I could tell they had been discussing this move more than he was leading me to believe. It only meant that they were, in fact, sticking around for me, or so it seemed. "I think that would be a good change for the two of you," I told him.
Claude nodded his head. "Sure, but I’m not leaving you until you are well, Charlie. So, if that is motivation for you to try and help yourself, so be it."
"I don’t need you to stick around and watch over me," I told him.
"Fine. Prove it and throw away the bottles, Charlie. Get a new job. When you can do all that, I will reconsider the move."
"Juliette must hate me right now," I said.
"She’s frustrated," he said.
I stood from my seat and tended to the bottles lined up on the kitchen counter. With a scoop of my arm, I brought them to the sink where I poured the contents of each bottle out, one by one until they were all empty.
Claude’s gaze dropped to the table as I returned, and he released a heavy breath. "Thank you, Charlie."
"She threatened to call my mother," I tell him.
Claude’s eyebrows sewed together and he tilted his head to the side. "She said she was going to call your mother?"
"Ja, brother," I responded.
Claude and I both had a good laugh. "Juliette wouldn’t dare."
"To be honest, she seemed angry enough last night that I wouldn’t put it past her."
"I guess we shouldn’t test her," Claude said with another snicker.
"I’ll start looking for a new job today," I told Claude.
"You know, I saw a hiring sign on the window of the art gallery across the street. That might be something."
I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of working in an art gallery. It was a brilliant idea. Amelia said she had a passion for art, so she would naturally be drawn to a gallery. "I will stop over there and see if I can charm them into hiring me."
"Nothing a clean shave and freshly laundered clothes can’t fix." I had let my hygiene fall behind after I was let go from the last job. It has been a couple of weeks since I had shaved or gone to the laundromat.
"Thank you for the subtle hint," I told Claude.
"Anytime."
The day was full of tasks I hadn’t tended to in the previous weeks and included stopping by the window of the art gallery Claude mentioned.
I noticed the hiring sign first, but then some of the showcased pieces in the window caught my attention.
The colors were vivid—pinks, purples, and blues brighter than the sky. The landscape looked familiar, and after a moment, I recognized the bridge—the Charles Bridge from Prague. The scene was set in the springtime when the meadows were full of life. My memory of Prague was much different, since I was there in the dead of winter when the people and villages had been overtaken by the gloom of the war.
I squinted toward the signature at the bottom of the painting. I then blinked several times because I was sure my eyes were playing tricks on me. Without realizing what I was doing, my hand and forehead were pressed against the glass window, trying to get closer to the painting.
The name written—it was Amelia B.
"Amelia," I spoke out as if she could hear me.
Could it be?
I needed to see every painting in the gallery, and I needed to know if the owner knew the artist. If it was Amelia, my Amelia, she went and became an artist and had a showcased piece of work. I prayed that her dream had come true.
It was a sign, and I had to take it as such. Maybe I was not intended to be with Amelia in this lifetime, but that one painting, full of life and beauty made me realize what I had been doing to myself. What if she had seen or known about my current state? I would have been a great disappointment
The light flickered from within the gallery even though I wasn’t expecting anyone to be inside. Most shops were not open on Sundays, and art galleries were no exception. A woman appeared inside, dusting some of the fixtures. She noticed me almost immediately and came to the door. It took her a moment to unlock the gallery, but she stepped outside and looked me up and down as if she needed to piece me together. "Is there something I can help you with, sir?"
