A Different Blue(60)

her gestures and hands movements accenting everything she said, but Wilson had her giggling

uncontrollably more than once. When they finally signaled that they wanted their check, Tiffa

reached out and took my hand as if we were old friends. It was all I could do not to yank it

back.

“Blue! You have to settle this for us! Darcy here says you know something about carving. There

are some fabulous carvings in the shop there, that I saw on the way in. You wouldn't know

anything about them, would you?”

I was stricken with sudden self-consciousness, and for a minute I didn't know how to respond.

“Uh, what would you like to know?” I answered cautiously.

“Darcy says it's your last name carved into the base of each one. I told him they couldn't

possibly be yours. No offense, luv, but they are seasoned, if that makes any sense.”

“They're mine,” I blurted out. “If that's all you need, here's your check. You can pay at the

register. Thank you for coming in.” I rushed away, breathless, and barged into the kitchen like

someone was after me. I found myself actually looking for some place to hide, as if Wilson and

his sister would actually chase me and tackle me to the ground. After a minute of cowering, I

marshalled enough courage to peek through the swinging doors separating the kitchen from the

dining room.

They were browsing the gift shop, pausing beside several of my pieces. Tiffa ran her fingers

along one of them, commenting to Wilson, though I couldn't hear what she said. I was struck with

self-consciousness all over again, horror and elation warring in my chest. I turned away, not

wanting to see more. It was close to closing time, and the cafe was almost empty, so I managed

to hide out in the kitchen, doing my closing duties, waiting for them to leave.

About half an hour later, Jocelyn, the night manager, came bursting through the double doors

into the kitchen, her face wreathed with smiles.

“Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh, Blue! That lady in that sweet fur coat? She just bought all your

carvings. Every one of them! She put them on her credit card and said she would send a truck to

pick them up in the morning. You just made like $1000 bucks! There were ten of them! She had me

walk behind her with a calculator, and we added them all up, plus she added a $200 tip for you

because she said they were 'pathetically underpriced!'” She waggled her fingers, indicating

quotations.

“She bought all of them?” I squeaked.

“All except one, and that was because the guy she was with insisted that he wanted it!”

“Which one?”

“All of them!”

“No, I mean, which one did the guy want?”

“The one closest to the exit. Come here! I'll show you where it was. He took it with him.”

She squealed like a little girl and turned, racing from the kitchen as I scampered behind her. I

was kind of surprised by her obvious excitement for me.

“There! It was right there!” Jocelyn pointed at a large empty space on a shoulder-high shelf.

“It had a funny title . . . The Arch? Yeah! I think it was that one.”

Wilson had taken ‘The Arc.’ I felt a thrill that he had recognized it for what it was. I had

found a piece of mesquite that hid a curve in its line. Slowly, I had cut away the wood, forming

the suggestion of a woman on her knees, back curved like a cat, deeply bowed in worship or