Page 57 of Something Good
I chuckled, compulsively running my hand over the beard I’d just trimmed about twenty minutes ago. “I grew it out after the divorce. Initially, because I was in a bit of a spiral when my marriage imploded, but then I kept it as afuck youto Dmitri. He always hated it when I went more than a couple of days without shaving.”
“Good. That guy deserves so much worse than a spite-beard. But it looks good on you.”
I barked out a laugh. “A spite-beard?”
He shrugged. “Is it not?”
“No, it absolutely is. Let me just make sure the back door is locked, and then we can head out.”
It was about a twenty-five-minute drive to the event, which was being held at a conference center in LaVista, a suburb on the southwest side of Omaha not too far away from the site of the new oncology center. Drew and his wife had opted to meet us there rather than carpool as originally discussed, so it was just Jason and me filling the truck with companionable chatter all the way there.
We arrived at a ballroom decked out in navy blue with cheerful accents of yellow, green, orange, and teal, the colors of the hospital’s logo. After checking in and getting name badges, we made our way to the bar, and then, with drinks in hand,strolled through the silent auction area, where all manner of items had been donated to help the hospital raise funds for the new cancer center we were building.
I paused at the end of one row of items, where a sketch of a child holding a butterfly about to take flight caught my eye. It wasn’t a large sketch—an eight by ten—but it was professionally matted and framed and had been signed by the artist. I peered closer, taking in the detail of the sketch and the way just a few lines on paper could capture the joyful innocence and wonder of a child with its eyes focused on a butterfly perched on the very tips of its fingers. The butterfly’s wings were spread as if it were about to take flight, and though this was a two-dimensional drawing done in pencil, the artist had somehow made it feel like the butterfly was actually in motion. I was utterly captivated.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Drew slid in to stand next to me, sipping a glass of wine as we eyed the drawing.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, unable to come up with a more suitable word to capture just how remarkable the sketch was.
“The artist is local to Omaha. He’s actually better known for his metal sculptures, but he’s sold a few of his drawings as well.”
“Do you know him?” I asked, looking closer at the name on the placard next to the bidding information. It simply read:S. Jo, local artist.
“I met him a couple of weeks ago, actually. Just before you started. He’s the artist creating the sculpture that’s going in the butterfly garden at the cancer center. This sketch is the design he submitted for final approval. He graciously agreed to auction it off tonight.”
I’d known we were installing a sculpture at the center, but the design had been approved before the project had been handed off to me. I’d been aware of the information needed about the size and weight of the sculpture, but I hadn’t actually looked at the details of the sketch itself.
Before I could press for more information, an announcement was made that it was time for dinner to be served. Jason and I took our seats and introductions were made. Wine and conversation flowed freely as we worked through the salad, dinner, and dessert courses. It was nice to have the opportunity to get to know some of my fellow colleagues and their spouses outside of the office.
We listened as several speakers took to the stage to share stories of young cancer patients and outline the need for the project in the community. While the construction of this center had already been funded by a combination of fundraising efforts, grants, and taxpayer dollars, there was always a need for more money as new research was being done and technology was ever-changing. And as they shared a video presentation with the audience, it was hard not to be affected by the images of kids in various stages of their cancer battles. It filled me with a sense of pride that I was able to be a part of this project.
The event included both a silent and live auction, and while I had bid on a couple of smaller silent auction items, the live auction items would bid at a much higher price point than I was comfortable spending. Still, it was fun to watch others bid on Super Bowl tickets, deep-sea fishing expeditions, and golf packages in Arizona. Some of the exchanges with the audience got heated, but it was all in good fun as it appeared that many of these bidders knew each other and recognized that the cause was worthy.
A Napa wine tour had just concluded bidding when another video began, introducing the artist whose work I had been admiring earlier. I sat up straighter in my seat as images of metal sculptures mixed in with a few drawings flashed across the screen, highlighting the artist’s work. Sculptures big and small, playful and serious, some with vibrant color and others in simplebrushed silver, showcased the artist’s breadth of talent. I was wildly impressed.
At the conclusion of the video, it was announced that the next item up for bid would be an introduction to welding session, in which case the winner would be invited out to the artist’s shop for a one-hour session. They would get a tour of his workspace and get to perform a couple of very basic welds.
As bidding opened, my hand shot up. I didn’t know what possessed me to bid on something like this. I hadn’t ever been into art and wasn’t mechanically inclined. I’d gone into construction management because I liked the idea of helping construction projects come to life, of being able to see how buildings were made from the inside out. But I’d never been interested in the labor or design side. Still, I didn’t stop to question it, just kept bidding as the price climbed higher and higher.
Jason nudged me a couple of times, trying to get my attention, while the other folks at our table laughed and encouraged me. It was fun watching someone else spend money like that. Eventually, the other bidders dropped out until I was named the winner. The winner of a very expensive, one-hour welding lesson with an artist I knew almost nothing about but oddly felt compelled to meet.
I laughed and shook my head at my audacity as the people at my table clapped me on my back and congratulated me, even as they shook their heads at the outrageousness. Jason’s voice finally cut through all the noise, and I turned to look at him, expecting to see a smile or maybe he’d flip me some shit over the whole thing, but his face was serious and maybe even a little pale. “Do you know who that artist is?” he asked.
“He’s the sculptor we commissioned for the cancer center. He’s listed as S. Jo, though I don’t know what theSstands for. Why?”
He put his hand on my shoulder and leaned in, eyes intent on mine. “TheSstands for Sammy. That artist isSammy.”
I felt the color drain from my face as the noise from the table faded until it felt like Jason and I were the only people in the room. I played the words Jason had just said back in my mind. “Sammy?MySammy?”
32
SAMMY
I clickedout of the email and sat back in my chair, stunned.
Will Hartley, the email had informed me ever so casually—as if this bombshell was of no great consequence to the peace I’d finally established in my life—was the winner of my one-hour introduction to welding workshop, and could I please reach out to him to schedule his session?
I scrubbed my hand over my face, a million questions and a million more concerns filtering through my brain at rapid speed. I could already feel a headache forming at the back of my eyes.
