Page 22 of Family Bonds: Carson & Laine

She put an adorable pout on her face. “I’ve been here for years and haven’t done it. A few more weeks will be fine. But there are ways around things if I want it bad enough.”

“Why haven’t you tried it yet?” he asked.

“Because I just added it to my list not that long ago. And it’s been a busy summer with Avery here and all. Though she is nice and settled now.”

“You are a pretty outgoing person,” he said. “I can’t believe you don’t have a lot of friends you could have done things with.”

“I’ve got a lot of acquaintances. Even people I do things with when I travel, when I can talk them into it. But you’d be surprised how hard it is for me to ask people to do things.”

Just another side to her he hadn’t expected.

The same as her explanations about her parents.

He figured she might have had some money in her background to live on the island but then her artwork was stunning when he saw what was in her studio.

She hadn’t offered to show him the finished pieces against the wall so he decided not to ask. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to show anyone.

He had seen a lot of pottery in the house when he walked through. One piece looked like something his mother had. Or close to it. He wondered if his mother had bought it at Laine’s studio. He’d have to ask her.

Which of course would make his mother want to know why he was asking.

He’d tell her. He didn’t care. He was close to his parents.

His mother might be happy that he was going to spend some time with a nice woman. Someone that had class and a career.

More so someone established on the island.

His mother would bring up the whole lore of the island too, he was sure.

For once he wouldn’t laugh it off either.

“I’ve got to ask,” he said. “I noticed some pottery when we were walking through your house. Did you make them?”

“I did,” she said. “I sell them at the studio. They are in shops and galleries too. More than my artwork but not priced as high. But I do that at my studio in town. That is where my equipment is.”

“I think my mother might have one of your pieces.”

“She might,” she said. “Hang on.”

He watched her walk out, her bare feet treading quietly on the deck. She looked a little like a bohemian angel to him. He still wondered where her tattoo was. Her dress was sleeveless and he could see her shoulders. No hint of ink there.

“That’s beautiful,” he said when she handed him a vase. He hadn’t seen this walking through and wasn’t sure where it’d been.

It was a mixture of greens and blues, all swirled with white with a high gloss finish. His mother would love this filled with flowers. White roses came to mind.

She turned it over. “That is my signature on the bottom.”

“I’ll have to check when I go to my parents’ house again.”

“They live on the island,” she said. “And in Boston?”

“Yes,” he said. He was fingering the vase, the cool smoothness to it. “My father still practices part time, a few days in Boston and a few here on the island.”

“A few days there a week and a few here is full time,” she said.

“He’s not full time. It probably equals about a week here on the island in a month. A few weeks in Boston in a month. Three to four days a week most times. That’s part time for a surgeon.”

His father cut back a few years ago. Michael Mills had promised his wife that he’d cut back when he hit sixty-two andhe’d stuck to that word. At sixty-five his parents were enjoying life and that was all he wanted from them.

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