Duet in September (The Calendar Girls)

by Gina Ardito

  “Well, something’s definitely up. The Nia I know doesn’t lie, doesn’t sneak around, and doesn’t dive into the storeroom to take phone calls.”

  “I told you it’s a surprise—”

  He held up a hand. “I know what you told me. I also know that we’re more than just employer and employee. We’re friends. So I would hope that if you needed help of any kind, you’d turn to me.”

  My steely resolve softened. “Iggy, I—”

  He turned around and walked away before I could form a coherent argument. “That’s all, Nia. Don’t compound the issue with lame excuses, okay? Just be careful, and remember I’m here if you need me.”

  I couldn’t reply. Seriously, nothing in my head seemed appropriate. Finally, I followed him, kissed his cheek, whispered, “Thank you,” and left the store.

  ~~~~

  Paige

  I’d made the mistake of telling Nia I’d meet her in front of the beach concession stand at eight o’clock—apparently so had every other resident in this town and the neighboring villages for twenty miles. The crowd surrounding the clapboard building rivaled Times Square on New Year’s Eve.

  Now officially closed until next year, the concession stand served hundreds of hot dogs, fries, ice cream, and mixed drinks every day from Memorial Day to Labor Day. The smell of the last snacks of the season clung to the air and had a way of permeating clothes and skin. Keeping a fair distance away, I walked around the entire stand, from the barren area where the picnic tables usually stood, to the rear where the rest rooms were located, to the edge of the parking lot.

  Snippets of a hundred different conversations rang in my ears. Seagulls waddled the grounds, seeking anything edible a negligent person might drop. Of course, to a seagull, almost anything was edible. I’d once seen one of the scavengers lift a three-pound London broil off a flaming barbecue when the griller’s back was turned. Quite a comical sight, actually. The bird flew off with the steak while some poor tourist shouted and waved a set of tongs at the aviary felon.

  I weaved through gaggles of strangers, seeking Nia’s auburn head at the top of the crowd. Sometimes, her height came in handy. Not tonight, though.

  No Nia anywhere.

  I did, however, run into Sam. Twice.

  “Are you still looking for Nia?” he asked when I came upon him on my second go-round, this time near the outdoor showers.

  “Yes.” I glanced at my watch. Twenty after eight. “And I’m starting to get worried. She was supposed to meet me at eight.”

  Sam dismissed my anxiety with a wave of his hand. “She’s probably still looking for a parking space. It’s crazy out there. Main Street’s already lined with cars on both sides for three miles. We’re using the town trolley to transport people down here. Come on.” He jerked his head. “Walk with me. She’ll find us eventually.”

  I played lost puppy and followed along beside him. The night was soft, the air tinged with salty moisture from the incoming tide, with a clear sky perfect for the fireworks show.

  Sam spoke to virtually everyone we ran into, shaking hands with tourists, offering more personal greetings to local residents. Strange how the uniform made the man. He stood tall, a beacon of safety and respect in the throng of families, teenagers, and senior citizens. I couldn’t think of one snarky comment to toss his way.

  Near the boardwalk stairs, Dominic Bautista stopped to say hello, arm draped possessively across the shoulders of Evan Rugerman. “Hey, Sam. Paige. Nice night, huh?”

  “Dominic?” I feigned a heart attack by clutching my chest. “Is it really you? I haven’t seen you since I was…like…twelve.”

  “Don’t jinx it,” Evan said with a grin. “This is Dom’s first night off in over a month. Thank God he finally found another vet to partner with.”

  “You did?” Sam punched Dominic’s shoulder. “Congrats. Who’s the new guy?”

  “The new doctor,” Dom replied, one brow arched, “is Jayne Herrera. She’s a transplant from Brooklyn.”

  “A woman?” Sam sounded stunned.

  “Sexist pig.” I punched him in the forearm, which was like punching a cement block. Pain sizzled across my knuckles. “Ow.” I rubbed my hand against my cotton blouse to soothe the ache. “Brooklyn? Really? Talk about a change in venue. I bet she’s in for some major adjustments to life in our small town.” The pain hadn’t ebbed, and I clasped the injured hand inside the uninjured hand to soothe the ache.

  Before I knew it, Sam grabbed my hand and kissed my knuckles. His hooded eyes sparked as he smiled at me. “Better?”

  “Oh ho!” Evan waved his index finger between Sam and me. “So that’s how it is.”

  I swerved my attention from Bedroom Eyes to Bedroom Bod. “That’s how what is?”

  “Friday night at The Lookout, I thought I was your hero, your knight in shining armor. Remember? I got Gary off your case and even managed to finagle you a glass of ginger ale from Old Sauerkraut Face. Now I find you’re two-timing me with Sam.”

  “Ahem!” Dom shot a dangerous look at Evan.

  Evan ruffled his hair. “In a completely platonic way, of course,” he amended. “Not that I blame you for hooking up with the police chief. A girl who gets into trouble as often as you should have connections in law enforcement. Makes skating away from punishment a lot easier, I bet.”

  I couldn’t decide which misconception I wanted to address first and wound up sputtering, “I’m not…he and I aren’t…who said I was…?”

  Sam laughed and wrapped an arm around my waist. “She definitely keeps me guessing. Thanks for coming to her aid the other night, Evan. Nia and I had our hands full with Terri in the ladies room.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that. God, she’s a mess, that one.”

  “Terri’s not a mess,” I interjected. “She’s in pain.”

  I’d raised my voice, and I think Sam thought I was about to become emotional because he pulled me closer and ran his hand up and down my bare arm in a comforting manner. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go.” He then turned to Evan and Dom. “Have a good night. Enjoy the show.”

  He started to lead me away, but I pulled out of his hold and folded my arms over my chest. “That’s not funny.”

  Sam’s face took on an expression of newborn innocence, an expression I wouldn’t buy with other people’s money. “What?”

  “You know ‘what.’ Calling me ‘sweetheart’ and thanking Evan for taking care of me the other night. You let Dom and Evan think we’re a couple.”

  “So?”

  “So?” I practically screeched my frustration. Instead, I put that excess energy into putting plenty of distance between us. “I hafta go. I need to find Nia.”

  I strode into the crowd just as the first colorful burst lit up the sky.

  Chapter 17

  Nia

  At eight o’clock, I turned off my music in the carriage house and waited the longest thirty minutes in history. While my furnaces stayed on, all of my tools sat untouched. I wouldn’t run the risk of beginning a project only to have Aidan show up two minutes later. If I kept him waiting outside too long, someone might see him. Or worse, he might get tired of standing around my yard and leave.

  While I sat alone in the quiet hot spot, my ears pricked at every noise outside. If a squirrel dropped an acorn, I probably heard it and flinched. I tried to stay occupied. I sat. I stood. I walked. I sat again. I got up and moved my chair. I spotted a few gold chips from one of my projects on the floor and picked them up. I rearranged the water bottles in my mini-fridge so that all the labels faced the same way. I sat some more. I organized my bags of colored glass in alphabetical order. Nothing I did sped up the clock.

  Finally, I heard tires scraping the gravel outside. The gleam of headlights shone under the door. My heart skipped a beat. Or two. My mouth dried to sawdust, and the heat inside the studio nearly suffocated me. Outside, the car’s engine shut off.

  Diving into the refrigerator for water, I calculated how much time I had. Two mi
nutes, tops.

  The car door opened, then closed with a loud click. I twisted off the bottle cap. His footsteps crunched closer. I slugged down the icy water in less than a dozen gulps, but my throat still felt dry.

  Rap, rap, rap! Although I’d told him he could walk right in if the music wasn’t playing, he knocked anyway. Either he wanted to show me his good manners, or the man didn’t follow directions. From what I’d seen of him so far, I opted to believe the former. Tossing my empty bottle into the recycling can, I tried for a sedate walk to the door and wound up speed-walking.

  Slow down, I told myself. Play it cool.

  My hands shook as I fumbled with the latch until I yanked the handle. The sudden opening of the door had me nearly tumbling into him. So much for cool. Or sedate.

  He stood in my doorway, a white cardboard box in his hand.

  “Umm…hi,” I managed, then winced. Seriously, could I sound any dumber?

  “Hi yourself. I know you said no wine.” He hefted the box. “But how about pastry? I stopped at Pierre’s Patisserie in town.”

  I had to grip the door to stay upright. Pierre’s. Without trying, Aidan had zeroed in on my greatest weakness. This man was serious trouble to my cardiovascular system—in more ways than one.

  “What’d you bring me?” Okay, I sounded like a five-year-old checking Daddy’s pockets for surprises, but this was Pierre’s, a treat normally reserved for special occasions: birthdays or million dollar lottery wins.

  He grinned. “Can I come in first?”

  God, I was a dolt. “Sure. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.” His lips brushed my cheek, feather-light but swoon-worthy. Or maybe that was the scent of chocolate in the air. “I think you’re adorable.” He stepped past me over the threshold and stopped. “Whew!” He waved a hand in front of his face. “You weren’t kidding about the heat.”

  I stifled a groan. Maybe Paige was right. Only another glassblower could possibly understand why I loved working in what was, literally, a sweatshop. Disappointment weighed down my words as I murmured, “We don’t have to stay in here. We can go up to the house if you want.”

  “Are you kidding? After I dressed for the occasion and everything?” He spread his arms wide. “How’d I do?”

  While he placed the box of sweets on my chair, I looked him over, pleased. Apparently, his knocking on the door was due to good manners, as I’d surmised, because he nailed the clothing rules without a misstep. He wore a long sleeve cotton shirt, buttoned to the neck, and khaki pants with heavy lace-up work boots. No belt, which was smart because I’d forgotten to mention how hot metal buckles could become.

  “Perfect.” The word came out before I could consider any other description.

  Honestly, no other word would fit. I could stand here and stare at him while years passed by outside my studio. I couldn’t tear my gaze from him, couldn’t believe he was here. Butterflies took wing in my stomach. My heartbeat sped up, pounding heavy metal against my ribs.

  My scrutiny must have unnerved him because he shuffled his feet, cleared his throat, and pointed to the bakery box sitting on the chair. “Don’t you want to know what I brought? Think of the possibilities: Napoleons, Sacher tortes, tiramisu…so much chocolate, so little time.”

  He did not play fair. “You had me at Napoleons,” I said with a decadent sigh.

  “Too bad.” He smirked. “I didn’t bring any Napoleons.”

  Scoundrel. “So what did you bring?”

  “Un-un-unh.” He wagged a finger. “Show me around first.”

  “Un-un-unh.” I imitated him perfectly. “Get those into the fridge first before they melt and I’m forced to lick the cardboard.”

  He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

  While he picked up the box, I strode to the mini-refrigerator and pulled open the door. I rearranged some of the water bottles and pulled out one for each of us. I definitely smelled chocolate when he set the box in the empty space on the shelf. So maybe he wasn’t one hundred percent scoundrel after all.

  “Okay,” he said after I closed the door again. “Let the tour begin.”

  I started with the obvious large equipment—the first furnace in the row, a ginormous blue box with a square, open door. “My furnace. This is where I melt the products I use to make glass.”

  “Don’t you just use sand?”

  “No. And it’s not the kind of sand you’re thinking anyway. I don’t exactly stroll down to the beach with a pail and shovel. The sand I use is silica, but I also work with color rods and dichroic glass, which adds images to the finished product.” I pointed to the shelves mounted on the wall where I’d just alphabetized my bags according to color. “In their raw states, some of this stuff looks like ice cubes, some like powder, and some like wands. No matter what I use, though, the end result is glass. Depending on what I plan to make, I add different metals and chemicals to enhance color, shine, and durability.” I pointed at the open furnace door. “This particular furnace goes up to twenty three hundred degrees, which keeps my ingredients, what we call a batch, in a molten state.”

  He whistled through his teeth as he looked around my work area. “Now you’ve managed to intrigue me even more.”

  “Why?”

  “Forgive me if this sounds sexist, but this all looks so…masculine. Blow torches, steel poles, those heavy work gloves…”

  I looked down at the heavy Kevlar gloves protecting my hands. Yeah, he had a point, I supposed. “Ah, but the completed pieces aren’t quite as masculine as the equipment would have you believe. Wanna see?”

  His eyes widened in surprise, and maybe, delight. “You’re going to make something while I watch?”

  “If you want, sure. Something basic and simple, but it’ll give you the general idea. Only if you’re interested, though. I don’t want to bore you.”

  “Are you kidding? Yes.” To lend credence to his enthusiasm, he nodded. “Definitely. What can I do to help?”

  I pointed to the chair placed far enough away to keep him safe. “Have a seat and watch. If you have any questions as I go along, feel free to ask.”

  After a sip of water from my latest bottle, I preheated my steel blowpipe and dipped it into the open square of the furnace where the crucible full of molten glass sat. When I pulled it out again, a globule the size of a walnut glowed vivid red-orange on the end.

  “Interesting color,” Aidan remarked.

  “Don’t get attached to it,” I advised him. “No matter what color glass I’m working with, it always comes out of the furnace this same shade. This particular batch has chromium, so when it cools, it’ll be a beautiful shade of green.”

  I cooled the other end of my four-foot pipe in a nearby bucket of water before placing my lips around the end and blowing gently. Within no time, I had a bubble inside the red-hot glass globule. I capped my end of the pipe to keep the heat trapped inside. “See that bubble? That’ll eventually be the piece I create tonight.”

  I rolled the glass on my marver, a large flat piece of wood that smoothed the exterior. Over the next several minutes, with the aid of a host of tools, I added layers and colors, even using the second furnace with the round opening—the glory hole—to keep my glass fluid while I worked with it. Throughout the process, I continually rolled and cut the hot glass with my shears and tweezers. At last, the color and true shape of my piece became apparent: a wine bottle.

  “It’ll be a Christmas ornament when I’m completely done with it,” I said. After fine tuning the glass for a few more minutes, and adding details. I brought the ornament to the one piece of equipment I hadn’t yet discussed, the large sealed box nearest the door. I lifted the lid, and additional heat wafted out to bathe my face in a fresh cloud of steam. “Ta-da. The infamous lehr.”

  He got up from his chair, followed me, and leaned into the box. A dozen additional items—the colorful gourds I’d crafted for autumn—sat inside. “Wow.” When he reached for one, I pulled him back.

  “No. Don’t
touch.” I carefully set the wine bottle next to the other settling glassware and closed the lid. “Most of those pieces are still too hot to handle.”

  “So are you.” His hands wrapped my waist, and he pulled me closer. His mouth came within a whisper of mine…

  Twisted Sister’s We’re Not Gonna Take It blared from my cell phone in the heat resistant box near the door. Paige. I knew she had some disco standard as my ring tone, so in retaliation, I’d chosen something obnoxious with the perfect band name to irk her.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, pulling away. “I have to take this.”

  “Of course.” His face mirrored his disappointment as he took a step back.

  I commiserated completely. Paige had the worst timing. After removing my Kevlar gloves, I took my phone out of the box and punched the connect button. “Hello?”

  “Nia? Where are you?” The noise in the background made her voice barely audible. It sounded like she was calling me from a foxhole. “The fireworks already started.”

  Shoot. I’d totally forgotten I promised to meet her at the beach. “Oh, God, Paige, I’m soooo sorry. I forgot. I’m in my hot spot.”

  “Are you kidding me? I’ve been looking all over for you for more than forty minutes, and you’re not even here?”

  “I’m really sorry,” I repeated. “It totally slipped my mind.”

  “That’s just great. Every time I try to set you up with—” She stopped there.

  “Set me up? What are you talking about? Set me up with what? Or is it a who? Are you talking about a date?”

  “No. It’s nothing. Forget it. I’m going to stick around to watch the rest of the show. May as well, right? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “I’m really sorry, Paige,” I offered once more.

  “Yeah,” she bit off curtly. “Me too.” The background noise switched to silence when she hung up.

  “You were supposed to meet someone tonight?” Aidan asked, his head tilted upward, eyes alight.

  “My sister. For the fireworks show. She’s peeved, but she’ll get over it.”

  “Is this the same sister whose barbecue you were supposed to attend yesterday?”