A Different Blue(78)

His silence felt like condemnation. I stepped back from my sculpture and sighed loudly. “I have

an appointment with someone at Health and Human services. I should be able to get some kind of

medical assistance, and they will tell me where I can go to see a doctor, okay?”

“Good,” Wilson replied shortly, nodding his head. “You know you're going to have to stop

smoking too, right?”

“I don't smoke!” It was as if Wilson had heard my thoughts moments before.

Wilson lifted an eyebrow in disbelief, and smirked at me, waiting for me to come clean.

“I don't smoke, Wilson! I just live with someone who smokes like a chimney. So I smell like an

ashtray all the time. I can't help it if I reek, but thank you for noticing.”

Wilson had lost his doubtful smirk, and he sighed gustily. “I'm sorry, Blue. I'm incredibly

good at dropping clunkers. I don't have a big mouth, but somehow I manage to stick my foot in it

quite frequently.”

I shrugged, letting it go. He watched me work for a while, but he seemed preoccupied, and I

wondered why he lingered.

“Well that settles it . . .” he mumbled to himself. Then said to me, “Have you ever thought

about getting a place of your own?”

“Only every second of every day,” I replied wryly, not looking up from the line that was

emerging, changing my cello into a full symphony. The curve suggested sound and movement and a

continuity that I couldn't put into words but that somehow was conveyed in the line of the wood.

It happened like that – beauty would emerge almost by accident and I had to let it take me

where it wanted me to go. So often, I felt like my hands and heart knew something I did not, and

I surrendered the art to them.

“Can you take a break? I want to show you something that might interest you.”

I worried my lip, wondering if I would lose the thread of inspiration if I walked away. It was

almost done; I could go. I nodded to Wilson.

“Let me run inside and change.”

“You look fine. Let's go. It won't take long.”

I tugged at my ponytail, pulling the elastic free. I ran my fingers through my hair and decided

it didn't matter. In moments, my tools were put away and the unit locked up tight. I ran inside

and grabbed my purse, yanking a brush through my hair while I pulled on a T-shirt that was a

little less bare.

“A guy with a funny accent came looking for you,” Cheryl mumbled from the couch. “He sounded

like the professor from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But he was much younger – and cute too.

Moving up in the world, huh?” Cheryl had a thing for Spike on the show Buffy the Vampire

Slayer. She owned every season and watched it obsessively whenever she was between boyfriends.

It made her believe that her perfect guy was still out there – immortal, blood sucking, and

strangely attractive. Comparing Wilson to any member of the cast was high praise. I left without

commenting.

Wilson opened the passenger door for me me, and I managed not to say something sarcastic or tell

him that he did remind me a little of a young Giles. We pulled up outside his house, and I

remarked on the improved look of the exterior.

[page]“Initially, I focused all my attention on the interior, but once the three apartments

were completed, I turned my attention to the outside. In the last month she's had a new roof put