Page 44 of Silver-Tongued Devil
She fought the shiver again, and he went on. “If you do my bedroom over the weekend, though, you won’t be able to finish your shell. That’s what we call a dilemma, because I want both.”
“You can have both,” she found herself promising. “If you’re not back until Tuesday? I’ll make sure you get both. If you can meet my price on the shell, of course.”
“I’ll meet your price.”
“Sight unseen?”
“Yeah. Sight unseen. Because I know what that’ll do for you. It won’t make you slack off. It’ll make you even more determined to make it your best. That shell’s a passion project all the way around, and I’ve seen your passion projects. It’s going to be something special, and I want it.”
She hummed, because he was right, and because she was getting sleepy. He asked, “Is that what you’d do if you could do anything you wanted? Glass?’
“Sure.”
“So tell me,” he said. “What’s your perfect life?”
She looked out on the lake, the cedars, the mountains, drifted a little on the warmth, and finally said, “I guess it would be spending it in beautiful places. Traveling, seeing things. I’ve been to Seattle. I’ve lived in Portland, and a few other places when I was a kid. Nowhere I’d ever want to visit again. Now I want to see all the beautiful spots. Snorkeling from the beach in Tahiti. Walking through Paris in the rain. Flying over the Rift Valley in Africa with flocks of flamingos in the sky. Hiking through the jungle in Costa Rica, in the middle of the rainforest trees and the vines, the birds and monkeys and insects, where the air’s so warm and humid and filled with sound, it’s like you can touch it. I want to see all that, I want to explore it all, and I want to make glass from what I’ve seen. That’s my dream life. Emphasis on ‘dream.’”
“Scenes?” he asked. “Like painting? Or birds, or what?”
“Maybe those things. And maybe something else, because I don’t think you can capture all that in glass, not literally. It might be more abstract, but still with that representational element. Using texture and colors to create something thatfeelslike the place, like the feeling it gave me. Pushing my own limits. Trying, and being scared I can’t do it. Failing, sometimes, and then, other times—creating something that makes me catch my breath. Where I can say, ‘I did that. I went out that limb, and it worked.’”
“Doesn’t sound like much of that dream is about money,” he said after a minute. “Or being famous.”
She felt a stab of impatience. “Sure it is. It’s all about money. The luxury of doing what I want, going where I want? That’s money, because there’s Russ, and there’s life. And it’s not aboutfamous,but is it about people loving what I do? Yeah, it’s that. Loving it enough to pay for it, loving to have it hanging in their houses. It’s hard, because it’s not ‘art.’ It’s craft. And nobody does craft to get rich. But it’s what I love.”
He didn’t say anything, and she turned her head and looked at him. He still had his hands behind his head, but his expression was serious. Thoughtful. She asked, “So what about you? What’s your dream life?”
He shifted position and looked away from her, out to the lake. “I had it.”
The words hung there, a cold dash of water on this hot day. She said, “Football.”
“Yeah.”
She didn’t know everything in the world, but she knew something about men. She knew Evan, and she knew Russ. Sometimes, a man needed to talk it out, and he couldn’t talk to another man. He needed a woman for that, so he didn’t have to worry about being strong, about being tough. He needed to let down his guard, and for that? He needed a woman. “What was special about it?” she asked quietly, not looking at him. Trying her best to show him that she was safe ground, the same way he’d just been for her.
“Oh, I don’t know. How about everything? You don’t really get it until you don’t have it. Being part of a team, I guess. That’s the big one. You can say it’s the same in business, but it’s not.”
“Quarterback,” she said. “That’s a little bit the same, I’d think.”
“No. It isn’t. I wasn’t the boss, I was just one of the leaders. There’s a big difference. When you’re on a football team, you—everybody—you’re not trying to win for your paycheck, for your ego. You’re doing it for the guy next to you, and the guy next to him. You know all you can do is your job, but you know that offensive lineman is doing his, too, that he’s putting his body between you and the sack. He’s got your back, and you’ve got his. Even if it’s a defensive player, a special teams player. You’re in it together, doing it for each other, winning or losing together. You can’t get that in business. Not possible.”
It was as if she could feel his heart beating, and the rift in it, too. The pain of losing family. “Like being a soldier. My brother would say that. ‘My buddy.’ It wasn’t just a buddy, though. It was a brother.”
Blake was still looking at the lake, but she didn’t think he was seeing it. “That’s a whole different level, what he did. Putting his life on the line. But—yeah. That’s the deal, and I miss the hell out of it. They’re still my buddies, but it’s not the same.”
“And it’s wasn’t just about the money for you, either. Not just being a star.”
“Oh, the money’s nice. Sure it is. But you know—I’ve got money. I’m making more. It’s about the rest of it. Using your body that hard, emptying the tank all the way. That level of commitment… it’s not what your brother did, but it’s something special. Hard to find. I’ve had it since I was eight. I don’t have it anymore.”
She waited a few more seconds, but he didn’t say anything. Finally, she asked, “How long ago did it happen? Your injury?”
“Six months. Day after Thanksgiving. But—” He sat up straight. “Here I am whining, with nothing in the wide world to whine about. I was lucky for a long, long time, and I’m still lucky.”
“You’re not whining,” she said, but she sat up, too. “You’re explaining.”
“Nah, darlin’. I’m whining.” He stood up. “I’ll change and get back to work, let you get on with your day. If you work here over the weekend, go on and use anything you want. That’ll make me nothing but happy to think about. Watch TV, drink up my beer, use the hot tub, whatever. That thing feels good after a swim in the lake, tell you that. I’d have suggested it already, but I’m minding my manners. It gets a little intimate, maybe, sitting in those bubbles.”
He so clearly wanted to pull back, so she smiled and said, “Well, maybe I will,” got up herself, and picked up her towel. “Thanks for the swim, and the lunch. And thanks for Russell.”
