It was not her grandmother who was mixed up, at all, Phoebe realized. As she cried, Elsie clucked her tongue, her hand working across the plane of Phoebe’s back in slow, rhythmic circles, the way it had all those years ago. It made Phoebe still. First her mind, then her tears. Until all that remained was the warmth of her grandmother’s hand at the small of her back, and the dimly lit room, and the quiet breath.
When Elsie’s hand slowed and she drifted off against her pillows, Phoebe found her own eyelids fluttering. It was cramped at the foot of her grandmother’s bed, but Phoebe curled herself around Elsie’s birdlike legs and nestled into the blankets. For the first time in months, she slept through the night.
Olivia
This was not how she’d envisioned their moving in together. She should’ve known better. The cottage was really meant for a single dweller, two at most. The notion of squeezing in one more had seemed cozy. What a foolish notionthathad been.
The first floor proved to be a field of land mines. Luci’s toys. A pair of flip-flops. Buster, the dog. And there was Jake—crutches splayed and balancing on one leg amid the hazards. The open layout had seemed like a good idea to move him into, but the quarters were so narrow that Jake had to keep his crutches tight against his sides as he navigated the couch, the kitchen island, the dining table. Olivia spent her days folded in half, seemingly forever bent over to retrieve a doll, a Lego, a shoe. To push a chair in, to shovel things into the closet. She felt like a snowplow, making her way in a repeat circuit around the cottage, forever clearing a travel lane for Jake. By day’s end she wanted to scream, “Why can’t you just sit?”
Jake, for his part, was not complaining. Worse, he was being a good sport. And it was driving her crazy. He wanted to do too much, and the fact was, he couldn’t. Which was probably driving him crazy, too, but she was not about to ask.
There was a look on his face she had not seen before. It was inthe tightened corners of his mouth and around his eyes when he spied the bags of groceries lined up in the hall. The ones he could barely get around, never mind pick up and carry, with crutches. Everything, it seemed, was a reminder to him of what he could not do to help. The everyday little things were the hardest, like taking out the garbage, bringing Buster outside to pee, unloading the car. When she was looking for her phone and realized she’d left it in the studio, he hopped up on his crutches before he got the look. “Don’t worry. I’ll get it,” she’d say before running outside. She realized, with chagrin, that his desire to help was more burdensome than waiting on him.
Then there was Luci. Who wanted to do the impossible. She wanted to show Jake the green beans that were growing in the garden, the ones she and Marge had planted and made trellises for a few months earlier. But the garden was all the way across the yard, at the far end of the fence, in a muddy section. Or she wanted to go to the beach. “What can you possibly do at the beach?” Olivia wanted to ask. She couldn’t imagine trying to keep her cast sand-free, let alone dry. Jake at the beach was simply not possible. In her worst moments, Olivia fantasized about tugging on her own swimsuit, sneaking out to the car, and just driving away. Just to steal an hour of sun and respite.
“Try some indoor activities,” Olivia had pleaded with her daughter. As it was, with Jake on crutches and Luci in her cast, the outside world was rife with disappointment. Sand. Lake water. Sweating, which was no small thing when wearing a cast in summertime. Indoor activities it was. “How about one of your craft kits from Christmas?” Olivia suggested.
Luci listened, if begrudgingly. She got out a macramé kit that they all instantly realized required two hands. Same for her model clay. And the damn rainbow loom that a friend had handed down.Olivia stood at the craft drawer she kept in the kitchen and stared at all of the art supplies with rage. Tiny beads. Fishing wire. Glitter. She slammed the drawer shut before the urge to pitch them out into the driveway overtook her.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” Jake asked. He was half-reclining on their small couch, his bad leg propped up on her good pillows, his good leg dangling off the side. She knew he’d be uncomfortable and trying to adjust his position within minutes. After all, she watched him do this all day.
“The plan?” She drew in her breath. Ben’s art show was upon them. Today shehadto be in the studio. For a good several hours, uninterrupted. Initially, she’d been relieved to have Jake with her to help keep an eye on Luci. She’d even gone so far as to hope they could entertain each other, or at least provide distractions. But with Luci’s ongoing muteness showing no improvement, she’d found herself hovering between the two. Translating and trying to connect the dots between them. Even with his deep well of patience, she could tell Jake sometimes grew weary from the effort it took to connect with Luci. And Luci was growing shyer around him, too. Which left Olivia awash with guilt and wildly distracted whenever she tried to steal an hour in the studio, so that instead she ran back and forth from barn to cottage to check in on them. Marge had offered to watch Luci, but Olivia couldn’t take advantage. She was working for them, not the other way around. But at this rate, nothing was getting done.
“I was thinking of inviting Emma over,” Olivia said.
“Emma? Why?” Jake looked alarmed.
“Because Luci likes her a lot. And I thought maybe she could use the money. That way you can do what you’d like, without having to watch Luci while I’m working.”
“I don’t mind watching Luci. Besides, you’re only fifty stepsaway in the studio.” Here they were again. Jake supported her work, but he still didn’t get it. How many times would she have to explain that creating something wasn’t like picking up a paint roller and starting in on the blank wall where you left off last? It required uninterrupted thought. A certain mindset. And time alone in your headspace once you finally got there. She couldn’t just pick up her tools and “get it done.”
She switched the subject. “Don’t you have work to catch up on for the Audubon Center? Yesterday you said that you needed to spend time on your laptop. Make some calls,” she reminded him. Jake had taken time off of work, at first, but he’d since made arrangements with his boss to work remotely until he could get back into the office.
“I guess,” he said. But she could tell he didn’t like the idea.
Olivia dialed Emma, but the call went straight to voicemail. She decided to send a text to Perry and Amelia, as a courtesy—she wasn’t sure what was appropriate being the soon-to-be step-aunt, and since Emma didn’t have a license and they were her parents, Olivia didn’t want to step on any toes bypassing Amelia and Perry. But there was no reply from either.
“I really need to get into the studio,” she said, finally.
Luci was upstairs, playing with her dolls. Olivia was worried about the amount of time she was spending alone, unlike other kids out enjoying the summer with friends.
But she had no other choice than to leave Luci with Jake. Olivia made tomato and mozzarella sandwiches and left them on a plate in the fridge. She washed and sliced strawberries and set them on the counter in a bowl. “Lunch is all set, whenever you’re ready. Just call Luci down when it’s time.”
When she slid the barn door open, she was surprised to see Ben standing at his worktable. “Well, well. Come in.”
“Am I interrupting?” she asked. Ben often worked alone, and she knew he preferred it that way.
“Not unless you consider walking in on an old man’s doubt.”
“Doubt?” She closed the door behind her and joined him in the cool recess of the barn. “Is this about the show? Don’t tell me you get stage fright. I won’t believe it.”
Ben chuckled softly. “No, I have no nerves, though I don’t like the meet and greets as much as Marge does. She’s far more adept at that nonsense. I’m just not sure this one will finish.”
Olivia came to stand beside him, and considered the sculpture. Ben had finished the galloping mare, and it was waiting to be boxed and crated for shipment to the gallery. This piece was a sudden last-minute addition, as Marge had warned her he was prone to do. “Just before a show, his wheels get spinning. Be prepared for eleventh-hour projects. Sometimes they make it in time, sometimes they don’t.”
Sure enough, Ben had done just that. Starting only a couple weeks ago, when Olivia had done inventory of studio materials, she’d noted the red clay was low in the bin and had asked if he wanted her to place another order. Instead of answering, he’d come to inspect the supply and removed a hunk of it. Shortly after, he’d had it on the table and begun playing around with it. When she’d come in later that evening, Ben was gone. But in his spot was a new project. A tree trunk, twisting up and away from the block of clay out of which it sprouted. She’d stood in the barn shaking her head in wonder for a long time before locking up.
Standing beside him now, she understood his concerns. The red clay needed to cure. And although the sculpture was a much smaller scale than he usually did, and with simpler material, Ben wasn’t yet done.
