The shop was charming as all sweet shops are, done in a Victorian style and with white Christmas lights surrounding the windows. Mitch and Abby sat at a cozy parlor table by the street window, ordered cappuccinos, pistachio gelato, and split what was described on the menu as molten cake. The fluttering feather flakes of snow curtained their side and they leaned into each other so as not to have to talk much more than above a whisper.
“You’re making me eat all of this cake,” said Abby.
“I don’t think that’s the case,” said Mitch.
“Have you eaten any?”
“I have.”
Mitch started to laugh at Abby.
“What’s so funny?” asked Abby.
Mitch put his finger to Abby’s chin and turned her head toward the window. Abby could see on her reflection, chocolate syrup from the molten cake on her upper lip. Abby tilted her head back toward Mitch, the corners of her mouth upturned, her cheeks full and rosy. Mitch offered her his napkin. She reached her hand passed the napkin and put her hand on the back of his head. She then pulled him close to her so that he could remove the syrup with his kiss. They kissed softly.
Abby then touched her forehead to Mitch’s and nuzzled her nose against his. “You think you got it?” she whispered.
“I think I got it,” Mitch whispered back.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Let’s.”
They stood at the same time and slid their jackets on without disengaging their gaze, each with an impish grin. Abby picked up her bag and Mitch his duffel and then she reached for his hand and she led him out of the shop into the snowy night. As she pulled him, Mitch playfully pretended at times to resist, causing her to look back, snicker her nose, then extend her arm and tug. Mitch feigned resistance by leaning back, then he shuffled, and they would go forward for a few more steps like a rubber band. They did this all the way through the door of Abby’s building where he let her pull him to her and they began to shower each other with kisses as they made their way to her apartment. At Abby’s door Mitch dropped his duffel and began to caress her body as she fumbled through her bag for keys. When the two locks were finally undone the intertwined couple almost fell through the threshold. Mitch pushed his duffel in with his foot while Abby pulled the door closed. Abby’s other hand was on Mitch’s collar, pulling down on his shirt over his arm. Their mouths now locked deep in a long continuing kiss.
Parts of their clothing flew across the living room as they moved through, Mitch leaning against the arm of the couch, then Abby’s back to the wall. All the while they continually caressed each other’s bodies and held that long undisturbed kiss.
Abby put her lips to Mitch’s neck and pressed her mouth against him, then whispered in his ear, “This way.”
Quickly Abby stepped away from him, taking both of his hands, and pulled him to her bedroom. In the dim light of the hallway, her beauty awed Mitch. Her hair now down over her shadowed bare breasts, only her panties remained on. Abby’s sultry gaze once again fixed on him as she backed into the bedroom. Seductively she slowly lowered her hands from his and slipped off her bottoms, then backed up and slid into the blankets of the bed. She lifted her soft gaze to Mitch standing in his unzipped jeans. His stomach barely lit in her darkened bedroom, attractive, trim, and muscular. He kept his gaze fixed to hers still, and with one thumb eased the jeans down the trunks of his legs. Slowly Mitch approached the bed and Abby moved over on the sheet to make room for him and opened the blanket to invite him in.
They had been frantic, and now, lying naked on the soft sheets of Abby’s bed, they were tender. Mitch leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently. Her eyes closed, a tremor shot threw her body from the faintest of kisses, then another light kiss, and another tremor. Mitch gave her many tender kisses in many places until Abby could handle no more. Then they held each other tightly and fell into the first true sleep for either of them in the past few nights.
* * * * *
Chapter 59
Before Mitch opened his eyes, he had a smile on his face. The sweet smell of Abby on the pillow reminded him that he was not in his own bed. There was another great smell looming in the air as he awoke as well, coffee, and something else, pancakes.
“Really?” said Mitch in a voice just loud enough to travel through the apartment.
“You up?” came a reply from the other room.
Mitch stretched his arms and started to get up when Abby entered the bedroom.
“No don’t get up,” said Abby. Abby was wearing nothing except Mitch’s collar shirt and a ponytail and carrying a tray with pancakes and coffee.
Mitch’s eyes lit up, Abby was incredibly attractive, and the sight of her like this excited him. “That’s amazing.”
“It’s just coffee and pancakes,” said Abby. She held the tray next to the bed.
“Are those blueberry pancakes?”
“Yes they are.”
“Put that down.”
“They’ll get cold.”
“They’ll have to wait.”
Abby set the tray on the floor and as soon as her fingers were free, Mitch pulled her by the waist onto the bed and gave her a kiss. Abby wrapped her arms around him and rolled him on his side. Soon the two were once again beneath the blankets.
After breakfast they decided to go out to the park and go skating at the pond. Mitch told Abby that he had not brought his skates and she told him not to worry since the rink rented skates. Mitch could not argue with that so they bundled up and rolled out of the apartment to go for a walk down to the park.
The snow that blanketed the city the evening before had already turned to pools and slush.
“There aren’t that many people on the street,” said Mitch.
“There are never as many as on a weekday in this neighborhood. Many people here have country homes and for those that don’t Saturday is not a workday,” said Abby.
“I guess since I have not lived in the city in a while that had not crossed my mind.”
“Don’t worry about finding people, I’m sure there will be plenty in the park.”
When they got to the park Mitch found that Abby had been correct. The difference between the street outside and the path in the park was night and day. Everyone that was going to venture outside on a Saturday was here.
The pathways in the park had already been cleared and salted and the cement had a soggy odor. Traffic moved at a set pace through the congested maze of paths as people with children crowded the playgrounds while others with dogs of all sizes split off to the dog runs. Part of the congestion was due to the crowd build up at pathway intersections where street performers held court to park denizens and tourists alike. Mitch and Abby veered around these large groups peeking through to see acrobats, a cappella groups, and musicians.
While walking down the wide arcade toward the skating pond, they stopped to listen to an older Asian woman dressed in dark sweat clothes plucking a long thin lute. Behind her stood one of the mighty elms of the arcade walkway and other small trees in a field of undisturbed snow. A hill rose in the back of the field blocking the view of the pathway behind so that to all of those watching this woman in the middle of the park, in the center of the city, an illusion had been created that she stood alone. The woman started to sing a slow sweet song in her native language. Abby pulled herself close to Mitch and rested her head on his shoulder. She of course could not understand the words yet she understood the song. Abby could tell the woman was singing about love and lovers. By the way the song rose with the lute Abby sensed the love was a new love: so strong, invigorated, perpetual. The woman’s voice went soft again. Her song became what Abby thought might be an appeal to love threatened. An appeal that turned in song to defiance, true love is unstoppable.
The last pluck from the lute left the gathered group silent. Abby realized her eyes had gone misty. She lifted her head from Mitch’s shoulder and pulled her hands away to clap for the musician with everyone else. Mitch was moved a
s well. He removed his glove to dig through his pocket to find a dollar bill. Upon digging one out, he walked over and placed the dollar in a small wicker basket at the woman’s feet. The woman acknowledged Mitch with a smile and Abby and Mitch both thanked her. When they turned, Abby took Mitch’s arm again with both hands and rested her head on his arm as they walked.
The rest of the walk down the arcade toward the skating pond was not as crowded as the rest of the park had been. The sky was still grey yet the daylight was brighter with less people around them. Their stride was slow and their company relaxed, as a couple that had been together for years and not just a short while. Abby was content with Mitch and he was comfortable with her. With Abby, Mitch was having no issue being in the city. Abby had now washed away whatever Mitch was dreading before. Her upbeat attitude and demeanor made him want to be near her.
When they reached the skating pond Mitch gave Abby her skates and he went to stand in the rental line.
On the ice Mitch found that though the skates were not his own, they were not as uncomfortable as he thought they would be. Abby had not been totally correct on the condition of the rental skates yet she was right that Mitch was able to skate effortlessly in them.
Abby and Mitch skated next to each other and glided around the pond under the towers that bordered the end of the park. Their rhythm synchronized on the ice and with each stride, each could feel the others shared action as if they were parts working from the same mechanism. The couple enjoyed the simple attachment, emotional and physical, that was born between them.
* * * * *
Chapter 60
Mitch and Abby scanned the departure boards to see if a track had been assigned to the afternoon train that would take Mitch back to Willow Lake. There was still a little while before Mitch would need to board. They had toyed with the idea of Mitch staying until Monday, and then agreed better to keep the trip short. The two nights they had spent together had been the best either of them could have imagined. They had enjoyed the city together, a hockey game the night before, and spent the entire morning and early afternoon in Abby’s apartment, never far from each other’s arms. Now at the station they made small talk and anxiously scanned the departure boards each time they rattled the updates.
“I can be back soon,” said Mitch.
Abby again let her eyes sync deeply into his and smiled bashfully, embarrassed that she might tear up at any moment. Mitch touched her hand and she intertwined her fingers with his. The weekend had gone by too quickly for both of them.
“I’d like that,” said Abby. “I’d like that a lot.”
The boards made another loud rattle and track numbers shifted behind each of the postings. Mitch’s track appeared behind the name of his train and the boarding sign lit up.
“Well, that’s me,” said Mitch.
“I’ll walk you down.”
Mitch picked up his duffle and the two walked through the crowd holding each other’s hand toward the entrance to the platform. When they reached the stairwell Mitch turned to Abby and said, “I guess this is it until next time.”
“All the way,” said Abby. Mitch smiled and the two walked down the steps to the platform and stopped next to the train. Mitch set down his duffel and turned to say goodbye to Abby. Before words could escape his mouth she was upon him with a tight embrace, her feet on tip toe, giving him a deep kiss. After Abby kissed Mitch she told him that she felt like a schoolgirl. Mitch pulled her close and held her, “me too,” said Mitch. They both giggled.
Abby made Mitch promise to call her when he reached Willow Lake.
When the conductor gave the final call, Mitch boarded the train. Abby watched him make his way through the crowded car until he found an empty seat near where she stood. He smiled at her then stowed his bag in the overhead bin. He sat near the window and the two gazed at each other until the train started to pull away.
As the train left from the platform Abby’s stomach fluttered. She watched the window until she could not see Mitch any longer then slowly turned and went up the stairs to the crowded station. There were hundreds of people roaming through the main lobby as she crossed yet Abby was alone. This was the second time in a week that she had left Mitch, yet the first time she had said goodbye.
When Abby exited the station, she flagged a cab. She had thought of walking home yet now wanted to be as far from where she was at that moment and as soon as possible, for fear of being overcome with emotion.
* * * * *
Chapter 61
“Will,” said Nathan.
Nathan sat at the next worktable with his head down and his eyes focused on the detail work he was doing. With each of them wearing glasses, over-shirts and smocks, Nathan appeared to be a clone of Will, a young thin clone with long stringy blonde hair, a version of Will that never was.
“How do I get that fade effect again?” asked Nathan.
Will did not shift either. His head like Nathan’s was cocked slightly to the right and every once in a while each of them would shift slightly to the left and back to get a better perspective, sometimes in unison.
“Use the straw,” said Will.
“Right,” said Nathan. “Use the straw.”
Nathan meticulously dabbed the small songbird he was holding with his brush one more time and then held the piece away from himself. He set the hummingbird down, scanned the table for the plastic straw Will had given him earlier, and found the straw behind his left arm. He dipped the straw into the Dixie cup that held the paint he wanted to use, and then moved a napkin from the side of the table to the front of him. He removed the straw and gently, without putting his mouth too close, blew at the straw in the direction of the napkin. He then held the napkin up in the air, scowled, and then set the napkin back down to repeat the process.
“Takes a few times to get right,” said Will.
“When you showed me it looked easy.”
“It’s not. Not at first. Just be gentle.”
Nathan tried again and again. Then under his breath Will heard him say, “Jesus help me.”
“Jesus was a carpenter,” said Will.
“What?” Nathan was absorbed in working with his paint and straw.
“As far as I know Jesus didn’t make pottery. He was a carpenter. No airbrushing.”
“Oh,” said Nathan, not at all jarred by Will.
“Now that I think of it. Some say he could have been a stonemason if he built houses. Houses were built from stone back then. Some think of him as a fisherman, too, and a sailor. Others say no. Still, I can’t imagine he would have had to do any airbrushing.”
“You don’t believe in the power of Jesus, Will?”
“Sure, don’t think that’s going to fix your technique though. Shorter blasts may help. And be gentle.”
“You don’t believe in God, in eternity?”
“I believe in eternity, in God,” said Will. “This clay in my hands, these hands. They’re thirteen and a half billion years old, maybe fourteen billion years old. No matter really. And they’ll be here most likely for eternity. Probably not eating ham sandwiches or attached to these arms. But this universe isn’t going anywhere. Neither is anything in it.”
“So you don’t believe in heaven or hell?”
“I don’t believe anybody’s going to be eating ham sandwiches for eternity, that’s all.”
“What about hell?”
“Every school kid knows the answer to that by the time they’re in middle school. Hell can be right here if you let it.” Will tilted his head to the left again and then back to the right observing the piece in his hands from different angles. “I think there are a lot of people that make it that way. They like it that way. They don’t know how to help themselves.”
“Jesus is there to help them with that,” said Nathan.
“That he is, saving souls that need saving. But not blowing paint, you need to figure that out for yourself.”
Nathan held up the last napkin he had blown into. “What do
you think?”
Will shifted his attention toward him and leaned forward so that he could see over his glasses. “That looks good. Give it a shot.”
Nathan put some fresh paint into the Dixie cup, positioned the songbird where he wanted and then blew toward the little plastic straw. “Oh man.”
Will picked up the jar of white paint from his worktable and extended his arm. “We have plenty of this,” said Will.
“I was so close,” said Nathan.
“No you weren’t,” said Will. “But I can’t have you using up all of the napkins. Now paint it white and try again.”
Nathan held up the bird and frowned.
“You don’t have to paint the whole thing, just the tail where you blew the paint,” said Will.
“I splattered all over the thing.”
“Well, white it is.”
“How long did it take you to get that right?” asked Nathan.
“A while,” said Will. “I just use the electric gun now. It’s up in that cabinet over there.”
Will gestured to the cupboard above the sink.
Nathan’s voice was somber, “Above the coffee pot?”
“To the right.”
“You didn’t tell me you had an electric airbrush.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I did,” said Nathan.
“Oh. Well, you’ll find it up there.”
Nathan went over to the cabinet and opened the door. Inside on the shelf next to the airbrush kit were bottles of wine, all unopened except one. Nathan had not seen Will with a Dixie cup in his hand since Abby had left. Nor had Nathan seen Will drink any brandy. What he had seen was Will working endlessly in the studio without reprieve, that is until he had finally taken that long sleep. Since then Will had been going nonstop.
The Potter's Daughter (Literary Series) Page 19
