Page 59 of Share with Me

“And at church and at home. I study the Bible everyday.” Ivan coasted down Mallery Street. “It’s my compass. What’s your compass, Brinley?”

“Myself, I guess.” Brinley pointed to a car leaving a parking spot near the covered pier on top of which a single brown pelican perched. Decades before there would have been many of them. Now they were fewer in spite of their having been delisted as an endangered species.

After the car left, Ivan parked the truck. Brinley sprang out of the truck before he could offer to help her.

“Can you believe this weather? It’s actually warming up.” Brinley took off her peacoat, revealing a raspberry-colored fisherman sweater. She folded the peacoat and placed it neatly on the bench seat. The whole domestic activity didn’t seem to be lost on Ivan. Brinley ignored his stares as she tried not to slam that old door. Any moment now, she expected the passenger door to come right off its hinges.

When Brinley turned around, she saw that they had parked across the street from her sister-in-law’s gallery two doors down. “The Sandpiper Gallery is just over there.”

“Something special about it?”

“Not really. My sister-in-law owns it, but you won’t find her there. She rarely leaves her home since my brother died.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How long ago was this?”

“Five years.”

“Long time to be grieving.”

“They say if it’s true love, you never really get over it.”

“Is that right?” Ivan pocketed the truck keys into his jeans pocket. “What was your brother’s name?”

“Parker. He drowned in the ocean trying to save his daughter when she fell overboard from their fishing boat. Sadly, they’d both perished.” In fact, the junior high schooler had taken off her life jacket and jumped in, but that wasn’t the cover story the Brooks family wanted disseminated among Mom’s neighbors and friends. So Parker Brooks, thirty-six years old, became a hero and had been so for five years. His other daughter, a witness to the entire traumatic event, had been under psychiatric care ever since.

“Do you want to check out the gallery?” Ivan seemed relaxed, like they had all the time in the world.

Brinley hadn’t noticed until now that Ivan was quite tall, at least six one. She supposed that on Thursday night when they both helped his grandma out of the dinner party that they had to lean down as they walked and such. And when he had spoken to her briefly, she was in heels and taller than she really was. Today she was in her usual Keen boots, and her eyes came up to where his lips were—

Don’t go there!

They crossed the road and walked down the sidewalk to Sandpiper Gallery. The only person working there was a college-aged girl with hot pink hair working on a laptop. Brinley had never seen her before. She looked up from her keys and greeted them.

“Welcome to Sandpiper Gallery. We have some new pottery pieces from local potters along that window, and also new art pieces by some area watercolorists. Feel free to browse around and let me know if you need anything.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Brinley noticed that Ivan followed her around through the gallery, as if he didn’t have his own plans. She went to the pottery pieces first, wondering if Riley Brooks had made those. There were wash bowls, platters, and the usual coffee mugs. They were all in some swirly brown and burnt sienna patterns.

She picked up a mug and turned it over. It wasn’t Riley’s piece, but another local artist had signed and dated it this year. The coffee mugs were thirty dollars.

“That’s almost the same color as your hair,” Ivan said. “I like it.”

“The mug or my hair?”

“Will you think poorly of me if I said both?”

“No. I don’t care either way. I do like these mugs.” Brinley picked up another one. It had a bit of a heft to it. The handles were made well, sturdy and wide enough for her to put four fingers through. The dab of clay on top of the handle was perfect for her thumb. She held it up. “Good balance.”

Ivan picked up one. “Nice handle. Good hold.”

They both looked at each other, mugs in their hands.

“We should each get one,” Ivan said.

Brinley thought a moment. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Hot Pink wrapped up the mugs in too much newsprint. Brinley and Ivan each had a paper bag to carry their coffee mugs home. They paid separately, Ivan using a debit card, and Brinley paying in cash.

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