by Abby Tyler
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” she said. “Everything is so big!”
“You’ll want to see it. It’s the heart of campus.”
They drove past red brick buildings and parking lots. He pointed out the dorm where he had lived as a freshman. They both puzzled over some construction, trying to figure out what might be coming.
“It feels so exciting,” Sandy said. “And there’s so many people. They’re walking everywhere.”
When they arrived at the center of campus, Andrew spotted a fifteen-minute loading zone spot and slid into it.
“We can’t stop here for long or we might get towed,” he said. “But we can get out for a second.”
Sandy already had the door open. She stepped out of the car, the wind whipping her hair. She ducked back in for her scarf and smiled at him before retreating again.
She was happy. He got out and walked around to stand beside her.
Her eyes were wide and dove-gray as she took in the brick entrance to Traditions Plaza, the black and gold flags flying behind.
“It’s so beautiful,” she breathed.
Jesse Hall rose just ahead, its clean, white architectural lines, red brick, and the gorgeous white dome reaching up into the blue sky.
“So this is what it feels like to stand on a college campus,” Sandy said.
Andrew realized how much he’d taken for granted. “You could still go,” he said. “Just get your GED. I can help you study if you want.”
“I can’t even imagine a future like that.” She had tears in her eyes. “All the futures I never could have seen. But now I’m looking at one of them.” Her voice was full of reverence.
It felt completely natural to take her hand, small and cool in the outdoors.
She squeezed his fingers and turned to him, wonder all over her face. “I feel like I could do anything while I’m standing here.”
“It’s the sort of feeling you can build on. Just take it in.”
They approached the building, and Sandy took her time absorbing every detail. They walked along the bright white sidewalks and climbed the steps.
He led them around the scenic part of central campus for as long as he dared, but then they were risking being late to meet his friend. “You ready to see some art?”
Sandy couldn’t take her eyes from the view around her. “I don’t think anything is going to beat this.”
Andrew had to disagree. “I think we’ve just gotten started.”
Chapter 12
Sandy could barely contain her nerves as they pulled up to the impressive two-story house with a huge porch. It had columns and gables, like a grand plantation house.
Sandy had never even seen anything like it, much less gone inside. She tugged nervously at her skirt. She pictured a butler and house staff and immaculately dressed guests.
They had parked in a circle drive, the car top-down, as they had discussed. But Sandy discovered that as they approached the door, she couldn’t bear to leave on the scarf and sunglasses. It wasn’t her. She shoved the sunglasses in her purse and tugged the scarf from her head.
Other women certainly could have made some clever tie around their neck, but she simply attached the scarf to the handle of her bag. She was so not up for this. She felt outclassed in every way.
“Don’t be nervous,” Andrew said. “River is a super funny and laid-back guy. He’s also quite possibly shorter than you.”
Really? The magazine articles had never mentioned that.
Andrew pressed the bell, which pealed the tones of the Hallelujah chorus.
A chorus of barking penetrated the door. Sandy and Andrew glanced at each other, wondering what pack of mutts they were about to encounter. It sounded like a hundred.
“Hush, babies, hush!” came a voice from the other side. The barking ceased.
“Well-trained, at least,” Andrew said.
The door opened. Sandy recognized River instantly. He was iconic in art circles, wiry and eccentric, wearing a long dark purple waistcoat, a tuxedo shirt with a sunny yellow cummerbund, and shiny black pants.
“Andrew!” River said, his accent thick with deep southern twang, almost as if he faked it. “You made it!” At his feet, six dogs of varying shapes and sizes sat obediently in a cluster.
“You must be Sandy,” he said. He reached out and took one of her hands to clasp between his. “Andrew told me all about your brilliant cakes.”
He let go of her and looked down at the dogs. “This is MiMi, Lolo, JuJu, NayNay, Tutu, and Killer.”
Killer looked up at the mention of his name. He was a tiny brown Chihuahua with a pink nose.
“Killer?” Andrew asked.
“He’s a rescue pup. He won’t answer to anything else.” River waved them inside.
They all entered a large gleaming foyer with a set of curving stairs that led to a second floor.
Sandy drew in a breath. Everywhere she looked, there was art. All up the wall along the staircase. Filling every corner. Statues. Paintings. Installations of dramatic scenes covered the floor. At her feet stood a battlefield of dolls. Just beyond it, broken-up parts of a bicycle were strategically scattered.
“It’s a lot to absorb,” River said. “Take your time.”
Sandy had never seen any of these pieces. “Are these yours?”
“Oh, goodness no,” he said. “I buy from every starving artist I see. Most everyone has talent. There are very few hacks in the art world, and most of them fill the New York galleries.” He laughed at his joke. “But isn’t it all so perfectly wonderful?” He gestured at the room.
A walkway had been fashioned with short brass poles holding red velvet ropes a couple feet from the ground.
Sandy bent down to examine it all more closely. She was particularly interested in the shattered bicycle. The spread of the pieces spoke to her, as if suddenly, everything had fallen apart at once. This had been exactly what it felt like for her — a wheel here, a handlebar there, and no center to hold anything together.
“I love that one,” River said. “I almost hate her for her talent. It evokes everything, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” Sandy said. She felt the urge to whisper, even though they were in a private home. Something about being surrounded by this much art inspired her reverence.
River leaned close to Andrew. “Don’t let this one get away.”
Sandy forced herself not to look over as he said it, although she could feel her cheeks heating up, undoubtedly staining bright pink.
When they reached a door at the far side of the foyer, River pushed through. “I prepared a light snack,” he said.
They reached a sunny atrium at the back of the house, the entire wall filled with windows, and a skylight opening above. Every corner glowed with sunshine.
Sandy looked up at the glass over her head. “I bet that is amazing when it rains.”
“I haven’t come here during a rainfall in a long time,” River said. “Andrew, leave this diamond to me. I think I need her for inspiration.”
“Not a chance,” Andrew said.
A glow spread through Sandy’s belly. This afternoon could not have been more different than almost every day that had come before it. She’d been so isolated and alone. Going about her days with no one who understood what made her heart sing. And now, here she was, surrounded by the most impossible things and being told how special she was.
She wondered if she had died somehow, and this was her afterlife. Nothing felt real.
At the far end of the atrium sat a large glass-topped wicker table with six chairs. Three place settings had been prepared, and as they approached, Sandy spotted several bowls of fruit, a small tray of sandwiches, and a basket of cakes.
Sandy peered into it, then gasped at the petit fours inside. “Those are mine,” she said.
“They are, my girl,” River said. “When Andrew refused to stop filling my ear with talk of you, I immediately rang up your little tea shop and ordered a set of cakes so that I could tak
e a peek.”
Did he know about the secret messages? These were fairly fresh, so they were a newer batch that didn’t have them anymore. Did Andrew know? He’d never brought the messages up. Hopefully Betty had been discreet enough not to mention them directly to him, but if half the town knew…good Lord. Why had she done it?
She sank into a seat, and River poured tea into each of their cups. “So tell me, Sandy, whatever prompted you to take up cake decorating?”
Sandy’s mouth went dry. She didn’t want to explain how she needed a job because she was about to lose her house, even as sad and rundown as it was.
Her brain whirred, trying to come up with an answer, but River had mercy on her and breezed on.
“Never mind that. Jobs are boring.” He picked up one of the petit fours decorated with the minuscule head of Betty’s white poodle Clementine, complete with pink bows over her ears.
“I have never seen such a perfect rendering of a puppy dog in frosting,” River said. “One would have to wonder what miracles you could perform if you were to create them in actual clay.”
He turned the tiny square around in his fingers. “It’s almost a shame to eat it.” But then he popped it in his mouth. “But it’s too delicious not to.”
Andrew picked up another one of the petit fours. “I recognize these dogs. They’re all from Applebottom,” he said. “I’m sure their owners would kill to have these.”
“They’re portraits?” River practically squealed.
They were sure fussing over a few dog heads. “I do a set every few days,” Sandy said. “When I don’t have a big cake to decorate. It fills the hours.”
“So that is the secret,” River said. “Oodles of time. But so rare. I have to fight for my hours for art.”
“Because of your classes?” Sandy asked.
“Because of the pressures of being River Montgomery,” River said. “Oh, to be obscure again. To create incredibly detailed busts of doggies on cake.” He picked up another one, this one with the largest dog in town, Roscoe, a Great Dane. He popped it in his mouth.
“Do the townspeople know you’re creating their dogs on cakes?” Andrew asked.
“I don’t know,” Sandy said. “I’m not sure anybody’s really noticed.”
River smacked the table with both hands. “Please tell me you’re taking photographs at least.”
“I haven’t felt the need to. I do them all the time.” These little dog heads were not even close to her best work.
River scooted away from the table. “Grab your tea. We’re going upstairs.”
Andrew and Sandy did as instructed, picking up their cups and following River through the atrium. They went up a back set of stairs, these going straight to a landing on the second floor.
Here they walked along the carpeted hall, floor to ceiling with more art. These were mostly portraits, and Sandy could see that the styles were all over the place. More purchases by River.
They passed the opening that led to the curving stairs and down to the foyer. Sandy took a moment to peer over the railing at all the art downstairs. Amazing. She could have spent hours just walking through that foyer again and again.
She hurried to catch up with River and Andrew. River had opened another door just past the landing.
Another set of stairs, narrow and steep, led them to a most astonishing room.
The ceiling was a glass dome, and sunlight flooded every inch of the space. It was the size of a typical classroom, scattered with tables and stools and easels. Shelves along one wall were filled with every manner of artistic tool. Paintbrushes. Canvases. Palettes. Stacks of textured paper. Collections of charcoal and pens and colored pencils and ink.
An entire section was devoted to various textiles, including broken pottery, glass beads, shells, and mosaic tiles.
“Is this where you work?” Sandy asked.
“It is my sanctuary,” River said.
Sandy approached one of the tables, littered with brightly colored bits of glass. On one end, a small tub held a pretty rose-colored vase and a small metal hammer. This must be where he broke apart objects.
Seeing his work in progress flooded Sandy with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. To meet an artist of River’s caliber was one thing. But here she was getting to see where he worked. How he was inspired. It was almost too much.
“Come here, my girl,” River said. He gestured her toward a long table to one side. It held every manner of sculpting material. Polymer. Air dry clay. Plaster gauze. Resins. Wire forms and rollers and carving toolsets.
“What sort of clay are you most comfortable with?” he asked.
“I’ve only ever used paper clay,” Sandy said. She stopped herself from adding that resin was too expensive and dried too quickly.
“Fair enough.” He reached beneath the table and brought out a box filled with every possible brand and color of paper clay. “I’ll get you some water so that you can soften it. And some paints for coloring the clay.”
Were they going to do something right then?
Sandy glanced at Andrew. “Do we have time for this?” They still had a four-hour drive back home.
“This is your day,” Andrew said. “If we don’t get back until midnight, well, we’re adults.”
Sandy opened a package of plain white mermaid clay. “You should do some, too.” She handed him a blob of clay and showed him how to work it with his fingers to soften it. When River arrived with small bowls of water to help smooth the clay, she almost hummed contentedly as they all set to work.
“I assume you want me to do your puppy dogs,” she said, glancing down at the little pack that had followed them throughout the house.
River sighed happily. “I was hoping you would offer.”
And so they sculpted, the dogs for Sandy, with River working on some abstract object that looked a bit like a sea monster. And Andrew, well, she wasn’t sure exactly what Andrew was trying to do. Possibly the world’s ugliest worm.
It was pretty much the best day ever.
Chapter 13
Andrew rolled the car up to Sandy’s house well past midnight
Sandy had chattered almost the entire drive home about River and his house and all the art there. She’d made miniature sculptures of all six of his dogs, and River had promised to keep them in a prominent location forever and ever.
Andrew couldn’t stop smiling. Sandy seemed so happy, so aglow. As he killed the engine in front of her gravel driveway, she announced, “I don’t feel the least bit sleepy!”
“That’s good, since I’m sure Betty expects you to be at work on time.”
Sandy clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, my gosh! You have to teach tomorrow! I kept you out way too late!”
“Correction, I believe River Montgomery kept us late in the city four hours from home. But it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? I feel like I should bring you extra strong coffee in the morning to make sure you can get through the day.”
Andrew would have loved that, actually, but of course their relationship was nowhere near the point of having the intimacy of her bringing him coffee to work.
“I promise that I’ll be fine. I can handle a single night being up late.”
They sat in the car a minute more, just staring at each other in the moonlight, when Sandy jumped in her seat. “Oh! It’s so late, and here I am keeping you longer. Thank you so much for today. What an amazing day. The best day. The best day ever.”
Her absolute exuberance made him smile even bigger. “Me, too.”
“Are you sure? I was so worried because we sat there for hours and hours talking about nothing but art styles and the best way to make a dog nose and how long before air dry clay would get too difficult to work with.”
“It was perfect,” he assured her.
Sandy reached for her door, and he jumped out to run around and open it for her. She gathered her sunglasses and her scarf in her bag, plus an entire box of extra clay that River had
given her, promising that it would just go bad if he kept it.
“Let me help you with that,” he said.
“No, I’ve got it,” she insisted. In fact, she seemed a little frazzled as she hurried toward her front door, almost as if she was trying to escape him.
“Is everything okay?”
He didn’t follow her up the path. Something told him that perhaps she was concerned that he would try to force his way in or something.
She dumped everything at her doorstep and rushed back to him. “No! Not at all! I just. I…”
Whatever it was, he didn’t want to make the end of this evening hard for her in any way. “I guess I’ll see you at our next centennial meeting,” he said. “Unless you wanted to do something before. Maybe dinner in Branson?”
“That would be lovely,” she said. “This weekend?”
His chest relaxed. So whatever was going on a minute ago, it didn’t have to do with him. At least not directly. “Should I pick you up around six on Saturday? That would give us time to get there.”
“Yes. Sounds perfect.”
His heart sped up. There was only maybe two feet between them, but he faltered in bridging the gap to kiss her good night. He wasn’t sure why. He wanted to do it. She seemed receptive, smiling up at him in the moonlight.
But he didn’t want to rush things. This had to be new to her. He’d seen no evidence that she had dated anyone in the timeframe since she left high school. Better to take things easy than to mess it up. He’d already closed the deal on a second date. He would quit while he was ahead.
As a compromise, he lifted her fingers to his lips for a gentle kiss. “I look forward to it, Sandy.”
He held onto her hand for a few long beats, then released her.
As he pulled away from her house, she waited on the porch, watching him drive away. It had been a long day, but an amazing one.
Everything about Sandy Miller felt like coming home.
In the end, Andrew discovered he couldn’t wait all the way until Saturday to see Sandy again. He drove down to Town Square after school on Thursday, stopping at Applebottom Blossoms to pick up a small bouquet of flowers before heading down to Tea for Two.