“What’s wrong?” Adrienne’s brow furrowed as she zeroed in on Juliette’s expression. “What happened?”
Vivianne instantly whipped around, and even Anne-Sophie glanced over, though she pretended to be uninterested.
Juliette lowered her voice and blew out a harsh breath. “I just got off the phone with Gabi. She lost one tonight.”
At once, her sisters’ faces fell.
They knew what it meant. Of course they did. Even though Anne-Sophie had been only ten years old when Gabrielle left home and married Jeremiah, she was well aware of what heroldest sister did for a living. She understood Gabrielle’s career as a NICU nurse came with the heavy emotions of joy and grief.
Juliette was spared from having to relay any details as Erin’s cheery voice filled the room.
“Okay, ladies.” Erin glided into the work area as bright as ever. She was a brilliant distraction from the cloud of gloom hanging over them. “Who’s ready to throw some clay and create some art?”
Her layered hair was swept back with a velvet headband, and her smile illuminated the room. Tonight she wore jeans with silver studs along the seam, and her indigo blouse hung off one shoulder. Bracelets jingled at her wrists, and tiny gold hoops hung from her ears.
Erin gave them a rundown of instructions but emphasized the need for artistic freedom and reminded them to move the clay as they saw fit. It was a matter of flow, of allowing the clay to take its own shape as opposed to designing by force.
Juliette took the wet clay in her hands, and the thick substance slid through her fingers. It was slippery and squishy, ready to be formed and molded. It was so fascinating how something so basic, so plain, could be transformed into something magnificent. She slowly pumped her foot on the pedal, and the wheel began to spin.
“So, Jules,” Vivianne began as she started her own wheel, but her red lips were pulled to the side as she watched the mud ruin her manicure. “How’s it going with the beach house?”
“We haven’t had any more pushback yet from Brock’s dad, so that’s a relief.” Juliette considered letting the damp clay become a bowl, as it was widening, and she wasn’t exactly sure how to make it more condensed.
“Be one with the clay and the wheel.” Erin walked slowly about the workspace, her bracelets tinkling with each step. “Letthe clay guide you. It’s okay to give it a nudge, but don’t feel as though your first attempt at pottery has to be perfect.”
“I think it’s a great idea. A beachside wedding venue would be perfect for Mystic Cove.” Adrienne frowned down at her clay. It was moving and shifting into a sort of oblong shape. “Have you thought of a design palette yet?”
“Yes. Cool colors and neutrals. Coastal yet classic. Elegant and chic, but not overbearing. I’m also thinking of commissioning local artisans for the decor. Erin gave me the idea, actually.” Juliette still had to meet with her to discuss the formalities, but overall it was an exciting prospect.
She looked up from her wheel to find Anne-Sophie staring at her. “What do you think, Soph?”
“Since when have you ever cared about what I thought?”
Were it not for the spinning of pottery wheels and the strange sloshing sound of damp clay, the silence would have been deafening.
Juliette tried to shake off the barb, but it stung. Deep.
“I’ve always cared,” she murmured, careful to keep her voice down. The other ladies, Miss Bobbie especially, had a keen ear for gossip, and Juliette didn’t want to give them any ammo. “I just haven’t always been good at showing it.”
“Obviously,” Anne-Sophie sneered, focusing on her own pottery wheel, where her clay was morphing into a blob of unidentifiable proportions.
“Okay, children.” Adrienne tried to defuse the situation, but it only ignited Anne-Sophie further.
“Except it’s not okay.” Anne-Sophie’s knuckles were white as her pottery wheel spun faster and the clay transformed into an uncontrollable glob in her hands. “Is it, Vivianne?”
Juliette’s gaze darted to Vivianne, who flushed and looked away. Guilt swallowed her sister’s lovely features.
“Go ahead and tell her, Viv,” Anne-Sophie scoffed, molding the clay into a clumsy mess. “Tell her how heartbroken we were when she completely cut us out of her life. When she moved away and never looked back. When she swore she’d never leave us like Gabi had done.”
Her sister’s hurtling insults were a slap in the face. The words punctured her soul, tore her heart. Worse, she’d commanded the attention of everyone in the workshop.
Juliette dipped her head, shame heating her cheeks. “I was doing what I thought was best.”
“Best for you,” Anne-Sophie retorted.
“That’s not fair.” Juliette released her pedal, and the clay she’d been molding fell into a lump upon the wheel. Discarded.
She loved all of her sisters. Fiercely. But raising them, it hadn’t been her responsibility.
