Making pottery had been a hobby of mine since I took a class in high school. In a life that felt so unstable and unhappy, it became an escape for me. When I was sitting at that wheel, wet clay between my fingers, creating something beautiful, I was able to forget, even temporarily, how lonely I was, how badly I craved someone to just love me.
Over time, it became a form of therapy for me, then, after marrying Graham, an escape from the world all together.
A couple of the local shop owners were nice enough to sell some of my pieces out of their stores, and while the extra money was nice, that wasn’t why I did it. I did it because I loved it.
She gave me a lazy wave before disappearing around the corner toward my bedroom and bathroom, and I turned back to my girl, grabbing the syrup-covered plate and giving it a serious scrubbing before asking, “Hey, doodle bug, you want to help me in the workshop today?”
The pieces I didn’t put up for sell, the ones I kept for myself, were the ones I gave to Renee to paint. She loved to join me out there, creating random, colorful patterns with no rhyme or reason. I glazed those and kept them. Every dish we ate or drank from in my house was a one-of-a-kind Renee original. My baby girl’s brilliant creations.
She sucked in a gasp dramatically, and I knew exactly what was coming next. Sure enough, an instant later she let out a shriek that was so damn loud I thought she might shatter the glass in every window in the house.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
I heard a thundering rumble coming down the hall, and a second later Luna skidded around the corner, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around her. Her momentum was too great, and she crashed into the couch, nearly toppling over the back of it.
She popped up, brandishing my curling iron like a sword. “What’s happening? I heard screaming. Is someone being murdered?”
I waved her off and took another pull of my coffee. “Nah. That was her excited squeal. You know how she is.”
“Oh, thank God.” She sucked in a huge breath and put her hand to her chest. “It nearly gives me a coronary every time. I don’t know how I always forget about that.”
“I birthed the girl and it still sneaks up on me sometimes.”
“I’m gonna paints Mommy’s awt today!”
Luna cinched the towel around her tighter and gave my daughter a thumbs-up. “That’s good, shorty. But how about you try really hard not to give your Lu-Lu a heart attack from here on out, yeah?”
Ignoring her all together, Renee turned on her stool, lifted her arms, and made grabby hands. “Mommy, down.”
“Yeah, that’s about right,” Luna mumbled. “All right, I’m going to wash this alcohol off, if you don’t mind.” At that, she turned and disappeared again.
I looked to Renee, seeing stickiness and sugar all over her. “Let’s get you cleaned up first.”
Grabbing a washcloth, I wet it under the faucet and scrubbed my girl down before lifting her off the stool. The sun was already shining, glistening off the water like light refracting off glass as I slid the patio door open and stepped outside. The sound of the waves crashing at the shore settled me in a way I couldn’t explain as I held Renee’s hand in mine and moved across the small swath of backyard—it really wasn’t anything more than a thin strip of grass that ran to the small picket fence that divided my property from the beach beyond—to my work shed.
I grabbed the handle of the garage door and lifted it up all the way, letting the sunlight and sea breeze fill the space.
Two of the three walls were lined with shelves that were filled with pottery: vases, bowls, coffee mugs, flower pots, plates, you name it. Some were completed, just waiting for me to pack and take to the stores to be sold. Some were still in the process of air drying, and some had already been bisque fired and were ready for glaze or paint. I set up a little card table and chair for my girl in the back corner, complete with paints, brushes, and foam stamps in the shape of butterflies and rainbows and such. Anything a little girl could possibly need to make her creations.
“What do you feel like painting today?”
She lifted her hand and tapped her little finger against her chin in contemplation, the seriousness of her expression making me smile. “I wants to paint you a pwetty cup.”
I had an entire cabinet designated solely to “pretty cups” already, but I was more than happy to add to my collect.
I grabbed a ceramic mug for her and got her all set up at her little table before moving over to my own work station.
My workshop was my church. The feel of the cold clay in my hands as I worked it around was my confession, and, as I sat down at my pottery wheel and began working the clay into something beautiful, I was awash with that lightness I felt every time I perched on that stool.
I was lost in the nothingness, my mind completely blank except for the sounds of the ocean outside and the gently hummed tune coming from my baby girl as she lost herself in her painting. She was just like me in that way. She had all the crazy chaotic energy of any toddler, but when she was in my workshop, she was oblivious to everything else, concentrating in a way most other kids her age probably never did.
I looked up when Luna’s voice broke through the white noise created by the crash of the waves and call of the seagulls just outside. She stood propped against the door frame, her ankles crossed and one of Renee’s coffee mugs cupped between her hands. “You know, every time I see you at that wheel I have this insane urge to come up behind you, à la Patrick Swayze in Ghost.”
I giggled as I pinched the edges of the clay and slowly dragged my fingers upward. “Should I put on some ‘Unchained Melody’ to really set the mood?”
“Don’t temp me,” she teased.
“Feel better?”
“God, yes. There isn’t much a hot shower and a steaming cup of joe can’t cure. Although, this was all I could find in your wardrobe that even came close to fitting me.” She plucked at the front of the large slouchy T-shirt she’d borrowed, pairing it with plain black leggings, and curled her top lip. “Not exactly stylish.”
“Yeah, well, not all of us can be built like a pin-up girl.” I was actually envious of Luna’s curves. The woman was built to be on every single one of those car calendars you saw hanging in garages across the country when you took your car in to be serviced.
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Don’t hate. It wasn’t until adulthood that these curves became a blessing. You can’t imagine what a nightmare middle school is for a girl who’s already a C-cup and what her grandmother referred to as ‘birthing hips.’” She gave a mock shiver before pointing at me, swirling her index finger in the air. “And don’t act like you aren’t rockin’ a pretty little figure yourself. Or have you already forgotten what we talked about last night?”
I dipped my hand in the bucket of water beside me to make the clay more malleable while letting out a groan. “Don’t start that again. I already told you, nothing is going to happen between me and the new guy. Hell, I probably won’t even see him again before his trip is over.”
A wry smile stretched her lips, a wicked gleam filling her eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
The tiny hairs on my back of my neck stood on end at her tone. “Why do you say that?”