The Potter's Daughter (Literary Series) (23 page)

Abby decided that she needed to
keep herself busy.
 
She got up from
her comfy couch and started to clean up from the night before.
 
Now was the time for the cleansers to
come out.
 
The apartment needed a
scrub down anyway.
 
Cleaning the
bath and kitchen took up the rest of the morning.
 
Then she made a list of errands.
 
The problem was that the list was
short.
 
Abby had taken care of most
everything before she left.
 
There
was dry cleaning to drop off and she could stop by the market on the way back
from whatever she did.
 
She grabbed
the dry cleaning and scurried out of the apartment to the elevator.

Once on the street Abby stretched
her legs and moved with purpose.
 
She dropped the dry cleaning off and then kept going in the direction
away from the apartment with no particular destination in mind.
 
The sidewalks and streets appeared clean
with the snow freshly melted from the midmorning sun.
 
People were out on their lunch breaks,
running errands or in the city just to shop.
 
The smells of the restaurants, their
lunch crowds chattering as she walked by, did not appeal to her.
 
Abby had coffee and a muffin this
morning and nothing since, yet was not really hungry.

Abby thought going to a movie would
be a good distraction yet when she turned the corner to the small neighborhood
theater she hesitated, reminiscing of a few days prior.
 
The memory warmed her, yet she still did
not want to think about that day too much.
 
Going into the theater would be fine, and silly not to.

Abby approached the ticket counter
to see what was playing on the three screens.
 
Her lucky day, she thought, a date
movie, and a romantic foreign film, both she had been waiting to see and a
lousy action movie about a robot blowing everything to pieces.
 
This was a no brainer for Abby.
 
She bought a ticket for the action
movie.

* * *
* *

The Bellen assembly line had not
seen this much production in years.
 
Anyone walking into the studio would have been surprised to learn
that.
 
Will had been at the electric
wheel all night and on the worktables he already amassed several pieces for the
ornamentation: leaves, ivy, birds all created with the clay leavings from the
wheel.
 
Other worktables were
covered with light mossy green ceramics glazed earlier in the week.
 
The only area of the studio that did not
smell like clay was over by the dingy plastic coffee maker with the pot,
cracked on the rim and burnt on the bottom, sitting half full on a stained
burner.
 
Each time Will poured a cup
of coffee some would leak out onto the burner and the alkaloid smell would fill
that section of the room.
 
Will kept
a fresh cup beside him throughout the night to help maintain a whirlwind around
the studio.
 
Now one sat on the
worktable where
Will
just finished aligning and
organizing the pieces in rows across the top, staging them for the next step in
the line.
 
He leaned back against
the worktable his eyes fixed on the door to the adjoining kiln rooms, and
started to think about firing up one of the kilns.
 
His elbow in one hand, Will plied his
Zippo in his other near his chin, his thumb maneuvering the lighter so that the
lid would begin to lift on the spring and then force back closed against his
finger.
 
He did this again and
again, making a clicking noise every time the lighter snapped shut.
 
The math did not take up much of his
mind.
 
He knew which pieces would
need to go into electric kilns and which would need to go into the gas.
 
There were two small electric kilns by
the door that could be filled with the smaller pieces from the table, they were
ornamental pieces, and for a uniform result would be electric fired for the
oxidation.
 
The large pots and urns
had to go into the gas kiln to get a proper firing, he did not mind the subtle
differences of reduction firing caused by the gas.
 
He dwelled on whether he wanted to fire
the gas giants up now, after being up all night, or wait until he had
slept.
 
The electric kilns were like
little space capsules and were as easy to run as a microwave oven.
 
The gas kilns would have to be watched
with a keen eye.
 
Will was not ready
to throw in the towel and head to sleep quite yet, though he certainly did not
want to babysit the kiln.
 
Then an
epiphany, Nathan was supposed to be his babysitter, and Will could tell him to
babysit the kiln.
 
All Nathan would
have to do was to let Will know if anything went wrong.
 
Will would come in and do the
temperature regulation himself.
 
That would give Will time to continue at the wheel and, if he needed to
sleep, Nathan could grab him.

Will curled his lip up on one side
having satisfied himself and slipped his Zippo into the front pocket of his
pants.

Traditional craftsmanship was
honored above all else in the Bellen studio yet the utilization of the best
tools available was an expenditure that Will kept up on.
 
So in reliance to auto-magic Will loaded
the squat silos of the electric kilns with some of the smaller pieces he had
put together midmorning and with some of the pieces Nathan had glazed that
needed oxidation.
 
When the electric
kilns were loaded he switched them on and went back to his wheel, getting
another cup of coffee along the way.

* * *
* *

Caroline parked her Subaru in the
back circle drive of the Johansson house.
 
The morning was late and the sun was high in the sky.
 
The light reflecting off the snow made
her eyes tighten when she slipped off her sunglasses.
 
Brian had been here earlier in the day
and when he returned home, he mentioned that the carpenters had run to Fremont
for supplies leaving Mitch alone at the house.
 
Caroline had wanted to speak to Mitch so
she told Brian that she had errands to run and drove directly to the worksite.

Caroline tapped her sunglasses on
the steering wheel a couple of times then took a key fastened with a green
bread tie from the console and opened the door of the Subaru.
 
The key unlocked the large wooden doors
to the foyer.
 
She could hear
hammering coming from the front of the house.
 
Saying nothing as she entered, Caroline
removed her gloves and scanned for signs of progress on work since her last
visit a few weeks ago.
 
Her face
revealed no reflection as to what her thoughts were on the matter.
 
A person of expectation, Caroline would
only respond if anything were out of sorts from predicted.
 
Things in the Johansson house were as
she expected them to be.

The furnace was on and the foyer
was quite cozy.
 
Caroline removed
then folded her coat over the banister of the front stairwell and then ran her
thumbs along her waist adjusting her pencil skirt before walking into the next
room.

When Caroline entered the hearth
room Mitch did not appear to notice.
 
He was kneeling on a piece of cardboard in the fireplace with his head
awkwardly cocked up toward the flue.
 
The hammering sound was coming from a piece of wood Mitch was knocking
against something up inside.
 
She
stood silent in the door and watched.
 
In just a t-shirt, Mitch’s muscles appeared contorted as he bent forward
and twisted his torso up to his side.

“What brings you up here Caroline?”
Mitch asked without turning his head toward her.

Caroline smiled at his apparent
sixth sense, “Did you see me pull up the drive?”

“It’s that floral perfume you’re
wearing, China Flower,” said Mitch.

Caroline chuckled lightly, “It’s
China
Rose
, but that’s good.”
 
She stepped toward the window so that
she was standing near him.
 
Crossing
her arms across her chest, she peered out over the lake.
 
Mitch continued to bang the inside of
the flue a few more times before maneuvering himself out of his awkward
physical position and setting down the small section of two by four he had been
using next to him.

“What are you doing?” asked
Caroline.

Mitch spun around and sat on the
floor, he responded by reaching into the fireplace and moving the handle of the
flue back and forth.
 
From inside
the chimney came a series of squeaks and thugs.

“There,” said Mitch, “the handle
was a little loose.
 
All set now.”

Arms still crossed, Caroline
shifted her gaze down from the window to Mitch and raised her eyebrows.
 
“That’s great,” said Caroline.

“Well it’s ok, good at best,” said
Mitch.
 
If he had a sixth sense then
he was now sensing that Caroline had something else on her mind that was making
her slightly pensive and that he was about to find out what that was.
 
Mitch would not have to wait long to see
if he was correct.

“You are here alone today,” said
Caroline.
 
Her feet began to tap one
to the other.

“Yea, the fellas went to get some
things from town,” said Mitch.
 
He
peeled off his heavy leather gloves and rested his arms on his knees.

“Brian said they would be gone for
the rest of the day.”

“So you knew I was up here alone?”

“I confess,” said Caroline.

“So what’s on your mind?” asked
Mitch.

“I just thought it has been a while
since we talked.”

“So what would you like to talk
about?” asked Mitch.

“Have you talked to Abby?”

“Yes.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Do, what do you mean?
 
She left for the city.
 
There is no ‘do’ to be done.”

Mitch sounded rather matter of fact
when he said this yet Caroline was not buying.
 
She had asked what Mitch’s intentions
were though what she really wanted to know is what they had been from the
beginning.

Caroline let her eyes meld into
Mitch’s.
 
Her face lost expression,
her mouth opened to speak then abruptly Caroline shifted her gaze back toward
the window in hesitation.

“What is it?” asked Mitch.

“How could you let this happen?”

“Let happen, she decided to go back
to the city.”

“That’s not what I mean,” said
Caroline.
 
“I mean you and Abby,
what were you thinking?”

Mitch raised himself off the floor
and started to walk to the next room.
 
“We aren’t going to get into this.”

“Get into it?”
 
Caroline dropped her arms to her side,
“She is my cousin.”

Mitch kept walking toward the
kitchen and Caroline followed him.
 
“So what if she is, what’s your point?”

“My point is that she is my cousin
and it matters to me how you feel about her.”

Mitch opened the refrigerator door
when he reached the kitchen and took out a bottle of water.

“Abby is nice,” said Mitch.

“You know if she is that important
to you, you should go to her,” said Caroline.

“I don’t think she wants to see
me,” said Mitch.
 
Mitch had
considered that he had put off Abby.

“Don’t be silly,” said Caroline, walking
passed Mitch.
 
She leaned over to
him, “Who wouldn’t want a cute fella like you?” said Caroline.
 
She gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

Caroline walked back toward the
front of the house, speaking loudly as she went about the project and what was
looking well.
 
Mitch welcomed the
change in topic yet did not follow Caroline, he was happy to let their
conversation echo through the house.

* * *
* *

The movie was not so bad.
 
The hero somehow reminded Abby of Mitch,
as did the villain because of his eyes.
 
The theater conjured up a sense memory of Mitch’s embrace, though she
liked that.
 
When the movie ended,
she sat in her seat until the credits had rolled and the lights had come
up.
 
Then with her empty soda cup in
hand Abby exited to the aisle and slowly strode up to the waiting daylight.

Abby’s plan had been to walk out of
the theater refreshed with some new insight.
 
This of course was not the case.
 
The pit of her stomach felt bitter.
 
Abby turned on her cell phone
anticipating a list of messages, any message,
any
distraction.
 
There were none.

Abby started to walk, again away
from her apartment.
 
The people on
the street were now wisps in the corner of her eye.