The Potter's Daughter (Literary Series) (6 page)

Before making his shot, Mitch
raised his head and their eyes met, only for a second.
 
The acoustic duo was singing an old folk
harmony.
 
Abby was sure she felt a
spark and so did Mitch.
 
Mitch’s
eyes returned to the green field of the table and fixed upon the twelve.
 
He pocketed the ball with a quick blow
from the cue.
 
Abby complimented the
obligatory, “Nice shot.”
 
This
sounded flirtatious to Mitch, and though not necessarily intentional,
encouraging.
 
He then shot the cue
ball down the length of the table toward the thirteen sinking the thirteen and
the fourteen.

Abby decided a little banter might
be necessary and was coming up short.
 
“Tomorrow?
 
I suppose I could
swing by.
 
Maybe around lunch?”

Mitch lifted his eyes from the
table, “Yea, lunch would be great.
 
You know how to get there right?”

“I know,” said Abby.

Mitch missed his next shot giving
Abby a chance to redeem her game.

The next shot was easy as the
two-ball was on the edge of the corner.
 
The second shot that Abby needed to make was a bit more of a
challenge.
 
The four was still sitting
next to the pocket and was easily her best bet since she had no obvious other
shots and there was no direct way to hit the four without banking the
shot.
 
She stood at the corner of
the table getting her bearing on an angle and then shifted to the other corner
doing the same thing.
 
Abby then kneeled
down to see the cue balls perspective, furrowed her brow for a moment, and
nodded her head.

“Not a clue, do you?” said Mitch.

“Nope,” answered Abby.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Mitch,
“I will walk to the end of the table and place my finger on the edge of the
table.
 
All you have to do is aim at
my finger.”

“You’ll do that?”

“Yes, I will,” said Mitch.

“Well ok then.”

Mitch walked to the end of the
table.
 
He held his arm up and
pointed at the four-ball, then pointed at the side pocket, and then he hovered
his finger for a moment while he gauged the cue ball before placing his finger
on the edge of the bumper.

“Gently,” said Mitch.

Abby leaned across the table and
pushed her cue stick toward his finger gently as he had said.
 
The ivory ball went to the bumper and to
the aubergine ball.
 
Upon being
struck the ball slowly spun around into the side pocket.

 
“Well how do you like them apples?”
 
Abby asked.

“There you go,” said Mitch.

Abby saw a shot she thought would
be easy.
 
The seven-ball was at the
corner of the table and a straight shot from the cue.
 
Abby walked around the table circling
Mitch at the end where he stood.
 
“Easy shot,” said Abby as she passed him.
 
Abby took the shot.
 
The cue ball bounced off the bumper next
to the seven, missing the ball, and raced down the other side of the table
right into the eight ball.
 
The
eight ball and the cue ball went into the opposite corner pocket.

“Ouch,” said Mitch.
 
“A little too much spin I guess.”

Abby wrinkled her nose at Mitch, “I
guess.”

* * *
* *

Mitch and Abby went back to the
table to join Caroline and Brian.
 
Bob Jensen, owner of the Stone Tavern, was at the table.
 
Bob was complimenting the couple on the
party and goading Brian as to whether he felt any ‘worse for the wear’ at forty.
 
After Bob stepped away, the pitchers
began to pour.

The acoustic duo finished another
harmonic number then announced they were taking a long break then began talking
amongst themselves.
 
Mitch excused
himself and walked over to the stage.
 
Abby could see that Mitch and the duo were friends by the ‘bro-hug
handshakes’ they exchanged.
 
She saw
them scan the table then focus back on her and suspected that Mitch was
requesting some sort of song.

One of the musicians walked the
three steps to the back of the stage with his guitar in hand and took a violin
out of a case.
 
Caroline tapped Abby
on the arm when, instead of putting the guitar down, the musician handed the
instrument to Mitch.

“You’re going to love this,” said
Caroline.

Mitch sat on the musician’s stool
and the violinist stood to Mitch’s left while the other musician picked up his
guitar and took a seat back on his respective stool.

Mitch spoke into the microphone, “I
got the boys to do one more quick song.”

Mitch looped the thick black
leather guitar strap over his neck.
 
“This is to make up for winning a pool game,” said Mitch fixing his gaze
at Abby.

Mitch began to strum the guitar
slowly.
 
Abby felt the warmth of her
cheeks flushing and was giddy in her stomach.

“We don’t have a drummer so we’ll
need everyone’s help when the time comes.
 
You’ll know when.”

The violinist serenely followed in
behind Mitch.
 
Mitch began to sing a
slow, sappy, sweet verse.
 
Abby had
a sudden urge to head for the door.
 
The verse was a simple rhyme scheme and a few lines that switched from
serious to comedic.

‘If you had a chance

 
to
meet this
girl

You would know

why
I feel
this way.

Mary Love is the loveliest

girl
in
the world

now
she is
gone away.

But she left with Mark,

John, Paul, and Rob

so
with
them I wish she’d stay’

The bar filled with laughter and
the violinist changed to a quicker rhythm that, with the accompaniment of the
guitar, created an upbeat jig.
 
Two
couples near the dance floor got up and began to dance and Mitch repeated the
verse in time with the music and went into new facetious verses.
 
Abby had thought Mitch’s demeanor calm
and cool.
 
Contrarily his exuberance
had the whole room clapping in time.
 
The bow of the violin melodically sped across the strings with a
melancholy cry that fit the song well.
 
The song was a comedic dreadful story of a man abused by a lover, named
Mary Love, which he could not escape.
 
No matter how many times she would cheat and leave, she would always
come back.
 
The man attempted to
hide everywhere, yet to no avail, which came out in the chorus:

‘You can try to hide in the valley
below,

You can try in the mountain above,
but,

You cannot hide,

You cannot hide,

You cannot hide from Love.’

Mitch and the guitarist had both
stood up by this point and were tapping to the rhythm.
 
Another couple was dancing and the air
had turned electric.
 
The music of
the last verse slowed then rose to a crescendo for the last chorus then stopped
abruptly to everyone’s applause.

“Thank you everybody,” said
Mitch.
 
He winked at Abby and then shook
the duos hands before returning to the table.

“Told you you’d love that,” said
Caroline.

“Who wouldn’t,” said Abby.

The three at the table clapped
again as Mitch approached to sit down and Brian picked up the pitcher and
topped off Mitch’s beer.

“Aren’t you talented,” said Abby.

“That’s the only song I know,” said
Mitch.

“I doubt that.”

“Well maybe a couple more,” said
Mitch.

“I bet you do,” said Abby.

“He does, don’t buy the modesty
act,” said Caroline.
 
“Let’s see if
he’s talented enough to read a menu.
 
I’m famished.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” said Mitch in a mock
laugh as he took the menu Caroline offered him.

Instead of reading at what was on
the menu, Mitch was peering over the top at Abby.
 
Her cheeks were full and she was glowing
after all of the laughter.
 
Mitch
realized he had stared too long into the light and had to avert his eyes when
Abby began to lift her head from the menu.
 
Abby had not noticed.
 
When
Abby lifted her head, she saw Mitch intently studying his menu.

“Do you know what you’re having?”
asked Abby.

“So many choices I’m not sure.
 
It all looks good,” said Mitch.

“You should try the child’s menu,”
said Caroline.

Mitch mockingly laughed again, “Ha,
Ha.
 
You are full of them tonight.”

“Maybe if you looked at the menu a
bit more instead of Abby you would find something,” said Caroline.
 
She had noticed Mitch’s prolonged gaze
in Abby’s direction.

“Probably a burger,” said
Mitch.
 
“Yes, a burger and sweet
potato fries.”

* * *
* *

Will pulled his truck up to the
Stone Tavern and parked in the space at the end of the snowmobile pack.
 
He stepped out and looked across the
road to see if the liquor store was still open.
 
The fluorescent light that hung low in
the store was on however that did not necessarily mean anything since they left
the lights on all night over there.
 
The watch Will kept on the dashboard of his truck had not worked in five
years or been worn in fifteen, even then only on occasion.
 
Walking across the road, he leaned his
neck forward to see any signs of movement a bit sooner.
 
The face of the wall clock read ten
minutes to the hour.
 
Will took this
as a good sign.
 
When Will opened
the door a little bell signaled the counter that someone had just arrived in
case they were stocking shelves, in the back, or with a customer.

The Willow Lake liquor store was
just that and nothing else.
 
This
was the only place to buy liquor for twenty miles.
 
The store interior did not need to be
upscale or wood trimmed.
 
The wine
section did not need the ends of giant casks on the wall.
 
The advertisements were even at a
minimum because they were not really needed.
 
The liquor store had been set up by the
liquor control commission and was as basic as a store could get.

Inside of the liquor store aisle
after aisle of alcohol, the vodka, the whiskey, the brandy, and gin were lined
up on the shelves with full cases behind them, in more of a storage facility
fashion than a display.
 
Along the
side and back walls, from floor to ceiling, were all of the varietals of wines,
the Cabernets, the Chardonnays, the Pinots, and the Chablis from wineries from
around the world.
 
The variety of
wine labels to choose from represented a vast collection of wineries, corporate
and boutique, with catchy names like ‘Red Juice’, ‘Farmers Dream’, and ‘Devil
Dog’.

Will chose his wines for taste and
price.
 
The Argentinian Malbec had a
faux French label to appear authentic and the Shiraz had a large black turtle
on the label.
 
Both were under ten
dollars and did not taste like varnish.
 
That pretty much made them his wines.
 
In what now had become a ritual he
swiped one of each off the shelves and went up to the counter.
 
After setting the bottles down next to
the register Will stepped back three steps and picked up a half pint of ginger brandy,
elixir as he called the drink, and tossed the bottle hand to hand as he stepped
back to the counter.
 
Will knew what
the total would be before Dennis, the cashier, rang the bill up.
 
Will reached into his pocket and pulled
out two twenties and placed them and the ginger brandy next to the wine.
 
Dennis bagged the bottles and slid them
across the counter.
 
Will did not
wait for Dennis to ring in the twenties.
 
Will scooped up the bag and muttered goodnight as he turned to the door.

Will’s walk back across the street
was direct.
 
His thumb punched the
button to the handle of the passenger door and as the door swung open, he
pulled himself inside.
 
Will dropped
the bag on the passenger side floor of the truck.
 
Immediately he reached for the ginger
brandy.
 
He cracked the top and
poured some down his throat.
 
A jolt
shot through him.
 
He cringed.
 
His body tightened up and then went
loose as he shook off the initial bite.
 
A numbing quiver crept up his spine.
 
Will put the bottle to his lips and took
another drink.
 
This one went down
smooth and brought him momentary euphoria.

Will slipped the brandy into his
inside coat pocket, shut the door to the pickup, and then headed to the Tavern
door.
 
Stepping inside Will went
right to the end of bar, waved over Jodi the bartender, and ordered a beer and
a sidecar of whiskey.
 
While waiting
for his drinks
Will
said hello to some fellow locals
at the bar, undid his coat, and proceeded in small talk with Terry Enders.
 
The talk was automated though because
all Will could really think about was getting the beer and whiskey.
 
A beer and a shot were part of the
formula that would calm his nerves and steady his hands so he could get back to
work on the urns.
 
Urns that were
Bellen
urns
only if they were made by Bellen hands.
 
This was all part of a ritual.