The Potter's Daughter (Literary Series) (22 page)

“I plan to get back to the lake
again soon though.”

“That would be great!”

“Yea,” said Abby.

“So, you’re probably tired of
traveling all day?”

“Yea.
 
I better get some rest.”
 
This was to be a quick call.

“Well, ok then, thanks for
calling.”
 
Mitch could not get off
the phone fast enough.
 
He felt like
he was fourteen.

“Well all right, see you when I get
up to the lake,” said Abby.

“See you then,” said Mitch.

And that was all.

Mitch looked into the phone in
disbelief.
 
His heart sunk deep into
his chest.
 
The porch was cold.
 
He had only socks on his feet and his
whole body was numb.
 
He had known
that things had been left awkward with Abby yet this had struck him by
surprise.
 
What had he done, what
had he said that scared her off.
 
Mitch looked up to the screen facing the lake and could see only
darkness behind.
 
He shook his head,
turned back into his cabin, and sat back on the couch.
 
His guitar sat at the other end where he
had just put the instrument while stumbling to the phone.
 
Mitch raised his brow, reached for his
guitar, and began to play where he thought he had left off.
 
The melody still sounded passionate and
sweet and now also a touch melancholy.

* * *
* *

Abby put down the phone and rest
back on her bed.
 
The pitch in
Mitch’s voice was one she had heard from herself more than once.
 
The voice that said ‘Don’t worry about
me’.
 
She now knew for sure that he
felt the same way about her as she did about him.
 
Abby really did not doubt that before.
 
She ran her fingers through her hair and
then sat up letting out a sound of frustration.
 
She stood up and took off her shirt and
pants and in her panties walked to the bathroom to turn on the shower.
 
Once in the bathroom, she decided to
draw a hot bath instead with bubbles and salts.
 
To be back in her apartment among her
things felt good and after travelling a bath would relax her.
 
She could sort out the discussion with
her father, the phone call with Mitch, or just forget everything altogether.

When the bath was ready, the whole
room smelled like lilac and rose.
 
Abby dimmed the lights and slipped into the tub.
 
She let herself ease into the hot soapy
water slowly.
 
The bubbles tingled
on her skin as she slid through them.
 
The hot water held her.
 
At
the back of the bath, Abby had rolled soft terry towels, and she let her head
rest against them.
 
The bath was
silent, warm, and enveloping.

Abby rested in the steamy bath and
let the world wash away.
 
She began
to drift and let herself relax in both body and mind.
 
As her mind relaxed, images of Mitch
began to return.
 
Memories of the
phone call had been put aside.
 
Passing through her mind now were the images of the intimacy they had
shared.
 
She imagined the contours
of Mitch’s chest, muscular and firm, and how she had pressed her head against
him and held his back with her hands spread open to pull all of him to
her.
 
Abby could see Mitch’s deep
brown eyes peering into hers and could feel his breath on her neck.
 
Her stomach had been unsettled all day
because of the emotional evening the night before.
 
Her insides yearned the recognizable
ache that comes from wanting to be close to someone, to be close to someone
that you care about and cares about you.
 
She caressed herself for comfort, imagining that the touch, soft,
gentle, and tender was Mitch’s.
 
Abby’s eyes began to lightly tear as she let her self go with her
imagination.

* * *
* *

When Abby felt the water cold
around her, she was unsure how long she had let herself relax.
 
Sleep must have overtaken her.
 
The day had been long.
 
She removed herself from the bath and
felt a cool chill, the room no longer warmed by the heat of the water.
 
She dressed in her robe and then toweled
off her hair.
 
Leaving the dim light
of the bathroom on she went directly to her bedroom.
 
If Abby went to bed sleep would still be
close.
 
Sleep was close.
 
Sometime later, she awoke abruptly in
her dark room overwhelmed that she had made a dreadful mistake.

* * *
* *

Will sat on the edge of his
bed.
 
He knew he would not be
sleeping.
 
He started to take a
cigarette out of the pack he had put on the nightstand and stopped.
 
A promise had been made to Abby that he
would not smoke in the house.
 
He
had never smoked in the house when Emily was alive.
 
He tried to remember if he smoked that
often back then.
 
Cigarettes used to
be a nickel.
 
He was not sure if he
even smoked then.
 
His mind was
wandering on nonsense.

Will pulled his trousers on and
walked to the back door where he slipped on his boots and jacket.
 
He let the door slam as he exited the
house then urgently pushed through the studio door.
 
He flipped on the lights and heat as he
marched into the room.
 
He tossed
his jacket on the bench by the window then went to get two fists of clay.
 
He carried the clay to a wheel, plopped
the blob down, and then got two fists more.
 
His jaw firm, his blue eyes bright, his
white hair disheveled, he looked vibrant, possessed, ten, fifteen years
junior.
 
He brought some water to
the wheel then began the spin by powering the pedal.
 
Clay slid through his hands.
 
The clay enveloped them, competed with
them.
 
The clay resisted changing
form, fought to keep shape.
 
Will’s
hands were steady and his eyes fixed.
 
He had thrown the clay on the wheel in such a way that now he was breaking
a stallion.
 
The sides that wanted
to break free he kept to the middle.
 
Not by shifting his hands back and forth to adjust and shift, no, Will’s
hands were steady and his eyes fixed.
 
Will’s cool blue eyes were peeking deep inside of the clay, soothing the
clay, and the clay soothed, the clay mellowed, until a perfect half sphere spun
on the wheel.

Will relaxed his shoulders and his
brow.
 
He smiled.
 
“There,” said Will.
 
When Will was with the clay nothing else
could cloud him.
 
This interlude had
chased away the thoughts he could not otherwise escape.
 
He considered himself a good person.
 
Emily would not have married him
otherwise.
 
How he could hurt
anyone, he could not fathom.
 
He
literally could not fathom.
 
There
was a lot of clay, and there were many orders.
 
All he had to do was keep busy.
 
That would not be hard from here on out.

Will began to caress the sides of
the clay.
 
To start the dance this
way had not been necessary still the dance had begun.

* * *
* *

Nathan had gone home after
dinner.
 
Will had told Nathan he was
going to want to stop early.
 
The
day had been long.
 
Though Will had
put on his usual good face Nathan knew that he was bothered.
 
He had only been with the Bellens’ for a
few days yet he could see that hidden in their family there was much pain.
 
When Nathan got home to his apartment
overlooking Willow Lake, he looked back at the Bellen Studio across the
water.
 
He could see the lights of
the studio shining out into the night.
 
There would be no rest for Will tonight and Nathan felt that in the city
there would surely be no rest for Abby.
 
Nathan went to his bedside and knelt down.
 
He clasped his hands together and said a
prayer in the Lord’s name for the Bellen family.

* * *
* *

Mitch grabbed the kettle with his
bare hand then instantly released.
 
He curled his knuckles to free the slight tinge then reached again, this
time with a towel, and pulled the boiling water from the stove.
 
He poured the hot water into a cup then
shoveled in instant coffee.
 
Oatmeal
bubbled in a saucepan.
 
Mitch was
not thinking clearly.
 
His head was
cloudy from lack of sleep.
 
He was
awake in bed most of the night and had been up periodically, compelled with
thirst or the urge to leave the inside of the cabin and walk out onto the
lake.
 
At one point in the late
evening, or early morning, he wrapped a blanket around himself and sat out on
the porch.
 
He sat until he was numb
from the cold and then sat a while longer before sauntering back to bed.
 
The air on the porch had been refreshing
and he thought that might help him rest better.
 
Rather the fresh air revitalized his
restlessness.

The coffee went down before the
oatmeal finished cooking.
 
The
coffee was acrid still he was invigorated.
 
Mitch may have lost a night’s sleep, yet he was still a fit man that
could be jolted by a cup of caffeine.

By the time Mitch went outside to
start his truck he had begun to feel confident about the day ahead of him.
 
As he waited for the engine of the truck
to warm, he looked up through his windshield to the tops of the maples and
pines that surrounded his yard.
 
The
sky was a bright blue and the morning sun shown golden on the highest branches
of the trees.
 
He looked at the
small Japanese maple that grew just in front of the cabin with branches still
covered in morning frost that lightly glistened whatever light could reach the
shadowy hiding place.

Mitch reflected on the strong,
constant, and majestic trees.
 
Whether he was going to be out in his truck this morning to catch their
splendor did not matter, they were still going to be there.
 
No matter what was said or done today,
the sun would shine on the tallest pines, and the Japanese maple would be
pleased with whatever light was received.
 
Since there was no breeze, they would stand silent today as they did
this morning.
 
He watched the trees
until he heard the truck’s engine change tone, signaling the vehicle was warm
enough to drive.
 
He switched on the
heater and pulled out of the driveway.

Mitch’s mind was no longer
cloudy.
 
He felt refreshed and clear
while he drove the pickup along Willow Lake road with the sun through the trees
and the radio off.
 
Inevitably his
mind began to wander.
 
He wondered
what Abby was doing in the city.

* * *
* *

Abby had thought about going back
to work first thing then realized that she needed to take a day to get things
sorted.
 
One more day was not a big
deal, as she was not expected back any way.
 
She called Olivia at the museum to check
in.
 
Olivia asked about lunch and
went on to describe how unbelievably tired the pregnancy had made her.
 
Abby was no more up for lunch than she
was for going into the museum.
 
To
catch up on all of the latest gossip was fun though.
 
The five-minute phone call easily turned
into forty-five minutes.
 
The best
part of the forty-five minutes was that Abby did not have to bring up anything
concerning Willow Lake.
 
When Olivia
did ask how her father was, Abby replied that her father was fine and that was
the end of that, refreshing.
 
There
was plenty of talk about coworkers and Henry, Olivia’s partner, and an event
that Abby had missed.
 
All were fun
topics and Abby enjoyed the conversation.
 
When Abby finally put down the phone and the reality of being back in
her apartment struck, she no longer needed affirmation as to whether coming
back to the city had been the right thing to do.
 
Her doubts rested with how she could
have done anything differently.