A Splash of Color

The door to the gallery opened to a friendly chime. Martin stepped in the little entrance and peered around from the safety of the doorway. The gallery was new; he had not been here before. It was always strange going to a new place like this. He always felt he would be asked questions he had no idea how to answer. He was comfortable in stadiums and gymnasiums; Cheryl was always the explorer of small downtown stores.

“A new place?” She was always so excited. “ Martin! Let's go. Local artists always need support.” He would follow along, pretending to dread it but not-so-secretly happy she was so happy. But she was not here today. He thought a surprise gift would be a much better idea.  

 She loved restaurants; both of them enjoyed date nights that were simple evenings at different eateries all over town. A few decades of gift certificates replaced more recently by gift cards got stale. She was always happy, but he wanted to do something different. Bottles of wine were tried for a few special occasions, but he seemed to have a remarkable knack for buying types of wine she didn’t like.     

So this year he stepped further outside himself then he had ever stepped before.  

Art.

Martin had no idea what to look for, but he took some pictures on his phone of the art Cheryl had picked up over the years. He had to have the neighbor help him take the pictures, but after repeated practice, he could now open them up on the phone without any terror or panic at all. That was something else he had in common with Cheryl; she was terrible with technology too.

“Good afternoon, sir,” a voice even more cheery than the door chime called. “Welcome to the Painted Pebble Gallery.” He looked up. The voice belonged to a woman of perfectly young middle age - the only age Martin ever felt wistful about when he reminisced about life. Those years were old enough that he and Cheryl no longer felt bad about just staying in to watch television multiple nights a week. They were also still yet young enough that they didn't have to stay in if they didn't want to. Most nights they wanted to stay home. He remembered those years fondly and spoke of them often. Cheryl just smiled.  

“Hi,” he said simply.  

She smiled, a variant of the typical salesperson behind the counter in most of the specialty shops Cheryl loved to visit. “Sarah Shumway.”  

“Martin Dempsey.” He awkwardly held out his hand to shake. She grabbed it warmly as if he was an old friend,  

“Glad to have you come by the gallery, Mr. Dempsey. I am a part-time artist and part-time manager here,” she said with it friendly laugh. You are welcome to take a peek around or I can guide you around - if you want?”

He nodded slowly. It was more of a delaying tactic while he considered what Cheryl would do. It felt uncomfortable coming here without her; though that would ruin whatever gift plan he had envisioned for her. “ I could probably use your help,” he admitted. "I usually come into places like this with my wife but I wanted to get her something for a gift and she always loved places like this so I thought it would be a good surprise. I was thinking -” His words trailed off. Help was needed.

He figured that if left to himself he would get frustrated. Knowing himself well, the next step would be to mumble apologies and flee out the door. It would be easier to give up on the project altogether. Even walking over here today, he considered it might be a simpler task to go to that candle store two blocks over.  

When he and Cheryl walked more often they sometimes would go into the store just to stare at the candles and guess the price. “One of these days, we will buy one,” Cheryl often warned him. He always shook his head in mock terror. But it did seem a silly cost when candles at the department store smelled the same to him and were twenty bucks cheaper. Maybe that is why it would be a great gift - Cheryl would never expect it.

 “Well, Mr. Dempsey, I'm very glad you thought of us. Is there anything, in particular, you are thinking of?” She gestured to the gallery rooms behind her. “These are all local artists. We have quite a collection of quality works here. We have an artist that works in glass; some of his work is fantastic. I have two of her pieces in my own home.” She vaguely pointed to her left. “We have two that work in wood. One of them specializes in decorative bowls and cups that make wonderful gifts. We also have three professional photographers here and multiple styles of -” She stopped herself. “I think I am overwhelming you.” She took a deep breath and smiled again. “I get pretty excited about all we have going on here sometimes. How about I give you a small tour?”

 Martin nodded again. He felt a small bit of panic building up. He held out his phone. “Do you have any art like this?” He grunted slightly pulling the phone back. He had not even pulled up the pictures. He stared intently at the screen and took a deep breath. His fingers always felt so clumsy on the screen. It was a great invention, it just wasn't invented for him.  

Fortunately, the pictures came up easily. He held up the phone towards Sarah and clumsily fingered through the pictures. She squinted and leaned in, and said, “mhmm hmmm” after every picture. “I think we have a few things there could help you get that perfect gift, Mr. Dempsey.  

She led him to a small chamber just a few steps away. “This is the work of Shandon Hennessy. You know him?” He shook his head. “He is so talented. His work is similar to what you showed me there. Fall prints. He really has an eye for the seasons. Some of the art you have pictures of there is really good too. Some of it looks familiar.” She pointed to one large print on the wall. “That is my personal favorite.”  

Martin peered at the painting she pointed to. “Cheryl - my wife - bought a few things here in town, then a few more when we would vacation. She was always on the lookout for fall stuff. She loves fall.

 Sarah nodded solemnly. “It is a beautiful season. Now let me show you one other artist we have here, and then I will back off so you can look at your own pace.” She led him to the back of the building. This is one of our newer artists. To be honest, I do not know their work as well as Shandon's, but the gallery committee saw her work and wanted her artist here. This is Cheryl Coopman's work.” Sarah saw him start at the name. “Funny coincidence of name?” He shrugged and forced a smile. She continued. “She has not sold a lot of art yet, but as you look through her work you will see a lot of quality prints here as well.”

The shared name was a coincidence. But it did get Martin thinking about things.

The manager walked back to the front of the gallery, leaving Martin to peruse at his own pace. “Let me know if you have any questions,” she had said.

Shandon's work was good, but one look at the prices had Martin feeling that surge of panic again. Cheryl Coopman’s work was much more reasonably priced - for his budget anyway.  

Fall. Several prints matched what the phone pictures said his wife would like. He peeked into his wallet several times. His mind crunched numbers and verified funds.  

"Oh your wife is going to love this," Sarah cooed as she wrapped the print and frame. "This is absolutely beautiful. And I cannot thank you enough for coming in, sir. " She spoke of newsletters and online groups, but he just wanted out of the store at this point. He ended up taking some business cards and mumbling vague assurances of coming back soon.  

He thanked her for the help and began the trek home. It was a short distance back to the apartment, but the carefully cradled package turned the twenty-minute trek into an hour’s journey.  

He always avoided the elevator when he was by himself, a throwback to his more athletic younger days. Today was an exception. Finally outside the apartment, he fumbled with his keys for a moment, then opened the door. A whiff of bacon wafted across his nose for a moment, reminding him he should have done the dishes before he left.   

He peeked around the apartment as if eyes were staring from every corner. He darted into the kitchen for the small hammer and nails he had dug out of the storage room that morning. He peered around again. He eyeball measured the blank space and carefully unwrapped the package. A few moments later, the print was up.  

A fall print. A field, a splash of color. A glorious moment before winter’s chill. Cheryl would love it. He moved her picture slightly.  

She passed in August, just a few months ago. She told him she wanted to see one last fall. It was her favorite season. “A break from the heat and the sun,” she had always said. “And always colorful.” But she was so tired those last few days. So very tired. And he was so powerless. He had let her down. He knew it. And when just a few weeks later fall did come, it was too late. 

Yet now she smiled. Her picture smiled, it was taken at her birthday a few years before they had thought of cancer. Yet that smile was also for him right now. He knew it, even if he was just a silly old man that tried to let her see fall just one more time. The print was there beside her. They blended perfectly.

A splash of color and life before winter's chill.