Page 7 of Dream Weaver
And, ouch. My own tone made me mourn. Was I that jaded? That isolated?
But the walls of my inner fortress were already flying up, the drawbridge drawn, the moat filled.
Walt sighed, then turned to Rich. “Can you give us a second, please?”
Without waiting for a response, he pulled me gently aside.
“Now, Abby…”
As a kid, I’d dreamed of a father figure who spoke in exactly that calm, steady tone. Someone to explain how the world worked and how I could fit in. Instead, I’d had to figure things out for myself — and always, always, the hard way.
I crossed my arms and glared.
“This is an important contract, and there’s no one who can do it better than you.”
Making me feel good was stage one of Walt’s argument. Stage two would be the business side, I knew.
“It’s a great opportunity for us too,” Walt continued. “Not just for the paycheck, but for the publicity.”
In my mental dictionary,paycheckstood in big, bold, gold-embossed text.Publicitywas the dirty word in the bottom corner of the P page.
I glanced over at Cooper, who was getting a similar lecture from Rich.
“It should be quiet for the next few weeks,” Rich told him. “And if we do get called out to a fire, you’ll have plenty of time to get to the station.”
If Cooper shoved his fists any deeper into his pockets, he’d be tickling his toes. Firefighters craved action, satisfaction, and thrills. They also craved sweat, blood, and tears. I knew, because I’d been one myself.
But unless you had a creative streak and enjoyed hammering at your inner demons,metal shop assistantscored high onsweatand low insatisfaction.
And, oops. My body heated with an alternative context tosweatyandsatisfied. My eyes roamed Cooper’s shoulders and chest, while my imagination put me horizontal and between those sculpted arms.
Bang, bang, bang,my inner vixen giggled.
I puffed air up over my face. Hormones were a bitch.
“I can do the job myself,” I assured Walt. “I just need the time to do it right.”
“You will have time to do it right — three weeks, with an assistant,” Walt said, then switched to bad cop mode. “You are going to do this job, Abby. You are going to do it well. And you are going to do it with Cooper’s help.” Then he turned to Rich with a huge smile, as if I’d actually agreed. “We’re on. Starting tomorrow. That will give Abby some time to prepare.”
Ha. A century wouldn’t be enough.
Pablo, another of Walt’s employees, was working a forge a few steps away, and I stared into the glowing embers. Step by mental step, I wandered into them, seeking refuge.
Every person had a place of mental retreat, I figured. For my sister Erin, it was gliding through the sky. For Pippa, it was shaping molten glass. When my daughter, Claire, needed to get away from it all — not all too often, thank goodness — she hunkered down under a blanket with her stuffed animals.
Fire was my refuge. Flames. Crackling, purifying heat. A place where I was invincible, where no one dared follow.
My breaths slowed, and I stroked the ink on my arms.
This is no big deal. Everything will be okay.The familiar old mantra looped around my mind, again and again.I’ve survived a lifetime of hard knocks. I will survive this too.
Vaguely, I sensed Walt and Rich shaking hands on the deal. I sensed Cooper looking at me, not at all pleased. I registered the bustle and clatter of the metal shop, a million miles away. But it was only when Walt clapped me on the back that I slipped out of my refuge.
“So, all set to start tomorrow. Right, Abby?”
His eyes lasered into me, stern but encouraging.You can do this.
You will do thiswas more like it, but hell. I was a responsible adult now, and a job was a job.
