It was the opening night of his exhibition at Michelle’s gallery. The show was called “Out of the Fog” - and many of the city's art critics were expected to come. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and tattered sneakers. Laura was dressed elegantly in a cocktail dress, and was helping Michelle with the caterers. He was sipping a diet Coke and walking around the gallery looking at his paintings hanging on the wall.

Laura came over to him - ‘How are you feeling?’

He was looking at the painting of the farmhouse - ‘I wish my mother could have seen this. Seeing me here with my work being exhibited. I would never have believed any of this was possible - that I would have been an artist. I would have liked her to have seen this.’

A tear rolled down his cheek. Laura wiped it away and then held her hand on his cheek - ‘Do you know what Kintsugi is?’

Another tear rolled down his cheek - ‘No, I don’t.’

‘Kintsugi in Japanese means “golden joinery” - when something is broken in Japan, like a porcelain plate or a ceramic vase - artisans will repair the item using golden lacquer. The Japanese believe that by putting something broken back together - and accentuating the cracks and flaws with the golden lacquer, the broken thing - when it is repaired - becomes more beautiful. The Japanese believe that humans are like broken plates or vases - and that when they are damaged and broken and they put themselves together, they emerge more beautiful and stronger because of those cracks and flaws….’

Laura leaned in and kissed him again.

‘In people, the Japanese believe in something that they call mushin. Mushin in a person is achieved when the mind is free from thoughts of anger or fear during everyday life. You have achieved Mushin - and your lack of fear and anger have allowed you to be like a broken plate or vase that has been repaired with golden lacquer. Your art - produced without fear - has emerged from the cracks and breaks in you, and is your Kintsugi beauty.’

More tears rolled down his cheeks - and the first guests began arriving. Laura found a napkin and wiped his eyes. He smiled and thanked her. Laura told him to breathe and enjoy himself. He looked across the gallery at the smiling face of Annabelle.

####

The gallery filled up with guests and critics. He looked over at the entrance and saw Dr. Ambrose arrive with his wife. Dr. Ambrose immediately made a beeline to the bar, and his wife immediately made a beeline to her friends from the art-scene.

‘Dr. Ambrose’ - he said, standing behind him.

Dr. Ambrose was sipping a glass of red wine, and he winced at the taste of it. He turned when he heard his name - ‘Well - here’s the man of the moment. Congratulations!’

‘Thank you for coming, doctor - none of this would have been possible without you.’

Dr. Ambrose took a shrimp canapé from a waitress’ tray as she walked past, and popped it into his mouth. He was wearing his usual bowtie.

‘I understand that there is a portrait of me on display - I was wondering if you might be so kind as to show it to me?’

He led Dr. Ambrose across the crowded gallery to the portrait. Ambrose stood and regarded the portrait in silence - sipping the red wine.

‘It really is quite good’ - said Ambrose, turning and smiling at him - ‘Very Hockney’esque - and vivid. It feels alive. I might even be tempted to buy this for my wife - if it were for sale.’

He blushed a little.

‘And you painted this from memory?’

‘Yes doctor.’

‘Impressive. Very impressive. It would seem that you may have found your calling - your passion’ - said Ambrose and he walked along the wall, stopping at the portrait of Brian - ‘And there he is - the legend of Lincoln Memorial.’

Ambrose sipped his wine.

‘This is a very good portrait as well - but I don’t think I’ll be wanting to buy this one though’ - said Ambrose, smiling and chuckling to himself.

Ambrose continued walking around the gallery - stopping and admiring, passing comments on the various paintings hung on the wall. Ambrose stopped at the painting of Annabelle.

‘And who is this beauty? This is quite a remarkable painting!’ - Ambrose stepped back to take in the portrait of Annabelle.

‘It’s….it’s Annabelle, Dr. Ambrose.’

Ambrose sipped his wine and admired the portrait - ‘If you don’t mind me saying - I am not sure I would complain if an alien who looked this good was chasing me!’

He smiled.

‘I would - perhaps - prefer to purchase this painting, on reflection. But I am not sure my wife would appreciate this work of art hanging in my study.’

‘Please, Dr. Ambrose - take it as a gift from me. For everything you’ve done for me.’

Ambrose sipped his wine and stared into Annabelle’s eyes - as she looked back and smiled at him - ‘A truly remarkable painting my dear boy! Taking gifts from former patients is probably some kind of ethical breach - but I think I will take you up on that offer. Remarkable!’

As Dr. Ambrose continued to stare at the painting, Laura wandered over - ‘Good evening Dr. Ambrose.’

Ambrose was lost for a moment - transfixed by Annabelle’s gaze.

‘Dr. Ambrose?’ - Laura called to him again.

Ambrose snapped out of his trance and turned. He stared at Laura - unsure for a moment who she was.

‘Ahh - good evening Laura. I was unaware that you were a follower of the arts.’

Laura moved to stand next to the man - ‘I helped organize the event’ - Laura slid her hand inside of his. He gripped her hand tightly.

Ambrose looked at Laura, and then at his former patient - ‘You two know each other?’

‘Yes Dr. Ambrose - we’re friends.’

Ambrose sipped his wine, and smiled a strained smile. His wife wandered over. Ambrose fiddled with his bowtie and sipped his wine.

‘Jeremy darling’ - said Ambrose’s wife - ‘The portrait of you is simply stunning!’

Ambrose coughed - ‘Everyone, this is my wife - Hillary.’

Hillary turned to him and Laura. Laura introduced herself as one of Dr. Ambrose’s former students. Hillary looked Laura up and down and awkwardly smiled - ‘....and this is the artist himself!’

Hillary’s eyes lit up - ‘Young man - what a triumph. The portrait of my husband - I simply adore it!’

Hillary took him by the arm and led him off towards the portrait of Dr. Ambrose.

Laura was left standing with Ambrose. He sipped his wine - ‘Do you not think it is a little unprofessional, starting a relationship with a former patient?’

Laura took a glass of white wine from the tray of a passing waiter - ‘Do you not think it is a little unprofessional, starting a relationship with one of your students?’

Ambrose looked towards where his wife was - ‘I would rather you not mention that - given the close proximity of my wife.’

Laura turned and looked at Mrs. Ambrose - ‘Would your wife not think it was professional of you to have sex with me, Dr. Ambrose?’

Ambrose put on a strained smile.

‘Should we ask your wife, Jeremy, if she thinks our “transactional” relationship was professional or not?’

Hillary wandered back over with him. She stopped and stared at the portrait of Annabelle - ‘Oh my goodness!’ - She said.

Ambrose, glad of the distraction, turned and looked at the portrait of Annabelle as well - ‘Yes, quite a remarkable work of art. The maestro here has gifted it to me.’

Hillary moved closer and studied the painting - ‘It’s….so beautiful! Who is she?’

Ambrose and Laura stared at him - ‘Her name is Annabelle, and she isn’t anyone. I just made her up.’

‘And where are you going to hang this, dear?’ -Hillary asked her husband.

‘I was thinking in my study - on the wall behind my desk.’

‘I was thinking you were going to say In the bathroom!’ - Hillary said, smiling and laughing.

They all joined in with Hillary and laughed.

‘Pleasure to meet you’ - Hillary said to him, kissing him on the cheek - ‘We’re leaving now Jeremy.’

Hillary turned and left without saying goodbye to Laura.

‘Congratulations again - It seems your recovery is nearing an end. I will send over a driver to collect the painting of Annabelle once the exhibition is finished. Good evening Laura’ - Ambrose glanced once again at the painting of Annabelle and then turned and left.

The rest of the evening was spent talking to art critics and members of the city’s art scene and journalists from the local press. At the end of the night, Laura drove the man home to the halfway house and pulled up outside.

`Congratulations again - how do you feel?’ - Laura asked.

He was smiling - ‘None of it would have been possible without….’

Before he could finish, Laura leaned over and kissed him. It was a deeper, longer, and more passionate kiss. When she pulled back he stared into her eyes.

‘You’d better hurry up, or you’ll turn into a pumpkin. Stan is waiting for you.’

He sat staring at her for a moment - ‘Oh yes. Hurry up….’

He opened the car door and climbed out. He closed the door and Laura lowered the window. He leaned down.

‘I love you, Laura.’

Laura smiled at him, and started the car up. Stan had opened the door and was waiting for him. He turned and Laura drove off.