CHAPTER 3 CORALINE
CORALINE
Iclimb out, close the door, and practically rush inside the building. My toes collide with the sidewalk, and I almost trip, but I regain my stance. I rush each arm through my coat and hook my purse over my shoulder.
I stand still, absorbing the building from the bottom up.
My lips tilt upwards. I push open the tall, thick ebony doors, and the warm air is the first thing to greet me.
The heater is blasting inside. I shrug off my top-layered coat and swing it over the crook of my arm as I take in my surroundings.
The first floor is vast, with brown leather couches in the main lobby. An elderly couple, hand in hand, walk in front of me toward a small bar. It’s made up of eight barstools and five round tables that sit up to four. A group of men saunters past me, dressed head to toe in Sitka camouflage.
“Excuse us, darlin’,” one of them says, their lips slanting.
I nod in return, striding out of their way.
As soon as I step to my right, I find a sign with a red arrow pointing to the receptionist. I glance at the clock, walking fast since there isn’t a line.
My palms land on the wooden counter, gripping it, as the male receptionist types on his keyboard.
There’s a wall full of vintage wilderness photography shops, all from a photographer named Ariksen.
“Hello,” my eyes meet the golden rectangle with his first name pinned onto his top, “Ian.”
“Yes, ma’am. What can I help you with?” he asks with a chirp in his tone. His fingers rest on the keyboard.
“I’m looking for the conference room where the Holly Jolly Arty Event is being held.”
He smiles and leans over the counter. I take a step back as he raises his arm and points to my left. It’s a long, narrow hall leading to large double doors.
“If you head straight down that way, the volunteers for the event will help guide you into registration. They can help you more than I can.” He runs a hand over his face. His smile falters before he grips a white cup of coffee with a label that says “Crickets Coffee Shop” and takes a sip.
“Thank you so much!” I exclaim. Pivoting to my left, I hug my black coat closer to my chest.
The familiar excitement makes my blood rush to my ears and causes my muscles to tense when the doors open. Some artists are heading in and out of the room. I see a blip of black tables already fully set up.
“Are you here for registration?” one of the volunteers dressed in all dark green clothing asks. There’s a badge around her neck with the event’s name and ‘volunteer’ written in festive font with a candy cane as a paintbrush and an artist’s color palette.
“Yes, I’m Cora Brown.” Cora Brown is my pseudonym.
Her honey eyes light up, and her jaw drops.
“Oh my gosh, I love your art so much.” She gently places her hand on my shoulder.
My heart flips, and a sting hits my eyes.
“Y-you do?” I ask, trying so hard to blink away the grateful tears.
“Yes. Every time you drop new art in your shop, I buy it all! Everyone loves you here.”
My mouth falls open.
“Everyone loves me here?” Surely, no one knows who I am. “What’s your name?”
“Willa,” she replies.
“Well, thank you, Willa, that means so much to me.”
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
She loves my art? My art has reached people all the way in Alaska?!
This is…I have no words. This means so much to me. I work so hard to complete unique art pieces, and people admire them?
“Here, I’ll help you register. The event starts in thirty minutes!
” She extends her hand, guiding me to a booth outside.
A line is already forming with other artists.
Their faces are familiar. One of them spots me and waves me over.
I recognize her from social media. I return the friendly grin and head toward her.
Ever since I’ve been here, my spark is reviving, and the urge to keep painting keeps growing.
I sit in my little corner with my art pieces, proud, grateful to be here, and my lips can’t stop curving optimistically.
Lately, my sales have been doing well. When I get back home, I’m going to prioritize my creativity and remember my time here every day to motivate me to keep going, especially on the days when I feel like giving up.
Everything is set up. I sit down at my table and wait for my first meeting. Shania Twain’s music plays louder, and my pulse rockets with excitement.
“Hi, Cora! Congratulations!”
My eyes light up. A tall woman with short curly blonde hair holds a clipboard in one hand. She pats her fingers against the thighs of her light blue jeans.
“Hi. Thank you…for what exactly?” I ask while nervously tucking my hair behind my ear. I stand up from my chair to greet her properly. Her hands meet mine, and she shakes them.
“I’m so sorry. Hello.” She points to a name tag on their chest. “I’m Harper. Someone anonymously bought all of your art this morning when the phones were working; now they’re down. Typical timing before a storm rolls in.”
Wait. Someone bought all of my art…again?
“Really?” I breathe, fighting the genuine yet confused smile. I straighten my spine, glancing left and right. “Wow. Are you sure it was anonymous? I’d really like to meet them.” I grip the ends of my top.
“Yeah. They didn’t leave a name. Just said they wanted it all and made a huge offer for every single piece you shipped over here. Let me know how to transfer all the funds to your account. Your art is popular around here. Everyone is excited to see you!”
“Thank you. I, uh, am shocked,” I whisper, still trying to digest the news.
“You shouldn’t be. You’re amazing, Cora.” She takes out her cellphone and hastily dabs the screen. The room fills as a group of middle-aged women ambles over with giddy expressions. All of them hold a piece of my art from my shop in their hands.
I think I’m going to cry now.
After having my own husband and group of friends, who I considered my family at one point, degrade me and tell me I’ll never make it…it feels good.
Hopeful. Inspiring. Reviving.
I work so hard. I sacrifice so much time to create.
“Do you have PayPal?” she asks.
“Yes, I do.”
“Awesome, show me the QR code so I can scan it quickly. I don’t want to keep you too long. You already have a line of people excited to meet you!”
“You’re not keeping me at all. One second, let me just…
” I fumble with my purse. I unzip my purse and fumble through my wallet and receipts before my fingers land on my cell.
When I take it out, my face drops, goosebumps break out on my skin from head to toe, and my stomach knots as my blood runs cold.
Unknown:
How are you liking Sleepy Coldwater, Alaska, Coraline? Red lipstick looks good on you. Congrats on selling out again. I’ll see you very soon.