’s less than seven percent.”

“They would only be hanging, and it’d be good advertising for you. You could leave some cards behind or something so people could go find some more of your paintings where you are.”

“And if I left cards behind, you’d know where I was,” he said, smiling.

“Yes, I suppose I would.”

“I could return the favor if you wanted. Your paintings are wonderful. I’d be delighted to have one of two hanging in my shop,” he said.

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” I said, smiling.

“Your smile is radiant,” he said.

“Your words are very kind.”

“Would you like to maybe get dinner sometime and talk about our arrangement?” he asked.

“I think we could simply discuss the arrangement here,” I said.

He nodded and looked away, but he didn’t seem upset. That brought a great deal of relief to me, but there was still something behind his eyes I couldn’t place. He seemed genuinely excited at the prospect of having somewhere else to sell his paintings, but there was still something off.

Something that wasn’t settling into its rightful place.

“Well, Hailey, I’ll let you close up. I don’t want to keep you from the lucky man waiting for you to get home.”

“No man, Max. Just not really settling my artistic ventures into that current marketplace.”

“Should you choose to step out into it, let me know. I know of some fabulous places you could set up shop.”

He winked at me, and I couldn’t help but blush. His smile was deafening in its glory, and I had to admit his body looked phenomenal in that tailored suit. But some part of me felt guilty like I was somehow cheating on Bryan. We weren’t together, and we never would be again, but I still felt like I was somehow attached to him.

He wasn’t in my life, and yet he was still a big component of it.

“Whenever you want to bring those paintings and your business cards by, I’m more than willing to help you set up.”

I watched him nod his head as his eyes grazed the paintings along my wall one last time.

“I really do appreciate your kindness, Hailey. We could all benefit from a little more of it in this world.”

“And you nailed the reason why I opened my gallery,” I said.

“A beautiful reason for a beautiful woman,” he said.

And again, I couldn’t stop the blush heating my cheeks.

“Well, I must take my leave. It was a wonder meeting you, Miss Hailey. I look forward to our combined ventures in the future.”

I held my hand back out to shake his, and he wrapped his long fingers around it delicately. He brought it to his lips to kiss, and for a split second, I lost myself in their warmth. My stomach turned over on itself as his eyes connected with mine, only this time, they were the color of a gray and stormy sky.

He grinned at me one last time before he left my gallery, and I stood there as I reveled in the moment.

What the hell had just happened? I wasn’t entirely sure, but I felt like I was stepping into darkened territory without a flashlight. I thought about Bryan and how guilty I felt flirting with this strange man even though I had no burning passion to flirt. I sighed as I grabbed my things and locked up, heading to my car as my mind began to swim.

I wanted to talk with Bryan if only to get closure so I could move on.

Things needed to be repaired. Wounds needed to be stitched shut. I still felt as if I was bleeding into the grass out back, like my soul was still ripped open by his glare. I missed his presence. The warmth he provided me. I missed his laughter and his comfort. I missed the way his hand could calm me down by tracing his fingertips along my skin.

I wished I could talk with him, look him in the eye one last time. Just once to prove to myself that things were really over and give me the shove I needed to really cope.

After all, that sadness was bleeding into my portraits of him, and if there was anything he deserved, it was for his portraits to portray the happiness he should be hurling toward and not the sadness that kept him rooted in his past.

I pulled out of the parking lot and drove myself on home. I passed by all the carved pumpkins and the few trees that peppered the coastline that were beginning to die off. The ocean was driving its icy waves upon its sandy shores, threatening to freeze the shells children had picked at all summer right in their spots. During the fall and winter months, time seemed to stop in coastal cities. If you closed your eyes and listened, you could hear the city yelling for its youth. You could hear it craving the attention of its beloved tourists.

I pulled into a sanded-over parking lot and grabbed the coat from my back seat.

I wrapped it around my shoulders as I got out. The wind was harsh, and the weather was cold, but I wasn’t quite ready to go home. My boots carried me out into the sand, nearer to the water that threatened to freeze the whole of the coastline in its place. I breathed in the cold, salty air, allowing it to sting my throat as tears rose to my eyes. The stars twinkled off in the distance as the blackness of night hung heavily in the air, and for once, I simply allowed my sadness to take over.

Tears poured down my face, leaving behind tattered trails of memories as my body shivered with the cold.

I could feel the tendrils of my black hair blowing in the breeze. It had grown out, down to my earlobe so I could tuck it back. I kept it out of my face with colorful bows and bobby pins, but deep down my soul was as black as the dye I’d placed in it. Bryan had come into my life with a fire raging in his soul, breaking up the bleakness I’d felt in mine for so long. How ironic it was that I wanted to blast out the darkness by ignoring my own. How ironic it was that I was trying to shine my own pathetic candle of hope and happiness into a concavity as great as this entire town when the man I thought was filled with darkness was really raging with the light I wished to have.

His soul had been set on fire with his brother’s death, a fire that was determined to blast through the harsh memories and try to pull something out that was beautiful.

All I had done was run and sob and wallow. I’d accused Bryan’s darkness of eating him whole, not realizing until this very moment that it was my darkness eating us both whole.

He deserved better, and right there and then, I convinced myself he was gone.

My beloved Bryan, who had stolen my heart and captured the candle of my soul, was gone.