Authors: Amy Frazier
“Gosh, that is such a good answer.” She leaned in and feathered his lips with a kiss.
“So…how did the class go?”
“Wonderfully well!” She began to walk again, en
ergetically. “They wanted a sneak peak at the Goddess, and they got it. In so many different ways, they seemed to understand what I was aiming at.”
“The piece. I forgot. Did your patron come and get it?”
“She came for it, but she didn’t leave with it.”
“I don’t understand.”
Chessie giggled. “It didn’t match her color scheme.”
“Now I’m lost.”
“I departed from the original sketch, which Ursula liked based on how it would fit her décor, not necessarily on its artistic merits. The finished piece was ‘too raw’ for Ms. Delacorte’s refined sensibilities. She was most upset. Seems she’ll have to order a very large floral arrangement to fill the intended spot in her foyer. Her party must go on without me.”
Nick was confused. “You don’t seem particularly upset.”
Chessie looked almost as perplexed as he was. “That’s the thing. I’m not. That piece took a big chunk of my soul, as well as my time. I didn’t want it going where it wasn’t appreciated or understood. Every one of my students took more away from it than Ursula. Even Alex said it looked like her when she was knee-deep in the mudflats looking for treasure.” Chessie chuckled. “A nine-year-old.”
“But no one offered to buy it…”
“Someone, someday, will. When they walk in my gallery and meet her, someone will fall in love.”
Nick saw his wife in a new light, self-assured, more attractive than she’d been with the haircut and the slinky dress on pops night. He felt that same first-date eagerness to get to know this woman. “And when do you think your gallery will be up and running?”
“Soon. This week the girls are going to help me clear the barn’s first floor. Next week your dad and Jonas are going to put up some shelves using aged lumber they rescued from an old fish house. Brad’s agreed to do the wiring. Kit’s helping me set up the displays, and Emily’s already planning an opening party.”
“Wow.” For a moment he felt left out.
“It’s incredible the way it all went from concept to reality in a couple short hours this very afternoon. Everyone’s schedules just meshed. I was going to call you at work to tell you the news, but I figured I’d rather break it to you when I had you all to myself.”
He felt nothing but pride for this dynamo of a woman. “You are something else, Chess.”
“Why, thank you.” Was that a blush under the dusting of freckles across her cheeks?
“So are you getting out of the business of pots for the loftier realm of high art?”
“No…this is so extraordinary and why I wanted to talk to you… I learned something about myself with this commission process. I thought I wanted to move from crafts to art, but I don’t. I want both—kind of like the Goddess herself. I love the domestic ramifications of a well-thrown bowl—the thought of
friends and families sharing meals and more from my plates. And the fine art aspect? When I started working with Ursula, I was seduced by the idea of playing at being the artiste. I lost the focus on the art itself, on what I wanted to say with what I created. The women in my class today brought me back. In my free-form pieces I want to experiment with materials and technique and even with firing processes. I want to grow as I did with the Goddess. If someone buys, fine. If not, then the bread and butter of my business will be my pots and my classes as I grow as an artist.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I learned that finding yourself is a process of creation not a gift, perhaps a lifelong process. And as we create ourselves, we have to be careful to weave in and out of the lives of others.”
As they rounded a bend in the road and came upon a tidal cove, the sea breeze picked up. Nick brushed an errant auburn curl from Chessie’s eyes. “Something tells me, with an attitude like that you can have it all.”
And he wanted to watch her achieve it. Not just watch. Be by her side. She was an amazing woman. He bent to kiss her, to show her just how amazing.
“Mmm,” she murmured dreamily against his lips. “You see now why I wanted to have this conversation away from the girls.”
It was only then that he realized he was kissing his wife on a public sidewalk…and he didn’t care who saw.
“Excuse us, please.” An elderly couple stepped around them. “How sweet,” the woman commented to her companion. “Honeymooners.”
Nick chuckled. As they’d walked and talked, just the two of them, there had been an element of honeymooning like eighteen years ago when they’d dreamed big and planned to make those dreams come true. It was too bad that as those dreams had started to come true, he’d forgotten to take little breaks along the way to savor the accomplishments.
He cupped her cheek. “I do love the girls, but I could get used to being a twosome again.”
“Four years and Gabby’s in college.”
“Thanks for the time-out.”
“You’re most welcome. And thank you for the support of my work.” She paused as if unsure. “When is your staff field day?”
“Day after tomorrow. Why?”
“I’d…like to participate.”
“You would?” She’d never participated, and this year he’d given up asking.
“Yes. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.” She dimpled. “Now, are you ready for some lobster?”
“Nobody cooks them better than Pop,” he said as they began a leisurely stroll home. What stroke of luck had brought him this close to his wife? “So…how was Izzy’s first day at work?”
“She seems happy.”
“And Gabby?”
“She dusted, did the grocery shopping and volunteered with the community theater group.”
“Pinch me. This is not the family of last week.”
“Enjoy the moment.” Chessie threaded her arm through his and pressed against him, happy with the day. Happy that Nick had taken the time to listen to her. He’d even seemed to understand her dreams. Her. “This probably won’t be the family of next week.”
It wasn’t even the family of the next moment.
As they walked into their driveway, they saw Gabriella’s distraught face in Isabel’s window. “Mommmm! Daaaad!” Her face disappeared.
What new crisis loomed?
As Nick and Chessie rushed into the house, Gabriella thundered into the kitchen, holding aloft a fistful of shredded paper, with Isabel in hot pursuit.
“Give those back!” Isabel demanded. “They’re private!”
“She’s not going to college!” Gabriella shouted above her sister’s demands. “Because of you! And me!”
While her two girls tussled for possession of—what?— Chessie was relieved to see there was no blood, no physical injury.
“Sit,” Nick ordered, pointing at the kitchen chairs. “Let’s get to the bottom of this.”
As Chessie’s head began to pound, this once, she was grateful for Nick’s administrative command.
“Gabriella, you first,” he said.
Isabel retreated to a sullen silence.
“I bought Izzy and me soft drinks,” Gabriella began. “We drank them in her room. I threw my empty in her waste basket, but she told me to recycle it. When I went to get the bottle out, I found these.” She thrust a fistful of torn paper at her parents. “Her college applications.”
Chessie was appalled.
“Isabel,” Nick asked, “what is going on?”
At first it looked as if the seventeen-year-old wasn’t going to answer. From mature art critic, she’d become belligerent adolescent.
“Tell them,” Gabriella urged, not unkindly.
“I just thought…” Isabel seemed to fight back tears. “I just thought it might be better for everybody if I went to a community college. In Portland, maybe. I’d live at home and commute.”
“Why?” Chessie couldn’t believe her ears. As private and sensitive a person as Isabel was, she’d been looking forward to the intellectual challenge of a bigger arena. Or so Chessie had believed.
“Money would be a good reason,” Isabel replied without looking anyone in the eye.
“I don’t buy that.” Nick paused until Isabel looked at him. “What’s wrong, Izzy?”
“With the way things have been going lately…maybe you don’t need one more thing to worry about…like me living away.”
“You’re worried about us,” Nick said.
“Yes.”
“All three of us.”
“Yes…but mostly you and Mom.”
Chessie felt suddenly dizzy. What had Nick and she done to make this child-woman think she had to shoulder their issues? How could they explain that burden away?
“Isabel,” Nick said, taking his daughter’s hand. “Let me explain something to you about the nature of marriage.”
Perhaps, Chessie thought, she needed to hear this as much as the girls.
“Your mom’s and my relationship was strong before you came into our lives, and it will be strong when you move away. Maybe this sounds selfish, but the best thing we could ever teach you and Gabby is that you’re not essential to our marriage. You’re essential to our family, for sure. But your mom’s and my well-being is contained within our private relationship.” He smiled and squeezed Isabel’s hand. “Now that gives you and Gabby full permission to venture out in the world and eventually find someone to share your life with.”
He released Isabel to put his arm around a stunned Chessie. “Your mom and I are going to be just fine.”
As Isabel offered up a faint smile and Gabriella settled back in her chair with an obvious sense of relief, Chessie nestled close to her husband. He got it. Maybe he’d gotten it all along and needed this mini-crisis to find the words. Maybe he knew it and had tried to show it, but she’d been focused on Nick the
administrator and her rivalry with his job, neither of which made her feel safe or warm.
But Nick the man sure did.
She’d accused him of seeing her only in her role as wife and mother. Not in her capacity as a woman. Maybe she’d been a little guilty of dealing in stereotypes, as well. She planned to rectify that. Starting now.
L
ATER THAT EVENING
Chessie stood in the middle of the barn’s first floor, happily envisioning her gallery, when she heard a knock came at the open door. Martha stood on the threshold. “Am I interrupting?”
“No. Come in.”
“What are you doing?”
“Thinking about the next stage in my career. The gallery.”
“In addition to classes?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s quite an undertaking if the size of your class today is any indication. I saw the cars in the drive.”
Chessie didn’t respond.
“I’m sorry,” Martha said.
“Me, too. I thought we had a stronger friendship.”
“I went a little crazy. You know how that can happen when the welfare of your child is at stake.”
“I do.” Oh, boy, how she did. But she also knew you couldn’t cope by lashing out at those closest to you.
“I’ve missed you,” Martha offered tentatively.
“So…how have things been going on this side of the street?”
“Okay.” Chessie took a moment to filter her answer. She’d missed Martha, too, but if they were going to re-establish their friendship, she was going to start cautiously. “Today was an exceptionally good day. I think we’re all at the top of the family roller-coaster. But I’m learning these peaks mean that a drop is just around the corner.”
Martha chuckled. “I never thought of family life as a roller-coaster. I thought of it more as a giant Styrofoam peanut spill. You know, some aunt sends you a birthday present of one of her little glass candy dishes packed in gallons of static-y white peanuts. When you open the box, the peanuts fly all over the house. It takes forever to gather them up, and for years afterwards you’re still finding a stray peanut here and there under the sofa or behind a bookcase.”
Chessie eyed Martha in confusion. “I’m not sure I get what you’re driving at.”
“I always thought you started out your adult life with that spill to clean up. That you worked and worked at getting it under control until one day you finally managed to restore order—with only an occasional peanut to deal with—and for the most part life was all neat and tidy from then on.”
“Hah!”
“Double hah!” Martha looked sheepish. “Keri’s sure taken care of that illusion.”
“Teenagers,” Chessie replied noncommittally.
“You don’t understand. I’m not talking in generalities. I…uh… Keri got picked up for shoplifting a couple days ago. With Margot Hensley and Baylee Warner.”
Chessie’s eyes widened.
“She tried to blame it on Margot and Baylee. But I know it was all three. Then I got thinking about how the whole Surf Club escapade was probably a joint venture, too. Not just Gabriella’s idea. I can’t believe my own daughter could pull the wool over my eyes.”
“It happens to the best of us, Martha. Don’t beat yourself up over it. Now you know.”
“Gabriella was the best friend Keri ever had. Do you think…?”
“I can’t speak for my daughter. She’s done some growing in the past week-and-a-half. It’s up to her to decide who her friends will be.”
And although Chessie felt sorry for Martha when she saw the look of disappointment on her face, she also felt proud. She’d spoken the truth about Gabriella. Her girls were growing up.
G
ABRIELLA SAT
in the Coastal High bleachers and watched her faculty for the next four years having the time of their lives down on the football field. Frankly, she and Isabel had been curious about an event that saw her mom and dad heading off together first thing this morning, smiling at each other as if they were dating. And Mom…well, Mom was acting weirder than usual, if that were possible. Before leaving, she’d given Isabel the keys to her Mini Cooper and had told them to have a good time today. No list of errands. No safety lesson. Just, have a good time.
They couldn’t believe their good luck. She and Isabel had wheels!
So where had they gone after using up half a tank of gas driving around? To the high school to see what this staff field day was all about. They figured it was out in the open on public property. What was the worst that could happen? The security guards could tell them to leave. But they hadn’t. As Isabel had pointed out, the security guards were down on the field with everyone else. Out of uniform, no less. And
in the bleachers? Staff family members just as curious as them. It felt a little like a party.
“You kinda forget they’re human.” As laughter rose from the field, Owen climbed the bleachers toward her. “In school, I mean. Hey, I don’t go here, but teachers are teachers all over.”
It seemed this guy was showing up everywhere lately. But after last night, after the fun she’d had dancing at the rehearsal for
Grease,
and the way he’d walked her home at the end—like he cared she got home safely—she was glad to see him.
“So why are you here?”
“I was curious. My mom works here.”
“What does she teach?”
Owen looked as if he didn’t want to say.
“C’mon, you can tell me. I’ll try not to give her a hard time if I catch her class.”
“She’s not a teacher. She works in the cafeteria.”
A lunch lady? Gabriella thought how all last year Keri would make fun of the cafeteria workers. Of how dorky they looked in their aprons and plastic gloves and hairnets. And Gabriella hadn’t been any better by laughing at Keri’s jokes.
Owen stiffened. “You got a problem with that?”
“No. Why should I?” Not if it made her like Keri. “Everybody’s here today. My dad wants it that way. When they’re all wearing shorts and sweats, you can’t tell who does what.”
“Yeah, well, my mom says your dad is cool.”
Her father cool?
“She says he treats everyone in the school alike. Fair.”
“Are we talking about the same person? My father? The dictator?”
“Give him a break. When you think he’s being unfair, isn’t it really ’cause he’s not letting you have your way?”
“Are you really an adult disguised as a kid?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you always take the adult’s side.”
“It’s not about sides.” Owen grinned, and Gabby noted that it was just a grin. Not a smirk. But real, as if he found life and people interesting. It was nice to be around someone who wasn’t always trying to diss someone else. “I’m going to be a playwright,” he said. “If I’m going to be any good, I have to put myself in other people’s shoes.”
“Then you’re going to be one heck of a playwright, Owen.”
He laughed as if he took it as a huge compliment. She guessed it was.
Isabel came up beside them. “The day’s not over and we still have a half tank of gas. Let’s get going.”
“Can Owen come?”
“You want to?” Izzy asked him as if it was perfectly okay with her.
“Sure.”
“Hey, Owen,” Gabriella asked as they headed toward the parking lot. “How long have you wanted to be a playwright?”
“From the time my mom took me to see a library production of
Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel
when I was four.”
“I knew I wanted to be a poet since I was in third grade,” Isabel said, as if she didn’t find Owen weird.
“Gosh. I have no idea what I want to be.” Gabriella wondered if that made her boring.
“Don’t you think it’s time you started to think about it?” Owen asked.
Yeah. If she was going to hang out with people like Isabel and Owen—which, surprisingly, wasn’t turning out to be such a bad idea—she was going to have to learn to talk about things other than lip gloss and clothes.
“I do know one thing,” she said. “I don’t want to be Madison.”
Owen looked confused.
“My name’s Gabriella. My family calls me Gabby. I was thinking of changing it, though.”
Owen laughed. “Well, you’re no Madison, that’s for sure.”
“So who am I? Alexis? Taylor? Paige?”
“Brunhilda,” he said with a grin. “Definitely someone with a helmet and spear.”
She punched him in the arm. He punched her back.
S
TAFF FIELD DAY WAS
nothing like Chessie had imagined. It was fabulous, and she was having a ball. Talk about misconceptions. This was about team-work and creative thinking and…fun. And all this
time she’d accused Nick of not knowing the meaning of the word.
As the staff took a break, she stood in the shade under the lunch tent and searched the crowd for her husband. She needed to tell him how impressed she was with this event. With the logistics necessary to pull it off. No wonder he’d spent so many hours in paperwork and preparation.
For starters, everyone went by their first names. Period. No one was to talk about their position in the school. That meant Chessie and the dozen or so new hires didn’t know if they were on a team with professionals, para-professionals or nonprofessionals. It didn’t matter. What did was the skill you could bring to the group task at hand, whether it was helping nine other people lower an eight-foot helium stick to the ground using only your fingertips and a great deal of patience, or crossing an imaginary river of stepping stones while maintaining continuous contact with one foot of both the person ahead of and behind you, or designing a protective covering for an egg so that you could drop it off the top bleacher without smashing it. With every exercise, the group members changed, as did their roles. There were bosses and there were worker ants, and it was all luck of the draw.
At the start of the day, Nick had given a few words of welcome, but then he’d blended in with the other participants. Chessie had yet to be on a team with him.
“Hey, Chessie!” Two guys trotted by. “Great solution to that tarp flip!”
She smiled. If she were ever marooned on a desert island with nine other people, and their survival depended on standing on a tarp and flipping it to the other side without anyone’s feet touching the ground…she was definitely the go-to gal.
The whistle blew to assemble everyone back on the field. Someone—her name tag said Sylvia—read instructions into a bullhorn. They were to form two straight lines along the length of the football field, face the other line and pair off with the person standing opposite. After a few minutes of jostling and redistributing, the two lines came to a standstill. Nick stood across from her.
“What are the odds?” she whispered.
“I cheated. I know this exercise, and I wanted to make sure I partnered with you.”
She smiled as she watched him take one of the wide strips of cloth being passed down his line and felt as if they were back in junior high. In co-ed gym class. What was the activity she’d be doing with this cute guy?
“Listen up, folks!” Sylvia ordered. “People who have the blindfolds put them on the person across from you.”
Oh, no. Blindfolds. This was not an exercise Chessie wanted to participate in. As an artist, sight was a very important part of who she was. Taking it away was a sort of visual claustrophobia she’d never been able to handle.
“We’ve been working all morning on mutual respect and trust,” Sylvia read. “This, now, is an ultimate trust exercise. A lot more difficult than it appears. For the next five minutes, the sighted group will be leading their blindfolded partners around the stadium.”
Chessie took a step back. Even with Nick leading her, this was too scary.
“Give your blindfolded partners instructions to touch various objects,” Sylvia continued, “to walk over various terrain. Don’t talk to them except to give them encouragement or directions. Don’t be afraid to touch them to give them assistance.”
“Nick, I trust you,” Chessie said, a note of pleading creeping into her voice. “Let’s leave it at that. You know I hated blindman’s bluff as a kid.”
“This is diff—”
Sylvia eyed the two of them. “I’m going to pick a half-dozen people to be facilitators with me. We’ll be circulating making unexpected noises. Sighted people, your job is to make your blindfolded partner feel safe. I’ll blow the whistle in five minutes for you to switch roles. You may begin.”
“No!” Chessie put up her hand as Nick raised the blindfold. “I’m sure I told you about the time I was in psych class and we had to close our eyes and fall back into a partner’s arms. I couldn’t do it. I sneaked out when the professor wasn’t looking.”
“Chessie, I know the fear you have of losing your sight. But this is role play. I’ll be with you every step
of the way. I’m not going to let you get into any trouble.”
“I can’t do it, Nick.”
Hattie St. Regis happened to be in line next to Chessie. Before accepting her blindfold, she leaned over to Chessie and murmured. “How do you think it looks to the staff if Nick’s own wife doesn’t trust him?”
She was going to have to do this.
Gulping hard and blinking to squeeze back real tears, she nodded to Nick who gently tied the blindfold over her eyes.
And there she stood. Without her sight. A fear that ranked right up there with losing her family.
Nick took her hand and her elbow. At least she thought it was Nick. There wouldn’t be any point to switching partners unawares, would there? But a lot could happen while she couldn’t see. “Nick?” she asked nervously.
“I’m right here. You’re okay.”
The sound of his voice soothed her somewhat, but didn’t stop a film of sweat from forming on her upper lip.
“Let’s start walking,” Nick suggested. “Remember we’re on the field. It’s reasonably level.”
She balked. “What if I bump into someone?”
“It’s my job to see that you don’t.”
“
See
being the operative word.” She might actually cry, and thought the only good use for the blindfold was that it would hide her tears. From Nick. From his staff. This was a bad idea. This day was
about the people of Coastal High, not about her and her phobia. She’d known if she participated today she’d somehow mess up. She began to tremble.
“Chessie.” Nick spoke quietly in her ear. “I have to know. More than your fear of losing your sight for real, is this a control thing? Between us? Because you will have a chance to lead me—”
“No! It’s the inability to see.”
“It’s only temporary. It’s an exercise,” he reassured her. “Let me help you work through it. I think it’d be good for you.”
“Is anyone else freaking out, or am I the only one?”
“Don’t worry about anyone else. It’s just the two of us. Trust me.”
For all she knew everyone else had taken off their blindfolds and was staring at the crazy woman. But, somehow, Nick’s steady voice began to infuse her with, not calm, but a lesser degree of panic even while Hattie’s words came back to her. What if it looked as if Nick’s own wife didn’t trust him? His professional integrity was so very important to him, as was hers. He’d shown that he understood and supported her by recruiting for her pottery class. She needed to show him support now even though she would rather do something less painful, like a Brazilian bikini wax.
“Okay,” she said at last. “Lead me.”
Surprisingly, he didn’t move. Instead, he placed his hands flat under hers, palm to palm, waist high. She could sense him standing directly in front of her.
“Lean on me,” he said. “Against my hands.”
She did, tentatively at first, yet his hands didn’t waver. He was so solid she felt as if she could turn and sit, using him as a chair.
“My strength is your strength,” he whispered in her ear, his breath a soft tickle.
“Now wait,” he said, grasping one of her hands firmly while releasing the other.
She strained to hear. His voice sounded somewhere near her knees, then rose.
“Inhale,” he said.
When she did she could smell newly mown grass. She smiled. “One of my favorite scents.”
“Now listen.”
She did and heard quiet voices. Of sighted partners encouraging their counterparts. A low murmur like the distant sound of waves. Beyond that she could hear gulls, probably looking for handouts at the lunch tent. There was no chaos. Only calm.
“Open your mouth.”
Without thinking, she did, and felt a hard peppermint slide into her mouth. She always slipped these candies into his pockets because they were supposed to make your senses sharper. Something a high-school principal needed. She never found them in the laundry—sometimes the papers, never the candies themselves—so he must eat them. Maybe even think of her as he did. The thought made her happy.
“Ready?” His voice was encouraging, his touch
warm and steady. He was her Nick and he’d promised not to lead her into any trouble.
“Ready.” As she’d ever be.
“We’re just going to walk for a while. On the grass.”
That was fine. She could handle that now without panic, and silently congratulated herself for the giant step forward.
“Focus on what you feel.”
The strength of Nick’s touch. One hand enfolding hers, the other guiding her elbow. The warm sun on her face. The soft cushion of grass under her feet. Surprisingly, there was a certain power in touch.
“On what you smell.”
Peppermint. Behind that the smell of hot dogs and hamburgers the PTA members were grilling for lunch. Okay, that smell made her queasy for some reason. She tried to bring her thoughts back to the simplicity of peppermint.
“On what you hear.”
Although she tried to focus on the soothing mantra of Nick’s voice, she was distracted by someone approaching. Suddenly she heard the harsh jangle of keys right behind her.
Startled, she stumbled, but Nick caught her. Held her steady against his solid frame. “That was just a facilitator,” he said. “They’re moving between the pairs. Creating distractions.”