Bobcat

Three Years Later

Three Years Later
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Delia's POV:

I was living in Vancouver now. I had gotten my degree from NYU after the last year of senior torture. I had got offered a job as an art exhibit dealer for a small business near the river. My job was to gather new exhibits so that we could sell the art off of our walls to the first person that wanted them. It was boring slightly but I enjoyed all the new art and photography that came in every month on top of maintaining the private collection from the original family.

I was sitting in my desk in my office, surrounded by paperwork for the new exhibit. The artist went by the name Mitchell Jones. I hadn't seen any of the paintings and I wouldn't until they got here later today. I had finished signing all of the paper work when the small dark haired head of my assistant popped in through the crack on my door. The sounds of them building the exhibit echoed into my room.

"Ms. Marin, the paintings will be up in an hour," she said in a tweedy manner. I pulled my fingers through my hair as I sat back in my chair. I thanked her before she closed the old cherry wood door behind her. I glanced at my window that over shown the hockey highlights that were rolling down the street of downtown Vancouver. The glass was old and manipulated by age. Bubbles were forming and glass was starting to have a slight wave effect. It was already dark and I was supposed to stay until the paintings got here. My luck was that they already arrived and we're in the process of setting up the paintings against the white set ups.

I logged off my computer and picked up my book for a while. I was done with all the paperwork. I could spare some time. I pulled my jacket around me as I got over aggressively into my book. I had accidentally kicked my stapler off my desk in protest when I had realized everything was quiet.  I glanced at my clock realizing that it was almost one in the morning. I had been reading for almost six hours. I had made a pretty good way though my book obviously. I set it down on my desk as I slid out of my chair. I slid my hands over my dark jeans, the heels of my boots clicking against the hardwood. I pulled my jacket over the over sized sweater I was wearing. I turned all the lights off in my office before exiting into the hall. I sighed softly with my hands in my long jacket pockets, walking down the carefully carved cherry wood stairs slowly. That's when the light caught the corner of my eye. There was a posted note on the old darkly painted wall with the clipboard from the guys that moved the art in. I skimmed over the note. It wasn't for me but it was about me.

Notice: Please leave the lights on after installing. Leave the note for your manager to find. She needs to see the exhibit alone for the first time.

I frowned slightly. I recognized the hand writing but I couldn't place where. I walked around the corner slowly, not sure what I expected to see. It wasn't this. I hadn't heard from him in three years but he snapped back to the front of my brain like he did every night. Every picture was one I had already seen before with some new ones. Some of them were even mine. There were lights hanging from the ceiling just like before and I felt my voice catch in my throat as tears instantly sprang to my eyes. I slowly walked towards the center of the old Victorian room admiring every picture. It told a story. It told our story.

There was the picture of me at the park studying. He had been scared to talk to me then. I smiled softly at the memory. There was the portrait of him covered in blue and black paint that crowned the smallest wall. There was a picture of me in the snow after we had visited this very building for the first time. I had never looked happier. I sincerely knew that was the beginning of the rest of my career. This was all I had ever wanted to do. There was a picture of me holding the small puppy, Cookie, before he grew so large that I couldn't hold him. Cole's arms around me as we both looked down at him like proud parents. That was the day Cookie had learned to give high fives. I remembered it so strongly in the basement of our small town house. There was a picture of me laughing and trying to push away from Cole but he held my face, kissing all over it. The next picture was of the same hour or so. I had his cheeks squished between my fingers and he was smiling so happily that the corners of his eyes were wrinkled. I loved and missed that smile every day. It haunted me often. The picture of our first morning together was even bigger than last time as it sat hung high on the ending wall, towering over all the others. There was a sticky note on the bottom right corner of the majestic photo, a single white rose placed on a small platform next to the photo. I delicately took the rose in between my fingers as I read the note quietly to myself.