“Oh!” Ralphie cried then reached inside the jacket of the expensive suit he wore. “She left this for us to give to you,” he stated, pulling out an envelope and offering it to Nick. “There you go. Now, if you’re happy with it, we’ll leave you to your evening. But if you need anything, an adjustment or you simply want us to hang it elsewhere, don’t hesitate to call. However, just saying, that painting was made to hang right there. But if you want it elsewhere, we live to serve.”
“It’s good. Thanks,” Nick muttered, taking the envelope at the same time reaching to get his wallet to tip.
Ralphie was engaged in gesturing that they could leave to the two men he brought with him who did the carrying and installation while Ralphie ordered them around. But when he turned his attention back to Nick, he shook his head, and to make his point absolutely clear, he lifted both hands and wagged them side to side as well.
“We don’t accept gratuities. But the thought is appreciated.”
No gratuity.
These days with tip jars out at gas stations where the attendant didn’t move from behind the cash register, this was a surprise. But a good one.
He made a mental note of that on the very off chance he needed more art.
Nick nodded and walked him to the door.
The man barely cleared it before he rolled it shut and bolted it.
He then looked down to the envelope.
Nick Sebring, was written on the front.
She had slanted, flowing, unusual, almost artistic handwriting.
He turned his eyes to the painting.
It was enormous, filling the space.
It was also amazing. The canvas painted entirely in a deep blue hue that reminded him of the ocean, this only interrupted close to the bottom with a series of sweeping, undulating lines in peaches and reds with some browns and blacks.
They looked like lines and Nick could imagine many missed it.
But he saw it immediately.
With some of the curves, swells and circles, definitely the coloring, the lines were an abstract of a man and woman fucking.
And an unusual choice for Olivia, the woman was on her back.
He wanted to smile at that.
He didn’t smile.
He looked to the envelope, tore it open and pulled out a card in thick, creamy stock, the front embossed in a traditional monogram of OSA.
He briefly thought about the fact that, with his research, he knew Olivia’s middle name was Amalie. And seeing that monogram, he thought her name was the most beautiful name he ever knew.
Then he opened the note and read,
Nick –
With your words the last time we were together, you gave me what you needed to give me.
With this painting, I’m returning the same thing.
It’s a poor demonstration of what it needs to say, but at least it’s something.
I hope one day you find the woman you couldn’t build in a dream. You deserve that.
But I want to thank you for what you gave to me. Including being the one who had the strength to stop what could amount to nothing.