The Artist

At 2:30 in the afternoon, Ella sat back on her haunches and wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Despite the earliness of the afternoon, the little attic apartment that had once housed her mother was already sweltering. She laid the last book from the empty bookcase on top of its companions in the box in front of her and got up to open the window. How could her mother live like this? Ella sighed. How many times had she asked that question in her life?

The last few years the two had barely spoken. What had there been to say? Her mother had moved from place to place, always insisting she was about to “make it big” then abandoning each home when her daunting unpaid rent and utility bills threatened to catch up with her. She had always been a free spirit which, in Ella’s estimation, simply meant she was unreliable.

Ella lifted the hair from the back of her neck and bent her face to meet the faint August breeze. Her mother had been her last remaining connection to something resembling a family, and now that she was gone, what did that make her? An orphan? She tried not to think about that and instead, returned to packing up her mother’s worldly possessions, an entire life condensed into 500 square feet above a daycare. It wasn’t so long ago that it had almost seemed as though her mother might actually stay in this place for more than 6 months. She had worked out an arrangement with the landlord where she would provide art and music lessons to the children of the daycare each morning in exchange for accommodation. She would have been able to work on her own art without worrying about anything as inconvenient as bills.

Looking around, Ella saw that she was nearly finished. She had taken countless bags of trash to the dump and done multiple drop- offs at the women's shelter. She had gone through her mother’s clothes and books and chosen what to keep and what to get rid of. The kitchen had been cleared out and the furniture had all come with the apartment. All that remained now was her mother’s paintings and piles of unpublished writing.

She was dragging this out and she knew it. But how could she possibly decide what to do with her mother’s life work? Her art had come before everything else, including Ella. In front of her lay the remnants of a fractured life and a heartbreaking reminder of Ella’s own unstable childhood. Her mother’s continued unrelenting conviction that she was always on the verge of a breakthrough but just “needed a little cash to get her through” had been the cause of the eventual rift between the two. Ella had fought hard to create a steady and secure life for herself, and she matched her mother only in stubbornness, so it was this same force of will that brought her decision to finally cut her mother off. Now, as she sifted through paintings and poems, a sense of guilt weighed heavy on her heart.

Abruptly, Ella’s phone began to ring. With a start, Ella reached into the pocket of her sweater and pulled out her cell phone. After a quick glance at the unfamiliar number, she answered.

“Hello, Ella speaking.”

“Yes, hello, is this Eleanor Francis?” came an elderly voice on the other end.

“Yes, it is.” Eleanor? No one used her full name. Ella was at once suspicious and intrigued.

“This is Harry Watson, your mother’s lawyer. I have been trying to reach you for some time now. I am the executor of your mother’s estate and I would like to meet with you regarding your inheritance from your mother.”

Ella felt as though she had been electrocuted. Lawyer? Estate? Her mother didn’t even have a credit card, how could she possibly have had an estate?

“I’m sorry, but there must be some mistake.” She answered.

“No, no mistake. Why don’t you stop by my office this afternoon, say around four? Have you got a pen? I’ll give you the address.” In a daze, Ella took the address and agreed to meet later that day.

*************

At ten to four that afternoon Ella approached the address she was given and read the sign announcing, “Watson & Gramble Will’s & Estates''. She entered the main door and followed the staircase to the second floor where she let herself into the lobby.

“Can I help you?” A tired looking middle- aged receptionist asked, glancing at Ella over the tops of her glasses.

“Yes, um, I have an appointment to see Mr. Watson?” Ella felt uneasy and out of place. Her mother had been here. Why?

“Alright, I’ll let him know you’re here. Take a seat, he’ll be with you in a moment.”

The woman pushed back her chair and wandered off down a short hallway and into an office at the end. A moment later, she emerged, trailed by a tall, slightly stooped older man in an argyle sweater vest and rolled up shirt sleeves.

“Ms. Francis? I’m sorry for your loss. You can come with me.”

Ella murmured a thanks and followed him to his office. It was lined with books and yellowed paper files, and the view of the street beneath the window was obscured by a large poplar tree. The lawyer took his seat behind the desk and gestured to an empty chair in front of him. Ella obliged, slowly lowering herself onto the squeaky leather upholstery.

“As you know, I’m Harry Watson.” He began, “As the executor of your mother’s estate, I have been tasked with dividing your mother’s assets. She had some sizable debts, but after their settlement, and of course my retainer, as her sole heir the remainder is left to you, which totals $20,000.”

Ella drew in her breath. This was more money than she could have expected. How did her free- spirited mother who was always in need of a loan possibly have that much to leave her?

“I- I don’t understand.” Ella stammered. “My mother didn’t work. Where did this money come from?”

“Ah. Your mother had recently sold a number of her paintings and been commissioned to create a piece for a local art school. As I understand it, she has become something of a local celebrity in the past few months. This is what prompted her to draft a will. Such a shame.”

A lump rose quickly in Ella’s throat. She had been dodging her mother’s calls for the weeks leading up to her sudden heart attack. Why hadn’t she answered?

“I also have this.” The lawyer continued, “The contents of a safety deposit box. It contained this notebook and this necklace, which I understand is a family heirloom.”

Ella took the items wordlessly and examined each in turn. The necklace she recognized as the high school graduation gift from her grandmother to her mother. A simple silver chain with a teardrop ruby pendant. The notebook was small and bound with soft leather, smelling faintly of her mother’s incense.

“I’ll just need you to sign here and I can give you your cheque today if you like.” Mr. Watson rose from his seat and pulled a file from the cabinet behind him.

Ella nodded and blankly signed the papers he put before her and stared disbelievingly at the cheque.

“Thank you.” she managed to murmur.

“You let me know if there is anything else you need. Thank you for coming down today.” he smiled and extended his hand to Ella. She took it, surprised by the firmness on his grasp, and let herself out onto the street.

Bewildered from the events of the day, Ella wandered to a nearby park and sank backwards onto the closest bench. She pulled out the cheque and examined it once more. $20,000. She could hardly believe it. She could finally start her business she had been saving for. And take that trip to France she had always wanted.

Ella set the cheque down in her lap and pulled from her bag the contents of her mother’s safety deposit box. She instantly put the necklace on herself and fingered the ruby pendant thoughtfully. Next, she pulled out the notebook. Ella flipped through the pages, expecting to see a collection of poems and story ideas, but instead saw her own name written dozens of times, at the top of every few pages beneath a handwritten date, going back several years. Ella opened the notebook to the first page and read,

“Dear Ella,

I know I wasn’t the traditional mother. We didn’t go to Disneyland or live in a big fancy mansion or have a dog named Skip. But I hope you know that I tried every day to show you what following your dreams looks like. It’s not wishing on a shooting star or waiting for Prince Charming or playing the lottery. It’s getting up every day and asking yourself what you can do that day to make it happen. It doesn’t happen overnight, but when you work hard it does happen. I’m about to have my big break, just you wait. I can feel it.

I know you wish I was more like the “normal” mother’s who baked cookies and went to PTA meetings or whatever, but I was never that person. I taught you how to sneak into rock concerts and stay up till sunrise on Saturday nights so that you never let a thing like being broke stop you from experiencing life. I know right now you’re angry with me, but I hope one day you’ll understand.

All my love,

Mom”

Ella’s eyes became blurry and she blinked several times as she reread the letter, and gradually turned the page to another, dated a few days later.

“Dear Ella,

I wish I could tell you how much I appreciate you helping out your Mom the way you do. I know that normally It’s the mother lending money to her kid and not the other way around, but one day when I make it big, I’ll buy you whatever you want. We’ll have a night on the town, just you and me, and we’ll wear big fancy feather boas and ride a limousine…”

Ella continued to read until the sun hung low in the sky and shadows appeared on the pages before her. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes as she rose to gather her belongings. A sense of calm came over her as she walked back in the direction of her mother’s apartment. She knew what she wanted to do with her mothers remaining work.

When she arrived back inside the still stifling attic, Ella sat down at her laptop and crafted a letter to the dean of the art school that had commissioned her mothers final paintings. Then she gathered her remaining belongings and took one last look at the empty space that her mother had once occupied. For a moment she pondered how fleeting even the most volatile of lives can be, before closing the door and shutting off the lights one last time.