Madison told herself to go, but her legs wouldn’t move. She was fixated on the figure in the clearing, now wiping a few leaves from the base of the gravestone. CS rocked back on her heels, lowering herself to sit in the grass. She held the fuller glass, touching it to that on top of the stone. A musical tinkle traveled across the empty space into the trees. It sounded like fairy laughter to Madison.
After a long moment, Madison realized this was the longest she’d ever heard CS speak. Apart from the occasional break to sip her wine, she spoke nonstop. Madison craved to know whose grave this was, but knew she had no right to the answer.
Loose strands of hair fluttered to a rest on her forehead as the breeze died down. Heat poured over Madison, bringing new rivulets of sweat. Fatigue stole over her, the tension in her body had returned while she fought to remain a motionless observer. In the stillness, an odd fragrance stole over her, pushing away the scent of the forest and her own overheated skin. It was musty and reminded her of oranges, sweet black cherries, and old books. The combination was confusing but not unpleasant.
CS finished her wine. After a moment of staring into the empty glass, she pulled the cork and poured herself another, setting the now-empty bottle at the base of the stone. She leaned back on one outstretched arm, her long legs crossed in front of her, and held her glass up to the light. The wine was red, rich, and so dark the sunlight could not penetrate it. She swirled it, watching the wave chase itself across the inner surface of the globe. Her words ended in a chuckle and she shook her head, her close-cropped hair twisting with the movement except at the base of her neck where the damp strands stuck to the sweat.
Madison finally pulled herself back into the moment. Her thighs ached from standing still and her arms were too warm. The sun was lowering in the sky and she suddenly remembered her pots drying on the shelf. She’d lost track of time out here and they were waiting for her. She turned slowly, careful not to make too much noise, and retraced her steps out of the woods.
She turned back once. CS hadn’t moved. She still reclined against her arm in the sunlight, but the forest swallowed her words.
Chapter Ten
Madison slapped the mound of clay between her open palms, shifting it from one hand to the other as she found its center of balance. It wasn’t too large, just about seven pounds, enough to make a nice-sized vase. That’s what the clay felt like anyway. It was dry, maybe a little too dry. Maybe she wasn’t sealing the footlocker of her unused clay tightly enough against the heavy air. She’d have a better idea after this throw.
Once the clay was balanced, she pressed it down onto the wheel, using the rings carved in the metal to help her center it. Definitely a vase. Something tall. She’d start by throwing a cylinder and see where it went from there. Sitting on her stool, she started the wheel spinning with gentle pressure on the pedal and dipped her hands into the water bucket to her right. She put her wet hands on the mound of clay, holding them steady.
This clay took a surprisingly long time to center. It was complicated, this piece, and that didn’t bode well for the vase. The simplest part of pottery, and also the hardest, was keeping the hands quiet and still, letting the rotation of the wheel shape the piece. If the clay was even a millimeter off-center, the whole thing would fall apart.
After what felt like hours, the mound of clay, now slick with the moisture she added and much more pliable, found the center of the wheel and she pressed it down into the surface. She looked at it again, holding her wet gray hands in her lap as the wheel spun. It was a beautiful sight, the clay at its rawest state. Full of potential. Full of beauty waiting to be discovered.
Madison dipped her hands into the bucket again before laying them on the clay. She wrapped her palm and fingers around it, applying the lightest pressure just to clean the surface of any ridges. She pressed down with both thumbs into the center of the mound. The clay jumped away from her encroaching touch, pressing against her palms and, when it couldn’t escape that way, sliding up, giving the vase the first of its height.
Moments later she had the depth she wanted and she withdrew, careful not to mar the surface inside or out with her trailing fingers. She dipped her sponge into the bucket and squeezed a little water over the clay, keeping it moist enough to work with. This stage always reminded her of children’s science projects. A little volcano of clay just waiting to be filled with baking soda and vinegar.
She rinsed her hands in the bucket, the water growing murkier by the minute. Now was the fun part. The part where the clay became what it wanted to become, using Madison’s hands to shape itself. She hooked her thumbs together and curled her fingertips, making a crude heart shape, and gently wrapped them around her clay volcano, one hand inside, one outside. Pressing her fingertips with equal pressure on either side, she drew her hands up, pulling the wall of the pot with her. Once she was at the top, she cleaned the rim with her thumb, flattening the surface and discarding the extra clay into her water bucket.
Time and again she repeated the process, moving slowly lest her eagerness stretch the clay too thinly and create a weakness. Patience was key. She had to work the material gently, if she tried to coerce it at this point, the pot would rebel. Run away like a skittish lover. The walls grew higher and the bottom of her water bucket filled with discarded slip clay. The process was mechanical, repetitive, and she’d learned long ago to let her mind wander while she did it, letting the clay speak to her and keeping herself out of the way.
Her mind slid over images and thoughts with the same alacrity her fingers slipped over the wet clay. The feel of Kacey’s arm around her while she slept, pulling her close and making her feel safe. The feel of her grandmother’s hand wrapped around hers, the skin paper thin but gentle. The sound of wind whistling through the trees as she approached the little glade with the gravestone.
The clearing stuck in her mind. She rinsed her hands and surveyed her work. It was getting there, the clay finally felt right in her hands, but it needed more height. She had to stand now to get her hand inside without her forearm hitting the top. The moment her fingertips touched clay again, her mind was back in the woods.
There was something magical about that scene she’d intruded upon. Something unbelievable in the fact that CS had not seen her. That she’d remained a silent observer. The whole thing could’ve been a dream. Right down to the way the light caught at her eye. The way it danced around the glass in CS’s hand and found her hiding spot. Out of all the billions of directions that beam of light could have gone, it had caught Madison and held her in place. As though the moment were an important one to see. A moment that required a witness.
It felt somehow wrong to spoil it by trying to determine the identity of the grave. What she saw with CS wasn’t exactly grief. There were no tears. Even the low rumble of her voice was untroubled. No, it wasn’t grief. Madison knew what that looked like all too well. It was more like a visit. Like CS had gone to a friend’s house to share gossip over a glass of wine.
Madison stopped the wheel, pulling her hands away to see they were trembling. She couldn’t imagine why, unless the thought of death and grief was taking its toll. She didn’t feel sad, though. She didn’t feel much of anything she could define. She stepped on the pedal. Her trembling hands would sort themselves out. The clay was forgiving enough for that.
She’d lost her train of thought and had to stare for a long time at the spinning cylinder. It was the right height now, but still too thick. More importantly, her mind was back in its drift, letting her work.
She went back to the glade as she worked, trying to re-create the scene piece-by-piece. The whistle of the wind. The plush grass and brittle leaves underfoot. The green and brown of the earth and the vivid blue of the sky in the break of the canopy. She squeezed clay from her fingers into the bucket. Now she just needed that light to come back. The flash that was like liquid but not quite. That was the image she needed in her mind to make this pot live.
Her fingertips slipped across
the surface and she was in the woods again. CS stood next to the stone, her hips cocked just off-center and her thumbs hooked in the wide belt around her waist. Madison hadn’t noticed before how strong those arms were. Her shirt sleeves were rolled up to her elbow and her forearms looked like they were chiseled out of granite. In someone else, in someone kinder or someone who smiled occasionally, Madison would have found them distracting.
CS’s shoulders twitched. She was turning. She would see Madison in her hiding place and she would be angry. Those cold eyes would light up, but not with warmth. With angry fire. In that moment, Madison realized the blue eyes were already on her. Swallowing her. Taking every inch of her awareness until all she saw was twin pools of robin’s-egg blue ringed by shimmering, unblemished white. Those eyes drew her in inexorably.
A bang from the kitchen ripped Madison from her daydream with a gasp. She lurched, the collar of the pot buckled and the whole, beautiful mess crumpled, dropping onto the wheel. As the metal surface slowed to a stop, the deflated remnants gave one final, desolate flop, landing in a heap. Even in this ruined state, it was beautiful. It would have been a gorgeous vase.
“Madison!”
Kacey’s shout had set her teeth on edge. If it weren’t for the clatter of the empty coffeepot slamming into the maker, the vase would’ve sung. Madison sighed, dropping her forehead into the heel of her hand. She felt the watery clay soaking into her skin and the hair that fell across her face.
“Was that sigh for me?”
She knew it wasn’t Kacey’s fault, but the loss of the vase was still too new for her to respond well. The stink of stale booze didn’t help either. It was the smell that told her Kacey was coming closer, but Madison didn’t have anywhere to run.
“Wanna play out the scene from Ghost?”
It was an old joke between them, one that rarely offended Madison. Kacey’s hand would snake over her shoulder, heading for her breast, and that would be something Madison didn’t want at the moment. She stood abruptly, reaching for the wire to cut her destroyed pot from the wheel.
“That one didn’t work out, huh?”
“No. It didn’t.”
They both had an edge to their voice now. Sure, it was cute, the way Kacey flirted using that ridiculous movie love scene as a line, but it was also belittling and obnoxious. Probably every potter since that movie had had someone come on to them that way. She could shrug it off as Kacey’s sense of humor, but with the broken pot on her wheel she wasn’t in the mood for teasing. She made her living and found her purpose in this clay. Kacey’s patronizing attitude felt like a smack in the face.
“You didn’t make coffee?”
“I wanted to get straight to work.”
“I’m going to make some.”
“Okay.” When Madison realized how childish she was being, she added, “I’ll be right there.”
Madison started working the clay back into a block. Maybe she needed a break. A chance to clear her head. She focused on her breathing as she wiped the wheel clean. When she made her way into the kitchen after washing her hands in the mudroom sink, her smile was genuine.
The toaster popped a slightly scorched bagel and Madison snagged it on her way to the counter. Her stomach rumbled as she smeared cream cheese liberally on both sides. She hadn’t eaten when she’d got up, and now she was starving. Just smelling the melting cream cheese made her limbs droop with weakness. Maybe that was the real reason she toppled the vase.
Madison made her way to the dining table with her plate and a coffee. She swallowed just in time to drop a kiss on Kacey’s head as she passed. Kacey was eating a bagel too, but she had a neon blue Gatorade next to her coffee along with half the contents of their medicine cabinet.
“Long night?” Madison asked, dropping into a chair.
“Not too bad. I’m just getting old. I feel it after three drinks these days.” She gave Madison a wink. “So the moody artist emerges, huh?”
To avoid an unnecessary argument, Madison shrugged and sipped her coffee. It was just easier to give in. Kacey would forget all about it if she did, and she just wanted to eat and get back to work.
“You should come one night. It’s pretty low-key. Just the restaurant staff grabbing drinks while we clean up, but it’s fun.”
“I’ll pass. It’s too late for me to walk up there.”
“So get the jerk with the cart to give you a ride. I miss hanging out with you. It’s been a long time.”
“I know. I just don’t feel much like partying.”
“It’s not a party, just friends hanging out.”
Madison was still trying to avoid a fight. If the reek surrounding Kacey when she came home was any indication, they did more than just have a quiet drink while washing their knives. Last night she woke up at two and Kacey still wasn’t home. She just didn’t party like that anymore. Not that Kacey had seemed to notice.
It wasn’t like they’d talked about it when she got back from doing Top Chef. Now it felt like too late to have the conversation. Still, she would expect Kacey to notice something. It had been months and she hadn’t gone out once, even to quiet after-service drinks at the restaurant. At first she thought Kacey was giving her time to deal with everything. Now it felt like she either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Or maybe both.
They finished their breakfast in silence and, just as she’d predicted, Kacey hadn’t noticed the uneasy atmosphere. She sat back, washing a handful of aspirin down her throat and looked at Madison with a smile.
“You’re gorgeous when you’re covered in clay.”
“Am I?” Madison reached up and felt her bangs, caked in gray and drying to a firm crust. “I guess I am. Maybe I should shower.”
“Me first. I have to get to work.”
“Come home tonight?” Madison asked, all too aware of the distance between them and blaming herself. “I miss you.”
Kacey hesitated for a long moment, but finally nodded. “Sure, babe. We can hang out before bed.”
“I’d like that a lot.”
“Why don’t you come up for dinner? We can have a secret date. You sit at the chef’s table and I’ll cook for you.”
The chef’s table in most restaurants was tucked away into the kitchen. A private place to be served personally by the executive chef. That’s not how it was at ambrosia. Kacey had a taste for cooking to an audience now, so she made the kitchen, and thus the chef’s table, visible from all corners of the restaurant.
As a concept, it worked wonderfully. Diners paid astronomical prices to sit there. They were the second lead in Kacey’s little nightly drama.
The concept was great, but Madison felt her blood turn to ice at the thought of having so many strangers’ eyes on her. Strangers that were, thanks to Kacey putting their phone calls on television for the world to see, deluded into thinking they knew something of Madison and their relationship. Her mind flashed back to a run-in they had back in Denver when a couple of tourists stopped them and talked to them like they’d known each other for years. Kacey ate it up, but Madison was frightened by how much they knew, not just about Kacey, but about her.
“Not tonight. Jada’s visiting in a couple of weeks. I’ll bring her up and you can show off both of us.”
“Mmmm. Two hot women on my arm. Sounds like fun.”
Kacey kissed her hard before heading off to the shower. Madison cleaned up, wondering if she’d only managed to delay the fight. Chances were good that Kacey would try to get them to stay for drinks when Jada visited, and she wasn’t likely to respond well when Madison flatly refused.
Chapter Eleven
The second attempt at the vase wasn’t perfect, but at least it was whole. If she allowed herself an impartial eye on her own work, Madison might even call it pretty, but she had always been her own toughest critic. Maybe she’d like it better once she trimmed it. The bottom was chunky and it was too tall. Once she began the catalogue of faults, she knew she was spiraling and had to stop working for the day. Some day
s just weren’t the days to create.
After a shower, she headed out for a walk. She loved walking out the front door of the cottage. It made her feel like she was on vacation. The outdoor fireplace, the comfortable furniture and the wide, blue sky seemed full of dreams. Normally that was a good thing, but sometimes it felt selfish to be here throwing while Kacey was working so hard.
Madison started up the path to the main gate to the left and the main building to the right. She hadn’t been this way in a while. Despite the fact that they’d lived on the vineyard for six weeks, Madison hadn’t explored the whole property. She wanted to see how far the grapes stretched, and the best view was from the top of the hill.
Before she even made it to the main path, she ran into Boots, leading an enormous horse in her direction. He smiled and waved a gloved hand, stopping when they met on the dusty road.
“The artist emerges,” he said with a toothy grin she couldn’t help but return. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How’ve you been?”
She hadn’t realized how little time she’d spent socializing.
“Just working hard.” The horse snorted. She eyed it warily and asked, “Is something wrong with your horse? Why aren’t you riding?”
“Violet threw a shoe.”
“Um…That sounds…bad?”
“Nothing serious, but it can mess with her gait if I don’t fix it.”
“Sure.”
“You don’t have the slightest idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
“Not at all.”
She turned to walk beside him back the way she’d come, making sure to put him between her and the massive animal. Boots walked slowly, but she couldn’t tell whether that was for the horse’s benefit or for hers.
Boots grabbed a horseshoe from his back pocket, holding it out in front of them as they walked. “We were inspecting the chardonnay on the other side of the hill when she hit a rock wrong. The thing just fell right off.”
And Then There Was Her Page 8