by Sarah Atwell
I almost giggled. Here I was, planning everybody’s lives for them. But at least we had our lives, after coming all too close to losing them. I resolved never to take that luxury for granted again.
Up, Em! We were going to celebrate our survival, our success, our triumph over adversity. And have a great meal in the process. Our eating had been a little patchy over the last couple of days, and my mouth was already watering.
When I emerged from my room, wearing a festive dress and silly sandals, I caught Cam coming out of the other bedroom. I tried to read his expression but got mixed signals.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I guess. Nothing’s decided.”
I considered pressing the issue, but we didn’t really have time if we wanted to get to dinner. In any case, Cam added, “I’ll take the dogs out, if you want.”
At the word “out,” they stopped circling my ankles and stood at attention in front of him. Their answer was obvious. “Sure. Let me give them something to eat, and then you can take them around the block. We’re due at Elena’s at eight.”
“Oh. Right. I’d better see if I have any clean clothes— I didn’t expect to be hanging around this long.”
We headed for the main room, he to rummage through his duffel bag, me to find a can of dog food. By the time the pups had wolfed down their dinner and Cam had escorted them out the door, I heard signs of life from the other bedroom, and Allison emerged from the hallway.
I wouldn’t say the change in her was startling, but it was real. She looked . . . I struggled for words. Calm? No, too insipid. Older? Maybe, but in a good way—not as girlish, more mature. Stronger. Clearer. It looked good on her, whatever it was. I wondered if Cam had any part in that, and what it might mean.
She too had opted for something pretty and festive. “You look good,” I said.
She smiled at me and twirled. “Thank you. I feel so . . . I don’t know. Free, I guess. It’s been so long that I’ve been looking over my shoulder, and now I don’t have to. Thanks to you. And Cam, and Matt. And even Uncle Frank! Isn’t he something? He’s nothing like my mother, but then, he wasn’t stuck in a village with six kids to raise. I think my mother always envied him, just a bit.”
Cam opened the door, preceded by the dogs, who then trotted over to greet Allison. Cam and Allison exchanged a look, but again, I couldn’t read it. Maybe my radar had gone dark, but I had no idea what, if anything, was going on between them.
But that was for later. Right now my priority was dinner. “Cam, you have the privilege of escorting two ladies to the restaurant. Shall we?”
Cam snorted at my description, but gallantly held the door open for us. I snagged a shawl on my way out—the evening was cool.
I led the way along the familiar route to Elena’s. Inside, I was happy to see that while business was good, the big table in the alcove at the back was free. “Elena, amiga—we’ll be six tonight. Can we have the corner?”
“Of course! And you’ve brought your handsome brother this time! Cam, cómo está?”
“I’m good, Elena. And you’re blooming. Business good?”
“Very. Please, sit. Something to drink?”
“Cerveza, por favor.”
We settled ourselves and didn’t have long to wait until first Nessa, then Frank and Matt appeared. We made room for them around the big rectangular table—Cam, Allison, and I lined up against the wall, and then Frank with a courtly flourish pulled out a chair for Nessa and seated himself beside her, which left Matt opposite me. Elena’s son Miguel appeared with a tray of beers and distributed them, and then we ordered—a lot of food. We were celebrating, right?
Sitting in my corner, basking in the warmth of good food and good company, it seemed incredible that I had known Allison for only a matter of days, and Frank less time than that. I could swear that Frank was flirting with Nessa, but why not? He’d never mentioned a wife stashed away back home, and Nessa could handle herself. In fact, she looked like she was enjoying herself thoroughly. She looked up and caught my eye. “You said something about explanations?”
“Oh, right. Well, you see . . .” and I proceeded to recount the unlikely events of the past week, starting with the body in the furnace. Matt and Frank threw in some details now and then, just to round things out. Nessa looked properly impressed. I had to admit the whole thing sounded incredible.
“Well, that’s certainly something!” Nessa said finally. “You’ve all been very lucky. Matt, what happens now?”
All eyes swivelled to Matt, who cleared his throat. “Sean and Kevin will be tried, although I think Kevin will squeak by with lesser charges. I’ve already talked with the FBI, and I don’t think Price has a bright future with the Bureau. As for the diamonds, since the crime occurred in Chicago, I believe they go back to Chicago— they would be seized as assets under RICO and forfeited.”
“Thank goodness!” Allison said.
“What about you, Allison? Do you have any plans?” Nessa said, all innocence.
Even in the darkness of our alcove, I could see Allison’s blush. “I’m not sure.” She turned to me. “Em, I’m thinking it might be nice to stay in one place for a while, and I like Tucson. But I’d need to work. Do you think . . . ?”
“Of course,” I said firmly, before she could finish her sentence. “You can keep working in the shop, and you and Nessa can work out what kind of hours you need. And we can help find you a better place to stay too.”
“Oh, Em, thank you! It’s more than I deserve after I’ve brought you so much trouble.”
“Nonsense. Allison, you’ve got friends here, and friends help each other.” I glanced at Cam, but he was staring at his plate, looking glum. Trouble in lovers’ paradise? But I didn’t want to explore that in public. “What about you, Frank? When are you going home?”
Frank leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “No hurry. I’ve got good men at the mine, and I’d like to get to know this niece of mine a bit better before I go. If that suits you?” He looked toward Allison, who nodded shyly. I wondered if Nessa might figure in that equation.
Which left Matt. On and off through the meal, I’d looked up to find his eyes on me, and I wasn’t sure how that made me feel. We’d had something, years ago, and I had been the one to break it off, for what I thought were good reasons. Or one good reason: his wife. I still believed I had done the right thing. But, damn, I’d missed him then, and he still looked pretty good to me. And he was divorced now.
I shook my head to clear it. “Well, then, let’s have a toast. To us!”
We all raised bottles and clinked.
Dinner drifted to a close as we filled up on Elena’s wonderful cooking, down to a final flan. But it was getting late, and we were all tired. After we had settled the bill, Frank volunteered quickly to see Nessa home, and she agreed.
“See you in the morning, Nessa?”
“Of course. But why don’t I let you open up? It’s been a late night for me.” She all but winked at me, and I wondered if she had additional plans for the evening—plans that involved Frank.
“Great. Shall we go, gang?” I gathered up the rest of the group and we swept out of the nearly empty restaurant, with a cheerful good-bye to Elena.
Out on the street, the brisk air felt good. I fell in with Cam as we strolled back toward the shop. “You two okay?”
“I guess,” he said. “She says she wants time to find herself. How trite is that?”
I deliberately slowed my pace. “Cam, you dunce, of course she does! She lived with a domineering husband for years, and when she finally got up the nerve to leave, she lived in fear of him for a couple more. From what she’s said, she’s never in her adult life had a chance to find out who she is or what she wants. Give her some time and space, will you? I know how you feel, but you’re going to have to wait a bit.”
He stopped. “You know how I feel?”
“Dummy, it’s written all over you. And I’ve known you all your lif
e, remember? Seriously, Cam, I think it’s great—I think she’s great. And in case you haven’t noticed, she lights up like a Christmas tree whenever she’s around you. So don’t worry, and be patient.”
“Yeah, right. Easy for you to say.”
“Hey, I’m happy—I’ll get to see more of you this way.” I gave him a quick hug, and he returned it.
Matt and Allison had paused, waiting for us to catch up. At the corner we traded partners, and I was happy to see Allison slip her arm through Cam’s. I had a feeling things would all work out—just not on Cam’s timetable.
“Em,” Matt began. Now he was dragging his heels, and I slowed again.
“What?”
He stopped. I don’t think Cam and Allison even noticed. I turned to face him, trying to make out his face in the dim light.
“Em, I’m not very good at this,” he began. When I tried to say something, he held up a hand. “No, don’t stop me now. I didn’t handle things well, before. I really didn’t think Lorena was coming back, and when she did, I didn’t know what to do. But I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Well, you did, but I got over it.” My reply came out more sharply than I intended.
“Em,” he began again, sounding as unsure as I’d ever heard him. “Can we try again? I’m divorced, and it’s really over this time. I promise. Are you seeing anyone?”
That was easy: no. There had been no one since Matt. But was I really happier without anyone in my life, or was I just scared of getting burned again? I was older now, but was I any smarter?
And then I looked at him, and I realized that whatever I had felt for him once hadn’t gone away, it had just gone underground. Come on, Em, answer the man. I took a deep breath. “Matt, I think I’d like that. But can we take it slow? I kind of like my life right now—at least, when I’m not tripping over bodies—and I’m not sure how all this will fit together. Can you handle that?”
He smiled. “Just fine, thank you. Well, then, I’d better see you home.” And he linked his arm through mine, and it fit very nicely. We followed Allison and Cam home at a leisurely pace.
Epilogue
frigger: any small glass object made by the craftsman for his own use—usually made after hours using glass left over at the end of the day (Phoebe Phillips, ed., The Encyclopedia of Glass)
Next morning: a bright new day. Allison and Cam seemed to be coping with their new status as independent woman and gentleman-in-waiting. Matt and I had a . . . something. But it was more than the day before. Time to get back to my real life, and hot glass.
Since Nessa would be late, I pointed Allison toward the cash register and told her to take over for the morning. Me, I was itching to get back to the studio. I knew I couldn’t get any real work done today, because there was no glass ready in the furnace. But I could clear the decks, so to speak, and map out what I wanted to get started on. And I had a class in the evening to prepare for.
The first thing I noticed was that Nessa had managed to get the lock repaired yet again. I wondered briefly about the supplies that Tim had been going to deliver the night he died. . . . No, I couldn’t think about that. I could check the order status tomorrow—and see about finding a new delivery service. Right now, the studio beckoned, although the hot, still air felt empty and stale. That I could fix.
I put away the tools we had grabbed while extracting the diamonds from the glass pieces and started a new batch of clear glass. Then I started sweeping the floor. What with criminals and our haste the other night, there were still shards of glass scattered all over, and that could be dangerous. I had chased down the last of them in an industrial-size dustpan and was preparing to dump them in the trash when I caught sight of an odd glint. Or more precisely, an unusual one, because the bits and pieces of glass often caught the light. With a cautious finger I poked around the dust pile until I unearthed the source: a diamond. So this little critter had escaped our frantic search and hidden under a bench, and here he (or she) was. I fished it out and put it on my palm, tilting it this way and that.
I had no idea what it was worth, or who owned it—or what it might look like if it were cut and polished. The question was, what should I do with it? Technically it belonged with its buddies, in the stash destined for the Chicago FBI, securely locked up at Tucson police headquarters. But I’d seen two people dead at my feet, had been threatened at gunpoint, had combed the dusty desert looking for a kidnapped friend—didn’t I deserve a little something?
And then the perfect solution hit me: I’d save it for Allison. Or more precisely, for Cam to give Allison, since it looked as though that was the direction they were headed. But I would hang on to it for a little bit—no need to rush things. Maybe Allison would think it was tainted somehow, or wouldn’t want to be reminded of what she had been through. Or maybe she would look on it as a trophy, a prize she had earned by surviving what she had and finding herself at the end. I’d let her decide, later. I tucked the little gem deep into my pocket until I could decide on a safe place to put it.
I was just putting the finishing touches on my clean-up when Allison knocked on the studio door. “Can I let this one in?” She nodded toward the man behind her, and I recognized Chad.
“Sure, Allison—he’s taken classes here, and he rents studio time from me. Chad, come on in.”
Chad complied. “Who’s that?”
“My new assistant and student. What can I do for you today?”
“I wanted to pick up those glass pieces I made the other day. And maybe show them to you—I was having a heck of a time trying to get the frit to melt consistently.”
I stared at him for a moment, then broke out laughing. Of course he was—half the frit pieces were diamonds, and they weren’t going to melt in our lifetime. But should I tell him? No—the news about the diamonds hadn’t gone public, and I didn’t want it to.
Poor Chad was looking at me as if I’d gone crazy, so I said, “Oh, Chad, I’m sorry. We had some trouble here over the weekend, and I’m afraid they got broken. But I’ll be happy to walk you through the process tomorrow, when the glass is hot.”
He looked sulky. “You gonna charge me for the extra studio time?”
I thought about the diamond in my pocket. “Nope. It’s on me. But this time let’s take a good look at the frit before you use it.”
I didn’t think I’d ever look at frit the same way again.
History of Glassmaking
Glass has always fascinated people. A liquid that is solid and born of fire, it has been used for magic amulets, for crystal balls to foretell the future, and for witch balls to trap evil spirits. It brings light into darkness and can hold our most precious, and most ordinary, substances.
While most glass may be clear, its history is anything but. The raw materials have been around from the beginning (sand or silica and ash or alkali), but the process of making glass evolved over a very long time. Alan Macfarlane and Gerry Martin, in Glass: A World History, wrote, “No one is certain where, when, or how glass originated.” The simplest answers are most likely: where, somewhere in the Middle East, including Egypt and Mesopotamia; when, sometime between 3000 and 2000 BC; and how is anyone’s guess. One story suggests that Phoenician traders used chunks of natron (a form of alkali) to support their cooking pots, and probably noticed after the fire went out that the sand beneath the natron had fused into something strange and hard: glass.
Sometime between 1500 and 500 BC, glassmaking techniques appeared in east Asia, including China, but glass did not arrive in the eastern Mediterranean until early in the first century BC. From there it spread rapidly to Italy and Gaul (France) under the Roman Empire. In fact, the Romans elevated glass to a new importance, greatly improving techniques, creating glass beads, glass vessels, and domestic ware, and, most significantly, window glass, mirrors, and lenses. After the fall of the Roman Empire, in the first millennium AD, glassmaking centers shifted to Germany, northern France, and England, and by the Renaissance Venetian glass production achi
eved new heights.
While new technologies have been introduced over the centuries, the basic nature of glassblowing remains much as it was in the beginning, and even glassblowing tools have changed very little. The modern glassblower still collects a blob of hot liquid on a metal tube, evens it out on a flat metal surface, then blows it into a bubble, which can be manipulated by swinging to elongate it or by cutting or by pinching or by inserting into a mold.
Want to learn more? Glassblowing studios and artisans throughout the country offer beginners classes. Many shops give free demonstrations, so you can watch experienced glassblowers at work. You might even find a traveling glassblower at a fair.
If you want to learn more about the process, one of the most entertaining and informative books available is Beginning Glassblowing, by Edward T. Schmid. It’s a great introduction to working with hot glass, and it’s also very funny. As Schmid sums it up in one of his definitions:
glass bug: . . . this evil parasite invades the body and forces the host to want to do nothing but make more glass, living, breathing, and eating it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Thought to be introduced by direct contact (like handling handblown glass for example), we now know that the mere sight of the glassblowing process in action is enough for a person to become “bitten.”
Try it and you’ll want to become part of this ancient tradition.
Recipes
Cam’s Southwest Spaghetti
Cam threw this dish together with whatever he managed tofind in Em’s refrigerator, including some leftovers. Feel freeto add whatever you have on hand.
2 Tblsp. olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
1 or more cloves garlic, chopped
1 green pepper, chopped
1 lb. chorizo, crumbled
