Page 34 of Pieces of Ash
“Speaking ofwhat we wear,” he says, his voice severe, “I sent that hat to the dry cleaner’s after handling it with latex gloves.”
My shoulders slump. “Gus! You didn’t!”
“I did wrong?” he asks, placing long, tapered fingers on his chest in surprise.
“It’s Father Joseph’s,” I mourn, “not mine.”
“Well, Father Joe can thank you for cleaning it.”
“You’ll get it back for me?”
“Only if I must.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love me,” says Gus.
“Yes, I do.”
“You trust me?”
I nod.
“Then listen up, because my ex-military, all-manly man has a plan.”
“Okay,” I say, sitting up straighter, remembering what Gus said last night about my needing to hide somewhere.
“Jock inherited a house from his daddy. It’s about fifteen miles from here, out in the sticks, and he has a tenant there, Julian. Julian is ex-police or ex-military or ex-something, I don’t know, but he’s an artist now. There’s a barn on the property, and Julian uses it for glassblowing.”
“Glassblowing?”
“Mm-hm. Real high-end stuff. Remember the private dining room at Lala’s? Over the table? It had that?—”
“Oh, my god! Yes! That, like, um, Medusa chandelier?”
“—with the orange and red glass dangling down?”
“I would stare at it for hours while Tig talked to people.”
“That’s the sort of stuff Julian does, but on a smaller scale. Sculptures. Vases. He’ll take commissions for glassware. Beautiful stuff.”
“That chandelier was amazing.”
“His work is, too.”
“And he lives out there? At Jock’s country house?”
“He does,” says Gus. His eyes flick away from mine, and I wonder what he’s not telling me.
“What else?”
Gus sighs. “Our Julian is talented andhellahot, sweet thing, but he is not the friendliest boy Jesus ever made. We’re not sure how he’ll feel about a…roommate.”
“What are you saying?”
“We’ll have to massage this situation a little bit.”
“Massageit?”
