According to Design

by Nicole Dennis

  With a desire to finish everything, Wyatt pulled down two small containers filled with glass and metal pieces. He mixed a thin cement, tinting with a similar glaze, and used different tools. He took care to place chips of glass in precise spots upon the wave to enhance sections. He added the metal as decoration around the sandcastle. After an earlier trip to the beach, he sprayed the urn’s lower section with a light glue and pressed handfuls of sand against it. He wanted a natural effect to finish the beach scene. He set the large urn aside to let everything dry. A final clear gaze would seal everything. He repeated the process on the smaller urn.

  The music flashed low and high to alert him.

  “Wyatt. Wyatt?”

  When he heard his name, Wyatt lifted the remote and dialed down the volume. He twisted around on the stool. “Hey, Mari,” he said and checked the time. “It’s too early for Collin to arrive.”

  “It isn’t him,” Mari said. She motioned to someone behind her. “You can go on in.”

  As Marissa left, the petite figure of Erin McGowan stood in her place. “Thank you, Mari. Appreciate the help.” She waved to Wyatt. “Hello. Sorry to disturb you.”

  “No, no, you’re welcome here anytime, Erin. Hello, sorry about the noise. Come inside, please.”

  “Pat was the same when he worked.” She moved inside, careful to not disturb or brush against anything. “What were you working—” She spotted the dual urns and stopped talking for a moment. Pressing her fingers against her mouth, Erin stared at them, her eyes watering. “They’re beautiful.”

  “Patrick helped with the design. This is one of the last things he collaborated on with me.”

  “Will they be ready for the memorial?”

  “Yes. I’ll give them a clear coat to seal everything once the cement dries. I spoke with Jude earlier and he’ll donate flowers for the memorial. Since I took over things, I started to pull together ideas and wrote out a list. I asked Marissa to speak with other vendors in the area. We’ll have it here in the gallery, where Patrick loved to spend time. I wish Jeremy could help me, but I understand why he’s holding back.”

  “I don’t know why he is waiting. This is something to bring closure to the pain,” she said.

  “He doesn’t want closure. He wants Patrick to walk through the door and everything in his life to be okay again.”

  With a sigh, Erin stepped over to where Wyatt sat. She stirred her finger in the small container of sand and watched the sifting grains. “He’s not the only one who lost Pat. My sweet baby boy.”

  “I’m sorry. Jeremy is lost in his grief. It’s all I can say.”

  “I know, but it’s so difficult to watch this happen.”

  “We’re all going through the same. Patrick touched all of our lives and will be missed.”

  Erin continued to stare at the urns. “I wanted to get away from the house for a bit, get some fresh air. Pat loved this little town and the beach. Other than Jeremy, it was all he could talk about.”

  “Are you feeling a bit restless?”

  “I need to do something. I was never one to curl in a corner and cry. If I was ever upset or angry, I would clean or bake or both until I ran out of energy.”

  “Umm. I think you and Marissa should plan the memorial. You know all about your son, and Marissa can organize anything. You two can finalize some of the details. It’ll keep your mind occupied. Okay?”

  “When are we going to hold it?”

  “This Saturday. I’ll get Jeremy out of the darkness and get him there.”

  “There’s only one thing Marissa and I weren’t sure what to use. Music. Patrick loves—” She stopped and swallowed. “Loved his music. I’m hoping we could have a live singer, but I’m not sure where to find one.”

  “I know of someone. If you don’t mind, I’ll call Dakota’s younger brother and a friend of mine, Cal Mitchell. Cal’s a singer and songwriter and was a friend of Patrick and Jeremy. I’m hoping he can travel here and play some music.”

  “I remember young Cal and his music. It’s beautiful. Patrick would be touched. Isn’t he in California?”

  “He is, and that’s part of the trouble. I’ll take care of getting him here.”

  * * * *

  Half an hour after Erin had left, Wyatt called the number he had for Cal Mitchell—only to find out it had been disconnected. Confused about why Cal wouldn’t give him an updated number, he decided to phone Dakota. He’d heard something had happened to Samuel, but hadn’t gotten the details.

  “Hello.”

  At the quiet tone, different than Dakota’s boisterous nature, Wyatt wasn’t sure who was on the line. “Dakota?”

  “Yeah, hi, Wyatt,” Dakota said. “Sorry, can’t talk loud.”

  “Where are you? Am I calling at a bad time?”

  “I’m at the clinic, down the hall from Samuel’s room. Someone tried to poison him again with the fucking nuts. I swear, I’m losing my mind and want to kill this little bastard for hurting Samuel. Right now, I’m stuck out here and helpless.”

  “Shit, I didn’t realize it was that serious. Jude or Beau told me something, but not all the details. I’m sorry, man, do you need someone there?”

  “No, no, I’m fine, just want to get the little bastard.”

  “Understandable. I have plenty of weapons here, if you need one. No questions asked. I won’t say a word to anyone.”

  Dakota forced out a rough chuckle at Wyatt’s attempt to lighten things. “I don’t know. I think Robin can make you break.”

  “Nah, he’s a big teddy bear.”

  “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

  Wyatt smiled at the thought of the burly sheriff dressed in a bear costume. It would be perfect.

  “You didn’t call to hear me whining. What can I do for you?” Dakota said, pushing back the pain in his tone.

  “I could call back…”

  “No, please, I need the chance to do something. Any kind of distraction, even a bad attempt at humor is great. What’s up?”

  “I thought it was an awesome attempt,” Wyatt teased.

  “Wyatt…”

  “Okay. Sorry. Not sure if you know, but I’m planning the memorial. For Patrick.”

  “Yeah, I heard. Do you need something from the Charm?”

  “I can call Mal or Chandler, no, this is more personal. I tried to call your baby brother, but got a disconnected number message. I’m hoping you heard from Cal or have a different number.”

  “Cal? Yeah, I talked to him a couple of weeks ago. What number did you call?”

  Wyatt rattled off a number.

  “Nope, that was a cell phone his lover gifted him and then cut him off when everything ended between them. Another bastard in a list of his many attempts to find love,” Dakota said.

  “Yeah, Cal doesn’t have the best of records.”

  “Nope,” Dakota said. “Hang on, gotta scroll through my contacts and find him. Have a pen handy?”

  Wyatt moved stuff around until he unearthed a pen and pad. “Go ahead.”

  It took a moment, but Dakota called out a new number with the California area code. “Cal moved in with a new band-mate.”

  “How’s his music going?”

  “Two bands fell apart on him, unable to make it. He managed to get into a new one, but things aren’t looking good for him. He’s not sure if he should strike out on his own. Right now, the band plays clubs and venues between Berkeley and San Francisco. I should probably tell him to pack up, come here for a long break, and figure out what to do with his life. I doubt he’ll take my advice.”

  “Would I be able to reach him?”

  “Can try and call him. Leave a message if he doesn’t answer. Why do you want to reach him?”

  “I’m hoping he can come back here and play for the memorial. Cal met Patrick and Jeremy during his last few trips here.”

  “He should be told then.”

  “Right. Thanks for the number. You better get back to Samuel before he misses your pre
sence.”

  “Right. Thanks for calling,” Dakota said and hung up before Wyatt could offer his byes. Wyatt wasn’t angry at the abrupt ending. It was a typical Dakota move.

  Instead, Wyatt dialed the new number and let it ring. Before the voicemail kicked in, the line picked up.

  “Cal Mitchell.”

  “Cal, hey, it’s Wyatt McBride.”

  “Wyatt, hey, long time no talk.”

  “You changed your number on me,” Wyatt said with a chuckle.

  Cal laughed back. “Sorry. Didn’t have much choice. Jerk of an ex cut me off without a word. Had to get a new phone and plan and rebuild all of my contacts. It sucked. I missed a lot of numbers and information.”

  “How’s life out in sunny California?”

  “Expensive.”

  Wyatt laughed again.

  “It’s the truth. I’m a full-time waiter and a part-time musician. Typical of most music folks. Doesn’t matter if I’m broke. I’m determined to do something. You know I followed Dakota’s steps throughout my life. He’s making a name for himself in the food business. I chose music,” Cal said. “Neither of us wants to follow our parents.”

  “Have you talked to them?”

  “Not since they purchased a farm in Colorado and started their business.”

  “Business? They run a business?”

  “They grow marijuana but claim it’s to make hemp products, not pot.”

  “Do you believe them?”

  “Hell no. I’m sure they create both hemp and pot, but sell it for more pot to smoke. They’re the same traveling stoner hippie flower-people who dragged their six kids all over the States for shit. They stopped their traveling after all of us fled.”

  Wyatt heard the bitterness in Cal’s voice when he spoke about his childhood. Dakota often got the same way, but rarely said anything about his beginnings. They continued to talk, catching up with one another and let the time get away from them.

  While he didn’t want to ruin the mood, Wyatt had to get to the point. “Hey, Cal, there’s a reason I called. Other than to catch up with you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Not sure if you heard, but we lost Patrick.”

  “Oh, fuck,” Cal said. “How’s Jeremy?”

  “Knocked off his feet, but we’re not letting him fall into darkness. His brother, Ethan, raced down here to stay with him. The rest of his friends around town are taking turns to watch and help. I’m planning the memorial with Patrick’s mom.”

  “I don’t want to miss it. When are you holding it?”

  “Saturday.”

  “I can pull together some money, get time off from the restaurant, and fly there. Will need a pick-up.”

  “I’ll make sure it happens between Dakota and myself. I spoke with him,” Wyatt said.

  “Good. I’ll call him when I have plans made.”

  “Could you bring your guitar? I’m hoping you can add music to the memorial.”

  “Of course. Hell, yes, I would sing for Patrick. I’m honored,” Cal said.

  “Thanks, buddy.”

  “You know I adored Patrick and Jeremy since our epic UNO game. I’ve spoken with them all the time except for the last couple of months. I guess Patrick was getting weaker by then,” Cal said.

  “Yeah, and Jeremy didn’t talk with anyone. All of his attention was on Patrick, but it didn’t help.”

  “Of all people for the damn virus to take, Patrick shouldn’t have been one of them. Due to one stupid mistake.”

  “And forever pay for it. The meds stopped lowering his viral load and the virus overwhelmed his system. He had a bad case of the flu last winter and never recovered.”

  “Shit.” Cal let the curse hang between them. “Okay. Lemme go. I’ll get plans together and call either you or Dakota with the details.”

  “Talk to you soon.”

  “Give my hugs and love to Jeremy. Please.”

  “Will do. See you soon.”

  Cal gave him the same response and they hung up.

  Wyatt tossed the phone on the table. He braced his elbows on the desk and hung his head down. Tears rose as the loss of his friend overwhelmed him once more and he let them come. Not ashamed to cry.

  Chapter Seven

  The rest of the day disappeared while he finished the urns, got an update from Cal and ticked off more items on his portion of the memorial to-do list. Wyatt finally left the workshop. He cleaned up the best he could, changed shirts and shoved his fingers through his hair to get some semblance of order. He left the gallery and wandered down the sidewalk.

  Outside, he pulled in a deep breath of fresh air. The salty breeze soothed his ragged emotions. With a quick check for cars, he crossed to reach the Minstrel Café. He opened the door to help a mother with a stroller leave. He stepped inside to look for a free table. Instead, he found Keegan sitting alone along the wall filled with windows overlooking the street. A mess of papers was scattered in front of him. A sleek laptop fought for a bit of space.

  He decided to take a chance and wound his way through the café. At some point, Keegan must have heard something because he lifted his head and smiled.

  “Wyatt, hello, I didn’t expect to see you,” he said.

  “Hi there, may I join you?”

  “Sure. Lemme clean up a bit.” Keegan gathered the papers into a large stack then dropped them in his bag. “There you go. A little more room.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate it.” Wyatt sat and shoved fingers through his hair to sweep it away from his face. He really needed a haircut.

  “What brings you here?”

  “I had a couple of rough days and needed to get outside.”

  “Does this have something to do about the article in the paper? It was about a young artist who worked in your gallery. I remember the name from admiring one of his pieces during my visit.”

  “Patrick. Yeah.” Wyatt rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been dealing with his death for some time. It took my attention, from Collin, but I’m getting back to routine. Just hits hard at odd times.”

  “Whenever you’re not prepared and can’t stand up against the pain,” Keegan said.

  “Exactly. I needed to get away from the studio. Figured I should stop in for something to eat and I saw you sitting here.”

  “I’m happy you decided to stop in and join me. I was thinking about you,” Keegan said.

  Wyatt returned his smile and said, “Collin is doing better since our talk.”

  A soft flush colored Keegan’s face. “I wasn’t acting like a teacher and thinking about Collin. I was more interested in his guardian.”

  Wyatt tilted his head at Keegan’s soft confession. He smiled at the words. He leaned forward, resting his other elbow on the table. “What exactly where you thinking about?”

  “All kinds of things—things that don’t belong in the classroom—and it all goes back to when I first saw you standing in your studio. It was quite the dramatic image for a first meeting.” Keegan traced his fingers down Wyatt’s inked arm.

  “I wish we had more time to talk.” Wyatt watched Keegan follow the design on his skin. “Like the ink?”

  “No. No, don’t feel bad. You were busy. How things went then was great. It’s a teasing memory.” Keegan stalled his movement. “And yes, I love finding ink on someone and wondering what caused them to choose that image. Yours are gorgeous.”

  “A friend worked with me on the art and did the tattooing.”

  “Are you done?”

  “Not sure, there’s always room to add something.”

  “Perhaps something from a chance meeting? A loss of a friend?”

  “Excellent ideas, I should consider adding something for him,” Wyatt said as he looked down at his inked arm. He glanced back to Keegan. “Would this chance meeting happen to last a little longer this time?” He turned his hand to capture Keegan’s fingers in a soft grip.

  “I would like that very much,” Keegan said.

  “I don’t wa
nt you to feel alone in this small town. It’s a wonderful place to meet folks. Have you walked through town since those first few times?”

  Keegan lifted his free hand and fiddled with the corner of his glasses. “No, since then I’ve been a little busy. On top of things at school, the sheriff has called me on multiple cases. Of course, I don’t mind the calls at all. Those are my true passion.”

  “Why aren’t you working in a larger city where you could work only as a crime scene tech?”

  “I don’t have much experience and my résumé was a little empty. Besides, I get the best of both choices here. You get lost in a big city police department.”

  “I would suspect so, and not much acknowledgment.”

  “Depends on where you’re working, but it’s not about the acknowledgment. It’s more about figuring out the puzzle behind a case to find the culprit and get justice for the victim and answers for those who knew the victim.”

  “Sounds like a noble desire.”

  “A little naïve, but I’m hoping to work on it,” Keegan said.

  As a typical Florida storm rolled in, they remained inside the café. They continued to talk, pausing only when a waitress took their orders. She delivered their meals within a few minutes. Wyatt continued to ask Keegan questions about crime scenes. He knew Keegan couldn’t go into specifics and only give him basics. He even teased him about what it was like with all the CSI and Law & Order shows.

  Keegan rolled his eyes and stabbed some baby spring lettuce and chicken with his fork. “While those shows are interesting, they’re not realistic. You don’t find all the answers in a few hours or days. It takes time to process and test the evidence, not to mention the care in collecting everything. You’re not sure what you collect is even what you need to fill in pieces of the puzzle. It doesn’t help when the lawyers bring the case to court. All the jurors believe all the answers are in forensics and sometimes it’s not. Science has come a long way to answer many questions, but there are still some unanswered ones out there.”