A working studio is a pleasant place on a summer morning. Especially if no one is working.
“Where is everybody?” I asked Reba. Sunlight glowed in high upper windows, which were louvered open. The old brick building stayed pleasantly cool, even on the hottest days. The other studios were also cool and quiet.
“It’s summer,” she said, lounging at a battered wooden desk, tapping a computer. “Ever heard of vacation?”
“Sure. For some people.” Handing her an herbal chai latte, I thought of John Schatz, who never took a day off. “I brought one for Li-Li.”
“Li-Li’s not here. She’s got the week off.” Pots were stacked on pallets. These had been waiting for the kiln quite some time.
“You’re a nice boss.”
“She went to a family reunion in Duluth. What do you think I am, a monster?”
Not at all. I sipped from the cup, and frowned.
“It tastes better than coffee. When you’re pregnant.”
“It does?”
She sipped also. “Actually, no.”
I sat across from Reba and yawned. Flies buzzed. The shop smelled pleasantly of clay. Far off, a motorcycle rumbled, then the air fell to silence. Maybe I should be an artist. Or more of one. “Is Walt taking time off?”
“Walt’s a business owner. He comes and goes as he pleases.” She made it sound easy. If you’ve ever seen Walt in his shop, it’s not easy. When someone doesn’t show up (and in summer, someone is always not showing up) he has to do their job, and his too. I have personally seen him feed a mylar sheet into a die cutter before running to the other end to take it off. And I mean run.
I made a mistake. That happens when you’re relaxed. “You two,” I said. “Should get away. While you can.”
“While we can?”
Oops. “Well, you know…”
“Look, Mack. Don’t try to scare me about babies. I’m tired of people saying that. Walt and I are almost forty. We’re ready to be parents. And we don’t want to go anywhere to ‘get away’. Get away from what? We love our lives.”
I had enough sense to keep my mouth shut.
Reba sat back in her chair and spread her legs. Her belly was getting bigger.“We finally have everything where we want it. Why would we start juggling plane tickets, COVID restrictions, hotel rooms, restaurants, and washing dirty underwear in sinks?”
She had a point. I was beginning to dread my family trip to Gull Lake.
“We do little things,” she said. “We have fun. This afternoon Walt and I are taking a picnic basket to Thomas Beach. Catherine’s coming with us. We have ham from Kramarczuk’s. Swiss cheese and hard rolls. A little white wine, chilled. None for me, of course. Want to come?”
It did sound fine. “Well…”
“Bring your suit. We’re all going swimming.”
Catherine Baker likes me. A lot. I thought of this curvaceous, fortyish, rather decadent blonde in a swimsuit. Then a picture of my wife appeared, scowling.
“I can’t go.”
“No?”
“I might be busy.”
“You might?” She wrinkled her nose at me. It’s hard to hide anything from Reba. She can read lesser souls like a book. Speaking of books, I spotted a coffee-table book on her desk. Turning it around, I examined the title. “Mid-Century Modern. A Palm Springs Idyll.”
“That’s Li-Li’s,” Reba said. “It’s all she’s talked about for weeks. Tripod lamps. Scoop chairs. Pastel toasters. Martini bars. The girl’s obsessed. As a matter of fact, could you bring this back to the library? It’s due.”
Reba knows I live in libraries. “Sure.” I picked it up and opened it. “You know, Schatz would be interested in this.”
“He’s interested in anything he can sell.”
“No, really. He’s a big Mid-century modern guy.”
Reba smiled. “Maybe he just wants to impress Li-Li.”
“He’s in Palm Springs right now. Visiting furniture stores. He went with some good-looking decorator. At least, that’s what he said.”
Reba put her cup down. Slowly. “What?”
“He’s in Palm…”
“I heard what you said. When did he leave?”
“I think Tuesday.”
Reba jumped up and ran to Li-li’s desk. Pulling open drawers, she looked through papers, thumbed notebooks, tossing aside a Hello Kitty doll, a Pokémon eraser. She upended the trash.
“What’s wrong?” I started to panic.
“Everything!” Reba cried. “You say Schatz left Tuesday?”
“Yes.”
“That’s when Li-Li left!”
“So?”
“Don’t you see?”
“See what?”
“Am I the only one with any sense? Can’t you see what’s happened? He took her to Palm Springs!”
Richard Donnelly lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Classic flyover land. Which makes us feel just a little… superior. He publishes a weekly column of essays on the writing life at richarddonnelly.substack.com