Independence Day

by Amy Frazier

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MONDAY MORNING as Chessie readied her studio for the second session of the badly depleted pottery class, she stifled a yawn. Students would be arriving any time now, and all she could think about was crawling back into bed. She was exhausted…but, after many long sessions in her studio, the piece for Ursula Delacorte was complete. A day before the deadline, no less. The finished work was nothing as she’d first imagined, nothing like the sketch she’d shown Ursula, but it was everything she’d been trying to say and more, thanks to Isabel’s suggestion she go more abstract. Just when you thought your seventeen-year-old might never grow up, amazing adult words came out of her mouth.

  Surprisingly, the project had turned out to be a family endeavor of sorts. When Nick heard she was under a deadline, he said he might not understand art, but he understood deadlines. He then took the girls under his wing and gave Chessie space and time. Gabriella ran a regular lunch wagon between the kitchen and the studio, featuring a new McCabe treat—grilled cheese sandwiches with maple syrup dipping sauce. And when, in frustration, Chessie smashed her umpteenth false start, Nick insisted she take a break. He’d booked one of Kit’s kayak eco-tours for the four of them. On that lovely, peaceful Saturday afternoon, Chessie found the driftwood that would jumpstart her stalled creative process.

  “Hello!” The voice of her first student rang up the stairwell.

  Chessie only vaguely recognized the older woman who entered her studio. “Do you think anyone would be insulted if I dragged out name tags?”

  “Not at all,” the woman replied brightly, circling the sheet covering Chessie’s finished piece. “What’s this?”

  “Some custom work. The potential buyer’s coming later today to see it. Hopefully, I’ll make the sale.”

  “An unveiling. How exciting,” the woman said, accepting a tag and printing her name— Jess. “Will you show the class?”

  “It’s not the crockery type pottery you’re working on. It’s more mixed-media sculpture. I wasn’t sure the class would be interested.”

  “Interested in what?” A familiar voice startled Chessie.

  She turned to see Kit entering the studio with Alex right behind. “I hope you have a couple spaces. On Mondays I don’t have any tours scheduled till afternoon. Alex and I thought it would be fun to take a class together.”

  “I wanna make a cookie jar,” Alex declared with a big grin. “Aunt Emily’s teaching the cousins how to bake.”

  “Do I hear my name?” Chessie hadn’t reconciled the sudden appearance of Kit and Alex before Emily came up the stairs, followed by three women Chessie recognized as members of her sister-in-law’s play coop. “This is Olivia,” Emily said, taking tags and passing them around to her friends, “and Diane and Lisbeth. We were wondering what we could do on the Mondays we’re not in charge of our kids’ play group, and I thought pottery. It would be a lot more productive than outrageously priced coffee and gossip at the mall.”

  Chessie was getting suspicious, but students from last week were arriving and settling at the long trestle tables set up for class. She could ask her two sisters-in-law what was up later.

  “We only found out about this course a few days ago.” Chessie looked up from setting out extra materials to see two of Nick’s teachers. Susan taught English and Nora taught history, or was it the other way around? Chessie didn’t know, but she knew from seeing them around town that they weren’t teaching summer school. “Can we do a late registration?”

  “Why…yes.” Chessie thought at the time her flyers might be a little too low-key. “I had some people cancel, so I have room.”

  “Room enough for me?”

  “Aunt Mariah!” Alex exclaimed. “Did Uncle Nick call you, too?”

  “He sure did.” Mariah looked at Chessie. “Mondays are my day off. Nick suggested I pick up a little culture.”

  Nick.

  Chessie looked around at her full classroom. Nick would be the common denominator of all the new students. And she thought he hadn’t been listening when she talked of the drop-outs and her disappointment. Unbelievable. She might just have to tweak her definition of romantic gestures.

  “All right, class,” she said, her fatigue slipping away. She put an upbeat reggae CD into the boombox. “Let’s get busy!”

  How she loved eager students, and this group was nothing if not eager. With laughter and rapid-fire chatter, the hour passed quickly.

  As people were tagging their unfinished creations for storage till next week, Jess spoke up. “Will you show us your piece, Chessie?” she asked, indicating the covered work awaiting Ursula’s approval. She looked at her own slightly lopsided bowl, not yet glazed. “Please, show us how the master does it.”

  A chorus of voices rose in agreement.

  Suddenly, Chessie felt unaccountably shy. She’d stepped outside her comfort range in creating the piece for Ursula. She wasn’t even sure some of the techniques she’d employed were all that regular. Although she loved the finished work, had she made something others would relate to?

  As if sensing her doubt, Kit stood close to her and said quietly in her ear, “You won’t know what we think until you unveil it.”

  “All right.” Chessie stepped up to the sheet. “I give you…‘Her Head Was in the Goddess Movement, but Her Feet Were Firmly Planted in the PTA’.” She stopped short of removing the protective covering.

  More than a few faces showed amusement at the title, but Kit made a silent tugging motion, urging Chessie on.

  She removed the sheet and her creation was met by absolute silence.

  The base of the piece was done in rough ceramic chunks and shreds and chips that tumbled over one another in a dull organic chaos that resembled freshly tilled garden soil. Out of this rose the piece of driftwood Chessie had found on the kayak outing. Strong despite the weathering it had endured, the wood—perhaps a branch in a former life—seemed to undulate, “arms” upraised, its natural silver finish giving it a look of elegance despite the heavy clods that anchored it. At the top a smooth knot looked amazingly like a face. Around this Chessie had fixed shards of pottery in pale opalescent colors, creating a shimmering crown that reflected light upon the “face”. Her Goddess might be mired, but she was reaching for the stars.

  Or that’s what Chessie had intended. The silence of her students, however, unnerved her.

  “Oh, my! That could be me!” Emily said, finally, her voice full of wonder. “Some days when I’m slogging through dirty diapers and smeared PB&J and pizza stuffed in the VCR, I take a look in the mirror and I think— I think— I can faintly see the former prom queen.”

  “For me,” said Jess, “it’s the two women I am. The one bogged down by arthritis and the one whose spirit won’t be crushed, who dances to her own inner tango.”

  “What about work-woman and vacation-woman?” Susan exclaimed. “I can be literally buried under term papers that need grading, but I hold on to that sensuous creature who’s saved up enough to lie on the beach for a week in Cancún and sip Mai Tais and flirt with the pool boy.”

  As her students began to talk of the dichotomy of their own everyday experience, Chessie’s spirits soared. She had spoken and been understood. It was almost a shame that the Goddess would be moving on.

  “What a great signature piece for your gallery,” Kit said.

  “I was thinking the same thing, but she’s sold.”

  “Well, there’s more great stuff where she came from.”

  Chessie gave her sister-in-law a swift, heartfelt hug.

  As her class trooped noisily down the stairs—some of them swaying to the reggae beat— Chessie counted this as one of those top-of-the-world moments. How fitting that her family, who’d run her through the peaks and valleys of domestic existence all week, had been part of the support structure that made it possible. And what about Nick refilling her roster? Incredible.

  AS GABRIELLA SHOOK the dust mop out the side door, she saw Keri Weiss taking out the trash. Gabri
ella had to look twice because she’d never, ever seen her former friend help with any household chores. Come to think of it, for the past few days Gabriella hadn’t seen Keri doing much of anything. She hadn’t seen Margot or Baylee, either. What was going on across the street?

  “Check it out,” she said to Isabel, who was coming in from her first day as cashier at the lobster pound.

  “Weird,” her sister agreed. “Maybe Mrs. Weiss has taken a page from Mom’s book.”

  “Maybe.” Gabriella wondered what Keri could have done to precipitate the change, however. “Hey, how was the job?”

  Isabel held up a large bag. “Gramps sent lobsters for supper. All cooked. And you would not believe the cute summer guys who come in with their parents to pick these out.” She headed for the fridge.

  Gabriella was sort of envious. She hadn’t thought of the cute guy aspect of the job.

  “Where’s Mom?” Isabel asked, rummaging in the refrigerator.

  “In her studio with that lady who’s supposed to buy the Goddess.”

  “There’s nothing to drink.”

  “Mom and I made a list of stuff we need. I was going to go to Branson’s. I’ll get you a soft drink.”

  “Thanks.”

  It was funny how nice that word sounded. How nice it was that Isabel and she had been decent to each other for the past few days. At first Gabriella was scared of her sister. Because of the cutting. It was too gross, and Gabriella hadn’t wanted to do anything to set Isabel off. But after a couple days, it felt good just to chill and be, well, nice to each other.

  Gabriella was also pleased to note Isabel now wore calf-length cargo pants and a tee with three-quarter sleeves. You could see scratchy marks on her forearms, but there were no new cuts. It was as if Isabel had nothing to hide. Maybe Dad was right and Isabel had wanted someone to stop her. Gabriella could relate. As ticked as she’d been that Gramps had picked her up when she was trying to run away, she’d been relieved, too. She wished she could find a way to put the brakes on her anger.

  She picked up the shopping list and the money her mother had left for her and headed toward Branson’s. Standing by the community bulletin board at the store’s entrance, Owen was tacking up a flyer.

  “Hey, Madison.”

  Why did he insist on calling her Madison? Oh, yeah. At the Surf Club she’d tried out that name. “What are you doing?”

  He handed her a flyer. “We’re putting on a production of Grease.”

  Gabby recognized the amateur theater group. “And you’re in it?”

  “I don’t have a speaking part, but I’m one of the extras in the dance numbers. Plus I paint scenery.”

  “And tack up flyers.” Gabriella wasn’t impressed.

  “Everybody does. It’s fun. You should volunteer. We need extra dancers, and you’re good.”

  She tried not to be pleased that he remembered.

  “Just show up at our next rehearsal. Eight o’clock tomorrow night at the Atlantic Hall. You could walk from your house. I could walk you home.”

  She felt her cheeks go red. “I don’t know.”

  “So what else do you have planned? Running away?”

  Boy, was he a jerk. She turned to go into the store, but he caught her arm.

  “I was just kidding,” he said. “Last time we talked you were ticked with your parents and said you wanted to try it on your own.”

  “Yeah, well, I reconsidered.”

  “Good. It was a dumb idea. As a drama queen, you should channel your energy.”

  “Into being a dancing extra in a community play?”

  “Hey, it’s a start.”

  “You really think I’m a drama queen?”

  “Actually, I think you have a chip on your shoulder.” Owen grinned.

  “Do you always say what you think?”

  “I don’t see any reason not to.”

  She gave a short, sharp laugh. What was it about this guy that appealed to her? “My grandfather says I have a chip on my shoulder, too. You’d get along.”

  “Hey, I get along with everybody. So you’ll come tomorrow?”

  She thought about the contract she’d finally signed with her parents and Isabel. About the job or volunteering part. “Okay,” she said. She was doing it because it would keep her parents off her back, not because she wanted to see more of Owen.

  NICK COULDN’T BELIEVE he’d gotten out of school before five o’clock, but as he pulled into his driveway, the church bell tolled the hour. And, as a reward, it seemed, Chessie rose from her seat on the side steps to greet him with a big smile.

  “I like that happy expression,” he said, getting out of the car. “Things going well?”

  She took his hand and led him to the sidewalk. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “I need to put on sneakers.”

  “Oh, I don’t mean a power walk. I mean a stroll,” she said, waving her free hand dramatically. “Just look at this place.” Before them the village activity was slowly winding down for the day. The boutiques and galleries in clapboard buildings painted traditional colonial colors were closing up, and the setting sun warmed the patches of marsh and sea that they could see from where they stood. “Tourists pay good money to come here. To stay in our quaint bed-and-breakfasts and to soak up the sea air. And do we appreciate what we see every day just beyond our doors?”

  “I’m thinking this isn’t a Chamber of Commerce tour,” he said. “You’re really saying you want to talk to me without the possibility of the girls interrupting.”

  “Yes. Although a pleasant backdrop can’t hurt.”

  “Now I’m nervous.”

  “Don’t be. Yes I want to talk, and, yes, I want you to myself.” She shot him a mischievous grin. “But just because I want you to myself.”

  How could he resist?

  “It’s a gorgeous afternoon for a walk, and supper’s all taken care of,” she said. “Your father sent lobsters. Any reason you know of?”

  “Yeah, maybe. We had a talk a few days ago. Cleared the air. I think it’s his way of saying he’s glad.”

  “Then today is good.” Short of the square, she stopped walking and turned to face him. “Thank you for rounding up a full class for me.”

  “Hey, I just put the word out that there was room.”

  “Why?”

  “We know Martha yanked the plug, but word might get around that you weren’t a good teacher. And that’s not the case. I know how important your professional integrity is to you.”

  “Gosh, that is such a good answer.” She leaned in and feathered his lips with a kiss.

  “So…how did the class go?”

  “Wonderfully well!” She began to walk again, energetically. “They wanted a sneak peak at the Goddess, and they got it. In so many different ways, they seemed to understand what I was aiming at.”

  “The piece. I forgot. Did your patron come and get it?”

  “She came for it, but she didn’t leave with it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Chessie giggled. “It didn’t match her color scheme.”

  “Now I’m lost.”

  “I departed from the original sketch, which Ursula liked based on how it would fit her décor, not necessarily on its artistic merits. The finished piece was ‘too raw’ for Ms. Delacorte’s refined sensibilities. She was most upset. Seems she’ll have to order a very large floral arrangement to fill the intended spot in her foyer. Her party must go on without me.”

  Nick was confused. “You don’t seem particularly upset.”

  Chessie looked almost as perplexed as he was. “That’s the thing. I’m not. That piece took a big chunk of my soul, as well as my time. I didn’t want it going where it wasn’t appreciated or understood. Every one of my students took more away from it than Ursula. Even Alex said it looked like her when she was knee-deep in the mudflats looking for treasure.” Chessie chuckled. “A nine-year-old.”

  “But no one offered to buy it…”

  “Som
eone, someday, will. When they walk in my gallery and meet her, someone will fall in love.”

  Nick saw his wife in a new light, self-assured, more attractive than she’d been with the haircut and the slinky dress on pops night. He felt that same first-date eagerness to get to know this woman. “And when do you think your gallery will be up and running?”

  “Soon. This week the girls are going to help me clear the barn’s first floor. Next week your dad and Jonas are going to put up some shelves using aged lumber they rescued from an old fish house. Brad’s agreed to do the wiring. Kit’s helping me set up the displays, and Emily’s already planning an opening party.”

  “Wow.” For a moment he felt left out.

  “It’s incredible the way it all went from concept to reality in a couple short hours this very afternoon. Everyone’s schedules just meshed. I was going to call you at work to tell you the news, but I figured I’d rather break it to you when I had you all to myself.”

  He felt nothing but pride for this dynamo of a woman. “You are something else, Chess.”

  “Why, thank you.” Was that a blush under the dusting of freckles across her cheeks?

  “So are you getting out of the business of pots for the loftier realm of high art?”

  “No…this is so extraordinary and why I wanted to talk to you… I learned something about myself with this commission process. I thought I wanted to move from crafts to art, but I don’t. I want both—kind of like the Goddess herself. I love the domestic ramifications of a well-thrown bowl—the thought of friends and families sharing meals and more from my plates. And the fine art aspect? When I started working with Ursula, I was seduced by the idea of playing at being the artiste. I lost the focus on the art itself, on what I wanted to say with what I created. The women in my class today brought me back. In my free-form pieces I want to experiment with materials and technique and even with firing processes. I want to grow as I did with the Goddess. If someone buys, fine. If not, then the bread and butter of my business will be my pots and my classes as I grow as an artist.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “I learned that finding yourself is a process of creation not a gift, perhaps a lifelong process. And as we create ourselves, we have to be careful to weave in and out of the lives of others.”