Chapter 32 - The Future She Left Behind

The Pecos art show was in full swing by noon on the first Sunday in August. Katelyn’s booth sat smack-dab in the middle of the town square. She’d been hoping for a spot near the sidewalk, but her late entry had landed her in a maze of stands.

“How’s it going?” Birdie held out a bottle of water she’d purchased from a food truck.

“Thanks.” Katelyn waved to the canvas over her head. “It was nice of Vern to let me use one of the church tents. It feels more like a hundred degrees out here than the ninety the weatherman forecasted.”

“I ran into Shirley a few minutes ago. She and Vern will be by after they grab a bite to eat.” Birdie picked up an empty soda cup from the ground and tossed it into a nearby garbage can. “Is Jackson coming?”

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t invite him?”

Katelyn shook her head. The art festival was a larger event than the Fourth of July celebration in Little Springs, and she didn’t want to pressure Jackson into coming when she knew he’d feel overwhelmed by the crowds. “Did you check out the pottery booth near the entrance?” Birdie asked.

“I bought one of her flower vases and put it in the car.” Katelyn moved the folding chair in the corner over. “Sit down.”

Birdie turned sideways on the seat so she could people-watch. “How’s Harriet’s niece working out at the store?”

“Fine, I guess.” Katelyn had met the twenty-one-year-old earlier in the week. “She and Layla get along great.”

“Why’s that?”

“They both love talking about the latest hairstyle and makeup trends.”

“Does Walter know I’m going back to St. Louis with you in a couple of weeks to help Melissa move into her dorm?”

“I told him, and he’s fine with it now that he hired Kim.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Birdie said, “that I might switch to part-time when I come back.”

“That’s a great idea.” Katelyn paused when a couple stopped to view her work, but they moved on before she had a chance to initiate a conversation with them. “I’d be happy to help you make ends meet, Mom.”

“I can still manage on my own,” Birdie said. “I make more money in tips playing at a bar for three hours than I do standing at the register for eight.”

Katelyn hugged her mother.

“What was that for?”

“I’m excited that you’re performing again.”

“And I’m proud of you”—Birdie pointed to the artwork on display—“for believing in yourself.”

An older couple approached the tent. The gentleman pointed to the painting of Mendoza Auto that Katelyn had made from the sketch of the building. “Is that a 1978 Pontiac Trans Am sitting in the bay?”

“It is.” Katelyn had painted Jackson standing next to the car, staring out the bay door as he wiped his hands on an oil rag.

“That garage is in Little Springs, isn’t it?” he asked.

Birdie jumped into the conversation. “It used to be Al’s Auto. Then Jackson Mendoza bought the business.”

“My father took our family car there when I was a kid. I remember sitting on that bench outside the door and waiting.”

“The detail is lovely,” the wife said.

“You don’t have a price on the painting,” he said.

“I’m not sure if it’s for sale yet.” It was difficult to put a price on her memories of hanging out with Jackson at the garage after school.

She wrote her cell phone number on a piece of paper and made a mental note to look into ordering business cards. “If you have a photo of your old family car, I’d be happy to paint a picture of the garage with that vehicle inside.”

“That would be nice, Roy.” The woman looked at Katelyn. “We’ll be in touch.”

As soon as the couple walked off, Birdie said, “What’s wrong with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You worry that no one will want to buy your art—then when someone comes along ready to pay money for one of your pieces, you can’t pull the trigger.”

Katelyn was rescued from responding when a woman in a blue-and-white polka-dot dress and matching hat stopped at the booth. “Hello,” Katelyn said.

“Is this your work or are you the artist’s representative?”

“I’m the artist.”

“Sonja Doyle.” The woman fished a business card from her purse and handed it to Katelyn, then leaned forward and peered at the scrawled signature across the bottom of a drawing.

Katelyn had signed all the pieces as Katelyn Chandler, because Katelyn Pratt was not and never had been an artist.

“I manage a gallery in Dallas and your charcoal sketches intrigue me.” The woman smiled. “Do you have a card?”

“I’m sorry.” Katelyn hated looking unprofessional. “I’ll write my contact information on the back of your card.” Katelyn scribbled her name, her cell number, email and the words charcoal sketches.

“I’ll be in touch.” Sonja Doyle moved on to the next booth.

Birdie whistled. “An art gallery. That’s big-time, daughter.”

“We’ll see if she reaches out to me.” Katelyn’s heart thumped heavily with excitement and the possibility of having her work find its way into a gallery.

“I need to stretch my legs,” Birdie said.

“Thanks for being here with me today, Mom.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else. I’ll try to send some business your way.” Her mother walked off and a moment later, Katelyn heard her say, “Be sure you check out the paintings and sketches in that booth. She’s a local artist.”

Local artist.

If Katelyn decided to stay in St. Louis, she’d have to first find an apartment or a home to rent. Then, second, she’d have to figure out what to draw. She doubted people who lived in the Midwest would want artwork highlighting small-town life in Texas.

“Katelyn!” Shirley and Vern zigzagged through the crowd.

“How was your lunch?” Katelyn asked.

“We had barbecue, but it was too smoky for my taste.” Shirley pointed to a piece behind Katelyn. “That’s Sadie’s beauty shop.”

Vern moved closer to the charcoal drawing. “Is that you sitting in the chair?”

Shirley slipped on her glasses. “That is me!”

Katelyn had captured the scene in the beauty shop the day Sadie had cut Shirley’s hair.

“They look like a pack of hyenas ready to pounce on their prey.” Vern’s smile turned into a grimace when Shirley elbowed him in the side.

In the drawing, the members of the ladies’ society were gathered around the styling chair, each of them examining Shirley’s new hairdo.

“Are you upset that I did a sketch of you?” Katelyn nibbled her lip.

Shirley shook her head. “I love it.”

“Then I’ll get it for you. I’ve been trying to think of something to buy a woman who has everything.” Vern grinned at Katelyn. “Will you put a Sold sign on the picture?”

Shirley beamed. “I think it should hang on the wall inside Sadie’s beauty shop.”

“If it makes you happy, sweetheart,” Vern said.

Sweetheart? The perm queen was no sweetheart.

“Vern will settle up with you at home,” Shirley said.

When had Katelyn’s childhood home become her mother-in-law’s?

Shirley took Vern’s hand and they walked off. Katelyn sold one more item—a Fourth of July scene at the town park—then sat by herself for over an hour before Layla and Brian showed up at the booth. A pang of envy caught her by surprise. She wished she could spend the day looking at art with Jackson. “Are you two having fun?”

The couple exchanged a smile. “Has anyone bought your work?” Layla asked.

“Vern’s buying the beauty shop picture, and I might be doing another painting of Jackson’s garage for a man and his wife.” She looked past the lovebirds. “Did Gavin come with you?”

“He stayed the night at a friend’s house.” Layla nudged Brian. “What are you staring at?”

“You.” He pointed to the easel in the corner.

“Is that me?” She walked closer to the painting. “It’s sold. Who bought it?”

“I did.” Brian put his arm around her. “I’m hanging it in my bedroom.”

Layla’s cheeks bloomed pink.

Brian spoke to Katelyn. “We’ll be back later to get the painting.” The pair left, stumbling when they tried to kiss and walk at the same time.

A few minutes later Jackson showed up at the tent. Even though he smiled, his stiff posture said he wanted to be anywhere but standing in the crowded town square. Katelyn wrapped her arms around him and pressed her nose to his clean-smelling T-shirt. “Thank you for coming.”

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“Brian bought the portrait of Layla.”

Jackson’s attention swung to the painting of Mendoza Auto. He stared at it for the longest time, then looked at her, his eyes shimmering with an emotion she couldn’t identify. “Is that how I look to you?”

“If you mean I see a confident, strong, self-assured man, then the answer is yes.”

He swallowed hard. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

“Thanks, but I’m good.”

“I’ll be back at the end of the day to help you take down the tent.” He disappeared into the crowd. She hadn’t expected him to show up at all today, and his support meant the world to her.

An hour before the festival ended, the judges made the rounds, viewing all the entries. Like the other artists, Katelyn hoped one of her pieces might catch the eye of a judge. Winning a ribbon would go a long way in proving that she wasn’t deceiving herself into thinking she had talent. The art gallery manager’s interest in her charcoal sketches had been an unexpected bonus and Katelyn would have to ponder long and hard about what she wanted for her future.

She moved the easels out of the shadows, then crossed her fingers behind her back and pasted a confident smile on her face when the judges stopped at her booth.