Page 55 of The Distiller's Darling

Are you still leaving?

What are you and your sister planning?

Is everything okay?

Please stay?

She shook her head and pulled her hand away from her phone. He’d made it clear that he and his dad had a lot to talk about. And she had her own life. Her family was worried about her. And she’d woken up this morning to an email from Z Gallery letting her know that the space was ready for her to set up her show. She had more than enough going on without worrying about Iain’s plans, whatever they were. If he didn’t see fit to include her … well, it was only what they’d agreed on in the beginning.

“This is the restaurant your father took me to last night.” Her mother tapped the page she was looking at. “I like what you did to freshen the design here.”

“Thank you.” Naomi leaned over her mother’s shoulder and pointed. “I thought reorganizing the sections was pretty effective, and removing all the ridiculous frames and curlicues in favor of just a few basic typographic ornaments really brings out the simplicity that Max goes for.”

“You know the owner well?”

“He’s a friend.”

Her mother pursed her lips, and Naomi watched her, mesmerized by the faint facial cues that indicated that Judith Klein’s mind was working, making connections and sorting facts. All she said, though, was, “The food was delicious.”

“He was nominated for a James Beard award a couple of years ago.”

“Hmm. Well deserved, I’m sure.”

“I’ll let him know you approve.”

Her mother smiled. “I’m sure I can get in touch with him myself.”

Naomi narrowed her eyes. “What are you planning, Mom?”

Her mother raised her hands defensively. “Nothing! Just thinking of how charming this little town you’ve settled in is, and how entrepreneurial all your friends seem to be.”

Well, that was certainly true. River Hill thrived on food and wine, and Naomi had somehow found herself in the thick of a group of small business owners who formed the current backbone of the town’s economy. Angelica had once told her she thought Noah had formed his group of friends based solely on how they could help each other out on dates with food and drinks, and she’d laughed at the kernel of truth in it. Naomi had been along for the ride, but she’d drunk her fair share of Noah’s wine, eaten Max’s food, and feasted on Sean’s baking enough to make her daily yoga sessions a necessity for more than just her peace of mind.

“They’re all good people. I’m really happy here.”

“I know a few people in the food industry, you know. I think they’d be very interested in your friend.”

Naomi rolled her eyes. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Naomi, what’s the point in having a wide circle of friends and acquaintances if you can’t introduce them to each other? People like meeting other people. It’s human nature.”

“Whatever, Mom. Just … maybe ask Max before you interfere in his life?”

Her mother sniffed. “Fine. Now, where’s this studio?”

“Upstairs.” She led her mother to the stairs, explaining how she’d renovated the place. “Jacob said I hurt the resale value.”

They reached the door at the top of the stairs, and Naomi opened it to reveal the true home of her heart. Her mother’s eyes widened. “Your brother was wrong, dear.”

Naomi grinned. “Glad to hear it.” Her mother might be many things, but she was absolutely reliable when it came to real estate and home design.

“This is my most recent work.” She gestured at the finished sculpture on the table.

She’d glazed and fired the piece yesterday, and it now sat proudly in the center of her studio, waiting to be packed into a crate sitting open on the floor next to the table. Ready for transport to the gallery, to be revealed to everyone who walked in the door and anybody who might click on the website. This was certainly going to be the featured piece of her show. It was her finest sculpture ever, and every time she looked at it she wanted to weep.

The lump of clay she’d sat on her workbench weeks ago was now an incredibly lifelike human heart, striated with raised veins and surrounded by a mesh formed by the interwoven fingers of two hands clutching it carefully. Between the fingers of the hands sprouted delicate strands of a plant that strongly resembled Irish barley, the braided fronds gently edging the caging fingers aside to reveal the heart within. She hadn’t realized what she was doing until she was done. She stared at it, lips thin, and heard her mother gasp.

“Naomi, it’s beautiful.”

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