Tales From Sea Glass Inn (26 page)

“And meeting Heather made a difference, too.
She talked to me about goals and having more respect for my gifts. She made me
rethink how I had been living my life. I guess I’ve been too scared of failure
to really follow my dream, and I masked my fear with sort of an artistic
self-righteousness.”

Pam laughed. “We’ve all been there. But we
create because we want to connect people with places we’ve seen or ideas we’ve
had. Art is made to be a collaboration with an audience, whether it’s a single
owner of one of our pieces or a crowd of people walking through a gallery.
You’ve made a portfolio?”

Aspen clutched the slim vinyl folder to her
chest. “Not a real professional one. I had some photos printed in Tillamook
this morning and bought this at an office supply store. I just wanted to show
you and get your feedback.”

“Gladly,” Pam said. She hesitated a moment
before continuing. “You’ll need to let me see it first, though.”

Aspen reluctantly handed the portfolio to
Pam. She paced nervously while Pam looked through the pages.

“I’m planning to replace the first pictures
with ones of my bronze, once it’s cast.”

“Mm-hmm,” Pam muttered. She came to the end
of the photos and closed the book. “When you applied for this seminar, you
emailed a gallery of your work, but a few are missing from your portfolio and
the order is different.”

“Yes, well…” Aspen berated herself for not
adding her sentimental piece to the collection.

“They’re good changes,” Pam said quickly.
“This is a cleaner presentation than the one you sent me. It shows growth but a
strong sense of personal style and imagery. Very well done.”

“Oh, whew.” Aspen sighed with relief and an
awkward sense of pride. She hadn’t wanted to blame Heather when she thought Pam
wasn’t happy with the finished product, but now she was pleased to give her
credit. “The changes were all Heather’s ideas. She suggested the order and what
sculptures to keep out of the portfolio.”

Pam looked through the pages again with a
thoughtful expression. “Yes, she has a good eye. She recognized your talent
right away, you know.”

“She seemed to like my sculpture.” Aspen
wasn’t sure what else to say about Heather. Somehow, speaking about her in such
a casual way helped her control the rampant emotions she had been feeling
lately whenever Heather came to mind. In other words, all the time.

“It’s an astounding piece,” Pam said, handing
Aspen the black folder. “I want you to feel proud of this. You made this entire
seminar worthwhile. Just to see your growth in such a short time, as well as
the quality of the finished piece…To be honest, Mel and I planned these
retreats as a way to get guests back again after the spill. I never realized
how much I’d enjoy teaching them, and how much my students would inspire me to
paint again. You made a difference to me, too.”

Aspen was speechless. She had spent enough
time with Pam during critique sessions to know she wouldn’t fling meaningless
praise Aspen’s way. Pam got a piece of scrap paper and wrote a few lines.

“Here are the names of some local galleries.
Take your portfolio to them and ask for a showing. You don’t have enough pieces
for an entire show, but they often do events featuring two or three new
artists. It’d be a good start for you. Other than that, keep creating, as much
as you can. My studio will always be open to you, if you decide to stick around
here.”

The thought was tempting. Aspen could always
find work in a coffee shop here, if sculpting didn’t work out for her. But she’d
have to live surrounded by memories of Heather… She waved the paper. “We
already went to the galleries in town as a class. How will I know these people
are interested in me and not doing you a favor if they offer me a showing?”

Pam laughed. “I understand self-doubt. You’ll
probably never get rid of it completely, but you’ll need to learn how to work
in spite of it and using it. The names I wrote down are all in Manzanita. They
know me there, but they won’t associate you with me unless you tell them. That’s
your choice.”

Aspen grinned and put the folded paper in the
pocket of her cords. She wouldn’t tell. She had to do this part on her own.

*

Heather walked as close to Haystack Rock as
the tide allowed. The sun behind her threw the rock in dark shadow, but the
wheeling gulls streaked flashes of white across its craggy surface. Waves
lapped and curled around its base, sending the occasional spray of foam and
glistening drops of water into the air.

She remembered her first night here and
rubbed the fading mark on her forehead from where she’d hit her head on the
drive to Cannon Beach. So much had changed since she’d arrived. She’d come out
to the beach to see the town’s landmark basalt formation merely to check it off
her list. Look, then done. On her way to it, she had first spotted
Aspen—bohemian and beautiful—and her magnificent sculpture.

The nagging jealousy she’d felt because she
didn’t have the raw talent of an artist had been steadily and unexpectedly
fading since Pam’s surprising offer the day before. Heather had listened in
disbelief while Pam told her about needing someone to help in the gallery—not a
student clerk as she’d had before, but a real partner who would help ease Pam’s
responsibilities and free her up for more painting and retreats. She hadn’t
been offering Heather a job but had been giving her the opportunity to buy in
as a partner.

Heather shook her head. What would her parents
say? She had a good guess, but their imaginary voices were drowned out by her
own shouted reasons why she should refuse. What did she know about art? Pam had
called her a discerning viewer, and Heather had told Aspen about how she had
sought visual moments of beauty when she was a child, but she’d had no formal
training apart from an elective class or two in college. Pam would expect her
to purchase pieces for the gallery—high-quality ones as well as commercial
works with wide appeal. She’d help retreat students and other artists who came
to Pam as a mentor with the logistics of being an artist in a world that
favored those with more traditional jobs.

Heather snorted, and the sound of her
humorless laughter was carried away by the wind. No salary. No ladder rungs to
climb. This would be her job, and commission on sales not yet made would be her
pay. There wasn’t a secure base salary, just the dream of potential commission.
Heather shuddered. She’d done everything in her power to avoid the unknown,
unpredictable life Pam was now dangling in front of her. She’d been aggressive
in her career, but always by following high-powered mentors who’d paved the way
in a career that had easily discernible and quantifiable steps to success.
She’d never taken a chance on herself, by herself, with the huge risk of
failure she’d face here. Her savings would buy part of the business. Her
intuition and artistic taste would have to step up and take care of the future.

She’d be insane to consider it. And she’d
never have given it a second thought if it weren’t for Aspen. Aspen, who asked
questions and made Heather think about passion in a whole new way. Aspen, who
had amazingly talented hands and imagination, but little business sense or
concept of how to make a career out of her art. She’d told Heather she wasn’t
interested in pursuing sculpting as a full-time job, but others like her would
want the chance and would need someone like Heather to help. Pam had talked
about needing Mel to ground her, encourage her, and help her navigate the
real-life aspects of life as an artist. Heather could be that person for
artists young and old who wanted to recreate their lives. She’d also be the one
to ease Pam’s burdens at the gallery, freeing her to paint and mentor more.

Heather walked along the shore, not because
she needed to cross it off her list—she already had marked off
walk on beach and collect sea
shells
days ago—but because she felt more able to think and plan out
here. There was something limitless in the waves and the tang of salt and the
gray sky meeting gray water on the far horizon. Something hopeful, something
nudging her toward a new life and a new chance to live with more passion than
she’d dreamed.

By the time she turned back toward the inn,
the sun was sinking low in the west, over the ocean. She saw a silhouette on
the top of the inn’s part of the bluff. Aspen, as if summoned by Heather’s
thoughts. She took a step back from the staircase, maybe retreating in case
Heather saw her there, watching, but Heather waved and beckoned her down the
stairs. She went slowly to meet Aspen. Too many things needed to be said, even
after such a short time apart.

“Hey,” Aspen said once she got close. She was
wearing a ragged green and brown sweater that looked hand knit and had a blue
scarf wrapped snugly around her neck. No beret this time, and her short blond
hair was mussed by the breeze.

“Hey. I’ve missed you.” Heather reached out
and took Aspen’s hands in hers, half expecting her to pull away. Aspen squeezed
her tight, instead.

“Me, too. I wasn’t meaning to invade your
privacy, but I saw you out here and I couldn’t…I just wanted to see you.”

Heather’s heart felt as buoyant as a gull
soaring with a wind current. Decisions fell into place with startling ease as
she stood here, face-to-face with the woman she loved.

“We need to talk.” Heather saw Aspen’s frown
at the trite breakup phrase and she shook her head quickly. “Not bad talk. Just
talk. I’m staying here at Cannon Beach. I’m going to be partners with Pam and
help run the gallery.”

Heather hadn’t even told Pam her
decision—hell, she hadn’t made it for certain until seconds ago. Aspen deserved
to be the first to know. Heather saw Aspen’s confusion, but she kept talking.
“I want you to stay, too. I know how different we are, in age and approach to
life and goals. But the afternoon…that afternoon when we…anyway, we talked
about how we each seem to make the other person more aware of weakness. Maybe
that’s not a bad thing. Maybe that’s how growth occurs. I want to learn from
you, Aspen, how to be freer and happier. I just want to be with you.” Heather
took a deep breath. Aspen needed to know she was accepted and loved, not worry
she was Heather’s project or first gallery acquisition. “Just stay here, as you
are. Work in a coffee shop or the bakery or the bookstore if you want. Sculpt
when and how
you
want. I’ll support whatever you decide. I just want you to be with me.”

Aspen shook her head, and Heather wasn’t sure
what she was answering in the negative. She held her breath until Aspen spoke.

“I want to be with you. I’d already been
thinking of staying, and that’s part of the reason I was looking for you. I
made a portfolio, just like you suggested. Nothing fancy, just some pictures
thrown together, but I got a show, Heather. A gallery in Manzanita is going to
display my work with two other artists next month. I’m going to work in Pam’s
studio to get pieces done for it.”

Heather grabbed her and pulled her close.
Even if Aspen hadn’t added the part about wanting her, she would have been as
happy with the knowledge that Aspen was going to seriously pursue her art.
Heather felt the same tight twinge of tears she’d always experienced in moments
of beauty. Aspen would provide her with a lifetime of this kind of passionate
response.

“What made you change your mind?” she asked,
keeping her face buried in the curve of Aspen’s neck. Their bodies molded
together as if Aspen had sculpted them out of a single block of clay.

“You, mostly. I’ve always been alone with my
sculptures, but in these past few days I’ve realized I’m not anymore. Pam’s
voice is there, giving me suggestions and challenging the way I look at my
work. The other artists, too, are there with all their different ways of
solving problems and expressing what they see and think. Mostly, though, it was
you. You became part of me because you burrowed into my heart. Part of me as a
person and me as a sculptor. I’d never felt such a connection with other
people, and I never had a community of artists before. I’d never have grown
much or had the same opportunities if I’d continued to steal moments of time
and work by myself without feedback. And I’d never be able to bring the same
depth to my work as I will with you in my life.”

Heather sighed and pulled back enough to look
in Aspen’s eyes. She kissed her, feeling the warmth from Aspen’s lips seeping
under her weather-chilled skin and making her feel alive and vital again. What
they had was special, and no one else would ever get as much of her as she was
offering to Aspen. But in smaller ways, she’d be able to help other artists
find their community and their artistic freedom and voice. She might not ever
pick up a paintbrush or sculpting tool, but she’d bring more art into the world
in her own small way.

And Aspen would take the world by storm once she
completely dedicated herself to her work. Heather was sure of it. She deepened
their kiss and then broke away, leading Aspen up the stairs and past the
studio. There was time for everything else tomorrow. They’d start making plans
in earnest—Heather’s specialty—and she’d be careful to offer support to Aspen
without dumping all of her overwhelming drive and goal-setting skills on her at
once. They’d make a life here, full of passion and beauty. Tomorrow.

Tonight, Heather had a different kind of
passion in mind. She and Aspen held each other close as they hurried back to
the inn. Tonight, Heather would be the sculptor, molding the desire she felt
for Aspen into a living work of art.

Once Tamsyn Kalburg had sailed her sloop a short
distance past Haystack Rock, she flaked the halyard in a loose figure eight to
keep it from snagging and turned onto a steady downwind course. She
intentionally made the turn wider and smoother than she would have if she had
been alone, but even with her precautions, her passengers looked ready to puke.