Page 117 of Savannah Royals
If I don’t, whatoptions do I have?
Paul stops by every week to check my progress, and his overbearing presence reminds me just how trapped I am. I’ve taken to wearing Cleopatra’s completed cobra ring while I work. The engraved cartouche of her name on the underside of the deadly serpent’s belly brings intangible comfort.
I’m working late at the shop near the end of February when an epiphany hits. I’m focused on my fingers, carefully prepping and securing tiny diamond after tiny diamond in the fifth spoke. I pull back to examine my work, impressed against my own will at what I see. When I zero back in, staring at my nails working the tiny gems, my vision starts to blur. I blink, trying to clear it, but my mind is elsewhere.
I think about Matthew, about his hands. How he told me they were so important to him. How he talked about choosing what work we do with our hands, choosing the kind of difference we make. I look into the emerald eyes of Cleopatra’s cobra—at my own nimble fingers, which are slowly and carefully bringing the counterfeit ruby necklace to life—and I wonder what kind of difference I’m going to make with this.
Not a good one.
My hands are mine,he told me.I decide what kind of difference they make.
I put the necklace down. I look at my fingers, now trembling, and I start to rethink.
Recalculate. Recalibrate. Replan.
Idecide.Ichoose.
And I don’t choose this. Not anymore.
My hands are mine and so is my brain. And those are two things Paul doesn’t own, doesn’t control. Not anymore.
I can make a different kind of difference. I only hope I have enough time to do it.
Nearlyaweeklater,the daily routine endures. Once my morning lessons at the Academy conclude, I hurry to Ray’s, mechanically pull out the DaMolin rubies, and immerse myself. Hours pass. My eyes are so tired.
“Looking good, Kat,” Ray proclaims over my shoulder. I jump and drop the tiny diamond in my tweezers.
“Ray! You startled me.” I hunt for the fallen stone.
“You need to take a break, kid,” Ray says, reaching out to still my fumbling hands. “You’re going cross-eyed.”
I sit back and drop the tweezers, blinking rapidly.
Ray plunks his drafting book on the corner of my workstation. He’s been sketching. Engagement rings. I reach for the book, intrigued.
“They’re for next season’s line,” he mutters as I flip through his work. “What do you think?”
He has five pages of designs, three rings apiece. The third and fourth pages display my favorites.
“These ones.” I trace my finger over the charcoal rings. “These are really special. Very new.”
“I’ve decided the oval is the shape for next season.”
“It’s beautiful…and the star halo here?” I point. “Absolutely divine. You’re a virtuoso, Ray.”
He tears a piece of paper from the back of the book and drops it in front of me. “There’s room in the line for three more. I want you to design them.”
“What?”
“You’re graduating in two months. You’re not going to be an apprentice much longer. I can’t very well keep you hidden back here forever, tinkering away on whatever my latest fantasy is.”
“I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Sure you do. You’re full of ideas, good ones. And you’ve more than paid your dues.” He nods at the mess on my desk, indicating my latest project. The one that has me headed for a straitjacket.
“Speaking of, would you like to take a look?” I stand to offer him my seat. “I could use a fresh set of eyes.”
I hold my breath as he pulls out his loupe. He cranks up the light overhead, and his face descends into squinty-eyed concentration. He examines every gem on the necklace, assesses every millimeter. When he removes his loupe, he lifts the piece on one finger, checking for balance and weight.
