An Afternoon in Pieces
Cass moved the blue glass out of Jeff’s reach before he could put it in his sky.
“That one’s for your mother.”
He paused with his hand above the tray. “You told me to choose any piece.”
“Any of those pieces.”
“You’re pointing at the same tray.”
She set the glass beside her own board, then pushed the tray toward him. “Now you can.”
Outside the resort window, a gull dropped toward the harbor. His parents would be here at 5 p.m. Cass checked the clock again. Three hours to finish his mother’s gift, and she was still moving the same blue piece back and forth.
Jeff’s knee touched hers beneath the table. “They’re coming to meet you. You could give her the picture another day.”
“I want it ready.”
He picked up a pale blue scrap. “Then I’ll stay out of your water.”
The afternoon together had been her invitation. Meeting his parents had been his. When he’d mentioned they were driving over for dinner, she’d offered to make his mother a small harbor picture. Her grandmother had taught her to make them. She could give Jeff’s family a little of hers.
That had sounded simple until she’d started choosing glass.
On her board, narrow brown pieces framed the harbor view she’d begun after Hauntfest. Green edged the water. The center remained bare.
On his, five pieces had become a boat.
At least, she hoped it was a boat.
“What?” He stopped arranging them.
“Nothing.”
He turned the board toward her. “A sailboat.”
“Yes. I can see that.”
“Now.”
She laughed and reached for a white triangle. “May I?”
He nodded. She replaced one of his sails and shifted the hull beneath it. The pieces made a clearer shape. With a darker strip underneath, she could suggest the water too.
“I liked the other sail.”
“It was too big.”
“I still liked it.”
Cass looked at the piece she’d removed, then put it beside his board. “Sorry. Your boat.”
He restored it.
She kept her hands beside her own picture.
“Still a boat?” he asked.
“Probably shouldn’t take it out in rough weather.”
“I’ll leave it on the table.”
Her laugh brought him closer. He kissed her cheek, then sat back before she could turn toward him.
“That was quick.”
“I have a boat to finish.”
She nudged his knee and picked up her blue glass.
It fit near the bottom of the empty patch. In the window, it looked blue. Against the board, it looked gray. She tried it beside the green, then beneath the brown frame.
Beside her, glass clicked against wood. Jeff offered her a smaller blue piece.
She tried that one too.
“Does your mother even like blue?”
“Yes.”
“You answered too quickly.”
“Would waiting help?”
She smiled, then looked down at the picture. “I could buy flowers.”
He put his scrap back in the tray. “You wanted to give her this.”
“I wanted to give her a finished picture.”
Her grandmother’s table had stood by a window. Cass could remember reaching across it while her grandmother sorted the colors. They had made whole harbors before she’d learned to worry about the gaps.
She wished she could tell her who this one was for. “My grandmother would have finished by now.”
“What would she put there?”
Cass considered the empty center. “She’d make me choose.”
He waited while she sorted through the blue pieces again.
The larger one could go beside the frame. Two small ones would fit underneath. She arranged them, then reached for a green strip to close the gap.
It crowded the water. She moved a brown piece outward to make room. Now the frame was crooked.
“Oh, stop.” She pulled her hand back.
Jeff lowered the piece he was holding.
“Me. I meant me.”
He sat back while she removed the green strip. She restored the frame, but the water no longer fit. Three pieces came out before she could put one back.
She set them down and pressed her palms against her knees. “I want her to like it.”
“I think she will.”
“And me.”
His chair moved closer. He covered her hand with his, waiting until she looked up. “I want that too.”
She had expected him to tell her she was worrying for nothing. Instead, he rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.
“What have you told them?”
“That I’m bringing my girlfriend to dinner.”
Her hand turned beneath his. “You used that word?”
“Yes.” He smiled. “Should I have called ahead about the glass?”
“No.” She leaned toward him. “You got the important part right.”
This time she kissed him on the mouth. His free hand settled at her waist, and for a few seconds the picture could wait.
When she sat back, his boat stood crooked beneath its tall sail.
“That one’s for me.”
He followed her glance. “You haven’t seen it finished.”
“I’m reserving it.”
“Then I’d better glue it down before you change the sail again.”
She laughed and reached for the adhesive. “Let me show you.”
They worked beside each other, securing the pieces they’d chosen. When Cass reached the empty center of her picture, she used the large blue scrap and the two smaller ones beneath it. A narrow gap remained. She left it and moved on to the sky.
Jeff added a white curve above his boat.
“A gull?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I like that.”
“Good. It’s attached.”
At 4:30 p.m., both pictures lay flat to set. Cass wiped the table around them and packed away the spare glass. Jeff returned from washing his hands as she was reaching for the green strip again.
He looked at her hand.
She dropped it into the tray and closed the lid. “Finished.”
His smile brought her out of her chair. She stepped into his arms, and he kissed her before she could check the clock.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor.
“We found you.”
Cass stepped back. A woman stood in the doorway with a man beside her. Jeff went to them, kissed his mother’s cheek, and clasped his father’s hand.
Then he reached back for Cass.
“Mom, Dad, this is my girlfriend, Cass.”
She took his hand. “I’m glad you could come.”
“So are we.” His mother smiled and glanced toward the table. “Have we interrupted your work?”
“She’s teaching me.” Jeff brought them closer. “The boat’s mine.”
His father bent to inspect it. “That’s a lot of sail.”
“Thank you,” Cass said.
Jeff laughed. “It’s staying.”
She reached for the edge of her board, then left it flat. “This one’s for you. It needs more time before I can wrap it.”
His mother leaned over the harbor picture. “You made this today?”
“I started it earlier. My grandmother taught me to make these when I was little.”
“With glass?”
“And pieces of broken dishes. She kept them for the colors.” Cass touched the board beside the blue. “I wanted you to have a view of the harbor.”
“Thank you. I’d love that.” His mother studied it, then looked through the window. “Will you show us where this is?”
“After dinner, if you’d like.”
“We would,” his father agreed.
Jeff put his arm around Cass. She leaned against him while his mother admired the gull on the other board.
“Before we go to dinner, could I get a picture of you two?” his mother asked.
He handed her his phone. Cass moved beside the window with him, his hand warm at her waist.
“Ready?”
She looked up at Jeff as he smiled down at her. The phone clicked before either of them turned.
His mother brought it over. “Let me try again. You weren’t looking.”
Cass saw herself laughing, one hand on Jeff’s arm. Beside them, the harbor filled the window.
“Keep that one,” she told him. “Send it to me.”
