Fire and Water

by Amanda Kayhart

  “If that’s the case, Michelle did a phenomenal job,” Maureen said, filling Diane’s glass with the pitcher of sangria the bartender brought over. “It’s incredible, and exactly what Kelly Ann and I envisioned. In all honesty, when Michelle emailed the concept, I didn’t think she could pull it off. But last week, when she started setting it all up—”

  “What?” Diane choked on her drink.

  “What?”

  “Michelle is here?”

  “Don’t worry, she’s not here now,” Maureen said, shrugging as she sipped her drink. “She came last week with an entire team to install the piece. I thought I told you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I’m surprised I never bitched about it to you,” Maureen laughed. “It was the costliest installation of my career. But Michelle insisted. She said no one handles their own glass better than those who made it. And I trusted her.”

  Diane nodded, swirling the slices of oranges and lemons, floating in the light bodied zin.

  “It was a whole dramatic event,” Maureen said. “Michelle coordinated with the electricians, and the architects, double-checking the ceiling’s weight capacity for the metal work. The dining room was full of scaffolding and scissor lifts last week. We paid a pretty penny for it, but certainly got our money’s worth, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” Diane nodded. She brought the drink to her lips and took a long sip. “It’s…it’s really amazing.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t think it mattered,” Maureen said, setting her hand on Diane’s arm. “After everything that happened between you two, I thought it was best I keep my mouth shut.”

  Diane shook her head quickly, staring down into her drink. “No, you’re right,” she said. “I’m glad you didn’t say anything. It was better I didn’t know. Even if I saw her again, I don’t know what I would say.”

  “Now come on,” Maureen nodded towards the host waiting patiently behind to collect them for their reservation, “no more talk of her. You think that sangria is fabulous, wait until you try the seafood gumbo. That’ll give you something worth talking about.”

  Diane smiled in agreement, as they weaved their way towards their table, her eyes locked on the ceiling full of glass and light.

  ***

  Seafood gumbo wasn’t anything Diane was interested in that evening. Nor was the delectable plate of apple bourbon chicken and lobster potato salad she’d ordered. What a shame. The scents of tarragon and garlic and sweet ginger were mouthwatering. Maureen dug right in. But Diane couldn’t join her best friend’s enthusiastic appetite. Diane nibbled, but barely tasted anything. After months of anticipation, Diane’s first taste of the new Southern Belle was spoiled by the radiant art work looming overhead.

  Diane couldn’t focus. Poking her food mindlessly with her fork, her eyes consistently drifted upward, staring in awe at the garlands of sparkling glass. Each tendril was so finely detailed and perfected, and Diane imagined the finesse of Michelle’s fingers working with the molten glass and moving flames. This piece required persistence. Time and care. Passion. Did Michelle keep Diane in her thoughts as she sculpted? Place Diane in the forefront of her mind as her hands worked tirelessly and obsessively for days on end?

  The curiosity gnawed at Diane all night long.

  How could Diane hunger for food when the only thing she craved were answers? As it was, since she sat down across from Maureen, her stomach was too full of knots. Her heart too overrun with emotions to even think about eating. Michelle was the only thing on Diane’s mind. For weeks Diane constantly pushed Michelle from her thoughts, now coming face-to-face with this piece—hanging so brilliantly and spectacularly before her eyes—was like having Michelle directly beside her, and Diane couldn’t ignore her any longer. Michelle was right there, in the same room, and Diane could feel her. Everywhere.

  Thankfully, Maureen had a plateful of distractions herself, as their dinner was frequently interrupted by several of Maureen’s acquaintances with their endless compliments on her design. By the time they finished their meal, Maureen was off to find Kelly Ann, gifting Diane with some much-needed space to collect herself. Ordering a whiskey cocktail, Diane took the strong drink out onto the beach-front patio and sat down at a vacant table, watching the dark waves roll onto shore.

  Tonight unhinged Diane, made her chest cave in under the weight of a thousand emotions pressing down on her. Michelle had made it clear their time together didn’t mean anything; Diane was perhaps nothing more than an entertaining and ephemeral muse. But Michelle meant something to Diane, as evidenced by the artwork inside. That glass piece meant everything, and witnessing its stunning display only made Diane realize it further. Diane took a long pull of whiskey. None of it mattered though. Michelle might have been inspired by Diane, but she obviously didn’t leave enough of a lasting impression.

  “What do you call two giraffes colliding?”

  Diane startled at the familiar voice behind her and looked up, her eyes landing on Shawn’s endearing face. He stood before her looking handsome as ever in a royal blue suit and bold floral shirt. Fitting in perfectly with a casual, Southern style, Shawn rocked some sockless loafers and sipped a Corona with a slice of lime.

  “I don’t know,” Diane replied, grinning, “what do you call it?”

  “A giraffic jam.”

  Diane tipped her head back and let out a full belly laugh. “I like that one.”

  “I’m glad,” Shawn laughed. “How are you? Can I get a hug?”

  “Of course, you can.” Diane set her drink down and stood, sliding into Shawn’s open arms. He wrapped her in tight, like an old, cherished friend, her mood instantly lifting. “I’m surprised to see you here. Shocked, actually.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Shawn nodded with a smirk. “Kelly Ann was kind enough to offer an invitation for the grand opening. Couldn’t pass it up.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “Especially as there’s already snow on the ground back home.”

  “Well, there’s not any snow here. Sit. Join me. How are things at the gallery?” Diane’s eyes drifted over Shawn’s shoulder as he sat, looking for a certain someone who might have joined him. She tried to ignore how her stomach dropped when her search came up empty. Diane turned her full attention on her good friend and put on a smile.

  “Amazing, actually.” Shawn beamed, nursing his beer. “I’ve sold several pieces so far.”

  “That’s great, Shawn,” Diane said, placing her hand on his forearm. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thanks,” Shawn said. “I’ve gotten a lot of positive feedback from buyers. It’s been awesome.”

  “Good for you. You’re a very talented photographer. I wouldn’t be surprised to find your work all over soon.”

  “I don’t know about that. But we’ll see.” Shawn smiled. “Travis and I are making our first couple’s retreat to Boston next month to visit some potential galleries.”

  Diane knocked him playfully with her shoulder. “So, things aren’t just going well for you professionally, I take it?”

  Shawn blushed. “No, things are good in other areas of my life too,” he said. “How ‘bout you? How’s the publishing coming along? I didn’t expect to see you here tonight, thought you’d be jet-setting to book signings across the country by now.”

  Diane laughed and took a hearty sip of her drink, finishing it off. “If only publishing happened that quickly and effortlessly—and painlessly.”

  “It’s not going well?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Explain it to me,” Shawn pried softly.

  Diane sighed. “I have an offer with my book,” she started with a solemn nod, “not a solid one, but one that could potentially lead to something.”

  Shawn perked up in his seat. “That’s awesome,” he squealed. “What’s the dilemma?”

  “It’s risky. It requires more time and work, and it’s not guaranteed it will work out.”

  �
�That’s true for anything, though, isn’t it?”

  “You’re right. I know,” Diane said. She stared out across the water for a moment. “However, being at this point and age in my life, am I willing to take a giant leap without knowing where I’ll land?”

  “I understand your hesitation, for sure,” he said, nodded quietly, contemplating Diane’s predicament. “But, isn’t taking a risk on something you love, something that fills your heart with passion and life worth it, no matter what the outcome?”

  Diane looked at him.

  “That’s just me though,” he said with a shrug, picking at the label on his beer, “I’m a go-all-in kind of guy. You seem more like a levelheaded, rational human being.”

  Diane chuckled. “If only.”

  “In all seriousness, Diane,” Shawn said, setting his drink down and putting a comforting touch on her shoulder, “you’re a strong, smart, and talented person, and whatever you choose, you’ll figure your way through it and come up on top.”

  “Thank you,” she said. Breathing in a fresh breath, Diane looked towards Shawn with a smile, eager to switch the topic. “Enough about me, please. How long are you staying in Florida?”

  “Not long enough,” Shawn laughed. “After spending two days in a box truck with Michelle, transporting the piece, then bickering with Ms. Perfectionist throughout the entire installation, I needed a vacation from work and her.”

  “Michelle didn’t stay?”

  “No.” Shawn shook his head. “After we installed the piece, she was itching to fly back.”

  “Oh.”

  Diane’s stomach dropped. The news wasn’t exactly surprising. Considering how their last interaction went, Michelle obviously had no desire to stick around here any longer than she needed. Diane pulled her glass closer and tilted the near empty glass to her lips, wishing she hadn’t downed the whole thing so hastily.

  “Do you know when Shell first approached me with that design,” Shawn said, flicking his head towards the restaurant, “I told her she was insane.”

  Diane smiled.

  “Actually, my exact words were, ‘there’s no way in fuck we can pull that off,’” he laughed. “It’s the most intricate and elaborate design we’ve ever made together. Took several days to make the rods, several more of blowing, grinding and polishing. My ass was beat afterwards. I’m pretty sure hers was too.”

  “It certainly shows,” Diane said. “It’s remarkable. I couldn’t keep my eyes off it.”

  “Even after we started on it, I still had my doubts,” Shawn said, twirling his beer bottle with his fingers. “But Michelle never doubted her design for a second.”

  Diane tilted her head curiously. “Why do you think that was?”

  “I know why.”

  Their eyes met. Diane’s heart beat harder and faster.

  “She told me the inspiration behind the piece,” Shawn continued, “and how much she wanted to recreate this meaningful experience you had as a child. I don’t think I’d ever seen her so animated and passionate creating something before.”

  A lump knotted in her throat, and Diane looked down, her eyes clouding, and she briskly swept the tears away. “She’s very talented,” she said. “You both are. The complexity and artistic challenge of the piece isn’t surprising.”

  “Diane,” Shawn said, twisting in his seat and looking her in the eyes, “the piece isn’t extraordinary because of who made it. It’s extraordinary because of who inspired Michelle to take such an astonishing and beautiful and momentous risk in the first place. And that person is you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Moving to Vermont was one thing. Moving in January was another. In the six weeks following Southern Belle’s grand opening, Diane meticulously planned and organized everything in preparation for this monumental life change. Taking a romantic and grandiose risk didn’t mean Diane had to go about it willy-nilly; she had to retain some of her levelheaded practicality through this dramatic decision. And for the most part it was going well, her detailed planning was making for a seamless transition north. Except in the midst of all the chaos of packing and sorting her belongings, Diane neglected one, important, and very unfortunate detail. Timing. Now Diane questioned her life choices as the chilling wind howled and pelted her face with the falling snow.

  Hunching against the harsh winter weather, Diane scuttled quickly across the icy parking lot from her rental car, skirting around the mounds of dirty snowbanks and potholes filled with icy puddles, and raced towards the restaurant. The moving pod with the remainder of her possessions would not be arriving until the following week, and Diane kicked herself for not flying with more sweaters and thicker socks in her carry-on. At least her Mustang was safe and sound, traveling northbound in an outrageously priced, yet necessary climate-controlled carrier. If only Diane took care of herself like she did her precious muscle car. With a disgruntled huff, Diane stepped inside. She shook off the snow on her scarf and hat, her mouth gaping open as she fixed her hair and got her first look around.

  What a difference a few months made. The last time Diane was here, the up-and-coming, brick-and-mortar Bloated Goat was in dire straits. The location was dusty. Tables and floors dingy. Walls were in desperate need of new paint and a rebranding from the vintage bagel place it used to be. Even the chalkboard hanging above the counter was dismal and dull, waiting for a splash of Sawyer’s vibrant culinary offerings.

  But now?

  “Wow,” Diane mumbled to herself, her lips tipped up in a smile. She weaved through the tables full of lunch goers and plates of delicious smelling food. The new Bloated Goat was coated in bright and cheerful blues with bursts of varying colors. Diane particularly enjoyed the large accent wall full of vibrant Vermont art and amusing Warhol-inspired goat paintings. The playful palate had Sawyer written all over it, and Diane absolutely adored it.

  Diane searched for Sawyer through the commotion behind the counter, as she stepped up and placed her order of her favorite grilled goat cheese and tomato sandwich. Still shivering from the cold, Diane moderated her order, adding on slices of jalapeños and drops of tabasco to heat herself up after her chilly arrival in Vermont.

  “I was wondering,” Diane added as she pulled a few bills from her purse and paid, “Sawyer isn’t around by any chance, today, is he?”

  “Yeah, he’s out back doing prep. Would you like to speak with him?”

  “As long as he’s not too busy, would you tell him Diane’s here to see him?”

  They smiled and dropped Diane’s change into her hand. “I’ll pass the message along.”

  Taking a seat by the window, Diane draped her jacket over her chair and waited for her lunch to arrive. She watched the traffic on Pine Street traveling slowly and cautiously across the slippery road, followed by the rumble of a plow truck clearing the heavy falling snow and sloppy slush.

  What a change in scenery. When Diane flew out of Tampa that morning—narrowly avoiding the canceled flights as the snow storm moved east—she’d said goodbye to palm trees, eighty-degree temperatures and sunshine. But despite the harsh winter welcome she’d received arriving in Burlington, Diane felt surprisingly comfortable and at home sitting there, trapped in a life-sized snow globe. Nothing could bring her down today. Diane was on the cusp of this new life she’d carved out for herself in Vermont, and she was pinching herself, giddy with excitement. There were fleeting moments of panic, naturally, but mostly, Diane was ready for this new career and adventure, with only her childhood dream to focus on and her tenacious drive to achieve it.

  The entire transition wasn’t without tears, however. With glasses full of red wine, Maureen plopped next to Diane at her computer and guided her through accepting the R & R and crafting a remorseful, but self-affirming resignation letter to the university. Saying goodbye to her decades-long career hit Diane hard, and left her with tremendous guilt—leaving her position so abruptly, a month before the spring semester, was not her intention. But Diane couldn’t wait. It was now or
never. And after discussing the decision with her close colleagues, Diane was assured she had their support, and the Arts and Sciences department would have no issue finding temporary replacement for her courses until a proper search could be administered.

  As difficult as some parts of her decision were, some were unequivocally easy. Vermont never left Diane’s mind. She fell in love with the quiet tranquility and slower paced life she’d found here in summer. The picturesque lake house nestled in the islands of Lake Chaplain was an author’s dream after all, and Diane couldn’t think of a better place to begin revising her book. Luckily, Kelly Ann—who was now too busy running two successful restaurants to even contemplate a vacation anytime soon—was ecstatic to get the lake house out of her hands and into one’s of a friend who was setting off on a thrilling new life journey.

  All the pieces were falling into place.

  All except one.

  And now that Diane was here, her stomach tightened with knots and her toes curled at the anticipation of being near Michelle again. Diane only hoped a new beginning in Vermont might also mean a new beginning between them too.

  “You know, Diane, usually substitutions are an insult to the chef.”

  Diane snapped her head away from the window and found Sawyer, holding her order with a big smile on his face.

  “Only you would tarnish my famous Grilled Goat with jalapeños and hot sauce,” Sawyer laughed and placed the plate on the table. “How are you, friend?”

  “I’m good,” she said. She stood and wrapped him in a tight hug, her head coming well under his bearded chin. He smelled sweet, a mixture of hickory smoke and spices. “I only added a little spice to my sandwich because it’s so blessed cold here.”