Maxi felt a moment of hope. That sounded perfect for the Winter Prelude event. “That sounds intriguing,” she encouraged.
Elana’s eyes brightened even more as she opened a large portfolio bag. “Allow me to show you,” she said, pulling out several pieces wrapped in tissue paper. She carefully unwrapped the first, revealing what looked like a Santa Claus figure—except, upon closer inspection, Maxi realized that Santa was actually assembled from lobster claws.
“This one I callSanta Claws,” Elana said, grinning.
Maxi blinked. The piece was kitschy, to say the least. The red lobster claws had been arranged in the shape of Santa’s arms, legs, and head. The shell of the lobster tail made the body. And it emitted a faint aroma that Maxi couldn’t ignore: it smelled like old, sour seafood.
Elana unveiled the next piece, this one featuring a Christmas tree made entirely out of the ends of the lobster tails, adorned with miniature buoys as ornaments. “And this,” she declared, “isO Lobster Tree.”
Maxi suppressed a sigh. This was decidedly not what she had in mind for her gallery’s Winter Prelude showcase.
“The art has a unique scent because it’s authentic,” Elana added as if reading Maxi’s thoughts. “Smells like a real Lobster Bay Christmas, doesn’t it?”
“Ah, yes.” Maxi forced a polite smile. “Very authentic.”
Elana went on to show her more in the same vein—a lobster-shell Rudolph and a miniature nativity scene made out of tiny lobster legs.
“Wow, these are certainly unique,” Maxi finally managed to say, trying to maintain her composure. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”
Elana looked pleased. “So, what do you think? Perfect for your showing, right? Muriel said you wanted something holiday themed but with a cultural flair, and what could be more cultural here in Maine than lobster?”
Maxi hesitated, searching for the right words. These pieces were undoubtedly unique, but they were not the elegant, refined artwork she had envisioned for her gallery. And she’d wanted something cultural that people could learn from, that would show how holidays were celebrated in a different time or a different place. How could she let Elana down gently?
“You know, Elana,” she began cautiously, “your work is certainly one of a kind, but I’m not sure it’s the right fit for this showing. Thank you for showing it to me, though.”
Elana looked a bit deflated but nodded understandingly. “Well, art is subjective, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Maxi sighed inwardly. “It certainly is.”
As Elana packed up her lobster-claw creations, Maxi’s mind raced. She was back to square one, and time was running out.
Maxi stood in the center of her art gallery, surrounded by empty walls that echoed her own sense of defeat. Her fingertips traced the edge of her cell phone, contemplating the awkward calls she might have to make. Should she ring up Priya or Gerard and plead for them to showcase their art on such short notice? The weight of potential failure pressed on her; the last thing she wanted was to let Chandler down.
Maxi sighed and moved toward the window, carefully peeling back a corner of the paper covering the glass. Outside, Winter Prelude was in full swing—children were laughing, couples in bright scarves and pom-pommed hats strolled arm in arm, and shops were bustling with holiday shoppers. The atmosphere wasso jubilant, so hopeful, contrasting sharply with the emptiness of her gallery.
Then her eyes caught sight of the charity tent a little way down the street. Probably the only person doing worse than her was Claire. She was in the tent, awkwardly sharing the space with Sandee.
Perhaps she should go over and lend Claire some moral support. In Lobster Bay, community meant everything, and right now, one of her best friends was in the trenches.
Taking a last glance at her vacant gallery, Maxi grabbed her coat and scarf. “Who knows,” she mused aloud to the empty room, “maybe a bit of goodwill can turn both our days around.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Bunny was so busy thinking about the mystery of the present that she practically ran Maxi over when she came out of the side street that housed the art gallery.
“Oh, Maxi, I’m so sorry!” Bunny exclaimed, steadying a bag filled with notebooks and papers. “I didn’t see you coming out of the gallery.”
“Oh, no worries. I wasn’t watching where I was going,” Maxi said.
Bunny’s eyes darted toward the gallery’s papered-up windows. “So, is everything in there still a top-secret project?”
Maxi let out a tired sigh. “Well, sort of... Let’s just say it’s a work in progress. I promise, I’ll fill you in during our painting lesson later. Right now, I’m off to rescue Claire in the animal rescue charity tent.”
“Oh dear. I heard about the storm. Those poor animals.” Bunny frowned. “But why does Claire need rescuing?”
Maxi leaned in closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a state secret. “She’s manning the animal rescue charity tent with Sandee. Do you know about the whole Beach Bones fiasco?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Bunny nodded. “I was hoping they’d work things out, you know? Dooley absolutely loves those treats.”
