A clay-splattered art studio was hardly her mother’s thing, but Emma was pleased to see her mother was wowed, too. “Olivia, this is incredible.”
The inside of the old horse barn had been redone as a studio. The ceilings were high and vaulted. “That’s the old hayloft,” Olivia said. “That’s where the office is now.” She made quotation marks around “office” with her stained fingers. “And this little area, over here, is sort of mine. Jake and Ben set it up for me.”
They followed her to the nearest corner, directly below the loft. Crowded workbenches ran along the adjoining walls, but there on the table, under an overhead lamp, was a slick earthen sculpture. “It’s a little something I’ve been working on,” Olivia explained shyly. “Though I haven’t been able to get in here much lately.”
Amelia gasped. “And here we are interrupting!”
“Oh no,” Olivia said. “I’m glad for the distraction. I was getting frustrated and about to quit for lunch anyway.” She went over to a trough sink and flipped the tap with her elbow. Emma watched as she scrubbed her hands. There was something so satisfying about the space: the light, the clay material, the sound of the rushing water. Olivia looked like her happiest self in the midst of it.
“May we ask what Mr. Rothschild is working on?”
Emma followed her mother’s gaze to the largest worktable in the center of the barn. Beneath a white canvas tarp was some kind of statue, which made Emma think of a magician. There was a metal chair in front of it, and Emma pictured Mr. Rothschild seated before the statue, contemplating his next move. All around the tarped sculpture were smaller tables and benches, littered with tools. A plastic bucket of murky water. And dozens of torn white cloths, stained and crumpled on each surface. It looked like a creative mess.
“I’m afraid I can’t show anyone yet,” Olivia said, apologetically. “It’s part of his upcoming exhibit. But I can assure you, it’s brilliant.”
Emma’s mother looked disappointed, but Emma was glad she didn’t press. She could do that sometimes.
“We brought something for Luci,” Amelia said, swiftly switching the subject. Emma held up a floral gift bag, and Olivia clapped her hands together.
“How sweet! Please, follow me to the cottage. Hopefully she’s reading.”
But Luci must have sensed their arrival, because as soon as they left the barn, she was already trotting down the walkway toward them, Buster on her heels. He woofed loudly. “You missed your chance, buddy,” Olivia told him. “So much for guard dog.”
Emma bent to ruffle Buster’s ears, and he licked her face. She waited for Luci to approach her. “Hi, Luci,” she said, softly. Emma feared that seeing her would bring back bad memories for Luci.
To her relief, Luci smiled. Emma held out the gift bag. “I brought you a treat. I wanted to see how you were feeling.”
Luci motioned them toward the front door and skipped ahead. “She’s still not talking,” Olivia confided, as soon as she was out of earshot.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Amelia offered. “Maybe given more time.”
Emma didn’t say anything, because her stomach flip-flopped. She didn’t like to see Olivia looking so pained. But worse, she didn’t like to hear that about Luci. Emma understood what had happened that day on the boat. Even though it was still raw, she was old enough and experienced enough on the water to know the danger was over. But even still, the memory woke her up at night, finding her in her sleep and causing her to sit bolt upright, soaked in sweat. She couldn’t imagine what it was doing to a five-year-old.
Luckily, Luci seemed pleased to see them. She showed Emma her room, and Olivia made them all tea. When Amelia glanced at her watch and announced it was time to go, Emma was almost sorry the visit had ended so fast. She followed Olivia outside while her mother ducked into the powder room.
As they waited on the porch, Olivia reached for Emma’s hand. “Jake feels awful about the accident. You know that, don’t you?”
Emma blinked. Here was Olivia, whose own daughter had a broken arm and had now stopped talking altogether, and yet she was trying to make Emma feel better. As if, by extension, Olivia were somehow responsible, too. A terrible thought occurred to Emma at that moment: What if Olivia left Jake? She was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Emma had never seen her uncle so settled, so normal. Sohappy.
“It wasn’t his fault,” Emma said, quickly.
Her mother, however, had caught up to them. “It’s why we call them accidents.”
“But the boat,” Olivia began. “And the neighbor’s dock.” She put a hand to her forehead.
Amelia spoke firmly. “Things that can be replaced. At least our girls are going to be okay.” Her mother gave Olivia a hug, and Emma swore she could feel something pass between them. As if both were relieved of some invisible burden.
They were walking down the path when there was the crunch of gravel in the driveway. Jane’s Volvo station wagon pulled up to the barn. “Oh good! He’s back,” Olivia exclaimed.
It was what Emma had been waiting for, and yet a wash of nervous energy ran through her.
Olivia grabbed her hand. “Come on! He’ll be thrilled to see you.”
Emma wasn’t so sure, but she allowed Olivia’s excitement to propel them both down the walkway. Jane was holding the passenger door open and Jake had just balanced himself on his crutches when he lifted his gaze and saw them. His eyes went straight to Emma’s.
“Look who’s here!” Olivia blurted out. Jane grinned. Emma hesitated; couldn’t any of them see how hard this was? She cleared her throat.
“Hi, Uncle Jake.”
