Just Finn.
P.S. If you tell me to stay, I will. I leave Friday.
With a heavy heart, I fold it back up neatly and tuck it back in my purse. I cried when I first read it. Back then, I was too stubborn and upset to open his note. Everything was so raw. But when I did finally read it, it was too late.
He’d already left.
I cursed myself, wishing I’d known there was an expiry date. Now all I can do is look back with fond memories. I don’t know if we’ll ever meet again. The conflict of interest with his father certainly muddied the waters, but I no longer blame Finn for his father’s actions.
I close the laptop and slide it into my bag. “I’m just popping into town, Oli. Won’t be long.” I step out onto the sand and walk over the boardwalk, past the marina, and towards the town’s gallery.
Steve’s worked in the gallery for years. He’s always supported the conservation effort, but never with sizeable sums of money like this. I have to thank him in person. Because of these donations, we’ll be able to afford the best lawyer money can buy.
The bell chimes as I push the door open into the stark white space of the gallery. A young woman greets me. “Hello, can I help you?”
“Is Steve around?”
“He’s with a customer in the back. He shouldn’t be long if you’d like to wait.”
“Thank you.” I peruse the walls of various artists’ work. The gallery boasts everything from large oil canvases to small paintings on glass, all with hefty price tags.
My breath halts when I come to one of Finn’s pieces. I recognise the style from the ones we sold in the hut. Signedin the corner, Just Finn. A label underneath states the price with the name Eagle Arts Studio.
My eyes fill with emotion, ready to burst out at any minute. More paintings by Finn line the wall, most of Magnolia Point. He’s captured the whole town from the river including our favourite Mexican restaurant, Just in Queso.
With a tremble in my hand, my fingers dance over the canvas as if I can reach into the painting and touch the man I love. My heart aches for him. Deep down I know I made a mistake. The man wasn’t perfect, but none of us are. It’s our imperfections that make us who we are, like the shells on a turtle’s back, each one unique with its own story to tell.
Another painting portrays Mug Life coffee shop and Lennon’s thrift store. More of the beach hut and the baby turtles, along with their tracks in the sand.
And me.
I’m on his boat, holding on to my hat with the wind blowing my hair as I look out at the ocean. There’s no label with this one. I swallow the lump in my throat. “How much is this one?” I ask the girl with a wobble in my voice.
“That one’s not for sale,” a familiar voice with a British accent says behind me.
I spin around, my heart pounding out of my chest. “Finn.”
Steve shakes Finn’s hand. “Good to see you again.” He nods towards me. “Can I help you, Shelly?”
“I’m just…” I blink at the man standing in front of me, making sure my eyes aren’t deceiving me. Many times, these last few months, I thought I saw him in town, but it was just my hopeful soul. “I’m just browsing.”
Steve nods and disappears into the back.
“It’s you.” My palm rests over my thumping heart.
“It’s me.” Finn smiles, turning my bones to mush.
“You’re Eagle Arts Studio?”
He nods, stuffing his hands into his beige slacks.
“I thought you were in England.”
“I went back for a short time to sort through my art pieces. My work is mostly here now, with only a few pieces in a London gallery.”
“I’m so proud of you.” Tears drip onto my cheeks when I smile. I can’t decide if they’re happy tears for Finn achieving his dream, or sad tears that I’m not a part of it.
“I wouldn’t have done it without you, Shell.”
