Stained Glass Summer

by Mindy Hardwick

  When I reach Alexa, I nod at her and sit down. The bench needs staining, but at least it’s smooth and without splinters.

  “Nervous?” Alexa takes a bite of her salmon.

  “Very.” I’m about to tell her about Dad, but before I can say anything, Alexa says, “Uh oh,” and nods at Sammy. “Someone is coming to join us.”

  Sammy drops her white paper plate onto the picnic table. She climbs onto the bench and kneels beside me. Her overalls are back on, and her right strap hangs unhooked over her t-shirt.

  “Hi, Jasmine.” She glares at Alexa. “Hi, whoever you are.”

  “We’re eating.” Alexa smirks at Sammy.

  “I know,” Sammy says in the same sharp tone. She shakes her plastic spoon at Alexa. “I’m eating, too.”

  I cough and try to hide my giggle. Apparently not everyone likes Sammy’s saucy mouth. I don’t mind. Saucy mouths are a way to make the ache inside feel better.

  Sammy’s warm, small hand covers my cold one. “Your plate is empty.” She seems much older than five as she asks me, “Are you sick?” Her hands feel my forehead.

  Alexa rolls her eyes at me. Sammy doesn’t notice and takes out a package of pink dinosaur Band-Aids from her plastic purse.

  “Not the Band-Aids,” Alexa whispers very loudly. “She thinks Band-Aids cure everything.”

  “You don’t get a Band-Aid,” Sammy says to Alexa. She unwraps the dinosaur Band-Aid and places it on my throat.

  “Don’t you want to play with them?” Alexa points to a group of kids running toward the rock sand castle on the beach.

  “I’m helping.” Sammy shoves her box of Band-Aids into her purse. “And eating.” She takes a bite of salmon. When she chews, her mouth opens and chunks of half-eaten salmon float on her tongue.

  “I’m going to throw away my plate.” Alexa picks up her plate. “See you later, Jasmine.”

  I give Alexa a small shrug as if to say, “Five-year-olds, what can you do?”

  “That was rude,” I say to Sammy. My throat itches under the Band-Aid, and I wonder if I can take it off without hurting Sammy’s feelings. I’m not accepting my contest award with a purple dinosaur Band-Aid on my throat!

  “I don’t like her.” Sammy takes another bite of salmon. Bits of it drop out of her mouth.

  “Chew your food. Then talk.” I wipe Sammy’s mouth with a white paper napkin. A gust of wind sends my empty plate down the picnic table. I grab the swirling plate and toss it like a Frisbee toward the black wire trash can. The plate lands in the trash. A good sign. I twirl my ring. Once to the right. Twice to the left.

  Beside me, Sammy cheers as she bounces on her knees and twirls her fork. “Do it to mine,” she says, and shoves her plate full of half-eaten food toward me.

  “No.” I shake my head as Opal climbs onto the stage. She places a manila folder on the podium and my heart pounds. I know what is inside. Inside the folder is the name of the contest winner.

  Sammy steps onto the picnic table and waves in large sweeping motions that look like she’s calling to a ship instead of waving to her aunt.

  “Sit.” I grab Sammy’s ankles. “You’ll fall.”

  “Your hands are cold.” Sammy jumps away from me. Her foot lands an inch from her paper plate. I climb off the picnic table. Sammy moves back to her kneeling position on the bench and takes another bite of salmon.

  “Don’t you want to sit?” I whisper to Sammy.

  “I am,” Sammy mumbles through chunks of salmon.

  I shake my head. Kneeling and sitting are not the same thing, but I’m not going to argue with her. I’m too nervous.

  Cole steps onto the stage. My heart leaps, and the warm feeling glides back inside me. Crossing my legs, I lean forward and try to meet Cole’s eyes.

  Cole looks in the opposite direction of the park, and I start shaking inside. This is not a good sign.

  “Hello,” Opal says into the microphone.

  “Hello!” Sammy yells. Pieces of salmon spit out of her mouth and land on the table.

  I wipe them off with a stiff paper napkin. “Mouth shut and eat,” I say.

  Sammy waves a plastic fork full of salmon in front of my nose. “Eat.”

  I push away the fork. I think I’m going to throw up.

  “It is my pleasure to announce the winner of the stained glass contest.”

  Opal’s long hair hangs around her shoulders, and she pushes a strand away from her cheek. I’m glad the Island is small and Opal is the only speaker. Chicago contests always involve a hundred speakers who need to thank the world before they get to the winners.

  Sammy moves her fork through the air like it is an airplane. She shoves it close to my mouth. “Open,” she commands.

  I shake my head and shift away from Sammy’s fork. I spin my ring and jiggle my leg under the table. “Shh,” I say to her. When I look back to the stage, Cole catches my eyes. He smiles at me and touches his throat. Confused, I shake my head at him. He frowns and points to my throat. The Band-Aid! I have to take off Sammy’s Band-Aid. I yank the Band-Aid off, and my eyes water. I hope I don’t have a large red spot on my neck.

  Sammy waves at Cole and stands up on the picnic bench. She dances up and down, and her small feet move to the edge of the bench. Any minute she’s going to topple off, and we’ll have to call the Island ambulance for a sprained ankle or worse.

  “Sit down,” I say, and grab onto Sammy’s ankles.

  “Your hands are cold,” Sammy whines. She grabs onto my hands as if they are shackles and tries to remove them.

  I release her, and she moves back to her kneeling position on the bench. On stage, Opal holds up a white piece of paper.

  “Jasmine Baast,” Opal says. “Can you please come forward?”

  I jump out my seat. I’ve done it! I have won an award!

  “Jasmine is new to the Island,” Opal says as I dash to the podium and leap up. I don’t need to use the small steps. I could fly. I, Jasmine Baast, am an artist. The grin spreads across my face and won’t stop. Cole is so near to me, I can smell his clean soap smell, and if I take a tiny step backward I’ll bump right into his chest.

  “Jasmine took on the challenge of creating a project that is usually reserved for advanced students,” Opal continues.

  Cole holds up my glass girl. The sunlight sparkles in her yellow glass hair. I love seeing her in his hands and I know that, finally, I will get that kiss I’ve imagined. After the awards, he will lean close to me, tell me congratulations, and kiss me. This time, his lips will be warm.

  “I would like to give Jasmine an award that I call the Island Summer Stained Glass Award.” Opal steps forward and hands me a blue ribbon.

  I take the ribbon and hold it close to my chest. I am finally an artist. Opal will mentor me, and I can stay on the Island for the summer. And once Dad finds out, because he will find out, he will call me, and maybe he’ll even come to visit.

  “Now, as you know,” Opal continues, “I am working on the glass windows and doors for the Stewart Bed and Breakfast for the next year.”

  I shake my head. Why is Opal still talking? Didn’t I win?

  “During this time, I will need someone to work in my shop,” Opal says. “In return, I will train them in the art of designing glass.”

  My mind feels fuzzy. What is Opal saying?

  “And for that award, I’d like to give it to Elizabeth Morgan for her waves glass panel.”

  In a fog, I see Cole holding up a glass panel with blue and turquoise waves. Elizabeth Morgan’s blue glass sparkles in the sunlight.

  “Congratulations,” Opal says, and holds up a small set of keys, which I know are store keys. A family on a red and blue checkered blanket squeals and pushes a woman toward the stage.

  Twirling my blue ribbon, I try to tell myself that it doesn’t matter. I have won an award. An art award. I can go home with my own art award to hang on the wall.

  But somehow, as I watch Opal congratulate Elizabeth and feel Cole standing beside
me, all of my rationalization doesn’t work and the hole inside me only gets bigger. And I know the truth, that art awards don’t ever fill that hole.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I slowly walk back to the picnic table with my award and glass girl. Opal talks to Elizabeth Morgan, Cole folds the card table, and Uncle Jasper serves salmon. Everything is normal in their world, and I feel very far away from them.

  “Jasmine, come see my castle.” Sammy slips her hand into mine. “I made it for you.”

  I swallow the tears gathering in my throat and slip the ribbon around my glass girl. I gently place both the award and the glass girl on the picnic table. I don’t check to see if Cole notices me. I don’t want to see his sparkling blue eyes and know that soon they will be a week-long summer memory. Cole will be someone to tuck away in a scrapbook and think about on long, hot days in Chicago.

  Sammy pulls me to the dirt path leading to the beach. I can’t shake the empty feeling. I have won an award. I am an artist. I have a blue ribbon to hang on my wall. But it doesn’t feel like I expected. The award doesn’t fill the aching hole. And it won’t matter how many awards I win, awards will never fill the hole. But I don’t know what will take away the feeling, either.

  I step onto the beach and scoop up a rock. I hurl it into the water and watch as it sinks below the dark surface. I feel like picking up all the rocks and hurling them into the water.

  “Look!” Sammy jumps up and down beside a small rock castle. “I made it.”

  I kneel down and peek inside the castle, where I see small, broken pieces of glass. I pull a violet shard out and hold it to the sun. “What is this?”

  “It’s like yours.” Sammy dances around me.

  “What?” I wobble in my squat and place my left hand behind me to steady myself. With my right hand, I flip over the broken glass. It sparkles in the sunlight.

  “Your rock house,” Sammy says. “I made one like yours. You know. The one you told me about for your rock collection!”

  “But…” I point to the water and carefully replace the glass in the castle. “The tide will wash it out.”

  Sammy balls her fists and stares at the waterline, which is creeping closer to the rock castle. She sticks out a foot and in one fast movement kicks the rocks. “Gone!” she cries. Rocks spill from the top of her castle.

  I grab Sammy’s arm and pull her away from the castle. “Stop!” I hold onto her tightly. “We can move it.” I know just how she feels, but destroying the castle won’t take away the waves that are moving closer and closer. I kiss the top of her head. Her hair smells like violet and barbeque smoke. I don’t apologize for helping as I hook Sammy’s overall strap over her shoulder.

  “Where will we move it?” Sammy stops struggling. She looks frantically around the rocky shore. It’s not a big beach, and it appears that the waterline rises pretty high. I search the upper banks of the hill. There has to be somewhere to move the castle.

  “Up there?” I point to the logs dotting the hillside. We’ll have to climb back up, carrying rocks, but right now it seems like the best option. I shake my head. Why did Sammy build a rock house here? She lives on the Island. She knows the tides come in every night. But maybe it’s not any different than me entering the contest and thinking I would be able to stay on the Island. Maybe we both just want those things we can’t have—but it doesn’t stop us from trying.

  Sammy hops back to the castle and scoops a handful of rocks into her overall pockets. “You too,” she cries. “Help me!”

  I scoop a handful of rocks into my pockets. They sag with the weight. It seems like there might be a better way to do this. “Where are your sand buckets?” I ask. I expect Sammy to have at least one of the plastic red and yellow buckets.

  Sammy wrinkles her forehead together and rolls her eyes. “No sand,” she says in a tone that makes me laugh. I continue to dump small handfuls of small black rocks into my other pocket. Sammy is right. On this beach, it would be rock buckets.

  Sammy tosses fistfuls of rocks into her pockets, and her overalls sag to her knees. “We can build lots of castles,” she says. “See all the rocks? We can spend all summer building castles for my glass!”

  I look away from Sammy and into the Sound. A white sailboat crosses the inlet. I don’t know how to tell Sammy that I won’t be around to help her build lots of castles. But I have to say something. I can’t just leave her. I am not like Dad. “I’m not…”

  “You down there,” Cole calls. “Are you stealing rocks?”

  My heart leaps at the sound of Cole’s voice, and I take a quick peek up the hillside. The sun shines in my eyes, and I can only make out Cole’s outline.

  Sammy giggles. “Cole!” She waves her hands in large circular motions.

  I lift my right hand to my forehead to block the sun. The stone in my ring catches the sunlight. I drop my hand and flip the ring so the stone lies against my palm. Dad was wrong. The ring holds no special art power. And winning an art contest didn’t make me feel like I was a real artist like Dad, either. Without thinking, I hurl a handful of rocks into the water.

  “My castle!” Sammy shrieks. “You threw my castle into the water.”

  I open my empty palm and stare at my hand as if it belongs to a stranger. I’m not thinking about Sammy’s castle. I am thinking of me. I have carelessly tossed her art into the water. I scoop another handful of rocks into my hand.

  “It’s here,” I say, and try to smile at her. But inside it’s as if a bright light shines on me. It’s all becoming clear. It doesn’t matter about the blue ribbon, or an award on the wall. What matters is Sammy. Cole. Opal. Uncle Jasper. Each person is unique. Each person is different. Each person is important.

  Opal’s words from the ferry come back to haunt me. “Island life comes from inside.” Is this what she meant? Is Island life the understanding that it’s the connections with people who are important? And if that’s what she meant, then what does Island life say about Dad? About how he left? About how Dad was more important than Mom or me?

  Sammy crosses her hands over her chest. “That’s not my castle,” she says. “Those are beach rocks.”

  The rocks slide through my hands, and I scoop up a handful of rocks from Sammy’s castle. “Better?”

  “Don’t do it again.” Sammy shakes her finger at me.

  I bite back a giggle. “No.” I shake my head. “I won’t.”

  Sammy’s eyebrows lift and she glares at me. For a minute, I see Opal’s intense stare in Sammy’s eyes and suddenly I wonder, do people sometimes see Dad in me? I always thought I wanted to be like Dad—an artist like Dad. But does that mean that I have to be exactly like Dad? Because I’m not sure I want to be exactly like Dad.

  As thoughts rumble through my mind, Cole crashes down from the rocky beach path. He takes long strides toward me. “Be careful,” I say as he stumbles and then straightens himself.

  “I was looking for you!”

  “I’m here,” I say quietly. But not for very much longer. I bite the inside of my cheek. Not for very much longer at all.

  Cole places his arm around my shoulder and pulls me to him. “I’m sorry.”

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I lean against him. He understands. And it feels good to have someone understand.

  “The rocks!” Sammy grabs my hand and points toward the castle and the rising water. “Hurry!”

  I can’t disappoint her, so I pull myself out of Cole’s embrace. “Rocks and the tide,” I say to Cole, and hope he knows how much I want to stay with his arms wrapped around me. I hope he knows how much I want to feel his lips on mine, even if it’s not a congratulatory kiss.

  “Pockets?” Cole turns his jean pockets inside out.

  Sammy immediately dumps a handful of rocks into Cole’s pockets, and his pants droop. Sammy and I giggle as Cole drops to his knees, pretending the weight is too much for him.

  “Where are we going?” Cole asks as he pretends to struggle to a standing position.

&
nbsp; “Up the hill.” Sammy gives me two pieces of colored violet glass. They both have smooth edges. Opal grinded the pieces before letting Sammy keep them.

  “You carry these,” Sammy says. “They are fragile.”

  I run my hands over the smooth glass and remember cutting glass in Opal’s glass shop. Opal’s warm hand rested on mine as I moved the glasscutter alongside the glass and shaped it into squares.

  It’s not just the glass that is fragile.

  All of us are fragile, too.

  “There you are!” Opal hurries toward us once we reach the top of the hill above the beach. Her warm blue eyes skip over Sammy and search my face. “Everything okay?”

  “Sure.” I hold out my pockets. “We’re moving rocks.” I hope she doesn’t mention the contest. If she says anything I’ll start crying, and something tells me it will be very hard to stop. Beside me, Cole pretends to struggle under the weight in his pockets. Opal laughs, and I smile. I’m grateful for Cole’s ability to make light of the situation.

  “Come on, Jasmine.” Sammy pulls on my arm.

  Just as I’m ready to follow her, Uncle Jasper motions to me from the stage.

  “I’ll be there in a second,” I say to Sammy, and wave at Uncle Jasper.

  “Promise!” Sammy releases my hand. She plops down on the grass and starts moving rocks into a small pile.

  “Promise,” I call over my shoulder as I head toward the stage.

  Uncle Jasper yells, “Give me a hand with the table.”

  Picking up one end, I help Uncle Jasper carry the table to his blue truck where he hoists it onto the flat bed.

  “Hold onto this.” Uncle Jasper tosses me a rope.

  I hold the rope and watch as Sammy builds her castle on the grass. She places each rock carefully before reaching for the next one.

  “She likes you.” Uncle Jasper reaches over to tie the table.

  “She does?” I ponder Uncle Jasper’s words as I watch two rocks tumble off the castle. Sammy lets them fall, and then reaches for more rocks in her pile.