Page 3 of Rainshadow Road

He gave Lucy a resigned glance. “Do we need a bonding experience?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Very well. Have you decided what kind of experiment you want to do?”

“It’s going to be a report,” Lucy said. “About glass.”

“What about doing a space-themed project? We could make a model of the solar system, or describe how stars are formed—”

“No, Daddy. It has to be about glass.”

“Why?”

“It just does.” Lucy had become fascinated by glass. Every morning at breakfast she marveled at the light-gifted material that formed her juice cup. How perfectly it contained bright fluids, how easily it transmitted heat, coldness, vibration.

Her father took her to the library and checked out grown-up books about glass and glasswork, because he said the children’s books on the subject weren’t detailed enough. Lucy learned that when a substance was made of molecules that were organized like bricks stacked together, you couldn’t see through it. But when a substance was made out of random disorganized molecules, like water or boiled sugar or glass, light found its way through the spaces between them.

“Tell me, Lucy,” her father asked as they glued a diagram to the trifold board, “is glass a liquid or a solid?”

“It’s a liquid that behaves like a solid.”

“You’re a very smart girl. Do you think you’ll be a scientist like me when you grow up?”

She shook her head.

“What do you want to be?”

“A glass artist.” Lately Lucy had started to dream about making things out of glass. In her sleep she watched light glimmer and refract through candy-colored windows… glass swirling and curving like exotic undersea creatures, birds, flowers.

Her father looked perturbed. “Very few people can actually earn a living as an artist. Only the famous ones make any money.”

“Then I’ll be a famous one,” she said cheerfully, coloring the letters on her trifold board.

On the weekend, her father took her to visit a local glassblowing shop, where a red-bearded man showed her the basics of his craft. Mesmerized, Lucy stood as close as her father would allow. After the glassblower melted sand in a high-temperature furnace, he pushed a long metal rod into the furnace and gathered molten glass in a glowing red lump. The air was filled with the scents of hot metal, sweat, scorched ink, and ash from the wads of wet newspaper the studio used to hand-shape the glass.

With each additional gather of glass, the glassblower enlarged the fiery orange mass, turning it constantly, reheating it frequently. He added an overlay of blue frit, or ceramic powder, onto the post and rolled it on a steel table to distribute the color evenly.

Lucy watched with wide-eyed interest. She wanted to learn everything about this mysterious process, every possible way to cut, fuse, color, and shape glass. Nothing had ever seemed so important or necessary to know.

Before they left the shop, her father bought her a blown-glass ornament that looked like a hot-air balloon, painted with shimmering rainbow stripes. It hung on its own little stand made of brass wire. Lucy would always remember it as the best day of her entire childhood.

***

Later in the week, when Lucy came home from soccer practice, early evening had turned the sky dark purple, with an overlay of clouds like the silvery wax bloom on a plum. Stiff-legged in her armor of plastic shin guards encased in tube socks, Lucy went to her room and saw that the lamp on her nightstand had been turned on. Alice was standing there, holding something.

Lucy scowled. Alice had been told more than once that she wasn’t allowed to go into her room without permission. But the fact that Lucy’s room was off-limits seemed to have made it the one place Alice most wanted to be. Lucy had suspected that her sister had sneaked in there before, when she’d discovered that her stuffed animals and dolls weren’t in their usual places.

At Lucy’s wordless exclamation, Alice turned with a start, something dropping from her hands to the floor. The resulting shatter caused them both to jump. A flush of guilt swept over Alice’s small face.

Lucy stared dumbly at the glittering mess on the wood floor. It was the blown-glass ornament that her father had bought for her. “Why are you in here?” she demanded with incredulous rage. “This ismyroom. That wasmine.Get out!”

Alice burst into tears, standing with the broken glass shards around her.

Alerted by the noise, their mother dashed into the room. “Alice!” She rushed forward and plucked her off the floor, away from the glass. “Baby, are you hurt? What happened?”

“Lucy scared me,” Alice sobbed.

“She broke my glass ornament,” Lucy said furiously. “She came into my room without asking and broke it.”

---