Walker came in next, alone, then Finn three minutes later because, on average, Finn was three minutes after Walker because he always stopped in the kitchen to get extra snacks that weren’t hockey player approved. Taft, who’d cut his hair sometime between our last game day and now, entered next, followed by Arnaud. He said hi to everyone and put his coffee down too close to my paper before I gestured at him, and he moved it.
“Sorry, mon ami,” Arnaud said. He always said that when he forgot the rules. He always forgot the rules.
Bob scowled at my other side, never looking at Arnaud but clearly going into angry mode. I guess something about Arnaud made Bob’s angry side react, but for the life of me, I couldn’t understand what. His anger had led the team to enroll him in the ten-week art therapy program. I don’t know why Arnaud had been referred to it. I know Walker and Taft had their issues, andobviously someone in management thought art would be good for my neuro-spicy brain.
They were right. I loved it.
Finn began explaining the use of color in Fauvism. When he said this week’s prompt was warmth, I knew exactly what I wanted to paint. The Kit-Cat Klock in Eli’s kitchen. Though I think he was referring to using warm colors, not warmth in a kitchen. I started a study of the Kit-Cat Klock’s face from memory. I didn’t get the eyes right. I drew them three times.
“What are you drawing?” Taft leaned over.
“A black cat clock with a moving tail and pendulum eyes that swing in time. 1932 original design. Currently manufactured in Fountain Valley, California. They sell about a hundred thousand units a year.”
“Why a cat clock?”
“It was on Rabbi Greenburg’s kitchen wall last night.”
Taft’s eyebrow did a thing. “Rabbi who now?”
“Greenburg.”
“And you were in his kitchen.”
“For brisket.”
“For… you know what, never mind, keep going.”
Walker had heard. He had a setting where he heard everything, even when he was facing away with a brush in his hand. He turned a quarter on his stool. “Chip.”
“Yeah?”
“You were at someone’s house last night for brisket.”
“Yes.”
“Was this a date?”
“Wow, are you dating a rabbi?” Arnaud asked.
I considered which answer to give him, aware that everyone else was watching me as well.
“No, I think I’m dating a firefighter.”
“Tell us everything!” Arnaud said with his usual expansive arm waving, nearly hitting Walker in the face.
“The brisket was?—”
“About the date!” Bob interrupted, then went scarlet and mumbled an apology.
“Oh. His name is Dane Rourke, and he rescued Sable and me from the fire at the gym.”
“Chip’s dating a firefighter,” Arnaud announced to the studio.
“I’m not… ” I paused because I didn’t know what I was. The previous evening ended with Dane’s hands around mine on the sidewalk between his stoop and Eli’s.
“Chip,” Taft said. “Are you dating a firefighter?”
“I held his hand last night.”
