The Art of Appreciation (22 page)

Abby released a shaking breath. “I thought we were living for today, Matt.” She leaned her head against him and listened to the thumping of his heart.

“I know, I know. I feel disgustingly clingy, but I have to prove to myself that you’re still here, that you still want me. Yesterday afternoon…”

“Was incredible.”

“Thank you,” Matt said, grinning. “But I can’t keep that up. I’ll never finish this sculpture. And I might have a heart attack. I’m not as young as I once was.”

“I have no complaints,” Abby said, laughing as something loosened in her chest. Matt had no agenda other than being with her. “With age comes experience, and I’d choose that any day.” She shooed Matt back toward his sculpture. “Go. Be a genius while I putter.” Matt kissed her hard and headed toward his revolving table. He picked up his tools with renewed vigor and started to whistle along with the music that played on the stereo.

Abby considered the implements Matt had provided. Aside from quick sketches, she hadn’t used real artists’ tools since her junior year in college. Settling on a pad of paper and a pencil as the best way to ease into it, Abby began to sketch the first thing that came to mind: little Jeremy’s broad smile that day as his fingers dripped paint. Before she knew it, the scene was sketched out and she was adding depth and shading with quick strokes of the pencil.

“Why did you quit, Abby?”

Matt’s voice from behind her was gentle, and she answered without thinking. “My professor said I have mediocre talent.” Her hand slowed to a stop as the scene replayed itself behind her eyes: the jeering tone in the professor’s voice, sudden silence in the classroom. She’d dropped her brush right there and walked straight to her advisor to change her major to art history.

Matt evaluated her picture. “Your professor was an idiot.”

“You’re not exactly impartial.”

“No, but I’m a professional and an academic.” He pointed toward her sketch of Jeremy and the drop of paint that dangled from his elbow. “You’ve given that not only a sense of depth, but the illusion of liquid. Do you know how hard that is to do with pencils? You get gloss from oils or acrylics that help, but to make me thirsty with graphite or charcoal? That’s talent.” He looked very serious. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Abby. This is very, very good.”

Searching his eyes and finding no evidence of guile, Abby smiled brilliantly. “Thank you.” She was surprised when she looked at her watch. “I can’t believe it’s three already! You want a late lunch?”

Matt smiled and took her hand. “How about an early dinner? I just talked to Chris; he wants to meet us at the Poet for burgers and drinks.”

Abby was shocked that Matt had carried on a phone conversation and she’d not heard a word of it, lost in her own world for the first time in years. “I’d like that,” she answered absently, picking up her pencil. She barely heard Matt asking about the great idea she’d mentioned when she’d come in the door. Lost in her sketch, she didn’t recall answering that it was something about a kiln.

This time, it was Matt who chuckled at
her
distraction. He kissed her on the back of the neck and promised to ask again later. Then he headed back toward his own side of the room to pick up his wire clay loop.

“I C
AN’T
B
ELIEVE
I let you talk me into this. I know nothing about this boat, nothing about these waters…this has disaster written all over it.” Abby chewed her nails and stared at the front of the Eastmans’ house.

Matt smiled. “I trust your skills explicitly.”

“See if you’re singing the same tune when I crash us into a hidden reef, sharks eat your legs, and you’re wheeling yourself down to the beach, Cap’n Dan.”

“You wouldn’t push me?”

“I went down with the ship. You’re on your own.”

Matt laughed and got out of the car, waiting until Abby had closed her door before he tugged her toward the house. “First, there are no hidden reefs around here. Second, there hasn’t been a shark sighting in months—too many people during tourist season. The fish get scared off, and the sharks follow them.”

“I was just kidding about the sharks! Now I have another thing to worry about.”

Matt took her hand and kissed the back before ascending the porch steps. Claire opened the door at his knock. “Right on time. Charles is down at the boat getting everything shipshape. Ready?”

Abby exhaled a great breath. “Thank God you guys are coming with.”

Claire looked at Abby quizzically as she gestured for them to enter the house. “Why wouldn’t we? You don’t know anything about the waters here. It would be dangerous to send you out alone.”

“Oh, I agree,” Abby said hastily, flushing. “It’s just that Matt led me to think…”

Looping her arm through Abby’s, Claire shook her head. “Matt is a tease. Or he’s dumber than a bag of hammers, as my dad would have said.” She looked at Matt in calculation. “I’d say the jury is still out on that one. Shall we go down to meet Charles?”

They walked out the back door and across the expanse of lawn. Claire talked animatedly, pointing out the sails as soon as they were in sight. Matt watched Abby’s eyes light up. She giggled as they walked out onto the dock that jetted into a private cove. “That’s a dinghy? I don’t think so.”

Charles grinned, his sky blue eyes crinkling at the corners. He leaped lithely to the dock, not seeming bothered by the brisk morning breeze across the water though he wore only a threadbare Rolling Stones T-shirt with shorts. “Well, technically, I think dinghy stops applying when the boat is more than eighteen feet long. This is a bit more than that, but it’s the smallest boat we have, so…” He gestured with a flourish toward the side. “Care to come aboard?”

“Hell, yes!” Abby said.

After jumping back on the boat, Charles put out his hand to his smiling wife. As he was getting her settled, Abby wrapped her arm through Matt’s. “A
bit
more than eighteen feet?” she murmured. “This is at least twice that. Makes our twenty-footer back home look like a toy.” She reached up to take Charles’s outstretched hand and leaped to the deck.

When Abby turned to Matt and held out her hand to him, her eyes shining, he decided that his sculpture wouldn’t be enough; he had to capture this moment, this smile, as well. Claire must have read the distant look in Matt’s eyes, because she rifled through the bag she’d carried on board and handed him a pad of paper and a pencil. He got immediately to work. Capturing motion in a static media was always a challenge, but he felt sure this subject wouldn’t be a problem; he’d studied Abby so thoroughly that he’d see her clearly in his mind for the rest of his life.

He heard a groan from behind him. “This fantastic boat…this beautiful cove…and you’re sketching me?”

Matt smiled down at the paper. “What boat? What cove?”

“Crazy man,” Abby said. “Charles wants to show me around his baby and teach me a little about this coast. Do you mind?”

“Nope. Have fun.”

Having sailed with Charles and Claire often, Matt knew enough to stay out of the way and just enjoy the sun. After finishing his sketch, he set it aside and stretched his legs out on the deck. He tipped his head back.

“Posing?” Claire teased.

“I thought you were a boat lackey.”

“I’ve been supplanted by someone who actually cares.”

Matt opened his eyes to slits and saw Claire holding two deck chairs as she clenched a book under her arm.

“Sit in one of these like a civilized being, for God’s sake.”

Matt rose with a groan and set up his chair. Flopping into it, he leaned his head back once more, enjoying the warmth now that the morning cool was dying off. He unzipped his jacket and closed his eyes, listening to the murmur of voices discussing rigging and water conditions and a thousand other sailing things that didn’t interest him in the least. Claire settled into her chair with a sigh of contentment.

“So, we can pretend this is a working trip…” she began with a laugh. “Where are you on Baker’s stuff?”

After a rundown on the latest sculpture, Claire hummed in satisfaction. “That far? I knew this was a good day to spend some time with your lovely girl. This is the fastest I’ve ever seen you work, Matt. You need a break before you burn out. Plus, time’s—”

His smile faded. “We’re not focusing on that.”

Claire was quiet. “Fair enough.”

Matt listened to the gulls and willed his shoulders to relax.

A throat clearing drew his attention. Claire was staring at the side of his head. “Yes?” he asked, eyes closing again.

“Deciding,” Claire said thoughtfully.

“About?”

“That hammers thing.”

Matt smiled. “Verdict?”

“It’s still up in the air, depending on if you really let Abby go home without you.”

“Claire…”

“I know,” she said, “it’s an off-limits topic. But screw that. We’ve known each other a long time, and I’m a nosy bitch. So, what are you thinking?”

“We’re planning to get together at Christmastime.” He heard her snort of disgust and looked at her. “What else can I do? We’re not kids that can just walk away from real life whenever we want to. Abby has a job that she likes and has to go back to, and I have Baker’s damned statues to finish, unless I want to be sued for breach of contract, and you know he’d love to have a reason. It’s just…I’m screwed, you know?”

Claire’s gaze softened and she relented. “Yeah. Ready for a sandwich?” She got up from her seat and extended a hand to Matt. “Hey, you two?” she called toward Charles and Abby as they conferred gravely over a maritime chart. “Can you take a break to eat, or will we crash and be shark lunch?”

“Sharks again,” Matt heard Abby mutter, and he grinned.

“Dropping anchor right now, captain,” Charles said with a grin. “I’m starving.” After a few moments bustling about, the boat was still and lunch set out. “Courtesy of my favorite housekeeper,” he said in satisfaction, taking a huge bite of sandwich as he lounged against the side of the boat. “She’s a wonder.”

“She’s an enabler,” Claire observed, taking the lobster salad on pillowy French bread from his hand and replacing it with a turkey on whole-grain. “You know the doctor told you to watch your cholesterol.” She took a bite of his former sandwich.

Charles shook his head. “You are a cruel woman. I’d divorce you for that if I didn’t love you so much.” They ate in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. “So, how do you like our coast, Abby? Enough to come out again and save my long-suffering wife from pretending to care about all this sailing business?”

“It’s beautiful,” Abby said. “I’d love to come out again, if I get a chance before I leave. I’m sure Claire cares more than you realize, though.”

“About my husband,” Claire said with a rueful grin. She wrapped her arm around Charles’s waist. “I’m afraid he’s right about the sailing, though I thought I hid it better.” She brushed an errant lock of hair off of his forehead. “We only have each other, so whatever I can do to spend time with him is worth it.”

Charles caught her hand and kissed its palm before resting it on his chest. “So…what are your plans for the next couple of weeks? I need to go to Thailand next week, and I’d love to make it a group trip, my treat. Great surfing, Matt, and you could probably catch up with your dad—he’s in Australia, right? Easy side trip in the jet.”

Abby laughed. “You don’t do things by halves, do you? I’m afraid I don’t have my passport with me.”

“Yes, dear, don’t tease,” Claire scolded. “Besides, Matt has a ton of work to do, I have slave driving to do, and Abby has painting. How’s that going, by the way?”

Matt admired the skillful subject change and used the opportunity to sing Abby’s praises. Charles responded with a request for a sketch of his boat, on the spot. Abby complied, taking the pad that Matt had laid aside and setting to work as the others finished their lunch. She worked so quietly, her hand flying, that Claire and Charles seemed to forget what she was doing as they chatted.

Matt sat next to Abby, snatching occasional glances at her work. He restrained a smile. Charles wasn’t going to get what he’d envisioned. Abby finished her sketch with a flourish and handed it to Claire.

Claire smiled delightedly. Though Charles’s request was partially fulfilled, in that a significant portion of the side of his boat was shown in detail, the focus was clearly the man as he lounged against the edge of the boat, laughing, arms outstretched along the top rail.

“Abby, this is just…lovely!” Claire said after studying the picture.

Charles peeked at the paper and grimaced. “Are the lines on my face that deep? Maybe I should follow Grandmother’s advice and have some work done.”

“Hush,” Claire ordered. “You’re ruggedly handsome. I like that face, shameless fisher-for-compliments.”

Charles smiled. “As long as you put it that way…” He tapped the page. “I don’t claim to know much about art, but I’d like this if I wasn’t the subject.” He turned to Claire. “What do you think?”

“I want this in more permanent form. I
do
know a lot about art, and this is very good, Abby, especially for a spur of the moment thing.”

Abby flushed and handed the pad back to Claire. “Here. It’s yours.” She looked surprised when Claire tore off the sheet and handed it back.

“Keep this. You’ll need it for my painting. Oils or acrylics, whatever medium you prefer. I’m serious. Consider it a commission. You’re talented, and this is wonderful.” Claire looked at the drawing again. “In fact, lots of people should see this.” She thought for a minute, and then she smiled.

Curling her hands around Charles’s arm, she looked up at him. “I’ve had the best idea. Don’t you think there’s probably a lot of untapped talent in Santa Cruz, C? We already have a show planned for the children, so why don’t we expand? I’ll bet that if we, meaning you, put it out through the grapevine that we’re looking for Cruz arts and crafts, we could pull something together in a couple of weeks.”

“Not much time for advertising.” Charles said.

Claire waved her hand dismissively. “We’re not trying to compete with Sausalito. Just a little show for ourselves. Local artists…civic pride…”

Charles chuckled and slung his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “You don’t have to sell me, sweetheart. Make it happen. Just give a featured spot to the painting of the old man and the sea. We need to spotlight our local stars.” He grinned at Abby.

“If it’s for locals—”

“Do the old ladies that watch for surfers talk to you?” Charles asked sternly.

“Yes.”

“Then you’re local,” Charles said firmly. “They wouldn’t be caught dead paying attention to a tourist, unless it involved a monetary exchange. In fact—” He cursed as the phone in his pocket rang. He walked a few feet away before he answered.

Matt felt a tug at his heart. In just a few weeks, Abby had become a local, something not easy to achieve in a tourist-inundated town. He didn’t think his mother had ever accomplished it, even with living there for a few years. Maybe she’d always had one foot out the door and his father’s friends had sensed that. He edged closer to Abby, and she responded by resting her head against his shoulder. By the time of Claire’s show, she’d be leaving.

His attention was drawn back to their company when Charles spoke. “I’m sorry, folks. I’m going to have to cut this short. Grandmother has apparently made an appearance, and my presence is desperately needed for serious business. Or just because she’s bored. Who the hell knows?” He grimaced and headed for the wheel. Abby asked if he’d like help and got his enthusiastic okay.

Matt felt Claire’s calculating gaze.

“Don’t say a word.”

She smiled slyly. “I don’t need to. It’s written all over your face. And I’m back to that bag of hammers issue.” She slipped her own jacket off and adjusted her sunglasses as she took a seat. “Don’t bother arguing with me. I plan on enjoying these last few minutes of freedom before the old dragon sucks away my will to live.”

The trip back to the Eastman dock was accomplished without issue, and soon Claire was repacking her bag and sliding on her shoes. Abby picked up her shirt and jacket, but Charles stopped her.

“No reason for you guys to cut your day short,” he said. “Why don’t you take the boat back out? We went over the area pretty thoroughly. Just stay around here, and you’ll be fine.”

Abby looked flustered. “I don’t…”

Charles grinned at her. “I trust you. Just don’t hit anything. We’ll leave you the cooler.” He leaped to the dock and helped his wife out. Slinging her ridiculously flowery bag over his shoulder, he wrapped the opposite arm around her waist, and they walked toward their house, heads close together as they laughed at some private joke.

Abby watched them go, a wistful smile on her face, until they disappeared over the crest of a small rise. “They’re great, aren’t they?”

Matt nodded and put his hand over hers as it rested on the rail.

“Well, shall we try to pilot this beast a bit?” she asked, smiling. “Nothing to lose but a boat worth more than I’ll earn before I die.”

Matt laughed. “Why not? Just tell me what to do.”

Within half an hour, Abby had reached the limits of both the water she felt comfortable sailing and her courage. Dropping anchor, she accomplished a number of tasks that remained a mystery to Matt before she pronounced them safe.

“Wanna swim?” Matt asked, stripping off his shirt and toeing off his shoes.