The Potter's Daughter (Literary Series) (5 page)

Down on one knee Will stared at the
at the large triangle shard of grey clay with the cherry blossoms still intact
and closely bound to their branches.
 
Across the floor were spread pieces of sparrow and blossom.
 
Will inspected the pieces where they
fell while he massaged his weak arm.
 
The hand that had failed him was shaking slightly.
 
He squeezed his palm tightly to steady
the shaking.
 
Then in a quick
motion, without getting up from the floor, he grabbed the large shard with both
hands and threw the clay at the wall letting out a loud wail as he did so.
 
The shard fragmented into small pieces
upon hitting the wall.
 
Will’s face
was red.
 
Needled pains shot through
his weak arm.
 
He picked up another
large piece next to him and threw this shard less forcefully than the
first.
 
The shard landed short of
the wall and broke apart on the floor.

The studio door swung open and in
came Abby and Mitch.
 
Will was still
kneeling over the broken urn.
 
Abby
could see there was broken urn all over the floor at the end of the
studio.
 
She knew exactly what had
happened.
 
If the urn had just
broken her father would have simply mended the clay before firing.
 
The debris was a tell tale sign that urn
broke because of an episode.

“Are you alright Dad?”

Abby knew the answer before he
spoke.

“Yea,” said Will, “I tripped.”

“Are you sure that is what
happened?”

Will raised his voice, “I said I
damn tripped.
 
Isn’t that enough for
you people?
 
It’s this damn floor.”

“Yea, alright Dad.
 
We heard a loud noise and just came to
see what the hell happened.”

Will was still rubbing his arm, his
head bent toward the floor, “I guess I better get the broom and clean this up.”

“You remember Mitch?”

“Of course.
 
I’m old, not senile.
 
Hey there Mitch.”

“Hey there, Will,” Mitch
replied.
 
“You need help cleaning
up?”

“No,” said Will, his voice calm and
softer.
 
“No, you kids go ahead.”

Mitch turned to Abby.

“I should probably get going
anyway,” said Mitch.

“Thank you for bringing the skates
by,” said Abby then quickly added, “And thank you for the conversation.
 
It was nice.”

“Me too, I mean thank you for the
tea, and the conversation,” said Mitch.

Mitch turned and walked out the
doorway.
 
“What a girl,” he thought
as he made his way to his yellow pickup.
 
The conversation really had been refreshing and Mitch felt that he had
connected with someone in a way he had not in a long time.
 
As Mitch got into the truck, a smile
crept across his face.
 
Abby was
waving good-bye from the door of the studio.
 
Mitch waved to Abby, backed his truck
out of the driveway, and kept smiling.

Abby walked back into the studio
and discovered her father still on the floor.
 
Will had not moved from his kneeling
position.
 
Walking over to the side
room to grab a broom she said, “I don’t remember the last time I saw you smash
an urn.
 
I’ve seen you repair
worse.”

“Well I dropped it.
 
Is that what you want to hear?
 
Damn, it’s not the first time I dropped
a piece of damn clay.”

“Colorful language,” said Abby as
she started to sweep up the remnants of the urn strewn across the room.
 
“I bet you can’t even get up.”

“I can get up.”

Will lifted himself from the floor hobbling
a little on his right leg as he did.

Abby walked toward him, “Let me
help you.”

“I don’t need help!”

“I think that is exactly what you
need.”

Will raised his voice again, “I
think you need not worry about it.”

“Well how long do you think it will
be ‘til I have to?
 
Give me a heads
up so that I can know ‘now it’s the time to worry!’”
 
Abby threw down the broom and stormed
out of the studio.

Will had never been one to yell yet
lately his voice was rising quite a bit.
 
Yelling was something Abby was not accustomed to and certainly not going
to stand for.

Will slowly walked over to where
Abby had thrown the broom.
 
He bent
forward and picked the broom up with his good hand.
 
His other arm was not shooting pain
anymore.
 
Will opened his hand
stretching his fingers wide and then pensively he closed them together into a
tightened fist.
 
A fist that still
felt weak.

* * *
* *

Walking into the Stone Tavern Abby
was washed with a wave of warmth.
 
The whole place had the smell of burning wood and stale beer.
 
The room was full of people shooting
pool, leaning at the bar, and sitting at the yellow lacquered pine tables.
 
A group of men and women standing at the
bar wore full body snow suits, some blue and others black, all undone to the
waist with the sleeves hanging behind them like tails.
 
They were the owners of the small fleet
of snowmobiles parked in a line outside of the tavern.

In the corner of the room was a
small stage that held the house band’s equipment and a space cleared for
dancing.
 
The equipment consisted of
microphones, monitors, and a single bass drum kit.
 
Tonight the two men on stage in blue
jeans and t-shirts were not using any of the equipment.
 
They sat on stools with acoustic guitars
and were playing a mix of originals and alternative rock covers.
 
They switched off on vocals, sometimes
harmonized, and chose their material well.
 
The music was not the kind to dance to, though the melody did tempt one
to sing along if caught off guard.

Sitting in the center of the room
between the pool table and the hearth were Caroline and Mitch.
 
Mitch was pouring the last of the beer
into Caroline’s glass mug.
 
Brian
was behind them carrying a fresh pitcher from the bar over to the table.
 
Abby removed her vest as they exchanged
hellos - kisses three times for Caroline - and then hung the vest on one of the
pegs that jutted out from the large wooden pillar next to the table.

Caroline touched Abby’s arm, “Glad
you could make it.”

“Wednesday at the Stone Bar,” said
Abby as she sat in the empty chair at the table.
 
“How could I miss it?”

“Well it could be karaoke night,”
added Brian and they all laughed.

Wednesday night at the Stone Tavern
was a regular occurrence for Caroline and Abby when they were young.
 
In the winters of their
youth
the tavern was the only place to unwind during the
week.
 
In the summers, the tavern
was a great kickoff to the local cottage and beach parties.
 
For Caroline and Brian the tavern was a
regular occurrence since they had moved to the lake.
 
A time to swing back a couple of mugs
and commune with the other locals as they discussed hunting and fishing,
building and tearing down, and how the bad winter of fifteen years ago compared
to the winter of thirty years ago.
 
The Stone Tavern’s smell, the warmth, the conversations, and the faces
of the old timers holding up the end of the bar were very much a part of home
as the lake.

Brian poured Abby a mug of beer
then refreshed his own.
 
Abby needed
to slip a second hand under the heavy glass mug when she took the handle so she
could have a steady sip.
 
Abby took
a drink and let the foam momentarily sit in her mouth before swallowing.
 
She truly enjoyed beer on the rare
occasion.
 
She preferred wine yet
pitcher beer from the tap was an old indulgence from her childhood.
 
The beer tasted delicious in the warm
room.

“You came just in time,” said
Caroline.
 
“These fellas have been
talking about the new snowmobiles outside since we got here.”

“Well a man has to have an
appreciation of machinery,” Brian retorted.

“There was a new one?” asked Abby,
her eyebrow lifted.

“Exactly,” said Caroline lifting
her mug to toast her friend.

The discussion at the table stayed
light as they drank their beer and joked with each other.
 
There was a new project coming up that was
still in the architectural stages.
 
Abby enjoyed hearing Brian passionately explain archways and stairwells
though most of the conversation was Greek to her.
 
As she listened to the architect and the
carpenter’s vision of the project to come, she noticed that both were wearing
wool sweaters.
 
She caught herself
thinking how handsome Mitch looked in his.
 
The sweater added to his musculature giving Mitch a statuesque quality
that she had not seen in him before.
 
Caroline touched her hand then winked when Abby glanced at her.

After another pitcher of beer,
Brian and Mitch went to the pool table leaving Caroline and Abby alone.

“So what do you think?” asked
Caroline.

“About what?”

“About Mitch, I know he likes you.”

“Maybe so,” Abby did not want to
give in to Caroline’s line of questioning.

“I am sure of it,” Caroline stated
in an exaggerated voice.

“He is a nice guy and all but --,”

Caroline cut her off “—But
what?”

‘But what,’ what indeed, the
sentiment echoed in Abby’s head.
 
That was a question Abby had not asked herself and maybe because she had
enjoyed the beer or maybe the warmth in the room or maybe she had just been in
denial because right now she realized that she did in fact like Mitch.
 
Not just like, she was also attracted to
him.
 
Up until now there had been no
question as to ‘but what’, the question had been moot.

“Caroline,” a non-answer suggesting
that Caroline was joking.
 
Caroline’s face went falsely serious.
 
Abby added, “He lives here and I live in
the city.”

They shared a giggle, which made
light of the conversation and took a bit of the tension away that was building
up in Abby’s mind.
 
Caroline was
obvious in her intentions to set Abby and Mitch up and that did not bother Abby
that much.
 
Caroline thought well of
Mitch and Abby both and that Caroline proposed a match was a compliment to
either of them.
 
What did bother
Abby was that she herself was considering Mitch at all.
 
The last thing she needed would be to
get involved with someone.
 
Abby was
beginning to feel elated and overwhelmed.
 
She gazed over to the pool table where Mitch was leaning over to
shoot.
 
The light above the table
shown amber on Mitch, shadowing his contours, he was a handsome man.

Abby winked at Caroline, “He is
kinda cute.”
 
They both smiled.

After the pool game Brian returned
to the table, “Well I’m out.
 
Who’s
next?”

Caroline spoke first, “Abby wants
to play.”

Abby matched eyes with Mitch,
already racking the balls for the next contender, smiled and stood from her
chair taking the cue stick from Brian in the same motion then walked directly
to the pool table, grabbed the chalk from the edge, and chalked her cue.

“You’ve done this before,” said
Mitch.

“Once or twice,” replied Abby
coyly.

Mitch finished racking the balls
and slid the rack into the slot at the end of the table.

“Lady breaks,” said Mitch.

Abby leaned toward the table, moved
the cue ball to the right of center, and then aligned herself for the
shot.
 
She pulled her arm back and
then in a single motion thrust forward.
 
A white streak struck the balls at the other end of the table.
 
The pool balls initially made a loud
crackling sound as they clacked together and then spread across the table
dropping three balls into three pockets.

“Let’s see,” said Mitch, “A three,
five, and an eleven, two solids and a stripe, ladies choice.
 
You have done this before.”

The four was lined up with the
pocket and Abby bent to take a sure shot.
 
Shooting too quickly at the ball, Abby failed to hit the ball square and
rolled the four across the table away from the pocket.

“There goes beginners luck,” said
Abby.

“It’s alright.
 
I thought they sent over a ringer.”

“Far from it, I haven’t played in
forever.”

Taking his turn, Mitch shot at the
fifteen and put the ball in the corner pocket.
 
He then lined up for the twelve.

“Sounds like your project up at the
Johansson house is really coming along,” said Abby.

“You should stop by and see it
tomorrow, if it’s on your way.”