Tales From Sea Glass Inn (22 page)

Try as she might, though, she couldn’t see
Heather as merely someone caught in the meaningless rat race. There was more to
her, more even than Aspen had been privileged to see yet—she was sure of it.
Heather was sexy and Aspen’s fingers wanted to smooth the lines of evasion and
tension off her face, and then work their way over the rest of her body. She
was also bossy, talking to Aspen like a smug old guidance counselor lecturing
an unmotivated teenager. She was nothing like the go-with-the-flow women Aspen
usually met and dated—of course, rarely did she find herself in contact with
smart businesswomen, unless she was serving them expensive and high-maintenance
lattes. Heather was intense and challenging and irritating.

And correct. Aspen reluctantly got out of the
car and jogged to catch up to Heather as she walked across the lot. Aspen’s
ideals kept her from becoming a tainted professional artist. Her need to eat
and find shelter meant she had to work. Her job and the people she had to serve
drained her to the point of exhaustion every night, and she barely had time to
get out her clay and tools, let alone spend hours perfecting the lines of a
sculpture.

Why was she squandering this one chance to
spend two weeks learning from Pam by spending the day with Heather and not in
the studio? Just the day, she promised herself. She had worked intently this
morning and had needed a break by the time she came back up for air. She’d
continue tonight until long after dark with a fresh mind and perspective. This
short rest would be good for her as an artist.

Besides, the chance to spend time with
someone like Heather wasn’t something she had every day, either. Even though
Heather’s questions made her uncomfortable, she needed to pay attention to
them—maybe
because
they made her uncomfortable and resistant. Even though Aspen had nearly
perfected the art of acting placid and serene even when her insides were in
turmoil, as they often were when she wasn’t molding clay and carving wood on a
regular basis, Heather made her emotions roil to the surface.

Aspen loved a challenge, and Heather
certainly provided her with one.

“I hope we’ll slow down long enough to get
ice cream on the way out,” Aspen said as Heather rushed past her toward the
gift shop and food counter. “I’ll bet eating a scoop of chocolate peanut butter
would give you extra credit points in your tourism class.”

Heather paused on the stairs leading to the
self-guided tour area. “Tourism class?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

“We’re all making bets on why you’re so
gung-ho about seeing sights you don’t seem to care about seeing.”

“What are some of the guesses?”

Aspen grinned in response to Heather’s barely
suppressed smile and she leaned her elbow next to Heather’s on the handrail. “A
blogger, an aspiring tour guide, a spy for a rival bed-and-breakfast—that’s
mine—or the inventor of a new extreme sport. Marathon sightseeing.” Aspen
rattled off some of the options they’d come up with when they were supposed to
be having a brainstorming session last night. Most of the discussion had been
devoted to Heather’s puzzling interest in everything
Cannon Beach
. “I’ve been appointed as a
mole to uncover your real reason for taking the town by storm.”

“Is that why you offered to come with me
today?” Heather asked, looking at Aspen with eyes so blue they almost appeared
violet. Aspen tried to imagine her in a bank, staring at loan applications and
credit reports all day. She couldn’t place Heather in her work setting, though,
and instead pictured her staring out at the ocean with the sunset reflecting a
rainbow of color in her beautiful eyes.

“No,” Aspen said. She swallowed and licked
her lips, her mouth unaccountably dry as she saw Heather’s gaze flick from her
eyes to her lips and back. “I don’t know why I did that. But I’m glad I did.”

Heather leaned closer, as if about to tell
Aspen a secret. “So am I.”

An occasional visitor walked past them on the
staircase, but Aspen only noticed them as shadows passing by. All she saw,
smelled, and heard was Heather. Her low-pitched voice and the aroma of an
exotic, floral-spicy, and most likely expensive perfume. Aspen’s body felt numb
except for the alive and agitated patch of skin where their arms touched.

“Are you going to tell me the real reason
you’re working instead of relaxing on your vacation?”

Heather shrugged, and the movement rippled
through Aspen’s body. “I have some health problems. From years of living on
coffee and danishes and working overtime, I guess. My doctor insisted I take
time off, and someone from work recommended Mel’s inn. So here I am.”

Aspen rested her palm in the center of
Heather’s chest, wishing she could heal whatever frightening things were
happening inside Heather’s body. She had a feeling the issues were more mental
and emotional than purely physical. She’d seen and heard hints of Heather’s
dissatisfaction and aimlessness today. “Did your doctor tell you to work harder
on the trip than you do in the office? Seems counterproductive to me.”

Heather sighed audibly, and Aspen felt the
echo reverberate through her palm and into her own body. “I’m being stubborn, I
suppose. I didn’t have much choice in the matter, and I thought I’d cross off
everything on the list and throw it on his desk when I get back. It started as
a silly idea in my head, and has turned into…”

“Your new goal?” Aspen offered when Heather
paused.

She nodded. “It keeps me busy.” She stepped
back, moving up a step, and Aspen’s hand dropped back to her side. “So, are you
going to tell everyone what I’m doing here?”

Aspen shook her head. “I’ll go with my story.
You’re scouting the place for another hotel in town and you’re trying to put
together the perfect list of tourist attractions for it. You’re stealing Mel’s
ideas.”

Heather laughed and started walking up the
stairs again. “She’ll kick me out, and how will I accomplish my goal without
her morning scones as fuel?”

“Get some protein bars,” Aspen suggested. She
liked the banter between them. She had a feeling Heather hadn’t told many
people—if any at all—about her health concerns. She seemed the type to hold
them inside, probably what got her into this mess in the first place. Aspen
liked having Heather confide in her, but she felt helpless to stop her from
self-destructing either here or at home and in her job.

Aspen was ready to follow Heather on a
whirlwind tour of the cheese factory, whatever Heather needed to do to make
herself feel in control again, but Heather surprised her by spending most of
their visit standing in front of a huge picture window and watching blocks of
cheese move about on conveyor belts. Aspen stayed close to her. She had to
admit the repetitive movements of the process were mesmerizing, especially with
the workers who moved around as if they’d been choreographed, wearing masks and
thick hairnets.

Heather tapped lightly on the glass with her
index finger. “You know, if you really want to continue sculpting without
making any money, you should switch media. You probably could make something
cool out of these blocks of cheese.”

Aspen nodded. “I could sculpt the moon. Or
carve holes in it and make a Swiss cheese out of cheddar. How ironic would that
be?”

“And you won’t have to worry about the masses
buying your sculptures and diminishing your vision somehow, because they’d reek
something awful after a few days.”

“Hey, you’re right,” Aspen said, paying more
attention to a smiling and relaxed Heather than to the view through the window.
“The pieces would eventually just mold away to nothing. I’d be making a
statement about the nature of art.”

Heather turned toward her, laughing, and her
shoulder rubbed against Aspen’s. “And if you get hungry while you’re working,
you can eat the scraps.”

“Another bonus. Plus, it’d be cheaper than
buying clay and carving tools. All I’d need would be a cheese knife and a
cutting board.”

“Throw in a baguette and a bottle of wine,
and you can have a cocktail party while you’re sculpting.”

They leaned against the glass while they
laughed and kept trying to outdo each other with cheese jokes. When their
hilarity died down, Heather gave a sad-sounding sigh and looked around them at
all the interactive exhibits.

“Want to read more about the process of
cheesemaking?” Aspen asked. She’d liked having Heather present with her.
Teasing and wiping away tears of laughter. Connected to her and the moment,
instead of rushing through it. She felt as if Heather was about to slip away
again, and she saw the mask of determination settle over her expression, but
then Heather shook her head and the façade disappeared.

“Not even a tiny bit,” she said, pushing away
from the glass and grabbing Aspen’s hand. Aspen felt her palm and fingers mold
to the shape of Heather’s. She’d never felt such a sense of coming home, except
when she held a wire modeling tool and carved something of her own out of a
blank lump of clay.

Heather pulled her back toward the stairs.
“Let’s skip the lesson and go directly to those extra-credit ice cream cones.”

*

Heather spent the next day alone, wandering
through the downtown shops and galleries. Mel had included a list of local
businesses in her welcome packet, and Heather was determined to buy something
from each one of them. She’d get all her Christmas shopping done in one
afternoon, or maybe she’d send one present to her doctor every day for a month.

What had started as an obstinate way to
symbolically blow a raspberry at her doctor had somehow turned into an amusing
game. Heather was actually having fun. She couldn’t remember the last time
she’d felt this playful. She went out with coworkers regularly, celebrating
birthdays and Fridays and promotions. She favored loud bars on those nights
when her restless thoughts that there had to be something more to life kept her
awake. She’d sit alone for hours, nursing a weak whiskey sour and reading over
paperwork at the bar while the strobe lights and booming music keep her
thoughts at bay. She even dated once in a while, when she could stir up enough
interest in someone to sit in a restaurant and make small talk for an hour or
two. But those conversations were usually work related since she tended to meet
and socialize with other businesswomen.

Yesterday had been a turning point for her.
She had been sightseeing with a vengeance since she had arrived, and she
expected to do the same with Aspen in tow. She had started their afternoon
together by taking on the role of older sister or mentor and encouraging Aspen
to make different career choices, but soon she had given up her attempts to
create distance by lecturing and advising. She had started to recognize her own
jealousy over Aspen’s passion and her irritation that Aspen was giving away the
chance Heather could only dream of. To work with passion and joy. Aspen’s
probing questions had kept Heather from backing away from the self-discovery.
She would normally have sought to numb the realizations with more work and with
crowded places, but yesterday she had allowed them to surface in her mind. The
acknowledgment of her feelings didn’t change them or solve her life issues, but
somehow she felt lighter.

Light enough to play. To joke and tease with
Aspen. They had sat in the small café and swapped tastes of ice cream and
toppings. Then they had wandered through the gift shop, touching lightly and
laughing with an ease Heather hadn’t experienced in ages, with another person
or with herself. When it had been time to drive back to the inn for Aspen’s
evening art class, Heather had returned to her room and crossed off another two
tourist activities with a flourish. Then she had gone downstairs and helped Mel
finish the jigsaw puzzle.

Her good mood had lasted through today, as
well. She had hoped to see Aspen last night, to rekindle the laughter and maybe
light another spark between them, but Aspen and the others had stayed in the
studio until Heather got tired of watching for her and had gone to bed.
Miraculously, she had been able to remain lighthearted on her own. After a
brief chat with Aspen at breakfast—little more than their plans for the
day—Aspen had gone back to sculpting and Heather had hit the town.

She leaned back on a bench by the sidewalk
and pulled her navy pea coat tightly around herself. A few rays of sunlight
made it through the thick cloud cover, but they weren’t enough to warm her. At
least she wasn’t on the beach stretched out on a yoga mat while goose bumps
peppered her skin. She opened a pale pink bakery box and took out a puffy
creation called a sand dollar, apparently good enough to rate an asterisk on
Mel’s list of musts. Must do, must see, must eat. Heather was still planning to
do them all, but now it felt like a lark. She wished Aspen were with her,
because she would appreciate Heather’s temporarily changed outlook. Heather
would be the same person she had been once she was back at work in Portland,
but she could allow herself to be someone else here.

She bit into the layers of flaky pastry and
reached the dark chocolate cream inside. Mel hadn’t steered her wrong. This
deserved at least four asterisks. She licked her fingers and leaned forward so
the powdered sugar coating sprinkled the ground at her feet and not her dark
wool coat. She finished in four bites, resisting the urge to dive back into the
pastry box and eat another. Later. Now she had more shopping to do.

Heather got up and wrapped the handles of her
packages around her wrists. She’d been to nearly every place on Mel’s list,
including the Beachcomber Bookstore. The owner, a gorgeous but too-perceptive
woman, had watched her with a disconcerting intensity. Heather knew what she
was seeing. Exactly what Heather had seen this morning when she’d looked in the
mirror, as if by acknowledging her mental unrest she had suddenly shifted her
perception. She had been denying the doctor’s concerns and her test results, refusing
to admit she had moments of low energy and sadness, but this morning the signs
had stared back at her from the mirror, and she had seen some of what had
worried him. Dark circles under her eyes, too little weight in her face and on
her body, and a resigned but defiant frown. The bookstore owner had seemed to
absorb Heather’s mood and expression with clarity, too, and then she had
brought her three books to buy.