Chapter Thirty-Nine Sera
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Sera
Nine Months Later
Abbi is taking too long to get ready, fussing with the waves she’s put in my newly cut hair.
“Can you be done, please? I need to get there early to help finish setting up and rehearse my speech.” I clench the notebook with all the details for tonight’s event. It’s already curved from my sweaty palms handling it over the last few months. It’s been a busy year.
“Okay, okay, yes, I’m done. You can put this on now.”
I turn and Abbi is holding up the yellow dress, the one I bought with Maddy last summer.
I blush a little, thinking about the last time I wore it, but I have to keep some memories for myself.
I put the dress on, and Abbi zips me up, plays with the way my hair is falling for a minute until I brush her off gently.
“Can you make sure Mom and Paula have what they need from Maddy for the catering?”
“Yep.” Abbi flounces to the door, her own black dress swirling at her ankles.
She stops and turns back to me. “And, just in case there isn’t time later, I’m really proud of you, Sera.
The gallery is a huge achievement, and Luke would be so pleased to see you doing your work and helping Northport and his family. ”
I feel my eyes well up. “Shit. I should’ve worn waterproof mascara,” I say into her neck as I hug her tight. “Thank you.”
She leaves, and I scan my room to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. It’s a total mess, the closet half-empty and my suitcase on the bed still barely packed, but there’s nothing I can do now. I have a gallery opening to run.
*
Down on Harborside Main, big string lights have been hung through the abandoned end, which isn’t as abandoned anymore.
Frappie’s is lit up like a lighthouse when I pull up and park out front.
And the two buildings next to it show signs of fresh paint and new windows.
When I won the grant to turn the building into a collaborative art gallery, I promised not to tear anything down.
The bones of the building were good—those tall windows let in so much light, now that they’re clear of dust and paint.
We mostly did some fixing up inside so the layout worked better.
My dad found a new love of saws and blueprints and built a beautiful wood-and-glass display case to hold smaller pieces.
I have the last handful of pieces in the back of my car, part of the dedication exhibit, and I carry them in carefully, thanking Izzy when she grabs the door for me.
“Oh, are these them?” she asks, excited, though her eyes are damp with a sadness I know well.
Izzy and I have become closer in the last year.
She helped with a lot of the gallery plans, showing up in overalls ready to paint and hammer and hang.
It’s nice to be able to talk to someone who cared so much about Luke too.
“Yep. Left wall. Help me hang them?”
Izzy takes the top three off my hands and we go to work, only two hours until opening.
As she unwraps the first piece, she slows and stares, her pink hair falling across the canvas.
“They’re beautiful, Sera.” She wipes a tear off her cheek, and I lean into her, looking down at the piece.
I’ve been getting all of Luke’s salvaged work framed.
Iris helped me pick out the mats and frame styles.
Izzy holds the heron, its long neck regal and strong.
The one on my lap is of his brothers reeling in a fish off the end of the dock.
Designing this exhibit took me all year, working out the layout and making a new piece of my own to fit with them.
There are twelve in all. I’m hanging them on the wall like a clock around a mixed-media piece I made out of Luke’s smaller abandoned drawings.
In the center is a photo I took of him and his brothers out on the boat, the three of them facing west, where we’d seen the spout of a whale.
I enlarged it so the sky above them could fit multiple scans of the seabirds Luke drew by the dozen.
Terns and gulls, even a lone heron. The composition took me forever, but I’m happy with how it turned out.
“Let’s get them hung,” I say, giving Izzy a quick hug.
*
The two hours fly by as I remind volunteers of their jobs, fix a display I decide last minute needs to be rearranged, and help Maddy, Mom, and Paula with the food.
When we open the doors at seven, the sky is still bright, and the gallery is filled with light.
I’m floored by how many people come through.
The place is practically packed by seven thirty.
I have to ask one of Luke’s old teammates to man the door and only let more people in as others leave.
Then I rush to the little presentation area we’ve staged by the front.
I clear my throat and step up to the mic Cam is letting us borrow.
“Good evening, everyone.” My voice crackles through the space.
The crowd lowers its chatter, moves closer. I look down at my curled notebook one last time, then put it on the stool next to me.
“Thank you so much for coming to the opening of Northport’s newest gallery, Harborside View.
” There’s a whistle from one corner, and I tamp down my smile.
Maddy, of course. “After months of hard work, I’m so happy we’re open to show the world what Northport has to offer.
The proceeds from all purchases you make tonight, and fifteen percent of all purchases at Harborside View in the future, will be put into the Luke Tisdale Scholarship Fund, which will be awarded annually to a Northport graduating senior looking to study art.
Let’s have a round of applause for our local businesses and volunteers who were able to make this all possible. ”
I clap with everyone else, the sound rising into the old wooden rafters and out into the warm June night.
“If a piece is stickered with a little star, it’s been purchased, so move quick,” I joke.
“Also, please don’t forget to check out our dedication exhibit on the east wall”—I wave my arm toward Luke’s work—“and consider making any additional donations to the organ match program. A reminder, however, that unfortunately none of those pieces are for sale. They’re part of our permanent collection.
” Paula and I agreed we couldn’t let any of the work go, no matter the price.
With the details out of the way, all that’s left is the scribble in my head of all the things I want to say but know can’t be covered in one rushed speech. But I don’t have to say it all now, I remind myself. There’s plenty of time. I take a breath and say what’s needed.
“There’s nothing like the pressure of a shorter life expectancy to make you make hard choices.”
My voice rings out into the gallery like a bell. I catch the eyes of some of Luke’s other organ recipients around the room. My heart thumps, proud and sad at the same time. I place my palm over it and take a slow breath before continuing.
“Some people would crack under that. I have.” I try to lighten my voice, and a couple of laughs break the tension. Paula smiles at me encouragingly. A few steps to my right I see Mom squeeze Abbi to her side, hard enough to hurt.
“But I was lucky to know someone who encouraged me to keep living.” I swallow.
My throat feels thick, and my eyes well with tears.
I let them run but somehow keep my voice steady.
“Luke Tisdale had so much life in him, and he just wanted to share it. He made Northport vibrant and fun. He brought me back to life long before this.” I pat my chest. The flat sound echoes out.
“He saw beauty in the world all around him, and his work shows that. I’m so happy that we can share that with you tonight and share in his dream of reviving Northport together. ”
There’s another round of applause, and I smile proudly before stepping away. Maddy meets me in the corner with tissues.
“Way to make me look like a crybaby,” she says.
I laugh and hug her, then I’m pulled away by someone interested in some of the art.
*
A couple of hours later, the room is still buzzing with people even though most of the art has been purchased. I’ve chatted with everyone, and my job is done for now. I hover in a corner and watch for a bit until my phone alarm buzzes me out of my reverie.
I find Paula and the boys and give them all quick hugs.
Maddy and I leave for Paris in the morning, and I need to finish packing.
I give the keys to Abbi and Cam and walk home in the cool blue night.
The sounds of the Cape blanket me. The bats fly overhead, there’s a breeze blowing through the scraggly oaks, and the peepers revel in the humid night.
And beyond all that, I can hear the soft crash of the ocean against the sand, as steady and as even as my heartbeat.