Etched in Tears

by Cheryl Hollon

  “Yes, I was fourteen. It was at the very beginning of the school year. It will be nice to catch up with him and his career.” She leaned in closer to look at the red vessel that was featured in all the promotional materials advertising the exhibit. It contained an etched image of a note in rounded loopy handwriting. Savannah straightened up quickly. That was her handwriting! Dennis had included one of her childish love notes in his featured artwork. She felt a warm flush grow from her throat to her ears.

  “What’s wrong?” Edward slipped an arm around her waist. “Has the champagne gone to your head already?”

  She ran a hand through her curls and smiled weakly. “Yes, that must be it. I’ve only had two small glasses. We’d better do our meet and greet before I become insensible.”

  “That’s not likely. You’re too strong minded for that.”

  They left the gallery and made their way to the ground floor.

  Savannah slipped her hand through Edward’s arm. “I think we’d better get into the receiving line. I want to tell Dennis how much I enjoyed his exhibit and how much I appreciate his support of my etching class.”

  Edward placed his hand over hers and they walked to the entrance of the community room. The chatter from inside was spilling out into the hallway. There were only a few people in line.

  “Savannah! Savannah Webb, is that you?” said a trim man with a red cummerbund and matching red bowtie in an expertly fitted tux. “I haven’t seen you since I graduated. You’d just finished freshman . . . maybe sophomore year. It’s Charles.” He shook her free hand like a pump handle. He stepped back and looked her up and down. “You’ve grown up. Definitely up.” He smiled. “I’m still on the short side. You remember me. don’t you? I’m Charles King.”

  Savannah scanned the craggy face and tried to age it back ten years. Nothing. “I don’t seem to recall.”

  “I was a friend of our famous artist here. I used to see you at Webb’s Glass Shop when your dad was running that apprentice program. Surely, you remember?”

  Savannah smiled and shook her head. “I’m trying. I think I remember a Chuck, but he was . . . well, he was a big guy.”

  “Absolutely me. I was a big guy back then. Huge. Obese, even. Yeah. “He patted his slim waist with both hands. “I got that fixed when I decided to go into politics.” He turned to Edward and pumped his hand while slapping him on the shoulder. “So, you’re the lucky one who has captured our lovely Savannah’s heart. I’m Charles King, your state representative up in Tallahassee. Yep, I’m a local boy done good. I hear good things about Queen’s Head Pub. Nice to meet you. Too bad you can’t vote. I have an election coming up soon. Are you going to apply for citizenship?”

  Savannah snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it! You were a couple years ahead of me. I remember now that you were a close friend of Dennis’s.” She turned to Edward. “Dad and I attended the commencement ceremony that year because of that apprentice program that Dad established.”

  “Good girl!” Charles looked behind them and nodded to another guest. “I’ll come by the shop to see you this week. It’ll be good to catch up. Excuse me, I must speak to a major party supporter over there.” He disappeared in a half run to greet a man and wife in elegant evening wear.

  Savannah shuddered. “Ugh. I remember now that he was exactly that overbearing when he was our student council president. It was a testament to his persuasive powers that we would elect the fat boy over the football star.”

  Edward frowned.

  “I know. Politically incorrect,” said Savannah. “But he was quite the organizer. Ugh! Will high school ever be over? I didn’t like it at the time, and I have few fond memories.”

  “Wise girl.” Edward immediately responded with, “Oops, sorry. I didn’t mean to call you a girl. I know that makes you angry . . . but in my defense, everyone does it.”

  Savannah’s voice tightened. “It doesn’t make it right. I’m no one’s girl. I’m a woman fully grown.” She tapped a pointed finger into his chest. With her three-inch heels, she stood taller than their equal six-foot height and she was enjoying the temporary advantage. “Remember that.”

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” Edward chuckled. “Remember, I’m still a work in progress. British girls—young women, I mean—are quite different. They seem to be on a suicide mission to be more like bad lads for rude behavior. I am sorry.”

  Savannah closed her eyes then opened them again. “You’re forgiven. I’m sorry for being so prickly. I’m glad that you know that about me.” She downed the rest of her champagne and Edward placed both flutes on the tray of the nearest server passing by.

  “Let’s get in line to meet Dennis. I think he’ll recognize me. I haven’t seen him since graduation either.”

  “Same year as State Congressman Hot Air?”

  “Funny, funny. You know I’ve watched that television program, MP Minutes on BBC America. You Brits have some clowns, too. Both our countries appear to lack for any kind of qualified political leadership, let alone a true visionary. An absence of ethics and brains seems to be the perfect formula to be a successful politician. That certainly describes Chuck.”

  A tap on her arm caused Savannah to turn to see Betty Lansing standing at her elbow smiling up to her. “Savannah, I didn’t mean to be so abrupt in the exhibit hall upstairs. I’m glad we can talk a bit more. You have bloomed into a beautiful woman. I remember your father fondly. In fact, we were good friends while Dennis was in the apprentice program, but after Dennis graduated, your dad and I drifted apart. He was so focused on you and his glass business, I didn’t have a chance.”

  Savannah eyed Edward and mouthed help. She turned back and took the woman’s hand in both of hers. “Of course, I remember your visits. You talked to my dad for hours about Dennis’s progress. Dennis was one of the first students to turn his life around.” She turned to Edward. “This is my friend, Edward Morris. He owns the restaurant pub next door to the glass shop. You remember that old gas station? It was converted about ten years ago into a bar. Edward added a commercial kitchen and a passel of talented chefs.”

  Betty’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I think I recall, but my memory isn’t as good as it used to be and I don’t really get about very much now. Anyway, I’ll let you young folks be. It was nice to see you.” She turned away back toward the Gala café.

  “I remember her exactly like that—nice—and then she would disappear.”

  “So I’m a ‘friend’?” Edward air quoted the word friend.

  “Please, don’t read anything into what I say. I’ve had the dreaded second glass of champagne. It whips my words into a swirling mess. Beer doesn’t do that to me. I need to stick to beer.”

  “Fat chance,” said Edward. “Relax. Enjoy this.”

  They joined the short reception line to greet the featured artist of the new glass exhibition. Dennis Lansing wasn’t wearing a tuxedo. Instead, he wore a unique Dali-like navy silk suit with an outlandish tie and beside him stood a woman dressed as a perfect replica of Dali’s wife Gala.

  Gala was famous for wearing the latest avant-garde couture designs to the eclectic performances that Dali arranged for the display of his latest paintings. It spoke of an incredibly confident persona to pull off the Gala impression so well.

  The line moved quickly. Most of the attendees seemed to be sponsors and Dali Museum members with no real connection to the artist.

  As soon as Savannah and Edward reached the front of the line, the artist smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Savannah, Savannah. I’m so glad you could be here.” He held her upper arms and gave her a quick peck on both cheeks, European style. He turned to wrap an arm about the woman next to him and gave her a side hug. “This is my long-suffering and inspirational wife, Harriet. She’s my muse and my model just as Gala was for Dali.” He raised his wife’s hand to his lips as he continued to look at Savannah.

  Harriet glanced at him wearing a much practiced closed-mouth smile.

  Savannah tucked her hand into Edward’
s arm. “This is Edward Morris. He owns the Queen’s Head Pub right next to Webb’s Glass Shop.” Why can’t I say boyfriend? Just because my last relationship ended in disaster doesn’t mean that this one will, too. “It’s a major leader in St. Petersburg’s new identity as a foodie destination.” Savannah could feel a deep flush creep into her cheeks.

  Why? Probably because it sounds juvenile. But I’m not bold enough to say partner or lover, either. Maybe I completely deserve to be called a girl.

  Dennis smiled kindly at Savannah. She flushed even more.

  She cleared her suddenly scratchy throat. “I’m so pleased you’ll be coming over to my new studio to give a presentation to my etching students. Oh, and the personal tour of your exhibit is going to be the highlight of this week’s workshop. I can’t thank you enough.”

  Edward wrapped an arm around Savannah’s shoulders and gave her a little side hug. “I’d be pleased to have you and your wife as our guests at Queen’s Head Pub for a chef’s table experience in the kitchen.”

  Harriet looked up at Edward. “Oh, that would be delicious! I’ve heard good things about the food and your online reviews are fabulous.”

  Dennis reached into the inside of his jacket pocket. “I have something for you that I think you would like to see.”

  Savannah had opened her mouth to respond when a woman in a royal blue, raw silk dress bustled up to Dennis and barged into the middle of the group of guests waiting to speak to him.

  “Dennis, my darling, I must take you and Harriet away for a private tour with the governor of Florida, our senator, and naturally, of course, the mayor of St. Petersburg.” She grabbed Dennis and Harriet by the elbow and literally dragged them away.

  “But there are guests here who have been waiting.” Savannah looked crossly at Harriet and Gina.

  Gina looked back at the startled waiting line. “We can’t keep the officials waiting, you know. We’re dependent on city and state funding for some of our exhibits . . . this one included.”

  Edward frowned. “That was incredibly rude and the kind of treatment no one in this queue could possibly deserve. She should have apologized.”

  They both looked at the quickly retreating trio. Savannah looked down at Edward. “She did say excuse me. Would you like more hors d’oeuvres or maybe another glass of champagne, I hope?”

  “No.” He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “I’d rather spend the rest of the evening at home with you and your goofy dog Rooney. This crowd is giving me a chill.”

  “Good plan.” She smiled and whispered over the mumbling in the line of guests behind them, “I guess we’re definitely not A-listers.”

  Chapter 2

  Monday morning

  “Don’t touch that!” Savannah Webb shouted at the pair of elderly twins over the high-pitched whine of the sandblasting equipment.

  The loud warning did nothing to stop Rachel and Faith Rosenberg for a second. They were standing right next to the sandblasting cabinet on the outdoor patio of Webb’s Studio. But like a cat who stares at you while knocking your coffee cup off the counter, one of them deliberately opened the access door on the side of the cabinet and sand whooshed out in a huge cloud.

  All four class members tried to escape the powerful cloud of dust by ducking away, waving their hands, turning their backs, and covering their mouths. Everything was futile. The dust puffed out and covered everything within a ten-foot circle.

  Savannah’s shock delayed the release of her grip on the sand-etching nozzle and she dropped the dish she was etching into the bottom of the cabinet. She quickly slipped her hands and arms out of the protective sleeves that extended into the sandblasting cabinet, reached around the side, and closed the access door.

  After brushing the sand from her face and clothes, then spitting inelegantly onto the ground beyond the border of the small cement patio, Savannah turned to face the twins. They were both dancing a jig to slap the sand out of their newly treated lavender hair and the perfectly matched lavender capri pants, snug fitting camp shirts, and ballet flats. Their antics were surprisingly agile for the near-eighty-year-olds.

  Savannah felt her scalp tingle as she heard her voice rise in both pitch and volume. “What were you thinking? I just talked everyone through all the safety steps.”

  Faith answered first. “But you didn’t fully latch the door after the demonstration. It simply looked like it was latched.”

  “But it wasn’t,” continued Rachel. “Otherwise, the door wouldn’t have opened.”

  Savannah looked at the access door and there was the safety latch swinging loose. She palmed her forehead and exhaled in a quick puff. “You’re right. I forgot. Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry I shouted.” She stopped for a moment, looked at the scene of dancing students, and began to laugh uncontrollably. One by one the students joined her.

  “I’m glad you yelled,” said Arthur Young, a middle-aged man who was a regular student of Webb’s Studio.

  The repurposed warehouse was Savannah’s latest business expansion. It provided work space to intermediate level glass artists.

  “It gave me enough time to back away.” He stopped laughing abruptly. Then he widened his eyes and stood stiff. “Uh, I need to go—now!” He bolted for the back door, opened it, and rushed inside.

  “Too bad,” said Faith. “He seemed to be getting better. You know, with the Crohn’s incidents.”

  “This may set him back a few weeks.” Rachel shook her head slowly from side to side. “How annoying, but at least the bathroom is just inside.”

  Crohn’s disease is a condition that causes inflammation of the wall of the gut. That can lead to diarrhea, abdominal cramping, and weight loss.

  “Did you tell him about avoiding dairy?” asked Faith.

  “He said he was just starting a new vegan diet. That’s why he’s been doing a bit better.”

  “Okay let’s settle down.” Savannah caught her breath and wiped the laughter tears from her eyes. “Luckily, we all had our safety glasses on, so no eye issues. Also, the breeze out here took the dust away quickly. How are you?” she asked the last of her students.

  “I’m completely unscathed,” said Edith Maloney. “What a good thing I was standing behind Arthur, who was also standing behind Rachel and Faith. Will this delay your instruction? I have another appointment immediately after class.”

  “Not really.” Savannah scrubbed her hands through her short curly black hair to release a miniature cloud of dust. “I was going to demonstrate the fine points of cleaning the equipment later in the workshop sequence, but this accident provides an excellent opportunity. We’ll just move it up to today’s lesson. Oh yes, Edith, we’ll definitely end class on time.”

  “That’s a relief,” said Edith. “I was so happy to see such an early class time.”

  “It’s an experiment I’m trying for our more advanced classes. Also, starting at seven a.m. for a two-hour class helps avoid the heat of the day as well as the afternoon thunderstorms—extremely important factors when working outside in Florida’s steamy autumn heat.”

  Savannah led the students through the detailed steps for proper maintenance of the sandblasting equipment. She explained the setup and they all took turns checking the compressor, the sandblasting cabinet, and the dust collector. After the equipment had been thoroughly cleaned and readied for operation, she showed them how to break it down. Then they moved everything into the storage room inside Webb’s Studio.

  “As you witnessed this morning”—Savannah glowered in jest at the twins—“sand etching can be unexpectedly messy. Storing the equipment inside, then setting it up on the back patio for use, is a sensible precaution. Cleaning the entire studio of sand is a task I don’t ever want to tackle ever. Ever.”

  Arthur raised his hand. “What if it’s raining?”

  “Good question.” She paused and pressed her lips together. “It hasn’t come up yet, but I think if I accept a commission that requires a short turnaround and need to san
d etch in the rain, I’ll buy one of those easy-to-set-up exhibit tents to use as a shelter. Typically, it’s not likely I would need to go to such an extreme. Our Florida rains are either torrential or a fine mist hardly worth calling rain. The downbursts usually give us about a ten-minute rumbling thunder as a warning so I can drag everything inside.”

  Edith glanced at her Rolex. “I’m sorry, but I’ve simply got to leave for my next appointment.” She looked at each student in turn. “Please excuse me.” She grabbed her large pale green Prada purse and quickly stepped out the front door.

  Rachel and Faith turned to each other and raised their eyebrows. Then they each turned to Savannah.

  “Who is she?” Rachel asked. “We haven’t seen her before and your requirements for this class were quite clear. It is aimed at the intermediate level student . . . not at beginner level.”

  “Yes,” said Faith. “We’ve been to every Webb’s Glass Shop class for years now. We’re definitely advanced students.”

  Not so much in skill level but an entertaining fixture in each class.

  Savannah nodded agreement. “You’re right. She came with class experience from a school down in Sarasota. She had a letter of reference and brought several finished pieces for me to evaluate. She’ll be fine. Why do you want to know? Has she said something?”

  The twins looked at each other and shrugged simultaneously. “It seems strange that she would be making things hard for herself,” said Faith.

  “Sarasota is at least an hour’s drive, but she seems to have urgent business in St. Pete,” said Rachel.

  Savannah shook her head. “She’s going to make etched glass awards for one of the Sarasota charity events and it doubles as her class project. I think she only needs a few.”

  Faith patted Savannah on the shoulder. “If that makes you feel better, dear. Anyway, we’ll see you tomorrow. I hope you forgive me for the kerfuffle.”

  “So, it was you.” Savannah slowly shook her head and smiled. “I couldn’t tell in the cloud. It wouldn’t be a Webb’s Glass Shop class without you two. Okay, everyone, I’ll see you tomorrow at seven sharp.”