Three Dog Island Page 21

  “Charlie had some separate photos of you and Winnie in the rose garden and on the porch swing, and Winnie painting and you throwing a pot. I just did some doctoring and put them together.”

  “They’re beautiful.” I blinked hard and swallowed against the lump in my throat. “You’d better get out of here before I don’t let you leave.”

  His kiss was warm against my lips. “Mmm, sounds like a threat I can abide.”

  “Go,” I said, “And next time I want to see some flaws—at least one.”

  “I snore.” He mouthed the words as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “I know,” I mouthed back, wondering if it was weird to love the sound of a man snoring.

  Josh peeked out from under a blanket in the back of the car. “Thank you, Jenny.”

  “Just take care of yourself. Both of you,” I whispered as I pushed the button to open the garage door and watched as they drove off.

  Rocky came and stood by my side, pressing his head against my leg. He had already learned how to comfort me. Or maybe he was the one seeking comfort. I reached down and stroked him, more grateful than ever to have a dog in my life. Maybe it was time to relax and trust that he really was my dog and that he was here to stay. He certainly seemed to believe that.

  I went directly to my little workshop in the garage and started kneading and cutting the clay to remove the air bubbles. Once the clay was prepared, I went to work on a new pot. I spent well over an hour at the wheel, but nothing was coming. I was determined to move beyond the familiar, outside of my comfort zone. I was entering a new phase of my life. I wanted my creation to reflect that.

  It was good that there were some finished pieces that Army had fired for me. Just going to his and Navy’s studio to pick them up might provide me with some inspiration. Now that there was no one to stay home to keep company, Rocky hopped into the back of Winston to make the trip to the north end of the island with me. If I was going to trust that he really was my dog, it was time to stop hiding him. I was glad to see that he didn’t get car sick on the island’s curvy roads.

  I found Army hard at work as usual. He was still working on the same piece he’d been hand building when I was there last. At least, judging from its size, it appeared to be the same piece. It now could be identified as a mythical creature of some sort with wings. Not just one set of wings, but two sets. Army’s work was anything but ordinary.

  “Will it be finished in time for the open house?” I asked.

  Army looked up at me, a grin on his face. “Actually, I’m planning to take it to the West Orchard Gallery in Seattle that you told me about.”

  “You talked to them?”

  “I did. Navy and I made a trip down this weekend. They’ve put some of my work on display already.”

  “That’s fantastic, Army!”

  His grin was so wide, I thought his face might crack. “Thank you, Jenny. I really appreciate your telling me about it.”

  “I’m just glad it worked out. This piece will go well there.”

  “I think so too. Did you come to pick up your vase and your pot?”

  “I did. I need to put them at the gallery. Once I finish glazing them. If you can fire them again in time for me.”

  “No problem. Get them to me as soon as you can.”

  “I’m hoping to throw some more but they won’t be ready by Friday. But I do have some more greenware at home.”

  “Just let me know when you have something ready.” The appreciation was still apparent in his voice.

  “Mind if I look around. I need some new ideas for shapes and glaze.”

  “Take as long as you want.”

  I walked along the shelves, absorbing the styles and creations of various ceramic artists. It wasn’t just the structure of their work, but the colors they had used in their glaze. I wanted to create something brighter, more cheerful than my usual work, indicative of a new beginning.

  “Hi, Jenny.” Navy opened the studio door, carrying a cat. I was glad I’d left Rocky in the car. “How are you doing? Did Army tell you his good news?”

  “He did. I’m so happy for him.”

  “Thank you for suggesting that. How is your work coming? I was at the studio yesterday and noticed there’s not much left. It must be selling well.”’

  “Apparently. I need to glaze some more pieces before Friday. I’d like them to be different so I’m looking for inspiration.”

  “Maybe just keep doing what you’ve been doing if it’s selling so well.”

  I glanced over at Army’s unique piece and then at my two pieces sitting on the bench. Mine appealed to more people, possibly because there was something generic about them, I realized. But I no longer wanted ordinary. I looked up at Navy. “I think it’s time I took some risks.”

  Navy nodded. She was an artist. She understood.

  “Where is your piece? ‘The Athlete and the Ballerina’?”

  “It’s over here.” She led the way to the freshly-glazed sculpture. It was even more magnificent than before.

  “Oh, Navy, it’s incredible.”

  “Thank you, Jenny.”

  “You’re extraordinarily gifted.”

  She laughed self-consciously. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I would. Have you considered doing more clay work?”

  “Actually, I have. I like to jump around. I’ve been focusing on my painting for a couple years, but I’m thinking about going back to working with clay and stone.”

  “You paint. You work with clay and stone. Is there anything you don’t do?”

  She shook her head as she gave me a doubtful look, her long blond braid bouncing from side to side. “I do pretty much everything, just not well. I’ve even worked with glass and metal. I’m a Gemini. I get bored easily.”

  “I know the feeling, being a Gemini myself. Oh, I like this too,” I said, spotting a colorful pot on the bench.

  “I suspect that was Dante-inspired,” Navy said. “One of Army’s students loves Dante’s pots. You should stop in and watch him work. Just seeing him throw a pot from his wheelchair is inspiration enough.”

  “You’ve watched him work?”

  “I have. He’s amazing. He’s been beaten down by a lot of things in his life but his art hasn’t suffered for it.”

  “You mean his back and health issues?”

  “Actually, I think his wife’s leaving him did more damage.”

  “Oh, right. Army mentioned that. When did she leave him?”

  “Quite a while ago. Eight, nine years maybe? Or longer even.”

  “You think it would be okay if I just stopped in?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I took her advice and stopped at Dante’s on my way to the gallery. It hadn’t changed from the last time I was there. A beat-up utility van sat in the driveway and the house and studio looked as sad as they had before. What did I expect? A TLC fairy to pop in and transform the place?

  I walked up the short staircase to the house and tapped gently on the front door. I waited for a minute before walking across the driveway to the garage-turned-pottery studio. The side door was closed, but I could see in the window.

  Emilio was seated at his father’s wheel, throwing a pot. As though sensing my presence, he looked up and motioned with his head for me to come inside.

  “Hello, Jenny,” he greeted me warmly.

  “Hello, Emilio. How are you? Is your father around?”

  “No, not right now.”

  “Is he resting?”

  “Uh, he’s out. Have you met Jeff Conrad?” He nodded toward his gangly red-headed friend who was seated on a tall barstool across the room, sipping a beer and snacking on chips.

  I walked over and shook his hand. “Hi, Jeff, I’m Jenny. I think I’ve seen you before.”

  “Right, at Mr. Rosenthal’s. You were there when I dropped off some groceries.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” I didn’t mention the Sasha link. That would only embarrass him. I watched Emil
io work for a couple minutes. “It looks like your father has taught you well.”

  His smile widened. “I’m usually pretty busy working, but I like to do this when I get the chance. Did you need something, Jenny?”

  “Not really. I’m trying some new glaze ideas and I’m looking for inspiration, thought I’d come to the master potter.”

  Emilio’s eyes were alight with unabashed pride. “You came to the right place.” He nodded across the room at an enormous hand-built cabinet. “Look in there.”

  Gasping as I opened the doors, my eyes popped open at the shelves of colorful pots. He loved bright colors—mostly yellows, reds, and light greens—colors I had never been brave enough to play with. “These are gorgeous! What is he doing with them?”

  “They’ve all been special ordered. Jeff and I have to pack up these and some from the gallery to deliver them this week. Some to Gael Island, some to Orcas, some to Friday Harbor. The rest will be shipped.”

  “I see why you don’t have much time to work at the wheel. Thanks for letting me take a look. Your father’s work is very inspiring.”

  I said my good-byes and went back to the car. Rocky’s tail wagged when I climbed in. It was comforting to have him with me, despite the reminder that no one was waiting for me back at the cottage.

  “One more stop,” I told him en route to the co-op. Outside of a woeful whine or two he didn’t complain. This time I let him out. The co-op floor was, after all, concrete, not that Rocky was likely to have an accident. At least not that kind. I had him sit near the entry so there were no catastrophes with his exuberant tail. He seemed content to stay put, especially when Ramona came out from behind the counter to pet him.

  “I love his coloring. He’s really beautiful, Jenny.”

  “He is, isn’t he? Hey, today isn’t your day to work.”

  “Not normally. I owe Army from the weekend before last and Alice covered for me on Saturday so I could go to Seattle. I’m supposedly working for her today.” She winked at me and nodded at Alice who, true to form, was working away, dusting and reconfiguring displays.

  “Do you ever take a day off?” I teased the older woman.

  She finished dusting a jewelry display. “I try, but if I’m not working on my jewelry, I like to be here. Gets a little lonely at home.”

  I knew what she meant. Maybe she needed a dog. I carried my two pieces over to my display in the corner which happily was looking a bit sparse right now.

  “Maybe you should price these higher,” Alice suggested, “at least until after the open house. We don’t want them to sell too quickly.”

  “Maybe you’re right. I’m headed home to experiment with some new glazes. I hope to have a couple more pieces ready by Friday.” I glanced across the room at Jasper’s display which seemed to be intact. “I hope Jasper comes Friday.”

  “Doubtful,” Ramona said. “But if anyone could convince him to, it would be you.” She must have known about Jasper’s and Winnie’s friendship. She came out from behind the counter, speaking softly. “I’m concerned about him, Jenny. It’s not only that he rarely leaves home anymore, but he doesn’t answer his phone most of the time.”

  “Do you know him well?”

  “Relatively, I suppose. I studied with him, you know.”

  I remembered Army mentioning it. “How rewarding that must have been.”

  “Yes, it was. Many years ago when I was a teenager, just starting out, he took me—well not only me, but several of us budding artists on the island—under his wing. He taught us a lot.”

  “About?”

  “Everything. Ceramics, stone, marble. We dabbled in everything.”

  “So, you do know him well.”

  “As well as anyone on the island, except for your aunt of course. I remember when they would go for walks together and stop and have tea at the café across the street. They were such good friends.”

  “When did he stop going out so much?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s been a long time. Ten years maybe. Except for Winnie. She could get him out. She got him to come to the gallery to see new displays and to take walks, but she was the only one who could. And of course, he visited her when she was ill.”

  I sighed as I thought of my wonderful aunt.

  “I’m sorry, Jenny. I know you miss her.”

  “I do.” I inhaled a breath of air to help me focus. “Do you think Dante will come to the open house? When did you last see him?” I raised my voice to include Alice. “Either of you?”

  “Well, Emilio delivered a couple of the smaller pots yesterday,” Ramona said.

  “What about Angelo?”

  “I haven’t seen him in quite a while.”

  “What about you, Alice?”

  “Oh, goodness. Let me think a minute.” Her fingers pressed into her forehead as though that would assist her thought process. “I don’t think I’ve seen him since the last open house. Why do you ask, dear?”

  “I was hoping to meet him. I admire his work and would like to meet the artist.”

  “Of course. Well, he’ll definitely be here Friday. He never misses an open house.”

  I walked over to his display of six small pots and two much larger ones. “Has either of you noticed if his work has changed recently?”

  “In what way?” Ramona looked up from her own display with which she was fiddling. Clearly, she had spent too much time with Alice.

  “I don’t know. I was just wondering . . . “

  “I don’t think so,” Alice said. “He does love those bright colors, doesn’t he?”

  “He does.” I turned to Ramona.

  She accommodated me with a more perceptive answer. “I don’t think they’ve changed a lot, except for the larger pots. These are bigger than he usually does. Not the diameter, but the height. They have a different feel to them, a different character.”

  “Mmm. Interesting.” I wasn’t sure why it was, except that taller pieces would be more difficult for someone in a wheelchair to make. I was looking forward to meeting him in person on Friday.

  The afternoon was spent playing with glaze formulas and throwing pots and vases. Most ended up where they’d begun—as blobs of clay—but two I kept. It would be the glaze that distinguished them from my other work, but something in their shapes, set them apart as well. It had to be my imagination, but both pieces appeared to be smiling. I laughed at myself as I cleaned up and went inside to put the kettle on for a cup of tea. Obviously I’d been inhaling clay dust for too long.

  It was at these times, I realized, that I would miss Josh the most. He and I had established a lovely routine of tea and cookies or scones every time one of us needed a break . . . or needed to stuff some feelings. When I would miss MacGregor the most was predictable. I did not look forward to going to bed.

  I took my tea and my reheated chocolate chip scone—I’d become more adventurous with my baking as well—into the living room. Rocky followed. “You miss them too, don’t you, boy?” He wagged his tail as if to answer and rested his head in my lap.

  Deciding it was too quiet, I put on some music, this time harp and flute. The jazz would only remind me of Josh. It amazed me how quickly I had become attached to a young boy who until a month ago, I had not even met.

  I sat back down to one of my aunt’s photograph albums that had a well-established place on the coffee table. It was the one of her in her youth, when she first moved to the island. Gatherings in the garden, lemonade with friends on the front porch. It was her era of entertaining. I recognized some of her old friends—Pen and Mickey, the Ewells, Myrtle Ormsby, even Jasper talking to a man and a woman, a glass of wine raised in the air, definitely not a recluse back then.

  I scanned the photos of Winnie’s friends in the garden and went directly to the one of her and Jasper standing in front of their art work at the co-op, not unlike the one that Jasper had on his mantel. They both looked so young. I wondered if it was taken at the opening of the co-op. It occurred to me to have the pictu
re blown up to take to the gallery for the open house. It would make a splendid photograph for the wall which held other historical photographs of Anamacara, including one of Winnie’s lighthouse.

  The house phone rang, bringing a large smile to my face. “Hi,” I answered, knowing it was Josh and MacGregor.

  “How did you know it was us?” MacGregor asked.

  “Just did. And how did you know I knew it was you?”

  “Just did,” he mimicked. “And the smile in your ‘hi.’”

  That smile was growing bigger by the minute. “How are you? Where are you? Safe and sound on Pleasant Beach Drive?”

  “Aye, we are, just having a cup of tea with a couple of those decadent chocolate chip scones you insisted on packing for us. What about you?”

  “Same. Is Josh okay?”

  “Definitely. He’s put his things away in his room and is sitting across from me.”

  I liked that he called it his room instead of the guest room. I wondered if that was for Josh’s benefit. Josh got on the phone and gave me details of the trip to Anacortes. He sounded happy, or at least secure. MacGregor had a way of doing that to people. The fresh sea air and the change of scenery hadn’t hurt either, I was sure.

  After MacGregor promised to call before he went to sleep, and we’d hung up, I called Charlie and brought him up to date.

  “I’ll stop over at Malcolm’s shortly for a wee visit then,” he assured me. “Have some things to discuss with him anyway.”

  “Do they have to do with me?”

  “Och, no, darlin’. That’s a subject we avoid.”

  “Is it, Charlie?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “So, how long have you known about MacGregor’s feelings for me?”

  “A while now.”

  “How long a while?”

  “A wee while.”

  “How long is a wee while, Charlie?”

  I could see the impish grin through the phone wires. “Oh, twenty years, I would say.”

  “And you never told me?”

  “I’m discreet, lassie, remember?”

  “Ha!”

  “To say nothing of the fact that you were married to Joe Campbell.”

  “But if he told you how he felt, why—?”