Tales From Sea Glass Inn (24 page)

Aspen wanted to kiss her. She seemed to
understand exactly what Aspen had been attempting to say through her mute work.

Heather bit her lip and circled her hand
around the neck area of the sculpture. “Are you going to do something more with
these stems where they blend into the hair?”

“I have some sculptured flowers I’m going to
place here and here.” Aspen went over to a worktable and got a plastic bin. She
showed Heather the small irises she had made two days ago, with their fragile
beards and arcing petals. “Once I have them in place, I’ll blend them in to the
hair so they seem to be part of it.”

Heather nodded. “I like them. They’ll add
visual interest up there, and they’ll also make a more interesting profile. The
area is beautifully sculpted but a little…”

“One dimensional?” Aspen offered when
Heather’s voice trailed off. Heather nodded. “I totally agree,” Aspen
continued, her words tumbling out as she found it exhilarating to talk to
someone else, especially Heather, about her process and choices. “I was going
to sculpt them in relief but the area looked too flat, more like a drawing than
a sculpture. So I made them separately and I’ll incorporate them when I’ve
finished the ivy and stems. They’ll protrude a little and represent how the
figure is almost pulling them free from its body.”

Heather leaned closer to the clay. “The hands
are exquisite. I can see every muscle and bone where the human is clawing at
the vines. Hands seem to be a difficult body part to get right but you’ve done
it beautifully.”

Aspen took Heather’s hand loosely in her own
and raised it until it was level with the sculpture’s face. “Recognize them?
They’re yours.”

Heather gave her what seemed to be a
surprised but pleased look and examined the figure’s hand more closely with hers
right next to it. “How did you…? When?”

Aspen squeezed Heather’s fingers, not wanting
to let go. “When we went to Tillamook. I watched your hands on the steering
wheel. Memorized them. I didn’t even need to sketch them but I carved these to
match the image in my mind.”

Aspen didn’t add how many times she had
pictured Heather’s hands touching her, caressing her body. Even the act of
sculpting them had been an amazingly erotic experience. Aspen had never felt
anything like it. She had been tempted to throw this sculpture in the trash and
start a full-body one of Heather. If she could be that turned on by carving
mere hands, what would molding and forming Heather’s entire nude body do to
her? She was almost desperate to find out.

“You’re a gifted artist, Aspen. I feel
privileged to have a chance to see this work in progress, like the veil is
being lifted for just a moment and I can share your vision. Do you have photos
of some of your other sculptures?”

Aspen pulled her phone out of her back
pocket. “I have more on my laptop, but here are some. Just swipe through.”

She handed her phone to Heather. She was
planning to let her see the pictures without any commentary but she gave in and
leaned over Heather’s shoulder, pointing and explaining when and why she had
carved each one.

Heather finished looking through the photo
gallery, and then she scrolled quickly through them again. “These two aren’t as
sophisticated as the others,” she said. “The message is a little heavy-handed,
like you were young when you carved them. This one as well, it looks rushed and
maybe not the right scale, as if you were low on supplies and in a hurry to
manifest your vision. I wish you’d revisit it sometime when you have time and
supplies to make it a larger and more imposing piece. The others are gorgeous,
though, and give a strong impression of your personal style. They’re easily
identifiable as yours but each is unique. If you were going to build a
portfolio, you should leave the three out and just put in photos of the rest.”

Aspen listened in disbelief as Heather
suggested an order for the photos, moving from the simplest to the one with the
most visual impact. Would she ever stop trying to make Aspen into the ambitious
person she herself was?

Heather gestured at the nearly finished piece.
“This one should be first. Hit them with your best work, and then let the rest
follow an uphill progression.”

“Well, thanks for the advice, but the most
I’ll do as an artist is give my work to someone or sign up for another retreat
like this one. I don’t need a portfolio to do either.”

“It’d be a waste of talent, Aspen,” Heather
said. “You have a brilliant gift. You shouldn’t keep it hidden away or squander
your time and energy on a job that keeps you from expressing yourself fully.”

“I’m not hiding my art,” Aspen said. She felt
cornered and heard the edginess in her voice. “I’m sharing it in my own way.
It’s my passion, not my livelihood, and that makes it more meaningful, not
less.”

“It could be both.” Heather paused and looked
intently at Aspen. “You get very defensive whenever the subject comes up. What
are you scared of? Compromising your art or taking a chance on being a
professional and running the risk of failing?”

“Art isn’t my job,” Aspen repeated more
loudly, as if volume would make Heather accept the statement. She was angry,
but even in her emotional state she had to recognize the truth behind Heather’s
accusations. Who wouldn’t be afraid of turning out their best work, pouring
their heart into creating something, and having it rejected by the public? No
one criticized a free sculpture. But if they were paying thousands? They’d
maybe expect more than she could deliver. She couldn’t admit the truth to
Heather, though, and she lashed out instead.

“Don’t try to turn me into you and expect me
to set goals of selling so many sculptures a year. Lists and ambition and
possessions might be the rewards you chase, but they don’t work for me.”

“Fine,” Heather said in a clipped voice. “Go
back home and hide behind your coffee counter. But don’t do it because you
worry that being a professional artist would make you materialistic and shallow
like you think I am. I found a generic career where I could make progress. I
never had a talent to pursue and nurture like you do. You’re actually being
more like me when you stay in a job that saps your energy and erodes your
soul.”

She turned to leave but Aspen grabbed her arm
and held tight. “I never called you materialistic or shallow. I don’t see you
like that at all. It’s just—”

“Not everyone can float through life like you
want to do, Aspen. Some of us need to have goals and work toward them. And most
of us need to feel in control of uncertain futures by saving and investing
money. If you want to be an unfettered free spirit, go ahead. But stop using
your art as an excuse not to do the hard work your talent requires of you.
Being an artist means a hell of a lot more than picking up a sculpting tool and
shaping some clay. Just ask Pam. She runs her gallery, connecting people with
art. Yes, some of it is commercial, but some is pretty spectacular. She holds
these seminars and helps younger artists like you discover new skills and learn
how to collaborate. And in between, she works on her own paintings.”

Aspen was surprised to feel the ache of tears
in her eyes. She let go of Heather’s arm and took a step back, afraid she’d
trip and fall. She admired Pam and had seen her in the studio at all hours of
the day and night, whenever she could fit in a spare moment. She was turning
blank canvases into pictures full of life and meaning. What had Aspen done?
Added a few new swirls to her sculpture’s neck.

“You should have been given this talent,” she
said in a whisper. The realization of how she’d squandered her gift and how
Heather would have cherished it made her feel queasy. “Just think what you’d
have done by now. How many sculptures you’d have sold or shown in exhibits.
What a name you’d have made for yourself.”

Heather shook her head and put her hands on
Aspen’s shoulders, anchoring her in place and supporting her. “You don’t know
that. You couldn’t. I was never encouraged to develop any talents unless they’d
help me be a success in some traditional, nine-to-five job. There’s a good
chance I’d never have even discovered the skill you so obviously treasure. I
might have something like it inside but by now it’s buried too deep to ever
uncover. You’ve been freely sharing what you do with other people, and the only
reason I keep pushing is because I can see how much more you could do. How many
people you could reach with your message, how many questions and new ways of
thinking you could inspire.”

Aspen put her hands on Heather’s waist and
pulled her into a tight hug. She felt depleted after her flash of anger and her
sadness over missed opportunities.

“I’ll never be like you,” Aspen said, her
voice muffled against Heather’s shoulder. “You and your lists and your goals. I
don’t believe they’ve made you happy but I can see how much you’ve
accomplished. I know someday you’ll find the passion you seem to be missing,
and I have no doubt you’ll push yourself hard enough to be a great success.”

“Maybe, someday,” Heather said. Her breath
ruffled Aspen’s hair when she spoke. “But I have a feeling we’ll both stay the
same. Change is hard. I’ll probably go back to Portland and aim toward the next
goal at my bank. Work my way up the ladder, step by step, until I’m branch
manager or whatever. And you’ll go back to working when you have to and
sculpting when you can.”

Aspen closed her eyes as the truth of
Heather’s statement burrowed into her. She wanted to deny it but even as she
was recognizing the possibility of pursuing art full-time, she was aware of
inertia holding her back. She’d need to keep working while she got herself set
up as an artist and found her niche. She’d need to have a gallery showing or
sell some pieces, and to do that she’d need money for supplies and time to
sculpt. To do
that
,
she’d need to work more hours at the coffee shop. The cycle wouldn’t stop, and
it would lead her further from her art at every turn.

And their journeys toward unwanted goals
would lead them away from each other. Aspen had never really expected her
relationship with Heather to be more than an interesting diversion while she
was on her retreat. They’d had fun together, and she’d come to understand the
depth of Heather’s character in a way she hadn’t anticipated when they first
met. But unless they made drastic changes, they’d always want more for each
other and never would fully understand why the other person was settling for an
unfulfilling life.

Aspen leaned back and brushed her fingers
through Heather’s hair. The sensation was as whisper soft, as if she were
sifting through downy feathers. “How can you feel so perfect for me sometimes,
and completely the opposite of what I need at others?”

Heather laughed quietly and took hold of
Aspen’s hand. She kissed her palm and moved her lips along Aspen’s wrist. The
spot where Heather’s mouth met Aspen’s pulse point came alive with a jolt.
Electricity seemed to travel from her lips into Aspen’s bloodstream, shocking
her entire body into a state of arousal.

“I know exactly what you mean,” Heather said.
“You should be with someone equally sensitive and passionate, and I should be
with a woman with whom I can share my drive and ambition. We’d be much more
comfortable. But, damn it, all I want is you.”

Heather kissed her then, and Aspen felt as if
an unseen shell of cast bronze had encased her heart and was now broken,
releasing her. They had both admitted they were a poorly matched pair but they
both were willing to turn away from logic and fear for one moment of
togetherness.

*

Heather hurried into the inn with Aspen close
behind. She fumbled with the lock on her bedroom door and flung it open,
grabbing Aspen by the hand and pulling her inside. Laughing, they fell against
the door and it slammed shut with a bang. Heather wrapped her hands in Aspen’s
short blond hair and kissed her, meeting Aspen’s tongue with her own and
gasping for air when the kiss deepened.

Aspen’s hands were everywhere on her, with
the same tactile intensity she always showed. Cupping Heather’s cheeks,
kneading her shoulders like clay, rubbing her back. Heather felt every touch
and she was amazed by the various responses Aspen was able to draw out of her.
A light, almost ticklish brush of the fingers sent shivers up Heather’s arms
and made her hypersensitive to even the movement of the air or the brush of her
sweater. Stronger pressure on her shoulders and lower back made her moan in
pleasure as knots of tension released. They kissed with the gasping, reaching,
groaning need of two people who knew they had only minutes to share before
reality separated them again.

Heather gave herself no time for second
thoughts. She had already gone through them time and again since meeting Aspen.
She was too young, too unmotivated, and too talented for someone staid yet
driven like Heather. Aspen would frolic through life never fully activating and
managing her talent. The thought made Heather sad, but the choice was Aspen’s
to make. Heather had her own demons to slay, and she would do that by pushing
herself to ever-evolving goals. Maybe someday one of them would fulfill her…

Right now, though, a temporary fulfillment
was within her grasp, and Heather planned to take full advantage of it. Aspen
wanted her, too—Heather could feel mutual desire connecting them as they kissed
as if their survival depended on air the other could supply. Neither expected
more than the immediate present offered them.

Aspen steered her over to the bed, and
Heather fell backward onto the mattress with Aspen on top of her. Her hands
curved around Aspen’s hip bones, and all their fumbling and kissing and
touching settled into a rhythm coming from somewhere inside. This was new
territory for Heather. Every step of her life was accompanied by a list.
Chores, loans, goals, and things to buy. Plan the work, then work the plan. Now
all of Heather’s being was condensed in this one driving, reaching need. She
bent her knees and placed her feet on the bed, settling Aspen snugly between
her legs. Aspen moved her hips in a thrusting, circular motion. She stretched
out fully on Heather’s body, her mouth biting and sucking on Heather’s neck,
just below her ear, and her hands curling under Heather’s shoulders. Her
fingers dug into Heather’s flesh, and Heather responded by arching even closer.