“Oh, that’ll be a table when it’s done. I found a few more of the green caps the other day, so I wanted to add them before they got lost. They’re from a specific beer sold in New York, so we don’t see those caps around here very often, but locals love it because of the name.”
I looked closer and smiled.Reedsport Pale Ale.“I see. A table, though? How?”
“I’ll fill the spaces between the caps with broken glass and things I’ve found on the beach, then cover it all in a thick acrylic glaze. Once that dries, I’ll add another layer for protection, then sand and polish it. I haven’t decided yet if I’ll use wood or metal for the base and legs. I think it’ll depend on the final look of the caps.”
I stared at him like he just spoke another language.
Riley laughed and reached for my hand. “Come here.” He led me to another part of his shop, where he showed me an almost complete table near the wall. “The tables sell fast, but this one is one of my most recent commissioned pieces. It’ll be in our mayor’s home in a couple days. I just need to add the knob for the drawer and sand it for the distressed look.”
The table in front of me was narrow, standing about four-feet-high and five-feet-long, which made me think it was going to be an entry way piece, or perhaps behind a sofa. The bottle caps formed an intricate pattern of dots and dashes, and I noticed several unique metal lures mixed into the design.
“His father’s,” Riley said when I questioned him.
“It’s beautiful, Ry. Truly.”
“Thanks. Normally, a table takes about a year since I collect all the bottles and caps from the beaches and rivers around here. I get several commissioned orders, though, like this one, where they provide the caps and other things they want in it. Most of these were given to me by the mayor.”
“Where do you get all your other materials? The wood and metals and stuff?” I asked, crouching to study the legs. I ran a finger along one of the carved grooves and felt a bump on the back. When I bent to examine it, I saw a tiny fishhook was embedded in the wood.
“I have a few different sources, but it’s from all over the state, actually.”
“And why fishhooks? I’ve seen them on almost every piece.”
His smile beamed. “Good eyes, Detective. Not many people notice. I always add one if I can, without making it too obvious. It’s a reminder of where I started.”
“Where you started?”
He pressed his lips together and glanced over at the closed off section of his shop, where his dogs lay on a wooden bench, staring out the window. They weren’t allowed in the shop, for safety reasons, and Riley had clearly made that space theirs with toys and thick cushions on the bench. I saw the broken shelf still laying near the divider and knew Riley hadn’t taken the time to repair it yet. I made a mental note to look at it before I left.
“I told you I found Quinn tangled in fishing line, right?”
I nodded.
“Well, it’s kind of morbid really, but I kept about a dozen of the hooks the vet removed from him and made a star ornament out of them. I didn’t even realize I was doing it until it was almost done. It kind of made me realize I could do more than just draw and paint, you know? So, it kinda grew from there. I like to add a hook to everything to remind myself beautiful things can come from anywhere.”
I stared at him, reminded of the day he’d painted the wall in the barn at the Henrys’. I felt just as stunned by his creative mind now as I was then. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
Riley blushed and began picking up a few odds and ends around the corner, tucking them away in their appropriate boxes. I started to help him, following his lead for where each piece went. Riley put some soft music on and together we spent the next few hours cleaning and organizing his shop. I admired the grace in which he moved around in the space, especially with so many obstacles. It almost felt as if he was dancing. I could hardly tear my eyes away from him, he was just so beautiful, completely at ease here. It felt so good to see him be himself and not the shy, hidden man I’d seen around town the last week. I could tell he felt safe here, revealing a confidence in himself that judgment and shame could not reach.
I asked him about a few more of the pieces I found around the shop and loved the stories he told me, I adored hearing about what inspired him and how he created each one. It let me see inside that brilliant mind of his and allowed me to understand him a little more. The stories had been my favorite part of his website, too, but it was different seeing it in the flesh and getting to hear the joy in his voice as he shared his heart so openly, especially with me. It all contrasted with the insecurity I’d witnessed in his posture whenever I spoke about his work. I couldn’t explain it, but it almost seemed like he didn’t believe his items had value, yet he made them anyway. I wondered why he felt that way, and what I could do to help change his mind because his talent was immeasurable. I knew creating art was like oxygen to Riley, just something he had to do to survive. But that didn’t mean it was worthless. Far from it.
I was admiring a unique piece of greenish metal when he approached with a cold beer a little while later. “If anything grabs your attention, set it aside, okay? Anything at all.”
I nodded, accepting the drink. “Tell me how this all started. How’d you get your business up and running?”
He hesitated a little, then leaned against the counter, crossing his feet at the ankle. “It’s kind of a long story, so I’ll just give you the basics for now. When Grandpa first adopted me, he wanted me to take over his shipping business since I was the last family member he could pass it down to. He pushed all these business and world communications classes on me, thinking I’d become interested the more I learned. He even went as far as pulling me out of public school and hiring private tutors to help further my education.”
I cringed. That didn’t sound like an environment Riley would have thrived in at all.
“I hated it. Every second of it, especially since he didn’t allow me to do art in my spare time either. It wasn’t until Elizabeth died—"
“Elizabeth?” I asked.
“Oh, she was the daughter of one of Grandpa’s employees. She died of a drug overdose when she was fifteen, but she was well-known around our town so I helped create The Escape in her honor and-“
“Wait, youcreatedThe Escape? You didn’t tell me that!”
He pressed his lips together, avoiding my eyes. I got the impression he hadn’t meant to let that slip. “Um, yeah. I kind of… unintentionally spearheaded it. I worked at the deli at the time and convinced the owners to clean the area up so I could paint a mural in her honor. It was just an empty alley and wasn’t being used, anyway. A few of the other kids joined me, each doing their own piece of art for her. Elizabeth loved that kind of thing. Finding art in public places, I mean, which is why the art in the alley became so popular. Anyway, we built the back wall the following spring to keep kids out of the loading areas. I convinced the owner of the hardware store to set up an account for donations to help with rotating supplies so other kids could participate. Other businesses eventually pitched in and soon the weekly concerts started. From there, it just kept growing.” He shrugged. “I never expected it to become what it is, a sanctuary for the kids. It’s… pretty neat.” He ended on a shy note, but I could hear how proud he was of what it had become and couldn’t resist reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.
