“I don’t know about that.” Jessie laughed.
“Believe it, dear. As soon as I saw the two pieces you left on the rack last week, I knew they were yours. You have a style all your own.”
Warmth filled her cheeks. A compliment was nice, but a compliment from her hero meant the world to her. “Thank you. And thank you for letting me exercise my creative juices in your classroom.”
Mr. White waved away her thanks. “Talent like yours needs to be nurtured.” He walked over to the shelf of drying pottery and pointed at the pieces she’d thrown last week. “I was hoping you’d consider selling me these two. It’s mine and Elizabeth’s forty-second anniversary next month and I think she’d love them.” He held up hands that trembled, and Jessie’s heart broke for her idol. “I haven’t thrown a decent pot in years.”
“I’m sorry, they aren’t for sale. But you’re welcome to have them.”
Mr. White followed her to the opposite corner of the room, where they discussed what color of glaze his wife might like on the vases after they were fired. Together, they decided the rose granite glaze would make the vases look regal yet delicate.
“It does my heart good to see you, Jessie. You were always one of my best students. I have a young lady in one of my classes now who reminds me a lot of you. I’d love for you to stop by seventh period sometime and look at her work. I think you could help her elevate her talent in ways I no longer can.”
With the tremors Mr. White now suffered in his hands, holding a paintbrush and demonstrating specific techniques would be nearly impossible. “I’d like that. I’ll stop in one day next week.”
They continued discussing art and life, while Robert returned to his computer. Thirty minutes later, the older man hugged her before making his way to the door. “I have to admit, I’m surprised to see you’ve returned home from New York City. I thought once we lost you to the glitz and glamour of the Big Apple, we’d never see you again. But I hope you’re back to stay.”
He obviously hadn’t heard the entire story behind her abusive marriage and her return to Providence. And Jessie had no interest in enlightening him.
“I guess I just couldn’t stay away.” She smiled and waved as he left. She turned to find Robert grinning at her. “What?”
He followed her back over to the pots she’d been working on earlier. “Nothing. I just think it’s funny that someone beat me to the punch. I was going to call first dibs on last week’s vases and offer to buy them for my mom. It’s her birthday next month. I guess I’m going to have to buy tonight’s vases instead.”
“Whatever.”
Jessie wasn’t contradicting Robert concerning his mother’s birthday. She knew Faith’s birthday was exactly one month after her mom’s. But she felt like he only offered to buy her vases out of pity. She’d seen enough pity in everyone’s eyes since she’d returned to last her a lifetime. She didn’t need his.
“If you want the new vases, you can have them. I mean, what else am I going to do with them?”
“You could sell them, Jessie. For a lot of money. They are that pretty.”
She shook her head. “There’s not a market for my creative puttering here in Providence.”
“How do you know? You’ve never tried to sell your work around here? People who have been lucky enough to be gifted one of your pieces—whether it’s a painting or one of your pottery pieces—love them. I know there are plenty of people around here who would spend money to have a Jessie Sorenson original in their home.”
Jessie didn’t bother to correct him on her name, because her chest tightened as a glimmer of hope warred with confusion. Did Robert suggest that because he truly believed she could make a living with her art in Providence, or was he just desperate for her to stay in this small town?
“And then what?” Her words came out sharper than she intended.
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Let’s say I want to support myself and my baby with my art and I crank out paintings and pots galore and rent a corner in Miss Hattie’s craft store to sell them.” The words rolled easily off her tongue because it was something she’d already considered, along with the end result. “Let’s pretend they sell well and all of Providence’s thirty-five hundred citizens buy a piece. Actually, it would be less than that since a least a third of Providence’s population doesn’t even drive yet. But what then? Where does that leave me in a year or two?”
“I’m sure you could expand and sell in neighboring counties or even online. My mom sells her baby blankets and afghans on Etsy.”
“I don’t want to have to rely on Etsy to support my child.” The hurt Jessie felt manifest itself in her tone. It felt like such a put-down. Like saying her work wasn’t good enough anymore to be on display at the MET.
Who am I kidding? My work isn’t good enough.Maybe someday, but not yet.
Robert let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry if I offended you, Jessie. I just wish you could see how talented you really are and believe in yourself the way I do.”
He was right. Despite all the progress she’d made, Jessie still had a tough time believing she could be a successful artist if she stayed in this small town. Was she trying too hard to fit into the mold everyone expected her to slide back into? She didn’t know if she even wanted to be in that mold anymore. Art or not, Jessie didn’t have a purpose in life.
Robert walked back to his computer, frustration and disappointment apparent in his posture.
Jessie returned to the pottery wheel, her enthusiasm for the project waning. Throwing another pot now seemed more of a chore than a pleasant distraction. She just wanted to go home.
The ride back to the ranch was long and full of tension.
