Clear as Glass

by Lynn Kellan

  Mitch looked up, noticed the waitress standing beside him, and dragged his arm off the table.

  Offering a smile, she slid a plate of food in front of him. “This’ll cure what ails ya.”

  If only it would. With a murmur of thanks, he sawed off a bite of meatloaf and forced the chunk into his mouth. The food tasted like ash. Appropriate, considering he’d incinerated his personal life with a blaze of anger.

  Again.

  “Do you want to come to my place tonight to watch Thursday night football?” Phil ventured, salting his hamburger.

  “No, thanks. I need to try to sleep.” Try being the operative word.

  Freddie pointed an onion ring his way. “The game should be good. Those Bears want to devour our Bills.”

  Mitch let the comment pass. He wasn’t in the mood to talk about football or anything else. He only let Freddie and Phil drag him out to dinner because he couldn’t stomach their sympathetic looks any longer.

  Phil placed the salt on the table. “Would it help if I let you punch me?”

  Mitch frowned at his friend. “What?”

  “You’ve hardly said ten words over the past few days.” Phil pointed to his chin. “Take your misery out on me.”

  A chill tiptoed down his spine. Was his agony so obvious? If he didn’t want everyone at the factory to feel sorry for him, he’d have to do a better job pretending everything was fine. “I doubt punching you would help, but thanks anyway.”

  Freddie took a swig of iced tea. “At the risk of sounding like a shrink, d’ya want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

  “No.” Mitch stabbed his fork into the mashed potatoes. The handle stood up like a flagpole jammed into a snowy mountaintop. “What good does talking do, anyway?”

  “Supposed to make you feel better.”

  “Lately, my conversations make me feel like crap.” Folding his arms along the edge of the table, Mitch frowned at Phil. “Have you ever won an argument with a woman?”

  Phil stopped chewing. “Huh?”

  “When you and Patti fight, do you ever win?”

  “Hell, no.” Phil took another bite of hamburger and held up his index finger. “Unless you count the time when I was right about the dishwasher leaking, but Patti had a sinus infection so she couldn’t hear the water drip. Put her at a mild disadvantage.”

  Mitch glowered at Freddie. “What about you?”

  “Well, I’ve spent the past year without a girlfriend because I tried to convince my ex to leave on the TV while we had sex.” He shrugged. “In my defense, I didn’t want to miss a minute of the Superbowl. I mean, who in their right mind wants to have sex then?”

  Phil shook his head with a grin. “Are you telling me you couldn’t get the job done during halftime?”

  “And miss the halftime show? No way.” Freddie frowned at Mitch. “Did you lose a fight with Jaye?”

  “No. I wasn’t wrong.” Mitch stared at his plate and couldn’t muster any hunger.

  “At least, she’s living with you.” Freddie shrugged. “Patch things up.”

  “She moved out.” Mitch rubbed his hand across his jaw so hard, it was a wonder his whiskers didn’t fall off.

  “Talk to her at the factory,” Phil suggested.

  “I’d rather not get into a screaming match at work.”

  Freddie’s gaze darted to something near the front of the restaurant. “You can talk to her now. She just came in with Veronica and Sarah.”

  Mitch spotted the women walking to the far side of the room. Jaye was wearing the gray skirt she’d worn before, the one that made her look like a hot librarian. He wasn’t the only one who noticed. A number of men glanced up from their meals to admire the lean legs showing beneath the hem of her skirt and the shy way she brushed her chestnut bangs out of her breathtaking eyes.

  His gaze landed on her brown tweed blazer and bitter dread crawled over him. Did she despise him so much she’d risk pneumonia rather than touch the winter coat he’d bought her?

  “So, you haven’t been working late this week because the factory is trouble.” Phil tapped his index finger on the table and nodded toward Jaye. “You’ve been working like a dog because she moved out.”

  “Yeah. My house feels like a crypt.” Mitch felt a physical pain knife through his chest when Jaye smiled at Sarah. She looked nowhere near as despondent as he felt.

  He watched her sit and didn’t know what he’d do if she looked his way.

  If she didn’t, he’d die.

  “Want to send her a drink?” Freddie offered, ever the peacemaker.

  “I’d rather send her my house key, but she won’t accept that token of my affection.” His gut twisted in anguish when he thought about how he’d behaved. Truth was, he hadn’t given her much reason to believe he’d be okay with her wealth. After all, she’d overheard him refer to his mother as a bank. Surely, Jaye didn’t want to be thought of in the same heartless fashion.

  “I heard she’ll work with her ex when she moves to Syracuse. He’s a trust fund baby, just like her,” said Freddie. “I guess she’s on good terms with him, huh?”

  “No, she’s not. Doesn’t make sense she’s willing to work with him again.” In fairness, Jaye tried to explain but he didn’t let her. Mitch wondered what she would have said if he listened to her side of the story.

  He’d managed to salvage his pride, but at what cost?

  Across the room, a waitress approached Jaye’s table and took their order.

  Mitch grabbed his spoon, pushing his thumb against the smooth handle as he strained to catch the note of her voice through the buzz of conversation and clank of silverware.

  Jaye closed her menu and scanned the restaurant. Her dark-eyed gaze slid past him and jerked back, wide-eyed.

  Heat engulfed him, hotter than a blast from a furnace. Mitch looked into her eyes, not finding guilt or anger within her warm brown irises. All he saw was a deep, abiding grief that sliced him in two. He felt the spoon give way under the pressure from his thumb, bending over his index finger.

  She broke eye contact and paled.

  He tossed the mangled spoon onto the table, slid out of the booth, and tossed a twenty beside his plate to cover his portion of the check. “I’m going to the gym.”

  With any luck, a heavy weight would fall on his head. A severe case of amnesia would be welcome right now.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Mitch leaned against his desk and rested his forehead on the heel of his hand. In the back of his mind, all he could see was the calendar. Today was Friday. Jaye would go to Syracuse this weekend and return for three more days. He didn’t know how he’d manage when she left for good. His insides were already cracking into a million fractures.

  A brief knock interrupted the silence. He looked up and spotted his father by the door.

  “Got a minute?” Nick cleared his throat and glanced at the computer on Mitch’s desk. “I’d like to show you the website.”

  “Yeah, sure. Why postpone the future?” Mitch was ready to accept a lifetime of drudgery as punishment for believing in pixies and magic. He pushed the computer keyboard toward his father.

  His father typed, hit return, and muttered a curse. Wiping a hand across his brow, he forced a grin. “Might help if I type the right address.”

  Mitch watched his father suck his upper lip into his mouth, a habit Nick indulged in on the rare times he was edgy and nervous. Apprehension bled into Mitch’s numbness. What the hell had his father tied up in knots?

  A new window opened on the computer monitor. The Blake Glassware logo appeared, transitioning into a sleek, modern header featuring a dazzling photograph of glassware. Color popped from the screen, drawing Mitch’s eye to an attractive menu of selections. Pictures rotated across the page, featuring the factory, the studio’s blazing kiln, and their products.

  “Check out these photographs.” Nick clicked on a menu option and the page filled with images of their stemware. “Jaye took these a few days ago. Aren’t
they incredible?”

  Mitch gazed at the pictures in growing amazement. “Her photographs are better than the ones in our brochure.”

  Instead of photographing the goblets in front of a sterile background like their previous photographer had, Jaye staged the stemware in use. Elegant wine glasses full of pinot noir in a formal dining room setting. Glistening goblets filled with milk on a picnic table. She even took pictures of the glasses as candleholders, candy dishes, and flower vases. To his astonishment, Mitch recognized his own scarred kitchen table featuring two glasses filled with ice cubes and water, a picture she’d probably taken while she was waiting for him to come home for dinner.

  To quell a twist of pain, he flattened his hand on his abdomen.

  “She’s unbelievably talented,” Nick murmured. “I can’t get over how great everything looks.”

  “I had no idea she was designing something like this.” Mitch felt like a complete jerk. How many times had she offered to let him look at the website? Every single time, he’d turned her down.

  Nick glanced at Mitch. “Do you like the website?”

  “It’s…” Awe, regret, and disbelief tumbled through him. He stared at the monitor and swallowed what little spit he had in his mouth. “Stunning.”

  His father grinned at the monitor like a kid with a new toy. “She set aside a section to feature our glassblowing studio.” Nick clicked on the tab in the navigation bar and a picture of Mitch filled the screen. “Look at this. See how the orange light from the furnace plays across the concentration on your face?” Nick pointed to the next picture and let out a laugh. “She even caught you smiling. Priceless.”

  His father scrolled down the page, jabbering about the close up of Mitch’s hands working a piece of glass and the wide-angle shot of him pulling a gather of molten glass out of the furnace. “When I see that furrow in your brow, I know you’re deep in concentration.”

  Mitch heard the gruff note laced through his father’s voice. It was…pride.

  Nick’s smile wavered. “I hope you don’t mind this next page.” He clicked on another tab and a new series of pictures appeared.

  Shock punched his gut, flattening the sandwich he’d choked down for lunch. “Why are my sculptures on the web?”

  “Jaye wanted to showcase your talent. She thinks no one can do the stuff you do, and I’m inclined to agree. A few people have already asked to buy your work. You can decide whether you want to sell them.” Nick clicked on another tab. “This page will feature our new products.”

  Nausea crawled into Mitch’s stomach. “What new products?”

  “Jaye’s been bugging me to look at your proposal. She told me you were right about offering more than just stemware to grow our business. When I finally read your report, I was convinced.” Nick slid his hand over his mouth and shrugged. “She’s been badgering me for weeks about taking you seriously. Two days ago, she sat me down and told me I might lose my glassblowers if I keep asking them to make stemware day after day. I hadn’t given much thought about how boring such repetition must be.” Nick met Mitch’s gaze. “I can’t tolerate the thought of losing you.”

  Mitch felt his bruised heart splat onto the studio’s hard concrete floor. On numb legs, he walked to the window, gripping the sill so tight his fingernails dug into the wood. Struggling to breathe through the knot of emotion constricting his throat, he closed his eyes against the glare of the sun. All along, he believed Jaye would condemn him to a lifetime of monotony. Truth was, she stood up for him the whole time—even after he ripped her apart like a rabid bear.

  “I hate to pile something else on your plate, Mitch, but I want you to start adding new products to our line. Bowls, vases, candlesticks—start making whatever you can for the Christmas rush. The sooner, the better. Your mother will say it’s long overdue.”

  Mitch glanced over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

  “She kept telling me you and the boys in the studio could do so much more, but I didn’t listen. I rarely did. Thought I was right about everything.” A sad smile touched Nick’s mouth. “No wonder she left.”

  The muscles tightened across Mitch’s shoulders. “Don’t blame yourself, Dad. That damned consultant talked her into leaving.”

  Nick frowned. “What consultant?”

  “The efficiency expert. Don’t you remember? They left the same day. She ran off with him.”

  “No she didn’t, son.” Nick’s expression filled with remorse. “She left because I didn’t love her like she deserved. We worked together for so long, I started treating her like a business partner and not a wife. I had no idea how unhappy she felt until she admitted a friend of ours tried to kiss her and she almost let him. Even though nothing happened, she felt like she betrayed us. She felt so guilty, she couldn’t look you or me in the eye.”

  “I remember.” Every conclusion he’d drawn was wrong. Mitch touched his brow, surprised to find a layer of slick sweat clinging to his skin. He wiped his hand on his T-shirt and muttered a soft curse.

  “Your mother begged me to do couples counseling, but I didn’t want to bare my soul to some therapist. After months of going back and forth about seeking help, I told her I didn’t want to be married any more.” He shook his head. “Unfortunately, she believed me.”

  “She didn’t cheat?” The question came out more like a statement. All along, he’d known she couldn’t betray his father.

  “No, but your mother felt guilty for wanting more than what I gave her. She feels responsible for tearing apart our family, but the disintegration of our marriage was my fault, not hers.”

  Mitch slid his palm over his head, so dazed he hardly felt the familiar prickle of his hair. All along, he feared he was just like his mother. Turns out, he was just like his father—too full of pride to see he was wrong. “I really screwed up things with Jaye.”

  “There’s nothing you can’t fix, son.”

  “You have no idea what an ass I’ve been.” He thought of how he’d bullied her into making him one last meal just to spend a few more moments in her company. “I behaved like a beast.”

  “There’s still time. She hasn’t left yet.” Nick paused at the door. “If you need to take a few days off, let me know.”

  Mitch nodded and watched his father go. Shifting his gaze to stare out the window at the meadow, he searched for any evidence of the sled ride he and Jaye took last weekend. Their footprints were long gone, erased by the weak sunshine that had melted the snow over the past week.

  Even after he’d made so many disparaging remarks about consultants, Jaye sought to make his life better in a thousand ways—from the simple act of rubbing his back after a bad day to the profound goal of prodding him to forgive his father.

  What did he do to thank her for those gifts? He accused her of lying, refused to listen to her explanation, and bellowed like a Neanderthal.

  I won’t believe a fucking word you say.

  He’d never forget the pale, wide-eyed look on her face when she realized he was a heartless jackass.

  Pressing the heel of his palms against the pain pulsing in his temples, he wondered if Jaye would ever forgive him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jaye paused in the packed church sanctuary and scanned the pews, hoping to catch sight of Sarah’s familiar gold curls.

  “Are you looking for dinosaurs?”

  She jerked her gaze toward the voice. The blue hue of a nearby stained glass window reflected off a pair of smudged glasses. “Brody? What are you doing here?”

  “It’s time for church.” He scratched his head, pushing a hunk of brown hair toward the vaulted ceiling. “Want to sit with us?”

  No, she didn’t. Spending time with any Blake—especially one with blue eyes—reminded her of Mitch. “I’m supposed to meet Sarah.”

  “I know where she is.” With a gap-toothed smile, he gestured toward the narrow aisle running along the side of the room. “Follow me.”

  She hesitated, chastising herself f
or accepting Sarah’s invitation. Had she known the Blakes attended this church, she would’ve steered clear of the simple white chapel. Throwing a desperate look around, she spotted Sarah seated near the front of the sanctuary. Relieved her friend was here, Jaye followed Brody down the aisle.

  He stopped at an empty pew. “Sarah’s family takes up the whole row, so we always sit behind her.”

  “Hello, Miss Davis.” Carter flashed a smile and squeezed past, following his brother into the pew.

  Foreboding clenched Jaye’s stomach. If both boys were here, a larger Blake lurked nearby. Unwilling to stomach another uncomfortable run-in like the one in the restaurant three days ago, she turned to make a quick getaway.

  Mitch stood a few feet away, his blue eyes locked on hers.

  Pain perforated her heart.

  In a flash of insight, she understood why her parents stayed so closed off. Feeling nothing was better than enduring this jagged agony. Seeking a safe place to rest her gaze, she looked at the boys. They were wearing khaki pants and dark suit jackets, like Mitch.

  Brody grinned. “You can sit with us.”

  Carter perched on the pew, swinging a pair of legs that were not quite long enough to touch the church’s hardwood floor. “We’ll be quiet.”

  Quiet was the least of her worries. Sifting through her brain for a valid excuse to leave, she looked at Mitch.

  Tension bracketed his mouth. His dark blue eyes searched hers for a long moment. Opening his hand, he gestured toward the open spot beside the boys.

  In the aisle, people bottled up behind Mitch’s artist-trapped-in-a-linebacker’s-body. Jaye couldn’t claw her way out of the church without making a huge scene, so she entered the pew and touched Sarah’s shoulder.

  Sarah turned and gave her a warm hug. “You made it!”

  Jaye curled into the pregnant roundness of her friend’s body and murmured, “I had no idea Mitch went to your church.”

  “Every Sunday.” Sarah chuckled.

  “Is that why you invited me?”

  “What else could I do?” Sarah whispered. “I’ve been trying to get you two to talk, but nothing worked.” She patted Jaye’s back. “Go easy on him.”