When my stomach was done ejecting its contents, I sighed and sat down on the bathroom floor. For all the destruction in the main gallery, the bathroom had remained untouched. I sobbed for the loss of the beauty and hard work that had been put into making this gallery possible, and my heart constricted so tightly, I thought it would cut off my air supply.
Bryan.
I had to call Bryan.
I pulled myself up off the bathroom floor and flushed the toilet. I stepped over the punctured paintings and broken glass as I walked back out to my car. I pulled my purse and phone from the passenger’s seat, scrolling through the phone until my shaking hands found his number.
The moment his voice answered, however, I burst into tears again.
“Hailey, what’s wrong? Where are you? Are you hurt?”
“The-the gallery. I-it-someone-there’s so much—”
“Hang on, Hailey. Stay there. I’m on my way.”
I sank down onto the gravel and put my face in my hands and sobbed until I felt his strong hands on my shoulders.
“Come here, beautiful,” he said.
He scooped me up into his arms and carried my sobbing body back into the gallery. He set me down on a chair in the corner and handed me a bottle of water. He hid me behind the counter, his eyes filled with worry and anger as he took in the destruction around him. I watched as he surveyed the damage, his eyes silently running numbers and figures as to how long and how much it would take to fix.
“Just take deep breaths,” he said mindlessly.
“Who would do something like this?” I asked.
“I’m not sure, and by the looks of it, you don’t have any cameras. That correct?” he asked.
All I could do was nod as the pounding headache raged through my skull.
“I’m gonna recheck everything to make sure nothing has been taken. What all have you checked?” he asked.
“The storage shed. It’s fine,” I said, sighing. “The bathroom’s been untouched as well as the store. The tubes of paint on the floors are from the store itself, but nothing was stolen or damaged from it.”
“No one took your computer, either, which is odd,” he said. “I’m going to call the police.”
All I could do at that point was nod mindlessly as the growing headache pounded my vision.
“Do you have any medicine for that?” he asked.
“For what?” I asked.
“Your headache—yes, hello. I’d like to report a break-in and vandalism. Yes, right across the street from Drew’s Diner on the edge of town. The art gallery. Mhm. Yes, I’ll be here, and so will the owner. Thank you.”
“I tried, but I threw it up when my crying got out of control,” I said.
“I know it looks like a lot,” he said as he crouched in front of me, “but the damage isn’t actually that bad. There’s one decent hole in the wall, but the rest are just indentions. Easily fixable. So is the window, and the door can be easily replaced. The walls will need to be repainted, and the paint needs to be scraped up off the floor, but that’s it. It looks shocking, but it’ll cost you no more than a couple thousand to get it all fixed.”
“All of it?” I asked.
“Yep. And if you want, we can do it for you. I’ll bring in another guy, and we can have this place back in working order in five, maybe six days,” he said.
“Seriously?” I asked breathlessly.
“Seriously.”
His hand came up to cup my cheek, and I nuzzled into his strong touch. I felt myself finally calming down now that I understood what it would take to fix. I’d been so startled by my paintings scattered all along the floor that I hadn’t stopped to really take in how badly the gallery had been vandalized. But now that my vision was clearing up, I could see what Bryan meant.
It was startling but not jaw-dropping.