Page 14 of Apex of the Curve

Chapter Four

Fenris…

“Yeah, Pops, what’s up?” I pressed my cell to my ear and plugged the other with the middle finger of my other hand.

“Where the fuck you at, boy?” he demanded gruffly through the line.

“Waiting out this rain shower under an overpass, why?”

“Just wanted to let you know, the stray kitty you picked up at the bar last week was back. Left a couple heavy-ass boxes here for you.”

“Shit, yeah?” I asked surprised. I hadn’t heard from Aspen and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been massively disappointed by that.

“No, I’m making it up,” he said dryly. “How far out are yah?”

“Twenty more minutes if this shit would settle to a dull roar,” I answered. I didn’t mind riding in the rain but when it came down this bad, it wasn’t a question of my riding but of citizen’s driving. I didn’t want to get slammed into by a cage or worse because they couldn’t see my ass for the road spray. So, when it hit a certain threshold, I pulled my ass over to wait it out a few minutes so shit could settle down.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

“Well, open ‘em up if you’re that damn curious,” I said laughing.

“I can wait,” he said and with a harrumph, ended the call on me. I laughed again and tucked my phone away. The rain wasn’t exactly letting up, but my curiosity was getting the better of me, so goggles down, I fired my bike back up and cautiously pulled back into the flow of traffic on 18.

When I got home, my dad was out back under the eave of the house, cigar between his teeth and a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, the mug big, brown, and handsome – almost a tankard versus a mug. The clay was thick and sturdy, the layers of coating or whatever artistic and rustic.

“Where’d you get that?” I asked, getting off my bike under the overhang and whipping my goggles off over my head as soon as I could get them off my face. They did the job and I needed them, but I didn’t like them.

“One of your boxes,” he answered. “All sorts of dishes and things in there. All like this.”

“Jesus, that must have cost a fucking fortune!” I said. I knew what the handmade pottery pieces around here went for and it wasn’t cheap.

“Full service for eight,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t think it cost her much but time, Son. I think she made them.”

“No shit?”

“Wipe your boots before you go in that house!” he called after me sternly like I was twelve. I stopped in the mudroom, excited to see what was sitting on the table through the back door, but not so excited I was gonna tromp a mess through the place.

I hung my jacket and cut to dry and pulled off my chaps to hang next to the other leather, all of it supple with how waterlogged it was. I pulled off my boots for good measure and went into the kitchen in my sock feet. Sure as shit, here was all this handmade dishware stacked and scattered over the dining table, the cupboards open and our old dishes coming out of the cabinets to make way for ‘em.

“Odin’s beard,” I said in awe, picking one of the heavy pieces up.

“She left that for you.” My pops gestured with his coffee mug at a white rectangle on the tabletop. I picked it up, and he leaned his shoulder against the back doorway and took a sip of his ever-present coffee. He’d ditched the cigar out back somewhere. The card read…

Clayrity Studios

Aspen Lawson-Craig

The address was in Seattle, on Airport Way – I had to bet Georgetown. There was a number, but I was betting it was a business line. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket where I’d stuck it when I’d hung up my coat and unlocked it.

I dialed her up and waited as it rang through.

“Clayrity Studios, this is Amber, how can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah, is Aspen there?” I asked.

“She’s teaching a class right now, is there something I can help you with?”

I cleared my throat and said, “Uh, no, just tell her that Fen… er, Fenris called, would you do that for me?”

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