Page 9 of Between Our Hearts

“Oh, right.” The materials and labor to produce these was negligible. Right now, producing these pieces gave him a much needed distraction. Any income he received from them would be a bonus.

“Not knowing about your raw material cost, I’d guess you could price these at a hundred a piece.” Thatcher lifted the second piece to reveal the third. “Easily one-fifty for this one. Maybe two-hundred.”

The wood frame in Thatcher’s rough hands looked almost like a cross section of a nautilus shell, only instead of curved lines, it had been created with perfect matching angles. Dark stained wood was laid to be the lines of what would have been the shell, and bright seamless pine was meticulously layered into the spaces in between.

“Isn’t this a fractal?”

“Yeah. The math on that one took a little longer.”

Thatcher blew out a low whistle. “Nice.”

His stomach dipped seeing someone appreciate his craftsmanship on something that he considered out of his realm. He was used to perfect lines and exact construction, working within a finite space and budget, and meeting his client’s requests. He’d exceeded expectations often enough that he’d been requested by name on seventy percent of the projects he’d done with a local high-end design company before becoming a stay-at-home dad. These new projects, however, ignited a different part of him, leaving him with this strange, exposed sensation.

He straightened. “How do I get in contact with Robin?”

Thatcher gestured to the far end of the market. “She’s the owner of the organic soaps tent up front.”

Clark had smelled the various scents wafting from the pastel-toned tent he’d passed by many times but had never stopped to look.

“All right, great. Thanks.”

He tucked the pieces under his arm and steered Lottie toward the entrance to the market, but when he got to the tent, no one was there. His head spun, searching for the owner, as Lottie started to fuss in the stroller.

“All done.” Her little chubby hands pulled at the five-point restraint over her chest. “Down.Down, now!”

Normally when they went to the market, he let Lottie meander through the tents and then carried her when she got tired. When he’d pulled out the stroller from the back of his slate-grey RAM Tradesman truck this morning, Lottie had whined and fought him until he’d bribed her with a fruit snack. The empty wrapper sat between her sneakered feet as she threw her full twenty-five pounds against the harness with a grunt.

“Oh, sweetheart. Do you need a bunny?” A smoky voice came from behind him.

A woman who smelled of lemon crouched in front of Lottie, handing her a small rag doll bunny with a purple felt flower stitched over the center of its belly. His daughter gasped with joy and clenched the toy to her chest.

“Wabbit.” Lottie giggled and made the beige bunny dance on her knees.

When the woman, drowning in frumpy neutral fabrics, rose to standing, Clark was shocked to find she was only in her late twenties. Thick, curly strawberry-blonde hair seemed to have a mind of its own as it traipsed down her back to the base of her spine. Six different colored stones were strung around her neck, each dangling from its own chain. Like Sadie often did, this woman wore no makeup, and her light blue eyes were excited as she placed a hand to the side of her mouth, leaning in conspiratorially.

“It’s an aromatherapy bunny. The belly is filled with dried organic lavender to encourage calmness. I recommend warming it in the dryer before bed for a no-fuss bedtime and sweet dreams.”

“Thanks,” Clark said, getting his bearings. He’d half expected the organizer of the farmer’s market to be someone Thatcher’s age or older. “How much is it?”

She waved a hand with at least seven rings on it. “This one’s on me. Just tell your friends if it works for her. Word of mouth is worth more than money.”

Everything cleared as that strange déjà vu feeling filtered away to understanding. From her energy to her dress, Robin reminded him of his mother. A strong punch rocketed through his belly. His parents had been asking for a few weeks if they could come down for a visit, but each time, he found an excuse to decline. He didn’t think Sadie would be up for company, even though she got along well with both his mother and father. Not for the first time, the heaviness of dealing with his grief in isolation pressed down his spine.

The truth of it was his parents could have provided the support he’d been missing during this period of uncertainty and sorrow had they known what he and Sadie were going through. They were no strangers to heartache but always worked as a team through it. Something he and Sadie were not anymore.

When his mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer the summer of his sophomore year of college, Clark and his father had immediately rallied around her. Clark hadn’t even thought twice about dropping out of his architecture program and taking a carpentry job to help Dad pay his mother’s medical bills. He’d moved home and done whatever was needed when he wasn’t working: cooking, cleaning, laundry. After a year of chemo, radiation, and surgery, her scans had finally come back clear. By the time they could all take a breath, Clark had found that he really liked working with his hands instead of drawing beneath the artificial lights of the design studio, and he’d never gone back.

Robin’s gaze caught on the wood pieces beneath his arm. “Those are fabulous. Where did you get them?”

He tugged at the back of his neck with his free hand. “I made them.”

“Really?” she said as he handed them over. “Are you interested in selling them?”

“That’s actually why I’m here.” This strange, nervous laugh came out of his mouth.

“You’re an incredible artist,” she mused, focusing on his second piece.

As much as he agreed the finished products were aesthetically pleasing, he wasn’t sure if creating three panels of multi-angled wood qualified him as an “artist.”

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