Fugitives of Love

by Lisa Girolami

  “Good morning,” Sinclair said, and stepped aside for Brenna to enter.

  “I’ll take your word for it that it’s morning. I rarely see this dark time of day.” Brenna paused, then said, “And I’ve never smelled coffee so inviting.”

  Sinclair smiled. “Let me pour you a mug.”

  Brenna wanted to kneel for communion, hold out her hands and accept the caffeine bullion. And when she took her first sip, she closed her eyes and moaned.

  Brenna opened her eyes to see Sinclair’s lovely, amused face.

  “Should I leave you two alone for a while?” she said.

  “You may have to. It tastes even better than it smells.”

  “It’s organic and was roasted yesterday.”

  “Yesterday? What cloud in heaven did this fall from?”

  Sinclair shook her head. “Secrets stay tight in Pemaquid Point. That is, unless you talk to Sally at the local market, who roasts the beans. She’s not too humble about her coffee mastery.”

  “I’ll be clearing the shelves on my way back to New York.”

  Sinclair watched her drink, but when she asked her why she didn’t have a mug for herself, Sinclair said, “I’ve already had two. And you’d better hurry up with that one. The tide’s coming back in.”

  “We’re going out?”

  “You can see my work later. Right now I need to get more sea glass, and the best time is after the low tide. And the first low tide after a storm like the one we just had is the best.” She hooked a satchel to her waist and said, “Come on.”

  Brenna took a big gulp of coffee, whispered lovingly, “I’ll be back, my friend,” and followed Sinclair outside.

  *

  They walked over slick, algae-covered boulders and reached an area where the rocks were quite small and large areas of sand had been deposited.

  Sinclair scanned the ground the entire time, constantly searching the rocks and sand around her.

  “Tell me your process. Is the sea glass just…out there?”

  “The motion of the water and sand over several years and even decades will naturally tumble any glass that finds its way to the ocean. Low tide is the best time to search since material is deposited as the tide recedes. So I look along the wrack line.” She pointed to the streaks of sea grasses, pebbles, and other debris that were washing onto shore.

  “We’re looking closely at flotsam and jetsam, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve never had a chance to use those words in a sentence before.”

  Sinclair smiled, which made her happy. She wanted to win her over. This acquisition would be hard won, but no one in New York had ever seen such unique work, and Brenna’s gallery had to present it.

  “I look for unusual pieces in the rather constant arrangement of pebbles. What I mean is, rocks have a particular overall look and the sea glass will stand out from them.”

  “It’s that easy?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes not. Reading the beach is important. There are places where no glass washes up and others where currents seem to push them. I don’t know why, but I’ve come to find that it’s true.”

  Brenna mimicked Sinclair by talking while keeping her head down, sweeping a concentrated gaze back and forth just ahead of her feet.

  “How big are the pieces we’re looking for?”

  “All different sizes. The bigger the better, but any size is a great find.”

  “It’s like treasure hunting.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And easier than diving for sunken pirates’ booty.”

  She looked up and Sinclair smiled again, then bent over and picked something up from the sand and placed it in Brenna’s hand. The quarter-sized brown piece felt smooth around the edges. It looked polished and she could see light through it.

  “Wow. What do you think this was from?”

  “Most likely an old beer bottle.”

  “From an old beer bottle to this.” Brenna rubbed her finger over the sand-worn edges, smoothed by its plunge into the sea.

  She began to hand it back and Sinclair said, “Keep it.” She put it in her pocket and they continued walking.

  After a short while, Brenna spotted something shimmering weakly among some pebbles.

  “Is this one?” She held it up for Sinclair.

  “Yes. That’s a nice one. That color is called ice blue or soft blue. It comes from medicine bottles, ink bottles, and fruit jars. It’s probably around a hundred years old.”

  The glass was pitted with pin-sized holes and Brenna asked her about them.

  “Sea glass hydrates, which is the frosty surface you see. Constant contact with water makes the lime and soda in the glass leach out. They combine with other elements and form tiny crystals on its surface.”

  “And that’s what made me find it? It sparkled a little?”

  “Exactly.” Sinclair grinned again.

  A little wave of excitement rippled through Brenna’s stomach. She suddenly felt like a student energized by her teacher’s approval and giddy from the attention.

  *

  They’d been out for about an hour, and Sinclair really enjoyed her time with Brenna. She always hunted alone so her enjoyment surprised her. She’d always imagined another person would hinder her, but having the company of a beautiful, charming woman like Brenna roused her spirits. Today seemed quite different from the often-difficult days of her solitary existence.

  Brenna wandered away to search around an abandoned lobster pot that had washed in with the tide, enabling Sinclair to watch her without being obvious. She was probably a couple of inches taller than she was, maybe five foot eight. She had neatly tucked her white button-down shirt into nicely fitting jeans with an expensive-looking designer belt. If things were different, Brenna would be exactly the type of woman Sinclair was attracted to. Her slightly stocky build, brunette hair, and chestnut eyes brought to life the daydreams Sinclair sometimes allowed herself. And when Brenna rolled up the sleeves of her button-down shirt, revealing the tattooed sleeve on her right arm, electrifying chills ripped through Sinclair. Brenna appeared to be a successful businesswoman with a rebellious streak. Without a doubt, she seemed self-assured, smart, and poised. Also very sexy.

  But Sinclair knew such flights of fancy would leave her disappointed and empty in the end. She’d let herself get carried away before and even gone on some dates, but nothing proved to be as fine as the fantasy. And those women had lived locally so it had been easy to pursue her interests. Brenna represented someone she couldn’t have and, more important, someone she shouldn’t have. Even though what Brenna told her checked out online as legitimate, she couldn’t trust just that source.

  But as she watched Brenna, engrossed in her search and unbelievably provocative, the rush she allowed herself felt too damn good.

  Brenna suddenly yelled, “Look at this!”

  Sinclair hurried over to her to see what she’d found. Brenna held up a large piece of ruby-red glass and Sinclair caught her breath.

  “Holy moly,” she said when Brenna handed her the piece.

  “That’s a good holy moly, right?”

  “Oh, yes. Red is extremely rare, Brenna. And this one looks very old.” She looked up at her. “I think you might have part of an automobile taillight here.”

  “But taillights are plastic.”

  “Not the ones made before World War II.”

  They stood close while examining the red glass and Sinclair could feel Brenna’s excitement. She loved the way her mouth fell open in astonishment, and a rush of pleasure ran through her.

  “Are you kidding? It’s been rolling around out there for that long?”

  She nodded. “That’s why some sea glass is extraordinarily uncommon and very expensive. There’s something magical about discovering a piece nestled among the rocks or digging one up in the sand as if the sea partially hid it just for you to find.”

  Brenna’s eyes opened as wide as a child’s at Christmas.

  “You l
et me keep the first piece you found this morning, Sinclair. I want you to have this.”

  “No, this is special. And it’s yours.” She reached out and tried to give it back, but Brenna wrapped her hands around Sinclair’s.

  “I have a better idea. I’d like to commission you to make a window with that.”

  A million thoughts raced through her head, but ideas about designing a window weren’t among them. Brenna’s touch sizzled. Just her hands, soft and smooth and strong, enfolded hers and made her want to melt into the sand. Sinclair closed her eyes to capture the full feeling and record it forever, but Brenna interrupted her.

  “Would you do it?”

  “Sure. Sure.” But she’d gone over her limit of what was safe. “Let’s head back. I’m sure you need to get on the road and I’ve got work to do.”

  In the middle of the vast expanse of the beach and ocean, Sinclair strangely felt claustrophobic. She was too close to feeling more than she should. She had to get Brenna in the car, flee to the confines of her house, and close the door on all her foolish feelings.

  She turned toward home and began climbing over the boulders.

  Brenna caught up with her. “We still need to go over the exhibition details, and you were going to show me your work.”

  Brenna was right. As much as she wanted to escape her fascination for the New York art dealer, she couldn’t just yet. And she really didn’t want to.

  Chapter Seven

  Sinclair’s work area was small but efficient. She had enough room to create two pieces at once, with an assortment of sea glass spread out around the window frames.

  Brenna leaned over one of the windows to inspect the large sheet of paper underneath.

  “So you create a line drawing first and then build the glass pieces to that design?”

  “Basically. I need to alter the design as I go since the glass pieces are never the exact shape or size that fits.”

  She picked up the soldering iron. “And you solder them together?”

  Sinclair nodded.

  “Kind of like Rosie the Riveter?”

  Sinclair laughed. “Without the head kerchief.”

  “Where do you get the frames?”

  Sinclair ran her fingers over one of the window frames. “From remodeled homes and such. Everyone seems to want aluminum windows nowadays so they rip these out and throw them away or leave them on the side of the road for the garbage truck. I have a shed full of them. I love the different patinas on each. Some have faded paint or worm holes. Each one has such personality. I like giving them a new lease on life here.”

  One window appeared much further along in execution than the other. It consisted of mostly light-green and yellow glass. Brenna pointed to the yellow pieces. “What were these before?”

  “They could have come from old Vaseline containers from the 1930s. The bigger green chunks are bottle lips, which give the window a little dimensionality.”

  “What’s the plan for this other window?”

  Sinclair reached past her to pick up a shoebox that sat on the far corner of the table, and her arm brushed against Brenna. Immediately, Brenna moved out of the way. Damn, she thought, instantly regretting the message the action probably sent to Sinclair. She certainly didn’t want her to think she didn’t want to be near her. But she also didn’t want to scare her away. They were making good progress in establishing some trust. And while she wasn’t used to working on that specific issue with other artists, she had to understand and work with Sinclair’s particular needs before doing business with her.

  Both Sinclair and Brenna made the polite mumblings of two people trying to excuse any awkwardness caused by their tight proximity. Sinclair moved back and set the box down in front of them.

  “Pottery shards?” Brenna said.

  “Yes. They wash up on the beach, too.”

  Brenna sifted through the shards with wonder. Some were white with blue markings and others were brown, like pottery. She picked up a piece of cream and pink porcelain and turned it over and over in her hand. “These are fabulous. Some have impressed pottery marks, but I don’t know enough about chinaware to identify them.”

  “Neither do I, but they’re beautiful. That window will be filled with these pieces. Since they’re not transparent, I’ll add regular stained glass and mix them in together.”

  “What are the most interesting things you’ve found?”

  “Glass beads, a pharmacist’s stirrer, pieces of old Dutch pipes, and lots of buttons. Once, tucked way up in the lee of a larger boulder, I found a ceramic doll’s boot.”

  “Amazing.”

  “They’re all so much fun to incorporate into my work.”

  “Every piece you make truly is original.”

  “And a gift from the sea.”

  Brenna looked up from the box. Sinclair stood very close to her, sharing the excitement of discovery. She was intriguing. This enigmatic woman, searching for the riches that the sea offered, then creating truly unique windows, was as rare as the work. And as exquisite.

  She was thinking less about business and more about her increasing attraction to Sinclair, which surprised her. Business always came first. If it hadn’t, she wouldn’t be in the fortunate position she was. A lot of her peers were struggling to keep their doors open while Brenna could take trips, just like this, to engage in new and promising ventures. She had to remind herself that no matter how beautiful and intriguing she found Sinclair, obtaining the art had to be her number-one goal.

  “How many pieces do you currently have?” She needed to focus on procuring the exhibition.

  “Counting these and the ones I have in the shed, I’d say twenty.”

  Performing a quick calculation of the number of linear feet in her gallery, Brenna said, “We’d probably need about five more. Do you think you could do that?”

  “It depends on when the show is.”

  “How much time do you need?”

  “A month or two.”

  “That’ll work out very well.”

  “The collection we got this morning will help quite a bit.”

  “May I go out with you again? I mean, out hunting for glass?” She still had to get something in writing from Sinclair, to seal an exclusive deal, so she needed to spend another day hunting for sea glass with her.

  Sinclair smiled. “Sure.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Back to New York?” Obviously, dummy.

  “Yes.”

  “Depends on the next low tide.”

  Sinclair now looked more mischievous than amused. “That’d be in about nine hours.”

  “Then I’ll be back in nine hours.”

  *

  Sinclair watched Brenna drive away and excitement swirled inside her as she anticipated Brenna’s return visit. She smiled as she closed the door, but when she turned toward the windows that faced the ocean, its vastness frightened her.

  What was she doing? This woman took her way out of her safety zone. She was much more progressive and sharp than women she had dated previously. Not that the local women were dumb; they just didn’t care to venture from their small-town world. They didn’t ask her many questions and certainly didn’t spend time on the Internet, two activities that she engaged in.

  But she couldn’t deny her magnetic attraction to Brenna, whose outstanding beauty and personality, as well as her charm, dazzled Sinclair.

  It had been a long time since she’d experienced emotions like this. She’d felt them for Donna at the beginning of their relationship, but its lifespan, though sweet and tender, was quite short. And if she compared the two with a percentage, the surge she experienced with Donna was about thirty percent of what now rushed through her.

  Could she afford to let her attraction develop? She sure wanted to. However, she well understood the complications that arose from such pursuits of the heart. Statements from past encounters still rung in her head. “You’re so closed up.” “I don’t really know anything about you.
” “This wall you have up is too high for me.”

  Shit, how long had she been in Pemaquid Point? It was going on twenty years and not once had she let her guard down enough to really fall for someone. Not the way she’d always dreamed she could.

  She poured all her romance into her artwork and outwardly lived and loved and adored there. She could substitute her desire for physical closeness by busying her hands and mind with artistic creation. It had fulfilled her and given her satisfaction, but not the kind she truly craved.

  The times she did date felt more like rehearsals of a play in which she didn’t want to star. She would try to reach out and feel something but found herself just going through the motions. No one had come along to compel her to want to knock that wall over.

  Until now, that is.

  She looked at the two stained-glass windows awaiting her attention. She had to get back to them but now, instead of filling her life, they’d serve to get her through the nine hours until Brenna returned.

  *

  “She’s amazing.” Brenna walked around her room, her cell phone cradled on her shoulder as she reported back to Carl.

  “And how’s her artwork?”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “No, honey, it’s not. You’re chirping like a bird that’s found a bag of seeds. She’s cute, isn’t she?”

  Brenna looked out the window of her hotel room. New Harbor was such a beautiful place, with big, healthy trees and a cute, white-steepled church just down the street. “She is. I really like her. And, yes, her art is fantastic as well.”

  “So you’re going to do a show for her?”

  “Absolutely, which is why I’m calling. Let’s look at the calendar and pencil in something about two months from now.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “And could you tell Lucy I’ll be staying a little longer?”

  “An artist reconnoiter, I suppose?”

  “You could say that.”

  “What do you say?”

  “Some artists need gentle ego handling, but not this one. But something else about her requires a slow approach. She’s…” Brenna struggled for the right word, “an enigma.”