Hailey

“Seriously, Anna. Thank you so much.”

“Hailey. It’s not a problem. You can stop thanking me,” she said, giggling.

“I just didn’t expect to have to ask you for help, that’s all,” I said.

“You also didn’t expect to stumble upon a run-down shack you had to completely redo that was obviously the perfect match for your gallery.”

“Are you mocking me? Need I remind you who the older sister is here?” I asked.

“I’m not mocking you,” she said, giggling. “The place is perfect for you.”

“So you got the pictures?”

“I mean, there isn’t much there now, but your descriptions are apt. I enjoyed the drawings you sent of how you wanted to set up the place, but you know I would’ve given you the money anyway. Without all the drawings.”

“I wanted you to know I was serious. I didn’t think this project would eat through the money I’d already saved,” I said.

“Well, I called up the places you did just to give them the rundown. Had to make sure they weren’t swindling my sister on the prices. But you also didn’t expect the inspector to run into termite problems.”

“Though I should’ve expected it, with how old the building is,” I said.

“It’s fine. Think of it as an investment.”

“No, Anna. It’s a loan. I’ll pay you back,” I said.

“Look. If you think of it as an investment and I take a small percentage of the business, then you don’t have to pay it back.”

“What kind of percentage are we talking about?” I asked.

“Only, like, three percent. I don’t want control of the business. All this is on you. But for tax write-offs, if you don’t want to pay taxes on the money I’ve given to you, then there has to be official paperwork filed. Three percent of the business means you’d cut me a check every month for three percent of the profits you’ve made, and in return, the government won’t tax you on the money I footed.”

“Are you sure you only want three percent?” I asked. “You loaned me thirty thousand dollars, Anna.”

“No, I invested thirty thousand dollars. There’s a difference. If you want, I can draw up the paperwork really quickly and come visit so I can go over it with you. The sooner we can get it filed, the better.”

“I guess it does pay to have a sister working at a corporate law firm,” I said, grinning.

“I’ll get started on it. And if you want my opinion, you should go with the last construction company you called. The man on the other line was the only one I talked to who I felt wouldn’t try to pull the wool over your eyes.”

“I’ll give him a call in the morning. And Anna?”

“Yeah, sis?”

“Thanks.”

“Wait. Hailey?”

“Yes?”

“Have you thought about how you’re going to live until the business becomes profitable?”

Even though my younger sister, Anna, was a hardened corporate lawyer shark, she still had a soft side to her when it came to family. Our parents were always harsh with us and had plans for us from the very beginning. I was supposed to be the doctor of the family like our father, and Anna was supposed to be the lawyer of the family like our mother. They pushed and pushed. They enrolled us in special schools and signed us up for the hardest classes imaginable. I always tried to buck against my parents. Sneaking out in the middle of the night to go have fun. Kissing boys underneath the bleachers at football games while I dodged the prying eyes of my parents.

Anna, however, bowed so greatly to their will that she snapped. She conformed to what Mom and Dad had wanted for her life, and I could hear in her voice every time I talked with her how disappointed she was. She told herself that she was able to defend those who needed it and prosecute those who deserved it, but I knew what her true passions were.

The beautiful operatic voice sitting in her throat being unused brought tears to my eyes every single time I heard her sing in the shower.

“The money I saved up for this gallery was separate from another savings account I had. I invested it wisely, and it’ll keep me afloat until I can get the gallery turning a profit,” I said.

“My sister an investor, huh? This is news to me. Way to go. I’m proud of you,” she said.

“It was the only thing I knew to do to stretch my money the best. I sold my artwork and ran paid galleries out of rented spaces, and the money I got from doing odd jobs around town for others went back into the little investment account I have. It’s not much, but I’ll break even for the next seven months.”

“You should be profitable by then. At least somewhat. And please, if you get into a snag, call me. Anything I can do to help you out with this. I’m so proud of you.”

“You know you could do it, Anna,” I said.

“Do what?”

“Go to Germany and audition for opera houses. They’d take you in a heartbeat.”

“I haven’t had a formal singing lesson in years,” she said.

“Then start taking them. You’ve got the money, Anna. Take them for a year, and then take some time off and go to Germany. If you don’t get anything, you can come back to your job, and if you do get something, you can quit.”

“I can’t just go to Germany, Hailey. I’m not you.”

“I’m not asking you to be me,” I said. “I’m asking you to be yourself.”

The silence on the other end of the line caused me to hold my breath. For the first time in my life, I felt I finally had Anna’s attention. She was a grown adult. She no longer had to bend to the wills and sways of Mom and Dad. If she wanted to go take a vacation to Germany, then she could. If she wanted to take voice lessons, she could.

But the hope was short-lived because when I heard her sigh, I knew she’d already talked herself out of it.

“I’m so excited for you, Hailey,” she said. “When I draw this paperwork up, we’ll get together and sign it.”

“All right. There’s this cute little retro diner across the street from the gallery that backs up to the ocean. We can eat there, and then you can come see the place.”

“I can’t wait,” she said.

“I do have one more question, though.”

“Before you even ask it, no. I haven’t met anyone.”

“Oh, come on, Hailey. You’re in San Diego, for crying out loud. Your gallery’s going to be across the road from the beach. You mean to tell me no hot man has attempted to snag that beautiful body of yours?”

“I’m more than just my body, Anna,” I said.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. But you’ve got killer looks. You’ve always had them. Your curvy frame, your wacky dyed hair, your light blue eyes. Come on. Someone’s looking at you, right?”

“My concentration’s on the gallery right now. You know this,” I said.

“Well, don’t let any more hunks pass you by. You’re in your prime. Allow yourself a time or two to simply enjoy yourself.”

“Look at the pot calling the kettle black!”

“Shut up,” she said.

“A corporate attorney telling an artist to live life to the fullest. Just spectacular.”

“You’re a dick, you know that?”

“Nope. But according to my little sister, I need some,” I said, grinning.

“I hate you. I’ve got to go, all right? I’ll get that paperwork done and text you when it’s ready.”

“Thanks. For everything,” I said.

“Get yourself some dick.”

“Get yourself a life that makes you happy.”

I hung up the phone with my sister as I meandered through my studio apartment. It wasn’t much, but it was mine, and it allowed me to penny-pinch every single cent I could. I walked to the window that overlooked the quietest street I cornered, and I hunched over at my table. I’d had this image swirling in my mind for days, an image I needed to get out onto paper before it drove me absolutely wild.

I could still remember his tattoos. The way they cascaded up his arms as he raised his beer. The Guinness can held proudly as his chest puffed out. His dark hair was pristinely cut, almost like someone had molded clay onto his head, and his fiery dark eyes held secrets that screamed to me during his speech. I sketched out his long legs, his feet planted firmly on the stage as a proud smirk graced his cheeks. I smudged a bit of a shadow around his figure, his body standing in front of the darkness that inevitably swallowed him after he was done.

I sketched the faint outline of the microphone held in his arm, remembering how etched his muscles were. He was beautiful. Kind. Though his eyes seemed to have been searching for something in his speech. I could still remember the way his words rang with emotion in my ears, the way his brother’s voice did when he was still alive.

I felt guilt clench my heart, startling my pencil right from between my fingers.

I’d wanted to go up and talk with him. Right after his speech. I wanted to stop him and tell him who I was. I wanted to look into his eyes and see the memories of his brother sparkle. I wanted to introduce myself, tell him my name, and shake his hand. He looked so much like his brother it was sickening, and the moment he backed into the shadows, I could no longer contain my own emotions.

My own guilt.

My own fear.

I threw back the rest of my IPA at that memorial service and left through the side entrance. I told myself it would’ve made things awkward and that my involvement in his brother’s life would be blamed for his death. I wanted to remember the better parts of John, the part that poured his heart into his paintings, that saw the world from a completely different perspective, and that found solace in the brushes and canvases I had to offer him while he was trying to get himself clean—had gotten himself clean.

I reached for my pencil, my hands shaking as the tip descended back onto his arms. He had this lovely and intricate tattoo on his right arm. A spiral, or a swirl, that looked like it was descending right into the depths of his body. When he raised his beer, I could see a rose emerge. Just the tip, but I knew it wasn’t just any old rose.

It would have to be for now, however, because I wasn’t close enough to see the pattern on the petals of the tattooed beauty.

The one that entranced me, however, was the geometric patterns on his left arm. It started in the middle of his forearm and cascaded all the way up past his t-shirt. I closed my eyes, trying desperately to conjure the memory before my pencil started fluttering over the page. Diamonds and cubes and triangles emerged, all melding together in one fluid piece of artwork that draped over his skin.

The sketch I was doing didn’t hold a candle to the intricacies and the beauty of that particular tattoo.

I wanted to study it up close, to memorize it and pick apart its shapes. I wanted to ask him questions and figure out how he came up with the pattern. Ask him if he drew it. If he designed it himself. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen, full of colors that faded into one another. The tattoo had almost glistened underneath the spotlight, like his eyes when he was telling that story of his brother.

I felt a sense of dread waft up my spine, and I put my pencil down before I messed it all up.

Had I made a mistake in moving to San Diego? I had to get out of Los Angeles. After everything that had happened. My instincts had always been spot on, and in some respects, I believe I moved here because of how John always talked about it. He talked about his brother. About how he was successful and wanted to model his life after him. He told me that the San Diego sun felt different on his face than the Los Angeles sun had, and had it not been for his parents living there, he would’ve moved back a long time ago.

I thought it was a brilliant way to memorialize the one rehabilitation patient I’d had who’d affected me the most.

I’d always trusted my instincts because they’d never gotten me into trouble. The only time I ever found myself in trouble was when I strictly went against them. It’s how I ended up in a pre-med program I almost flunked out of. The moment I dropped out and focused on my art, my career took off. People saw the passion in my work and were more than willing to pay for it. I found my passion for art therapy and using it to rehabilitate people in the areas I was settling in, but I never did stick around for too long.

Until I moved to Los Angeles and met John.

Until I made the biggest mistake of my entire life.

A car horn ripped me from my thoughts as I looked down onto the picture of John’s brother. Bryan, I think he said his name was. My tears clouded the pencil marks, bleeding one into another until the entity of his torso had been ruined. I sobbed, my elbows planting into the table as I put my wet face in my hands.

“I promise I’ll pay you back,” I said as I sobbed. “I promise I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

I couldn’t save John. No matter how hard I’d tried, I simply couldn’t do it. He had been reaching for me, screaming out to me and begging me with his eyes. I’d put him in front of every single canvas and used my own personal money to purchase every single color of the spectrum I could come across. The pictures he painted over the last few months of his life had made it into my moving van, and all of a sudden, a thought crossed my mind.

That could be my first gallery.

The first profitable movement of the business.

I could showcase and display the beauty John brought to the world. The beauty he wanted so desperately to give back, even though the darkness of this earth consumed him whole.

I wanted John to know his beauty was still going to be witnessed, and in some respects, I wanted Bryan to know that someone else bore witness to John’s beauty.

Someone else saw the good in him, even though the darkness hung heavily in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, John,” I said breathlessly. “I’m so, so sorry.”