“What?”
“My parents are going to Hawaii, and you won’t believe what happened.”
I told her about Christy’s invitation.
“Holy shit. For real? She invited you to meet her family? That’s serious.”
“No kidding.”
“Are you nervous?”
“Me? No. Seriously?”
She laughed. “You’re always so goddamn confident. And I have to admit,
you’re charming as hell, too. I’d’ve killed you if you weren’t.”
“See? If I can win you over, her family will be a piece of cake.”
We laughed and talked some more and agreed to catch up after Thanksgiving.
“It was great hearing from you, Sara,” I said at last.
“You too. You’re one of the few bright spots in my life at the moment.”
“Same here. I hope you know that.”
“I do,” she said quietly. Then she sniff-laughed. “Asshole.”
“Made you cry, didn’t I?”
“Yes. Fuck you very much.”
“I love you too.”
“You know, I actually believe it when you say that.”
“You should,” I said. “It isn’t romantic love, but still…”
“Thanks. That really means a lot.”
I waited for a moment but then continued before the silence grew awkward. “Okay, now that we have that out of the way. I really need to hang up. I’m gonna fall asleep if I don’t get up and move around. And I still have a ton of stuff to do.”
“Yeah, I know. Good luck with Christy and the sculpture. And I hope you figure out how to let Gina down easy.”
“Thanks. Good luck with your magazine spread and everything. Are you doing anything for Thanksgiving?”
“The gallery owner invited me to spend it with her and a few friends. I thought it was a friendly invite at first, but she called to remind me, so now I’m not so sure.”
“Oh? Romantic possibility?”
“Not sure. She’s twenty years older, so… I dunno. I hate to sound mercenary, but she’d be good for my career.” Her pause was as good as a shrug. “Sometimes you do what it takes.”
“I guess you do,” I said at last. “Have a good Thanksgiving. I’ll call afterward, and you can tell me about your new gallery owner girlfriend.”
“Yeah. And good luck with Christy’s family. Hope you charm ’em like you did me.”
“Just without the shouting and threats of violence.”
“Exactly!”
“Take care, Sara. Talk to you soon.”
“You too, Paul. And… um…”
“Yeah?”
“What you said earlier…?” She paused for a long moment. “Me too.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “But I’m glad you said it.”
“Well, don’t expect me to say it again.”
“I won’t.”
“So, yeah… I guess that’s goodnight.”
“Yep. G’night. Talk to you soon.”
The line clicked.
I set the receiver on its cradle and rolled upright. Then I looked at my bedside clock and groaned. It was after midnight.
“Screw it.” I began unbuttoning my shirt. Everything could wait till morning.
Chapter 28
Christy recruited a couple of art major friends to help with the next stage of her project. We transferred the heavy clay sculpture to a rolling table and wheeled it down to one of the molding and casting studios.
We needed to build a box for the mold first. And even though Christy and her friends knew what to do, none of them had much experience doing it. I watched with amusement as they struggled with basic tools like a hammer and saw. At first I was a bit annoyed that Siobhan had simply cast Christy adrift without any guidance, but then I realized why I was there.
I had to hand it to the older woman—she knew what she was doing. She gave her students guidance instead of doing the work for them. She taught them the skills, gave them the tools, and let them learn for themselves. And in this case, I was part of the lesson.
I hopped off the cart where I’d been watching. “Here,” I said. “Lemme help.”
“Oh my gosh, thank you,” Christy said.
“Why didn’t you just ask me in the first place? You know I can do this.”
“I didn’t want to impose. I mean, after all you’ve done…”
“What? You think I have a limited amount of friendship?” I chuckled and took the saw from her before she hurt herself.
“Have you ever made a mold?” one of the friends asked. She was a big-boned girl with a punk haircut.
“No, but I’ve framed houses. Same principle. So, you draw what you want, and I’ll make it happen.”
Christy, the punk girl, and her other friend (a tall, thin guy with bad acne)
put their heads together and sketched out a basic box with slightly sloped sides. Christy started to put dimensions on it, but her math was terrible.
“Here, give me that.” I laughed and took the tape measure from her. Then I measured the statue and made notes. I took their basic design and cleaned it up quite a bit. Then I added some structural support for the outside, to keep the plywood from deforming under the pressure of the mold material.
“You have done this before,” the girl said.
“No. But it’s fairly simple.”
“He designs buildings,” Christy boasted.
“So you’re an architect,” punk girl said, “not an artist?”
I started to reply, but Christy beat me to it.
“He’s both. Architecture is art. Michelangelo was an architect. He designed St. Peter’s Basilica.”
I laughed. “So you were paying attention.”
She beamed.
“Michelangelo had help,” I told the other two. “He took over Bramante’s design and incorporated elements from Raphael. That’s basically what I’m doing here.”
“Whatever,” punk girl said. “Let’s get a move on. We don’t have all night.”
I didn’t particularly like her, but the girl worked hard and knew what she was doing in general. Christy and the guy held and fetched things for us, and we finished the basic structure in a couple of hours. We took a break when Wren and Trip showed up with a picnic dinner of sorts.
“I knew y’all would be hungry,” she said as she laid out food on a makeshift plywood table. “And Christy forgets to eat when she’s working.”
“I don’t have time for food.”
“You still need to eat.” Wren gave me a look of disapproval, like it was my job to keep Christy properly fed.
“Yes, mother,” Christy said with affection. “I promise I’ll be a good girl and eat all my vegetables.” She winked at me and began loading her plate.
The others joined in. We chatted as we did, but then conversation died as we began shoveling food into our mouths. Christy ate all her vegetables, as promised, and went back for seconds. She wasn’t a quick eater, but she never stopped. Wren brought out a roll of aluminum foil and loaded two plates of leftovers for later.
“Thanks,” punk girl said as she cleaned her own plate. “That was really
good.”
“You want to take some with you?” Wren offered. She brandished the foil.
“If you don’t mind.”
“My pleasure.”
“Mine too,” the girl said.
Something about her warmth made me pause. I shot a questioning glance at Christy, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
After Wren finished with the leftovers for Christy’s friends, she and Trip began repacking the wicker clothes hamper they’d used to bring everything.
Wren gave us hugs and told us not to work too late, and then they left. I scanned the box plans and told Christy’s friends that we could finish on our own. They took off as well, food in hand.
“Come on, Little Bit,” I said to Christy. “Let’s knock this out.”
“Just a sec.” She carefully pushed a pile of scrap lumber together at my feet.
“What’re you doing?”
“You’ll see. Hand me that board thingy.”