Page 38 of The Words We Lost

Where there was once soil, seeds, fertilizer, and tools to tend to Wendy’s prized flowers, there are now paintbrushes, gloves, andlarge cans of epoxy. A compact Bluetooth speaker is propped onto a work bench where a soulful gospel song croons about joy.

I scan the inventory of furniture—ten, maybe twelve pieces or so—and work to solve a puzzle without being handed any of the edge or corner pieces. Is Wendy put in charge of collecting donations for some sort of outdoor hotel auction?

“Joel probably thinks I’ve lost my mind, asking him to help me collect used furniture from around the community. But every time he brings me a piece destined for the dump, I’m shocked by how much life is left in it. And how willing someone was to just throw it away.”

I’m listening to Wendy as I cross the lawn to her workstation, drawn to a shimmering array of colors I can’t quite make sense of from this far out. But once I’m close enough to understand what I’m seeing, my heart stutters at the beauty of it. On the surface of a large circular patio table, a mosaic of ocean tears mimics the feel of a stained glass window in an old church—equally captivating and inspiring.

I touch the smooth, epoxied surface, studying the illuminated scene of ocean, surf, and a sky at sunrise. It’s absolutely breathtaking. “You made this?”

She’s standing close now, her eyes set on mine, her hands cupped tightly in front of her as if she’s nervous. “Yes. It’s the largest one I’ve done so far. The size made it fairly challenging....”

Her voice trails off, but I can’t stop touching it, can’t stop running my fingers along the foamy white surf she managed to recreate out of tiny pieces of cloudy sea glass and beach pebbles. I knew Wendy was crafty—I’d seen her transform pitiful, wilted flowers into heart-melting bouquets time and time again. I’d watched her cast fresh vision on stale window displays and tired lobby decor and select furnishings for events and parties far grander than anything she’d choose to attend herself.

But this ... this is pure artistry.

“I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s stunning. I’m not sure I even have words for how beautiful this is, Wendy. Or how special.”

“Really?” When she clasps her hands over her mouth, tears climb my throat.

Wendy’s relief releases another layer of vibrancy to her eyes, and I know right then that even if my part in this project only involves scraping chewed gum off patio chairs that have sat in the summer sun for weeks, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything to see her thrive.

“I’d love to hear the story behind how all this started,” I say, looking for more of her finished work. I spot two in the shade by the fence line, though I can’t make out their design from here, just the high-gloss sheen of epoxy: a dainty metal tabletop no bigger than a bar stool with a glass overlay, and a painted garden chair with an artsy seat thanks to Wendy’s creativity.

She gestures to the house. “How about I grab us some lemonade first, and then we can prep my newest donation while we chat. As long as you don’t mind? It needs a good scrubbing before I can map out the design and hunt for colors.”

“I’d love to help. Which one is it?”

She points to a garden bench with chipping robin’s-egg-blue paint and a plethora of other issues, the most obvious of which is a rusted arm.

As she goes inside for the glasses of lemonade, I move the bench to the prep station and then pull out my phone. I need to share this discovery with someone, and there is no one else who can possibly understand the significance of it like Joel.

Ingrid

Wendy’s art is incredible.

Joel

Hope those green thumbs??of yours aren’t too disappointed. Though you do make a compelling case when it comes to the essentials of gardening. What were they again? Sun, water, and...???

Despite myself, I bite the smile from my bottom lip.

Ingrid

What if I’d shown up at her door in overalls and gardening clogs?

Joel

You could have shown up wearing the clown costume from IT and my aunt still would have taken you in.

Ingrid

Thanks for reminding me of the one and only Stephen King movie I ever watched. Now I’ll have to sleep with the lights on.

Joel

??

I wait a full minute, thinking of how best to reply and finally settling on:

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