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“Everyone, please go to your assigned tables. Dinner is about to be served.” I helped Tanya up, draping Matt’s jacket over her shoulders.
The crowd dispersing, I looked at my drenched husband. “Matt, why don’t you go upstairs and get changed? And take Lance with you. I’m sure you have something that will fit him.”
He nodded.
“I’ll take care of Tanya. We’re about the same size. One of my gowns will surely fit her.”
Almost back to her charming British self, she gave me an appreciative smile. “Thank you, Natalie.” She rubbed her earlobes. “And thank goodness the gorgeous diamond earrings you gave me didn’t fall off in the water.” She said this loud enough so that Paige could hear her. Without another word, my daughter stalked off.
While I walked our exchange student back to the house, an unsettling feeling fell over me. I thought back to the conversation I’d had with my mother-in-law when she was here a few weeks ago. About Tanya’s unusual English accent and mispronunciation of her exclusive London neighborhood. I, like Paige, found it odd she couldn’t swim. But maybe she’d had some traumatic childhood experience?
And maybe tonight’s American accent could be attributed to being a little inebriated. Plus, she’d been here for almost two months and was sounding more and more like an American every day.
As I helped her change into one of my Versace gowns, a slinky cobalt-blue one, I let go of all my doubts. I told her it looked perfect on her and she hugged me, telling me how much she loved me.
Silently, I thanked God she hadn’t drowned tonight. I couldn’t bear to lose this beautiful, beguiling girl, whom I was beginning to love like a daughter.
Heaven knows, I’d had enough loss to last a lifetime.
EIGHTEEN
PAIGE
My studio in the far corner of the backyard was my refuge. The special place where I could be alone and de-stress. Sculpting was my salvation. I loved putting my hands into the cold, wet, gray clay and molding it into anything I wanted, be it a lifelike figure, a bust, or something abstract. I loved the feel of it. The smell of it. And the transformative power of it.
It was my drug.
With basketball season in full swing, I hadn’t had a chance to hang out here for a while. It was a former gardening shed that was built with the house. Since our gardeners brought their own equipment, we really didn’t need it, and I’d convinced my mom to let me turn it into a studio where I could sculpt. It was the nicest thing she’d ever done for me.
From the earliest of ages, I loved to make things with clay. Real clay, not that Bazooka-pink Play-Doh my sister liked. Over the years, I’d advanced from snakes and pancakes to far more complex things. I’d taken classes and read many technique books, including some by the world’s greatest sculptors. Michelangelo. Rodin. Brancusi, and more. My heroes. One day, I hoped to join them. Exhibit in galleries. Have pieces in museums as well as in Sotheby’s auctions. Become the next Louise Bourgeois, another one of my idols.
My studio was small but functional. Well lit, my workplace consisted of a drafting table and stool, and shelves where I kept my tools, supplies, and reference books. It also had a sink, which I used to wet down my clay and wash my grubby hands. The walls were covered with inspirational posters of works and quotes by my favorite sculptors, and in the far corner, there was a portable kiln, which I used to fire my clay creations and transform them into ceramic sculptures.
Tonight, I really needed this escape. My father had taken Tanya to the Lakers game, and I didn’t want to think about how much fun they were having in their VIP floor seats. I needed to let go of my jealousy and anger. Channel it into my clay.
Wearing AirPods and listening to some symphonic metal, I was totally zoned out and in the moment. I was working on a bust of my mother, which I planned to surprise her with on her upcoming fortieth birthday. She’d coveted one after seeing the bust I’d made of my grandma, the one person in my family other than my brother who supported my dream of becoming a sculptor. The kiln had been a gift from her and cost twice as much as my MacBook Pro.
The bust was coming along and I was pleased with the likeness, though it still needed quite a bit of tweaking. Sculpting required a lot of patience, but the end result—and the fulfillment I got—was worth the time and effort. Kobe Bryant once said that amazing things come from hard work and perseverance, and I believed him. I’d been lucky enough to see him play many times. To watch him move across the court, with his agility, grace, and speed, was pure magic. He shoots; he scores. His tragic death as well as that of his daughter Gianna had shattered me. Why did bad things happen to good people? As a tribute, I’d made a sculpture of him, jumping with a basketball in his hand. It had helped me work through my grief. One day, I hoped to give it to his family. Maybe my father’s new client could put us in touch.
Perched on the table and illuminated by a clip-on lamp, the statue gave me strength and determination as I chiseled my mother’s nose and cheekbones. Working away, I lost sense of time. I deliberately didn’t bring my phone with me because I didn’t want any distractions. And I didn’t keep any type of timepiece here because I never wanted to feel pressured.
I guess because I was wearing AirPods and was so focused on my mother’s bust, I didn’t hear the door open. A sudden tap on my shoulder gave me a start. My heart jumped; my pulse raced. I whipped my head around, and standing behind me was Tanya. She was wearing pink-and-white-striped pajama bottoms and a Lakers sweatshirt. With the blink of an eye, my initial shock morphed into pure, unadulterated hatred.
“What are you doing in here?” I seethed, plucking the AirPods out of my ears.
“I saw a light on from my room and decided to check it out. It was keeping me up, getting in the way of my beauty sleep.” She twirled her braided hair. “Oh, and by the way, the Lakers game was amazing. They won by one point and I got to meet LeBron James, who scored the winning point. A slam dunk!”
Fury pulsed through every cell of my body. I thought I might stab her with my sculpting knife.
“Get out of here. This is my private space.”
She pretended like she didn’t hear me and moved to the right of me so she could better see the bust. “That kind of looks like your mother.”
“It is.”
She studied the sculpture. “No offense, but her nose is narrower and she has much higher cheekbones. More like mine.”
My nerves were buzzing. I felt my blood sizzling. “Get out, Tanya!”
