Anything for Her(29)

He had started this time with a fairly detailed sketch. He wasn’t an artist that way—no one would ever want to frame one of his drawings—but he was deft enough with pencil or charcoal and paper to let him see where he was going. Adjust, tinker, crumple up the paper and start over. Satisfied, he’d begun several weeks earlier, although until recently no one else would have been able to tell where he was going.

He used machine tools sparingly in his carving, preferring to work with simple, handheld tools—various tempered-steel chisels, diamond tipped, for granite, a stonemason’s hammer and a carpenter’s rasp.

He’d roughed out the original form with a circular saw, breaking off chunks with a hammer. That form was a cylinder that reached toward what would be a point at one end were it not embedded in the flat base.

Nolan had roughed out fins at the other end. He’d drawn all over the body of the cylinder, the crude shape of his creatures, then begun trimming the stone between those lines so that the sculpted sea creatures would seem to be crawling over or attaching themselves to his cylinder—which when he was done would be a torpedo.

He concentrated today on the long tentacle of an octopus flung in a strange embrace over the casing of the torpedo, which seemed to have plunged nose-down into the seabed.

He switched between chisels, knowing which would work best, tapping with the hammer to break off bits of marble. He’d laid out an array of them; the marble was hard enough to dull tools frequently and he didn’t like to stop to sharpen them until he was ready for a break.

He’d trepanned beneath the tip of the tentacle to give the illusion the suction cups hadn’t quite completed the embrace. Creating those cups was possibly the most delicate part of the carving; he was pleasantly surprised by midmorning or so to realize he was satisfied with the effect. The texture left by the chisel blades remained to be smoothed away, but he’d made good progress today.

He didn’t usually work for longer than a three- or four- hour stretch on his sculptures. Even though his hands were strong, fatigue could become an issue. As he’d told Allie, these weren’t his bread and butter, either. More like a hobby, right now. He’d switch this afternoon to an entirely routine kitchen countertop he’d promised by Thursday.

Cassie was right inside the back door when he stepped into the house. He guessed she’d spent the past hours with her nose pressed to it. Her ecstasy now made him laugh, even though it was sad, too. How long would it take her separation anxiety to wear off? Weeks? Months? Years?

God, how long until Sean’s wore off? Was this what, in essence, Sean did when Nolan went out with Allie?

He took the dog out for a romp, leaving the leash on the coat hook by the door. Along with food and a collar, Sean had picked out a few toys for Cassie yesterday, after they dropped off Allie.

Nolan threw the rubber ball for her over and over, hoping to wear her out. More good manners on her part—she brought it back each time and dropped it at Nolan’s feet. He didn’t mind a little slobber, he had to wash his hands anyway.

Tuba, the brown tabby male cat, crouched on the workshop roof and watched with slit-eyed suspicion. Juparana, the girl, was staying out of sight; she’d probably sent her brother on a reconnaissance mission.

Nolan had named both for types of granite—Uba Tuba could be a speckled brownish, like the cat’s coat, and some variations of Juparana Champagne were the perfect mix of gray and peach that was, Nolan had learned, a diluted tortoiseshell coloration. Both granites were mined in Brazil, which fit since the cats were, he guessed, littermates.

Tuba vanished before Nolan decided he’d had enough.

Cassie wasn’t happy about being abandoned again, but he thought that, even if she didn’t know it, she’d be better off in the house than locked in the truck. At least she had water and food there.

He was dismayed when he got to Allie’s to find her car not there. He drove down to her shop, parked, peered into the darkened interior and even went around to the alley and knocked, in case she was in the back room. No response.

She could be anywhere. Grocery shopping, going to the bank, visiting a friend... Sitting in his truck, Nolan tried to decide what to do next. Drive around town looking for her car? That smacked of stalking. Grab a bite to eat and then go back to her apartment?

He could do that.

One burger and serving of fries later, he returned to find Allie still hadn’t come home. Leave her a note? He didn’t have paper in the car, and that was stupid anyway when he could call her cell phone.