CHAPTER FIVE

The silence stretched, stretched some more. Grew awkward. Finally, Jacob said, “I haven’t tried throwing since I was a kid. Watching you just now, I thought maybe I should have kept at it.”

I stood, happy that the tension had been broken. “Try it; see what you remember.”

“It’s been fifteen, sixteen years, easy.” He shook his head. “I don’t remember the first thing about it.”

I grabbed him an apron and cut a chunk of clay, maybe two pounds. I softened it, shaped it, and handed it to him. “Worst thing that happens, I have to run this through the pug mill with the rest of my scrap. Go ahead!”

He took the clay, looking dubious, as I pulled my pitcher and its bat off the wheel. Taking a seat on the stool in front of the wheel, he carefully placed the clay on the wheelhead, trying to get it as close to the center as he could.

I squatted on the other side of the wheel. “It’s more important that the clay adhere properly. Try picking it back up, and slam it down as close to the center as you can manage.”

He looked at me, nodded, and did what I’d suggested. Without prompting, he went around the edge of the clay with his thumb, tightening the seal. Then he got the clay wet, got the wheel going, and put his hands on either side of the clay. He did a good job coning up, then used his right hand to push the cone from the top into the mold formed by his left hand.

“Really anchor that left elbow so you don’t get any wobble or movement,” I instructed. “And press the base of your left hand firmly on the wheelhead. How does it feel?”

He watched the clay spin, feeling it move through his hands. “Not . . . not centered yet.”

“Right. Cone up and compress again.”

He did that, then looked at me.

“Don’t look at me,” I admonished. “In fact, don’t look at anything. Close your eyes. Feel the clay. Trust what your body tells you. Is it centered?”

He closed his eyes, extending his other senses to compensate. He was still for a minute, maybe two, and the tension in his features eased. He looked . . . younger, somehow. “It’s centered,” he said, opening his eyes again.

I smiled. “Excellent. Do you remember how to open the form?”

He shook his head. “I don’t.”

“No worries. Bring both hands to the top, letting your palms and fingers curl over the sides, with the thumbs right above the middle. Okay?”

My instructions had been a bit hard to follow; instinctively, I came behind him, reached around and helped place his hands in the correct position. “Like that.”

“Yup – got it.”

“Okay, bring even pressure with both thumbs – drive down the center of the clay, until you’re close to the bottom, but not all the way through. Then, pull your thumbs horizontally, opening the space, while your hands keep the exterior of the disk on center.”

I walked him through, step-by-step, until he had a short cylinder, maybe four inches tall. Then I had him rib it out into a shallow bowl and fix his rim.

“Feels like a bit too much clay at the base,” he said, feeling it.

I gave his shoulders a light squeeze. “There is, and you would fix that at the trim stage if you finished the piece. But your clay’s getting soft, and if you keep going now, you’ll wreck what you’ve done. And believe me: what you’ve done is pretty remarkable, given how long it’s been since you touched clay.”

He straightened his back. “Ouch! I see why you do yoga!”

“Want to do another, to lock it in?” I asked.

“No need.” He stood. “I didn’t really appreciate it when I was a kid – wasn’t much for sitting still! But I’m a different person, these days. I’d love to take lessons again.”

“Bound to be places near you,” I said.

“Oh, yeah. Really more a matter of time than place. I’ve got a lot more going on than I did a year ago.”

“I hear ya,” I said. “Kara said you work for the Park Service?”

“Forest Service, actually. It’s a good gig, for me – Pennsylvania’s portion of the Appalachian Trail is literally my duty station. It’s a full-time job and I love it. But Brea’s kind of a full-time job too. Well, not job. But you know what I mean.”

“I do, I do! Kara’s my full-time job as well – and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I wired his piece off the wheel, put it on a ware board, and moved both pieces to my drying area, where I covered them loosely with plastic. “Though . . . when I’m working, I kind of forget everything else. As you just saw.”

He grabbed a sponge and started cleaning the wheel. “I tend to lose track of time in the woods, as well . . . though I have to say, I don’t think I’ve ever been as much in the moment as you were when you were throwing.”

“If there’s ever a fire in here, I’ll probably be the last to know,” I said, echoing Kara.

“Will you do a handle for the pitcher?” he asked.

“Maybe an hour before I’m ready to trim, when the pot’s leather hard. If I left it uncovered, it’d be ready to trim tomorrow, but with the plastic on it’ll wait ’til I’m back from Pittsburg.”

He chuckled. “‘Pot.’ That sure brings me back. Mugs, cups, casserole dishes – they were all ‘pots’ to mom.”

“Well, she’s a ‘potter.’ Potters make ‘pots.’ It’s what we do.”

“Was, in her case. But yeah, that’s pretty much what she told me, too.” He finished his cleaning, rinsed his hands and dried them on a towel. “Okay, boss. Let’s get your loading done.”

We went to the back of the studio and got my bins and packing materials, then started carefully wrapping the bisqueware and putting it into bins, making use of paper mache “peanuts” and newspaper to further protect each piece.

After we’d been at it a while, I pulled the trailer around and we started loading up the bins as they were filled, the better to clear space. We worked in companionable silence. I’m not used to company while I work, and silence seemed to flow from Jacob naturally.

I was at least sufficiently aware that I was not alone that I kept track of the time and made sure we broke for lunch around 1:00. Back in the kitchen, I cut up some chicken, apple, and walnuts and mixed them into a salad with lettuce and blue cheese.

As we sat down, Jacob said, “Kez . . . can I ask you a personal question?”

“Go for it – though I don’t promise I’ll answer!”

“When I saw you this morning, I thought you maybe just liked wearing womens’ things. But I’ve spent more time with you, and I’m thinking, maybe you’re trans . . . It doesn’t bother me, one way or another, but I don’t want to inadvertently say something that would offend you.”

“I’m not all that easy to offend,” I answered. “And I don’t have a good answer to your question. Which is weird itself, right? Sometimes I feel very feminine; sometimes not so much. I don’t feel especially masculine ever, though I can still pass for male. What does all that make me? People are coming up with new labels all the time, trying to capture variations. Transwoman; transfeminine, demigirl, non-binary. I’m not sure which is the best fit for who I am. Maybe ‘gender fluid.’”

He looked at me sympathetically. “Do you use ‘he,’ ‘she,’ ‘they’? Something else?”

I shrugged. “Any and all of them, at one time or another. I know it’s a matter of respect for a lot of people in my position, and I get that. I do. But I’ll be honest with you – it’s not something I get worked up about, personally. I think of myself as ‘Kez,’ and I answer to just about anything, long as the speaker’s being polite. Or trying to be, anyways.”

“Unusual name, ‘Keziah.’ Sounds kind of Old Testament?”

I laughed. “Oh, it is – not that my parents knew that when they picked it. I think Mom heard it somewhere and liked how it sounded, and Dad probably thought it was righteous or some such. Neither of ’em ever gave a single thought to religion in their lives, far as I know – which no doubt made my life a lot easier. Anyhow – ironically enough, given how I turned out – ‘Keziah’ was a girl’s name. One of the daughters of Job – the ones he got after God iced his first family. It means, ‘restored to the heart of God.’”

He smiled. “Well, it’s a good name for you. When you were lost in your throwing, I could easily imagine you being in the heart of God.”

I felt my blush coming back. “Ummm . . . wow! I mean, I know I space out. But I’ve honestly got no idea what I look like when I’m throwing. Apart from muddy. For all I know, I drool.”

Jacob caught my discomfort and went with my change in tone. “Not that I noticed, anyway, but I certainly might have missed it.”

We finished our lunch, cleaned up, and went back to work.

It was probably 3:30 when my cell phone rang and I paused to take the call. “Janey! Everything looking good?”

Janey’s voice – raspy after four decades of smoking a pack a day, until a cancer scare made her stop – was unmistakable. “More’r less, as usual. The kiln’s good to go, the weather looks nice – though we’re going to need to factor in a high pressure system. But Darla, Shep and Charlie had to cancel. Shep caught COVID, Darla’s taking care of him, and Charlie’s taking care of her. You know how it is.”

I did. Our household had gone through our own bout of COVID – mercifully, after we’d both been vaccinated. It had not been a terribly productive ten days. “Ouch – how much were they in for?”

“About as much as you, between the three of them,” she responded.

My mind raced through the possibilities. “No way someone can pick up their stuff?”

“I got no one I can send to Mississauga on short notice. Jem went and broke his leg two days ago, when he was bringing in new shelves.”

“Shite,” I said. “Look, Janey, you know we’re going to need some more wares. Nothing will come out right if we’ve got that much dead space.”

She cackled. “Teach your granny to suck eggs, why dontcha? I know all that! I talked to Debbie down at NHTI. She’s got some students who’ve got pieces ready to go. They weren’t planning to wood fire ’em, but they’re all cone 11 clays so they’ll do in a pinch. At least the kiln won’t be empty. You got any extras you can bring?”

I laughed. “Well, there’s the monster, of course. But other than that, I’m already bringing everything that’s appropriate for the train.”

“Hell, yes, bring the monster! Its time might finally have come!”

“Okay, I’ll load it up. But . . . Janey, we’re going to be down four experienced workers, too. Are the students going to stay to fire?”

“Two of ’em will, and that’ll help, though they’ve got zippo experience. But yeah, we’ll have to completely change the schedule. I’m gonna need to lean on you even more’n usual.”

“Hundred percent, far as that goes. I’ll be there by 3:30 or 4:00, okay?”

“Perfect. See ya then, Kez!”

I hung up.

“That didn’t sound like good news,” Jacob commented.

“It’s always something. No matter how much you plan, something happens. Janey’s always able to roll with it. But I do have to figure out how to transport that monster.” I pointed to a corner of the pot storage area, where a large and somewhat dusty piece of bisqueware was propped against both walls.

“What is that?” he asked.

“An exercise in vanity,” I laughed. “It’s a replica of an amphora – what the Phonecians and Greeks used to ship things like wine and olive oil – don’t ask me why. I did it just to see if I could. Had to throw it in three pieces and put them all together. It’d be awesome if I could fire it in the front of a train kiln, or maybe in an anagama, so that it could get a good coating of wood ash. With the clay body I used, it’d look like something Ballard pulled up from the bottom of the Black Sea.”

I looked at it wistfully, seeing the finished product in my mind’s eye, as I had so many times before. Then I shook my head. “But, it’d take up a huge amount of prime space. Back when I made it, I wasn’t thinking about things like that.”

In the end, we wrapped the entire thing in multiple layers of bubble wrap, then placed it in a plastic trash bin that was filled with the paper mache popcorn. Then we put the trash bin in a corner of the trailer and lashed it firmly in place.

In his quiet and unobtrusive way, Jacob was a lot of help in the packing and loading process. Between the two of us, we were done by 4:00.

I pulled the hair that had escaped my ponytail out of my sweaty face. “Miller time, Jacob!”

He laughed. “Tell me you’ve got something better than that!”

“We do – though I’ll confess, I’ve got the Miller, too, and I’ll have one. It’s almost completely water, and right now, that’s just what my body needs.”

“Hadn’t thought of that,” he conceded. “Though, I think I’ll have the water by itself, and save my alcohol ration for something worth drinking!”

“Suit yourself,” I said. We walked back toward the house. “I’ll want to shower before the girls get home.”

“Me too.” He took a few more steps, then said, a bit shyly, “Any thoughts on how to keep the two of them from going crazy before we leave them to their own devices?”

I shook my head. “I honestly don’t have much experience with this. Before now, they’d always gone away somewhere. So I didn’t have to deal with Brea feeling jealous about me and Kara. Or Kara feeling jealous about Brea and someone else.”

“Maybe I could just have a headache tonight. Chalk it up to a hard day’s work.” He sounded half serious.

“I get where you’re coming from . . . but honestly, I wouldn’t. If Brea’s the girl for you, don’t back down, and don’t let my lovely wife’s occasional dagger looks worry you. She knows she’s misbehaving. And honestly, I think she’s trying. I think they’re both trying.”

“So . . . what’s your plan for the evening?” he asked.

“Me? Look, I’ll never match Brea in the looks department. Never! She’s – well, you know. She’s a fine looking woman! But that doesn’t mean I have to go all male. I think – if it won’t bother you, that is – I’ll go for being a perfect hostess. How’s that?”

He laughed. “You must make life interesting for Kara!”

“Oh, I do! And I think she likes that – the unpredictability.”

“Then – if you don’t mind! – I think I’ll look suitably dashing and play the man card to the hilt.” He grinned.

“That’s the spirit, Jacob,” I giggled. “Give your girl something to think about!”
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CHAPTER SIX

Kara called a bit before six, clearly from her car phone. “Hey, Kez! We’re on our way back. If you guys are beat, we can pick something up on the way home.”

“No worries, Kara. Jacob was a big help, we got done early, and I’ve got everything under control. The wine is decanting, the pork chops are marinating, and the potatoes are ready to go in. Everything should be done about ten minutes after you get here.”

“You’re amazing!”

“Ain’t I though?” I answered, letting her hear my smile. “See you in a few.”

“Please tell me there’s something I can do to help, here,” Jacob said.

He had changed into some jeans that fit him snugly in the rear end, a pair of well-worn Tecovas and a tailored dress shirt designed to be worn untucked. His sleeves were rolled up to just below his elbows, and he’d left the top two buttons unbuttoned, showing off just a hint of a curly chest hair. It was a good look for him, and should definitely draw Brea’s attention!

I grinned. “Please tell me that a manly man like yourself knows his way around the grill!”

He picked up my mood and ran it down the field like a football. “I’ll have you know, young lady, that I’m the Baron of the Barbeque, King of the Grill, and Emperor of all charred and meaty things!”

“Well, then, kick the tires and light the fires! The girls’ll be here in about half and hour, and I figured you could throw the chops on when their tires hit the gravel.”

He threw me an ironic salute and went out to the patio to do guy things with the Webber.

I buzzed around the kitchen, a lacy apron over my pastel yellow cocktail-length dress. Its halter-style top actually looked surprisingly good despite my flat chest, so I didn’t bother with padding. The view from the other side was – if I do say so myself – very satisfactory. I have a narrow waist and a nice back, and the dress provided an unobstructed view of my relatively slender shoulders and fine bones. Being an ectomorph was definitely a plus when I wanted to present as female.

One of the advantages of being a potter is that we eat on some pretty nice stuff. I pulled out dishes I had fired in a salt-soda reduction kiln and set the outdoor table, taking advantage of the beautiful weather. The wine was decanting in one of my pitchers; another held ice water with slices of cucumber. The drinking vessels – cups for the wine; larger pieces for the water – were all unique, but clearly the same clay, same touch of glaze, same kiln and same firing. It made for a table setting like no other.

I put all the lights – indoor and out – on a low-ish setting and put lantern-style candles on the table and the patio wall.

Jacob, fussing with his coals, looked up and smiled. “You look lovely, Kez. The hostess with the mostest!”

I was in full girly mode, so I blew him a kiss and buzzed back inside. As I did, I heard the crunch of gravel. I poked my head back through the slider and said, “Showtime, Jacob!”

I hung up my apron, checked my lipstick, and went to the door with cups of wine already poured.

Brea came in first and did a double take. “Kez! Jesus!”

I leaned in, bussed her cheek, and handed her a cup. “Welcome back, honey! You can drop your bag here. Your guy’s out on the patio seeing to the chops.”

“I . . . uh . . .” She shot Kara a bewildered look, and took a sip of wine while she got her bearings. “Thanks, sweetie. I’ll go see how he’s doing.” She went into the kitchen.

Kara was giving me a knowing look. She giggled. “Honey? Oh, you are a devil, Keziah Brown!”

I batted my eyes – eyes made luminous by various and sundry expensive cosmetic products – and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Kara!”

She took the wine cup, set it firmly on the table by the door, and gave me the kind of kiss I could feel to my painted toenails (which were nicely displayed by my strappy white sandals). “Miss me?” she growled, once she had finished power-washing my tonsils.

“Always,” I responded. Softly. Gently.

Sincerely.

She reached up and rested her palm against my cheek. “You okay?”

“Never better.”

She looked into my eyes as if she were searching my soul for any sign of hurt. Finally she sighed. “I love you so very much.”

“I know.” I smiled. “Now grab your wine, and let’s go be social. And try not to throw darts at Jacob, okay? This isn’t any easier on him than it is on you.”

“Yes, dear,” she said meekly. “I’ll be good – really.”

Out on the patio, Brea was half-perched on the sitting wall, chatting with Jacob in an animated fashion, apparently describing the wonders of Burlington. Don’t get me wrong, it’s my home city and I’m proud of it. But I also don’t have illusions.

Dinner was wonderful. Jacob had not oversold his prowess at the grill, and – while there were plenty of micro-tensions that wove through the conversation – it was clear to me that everyone was on their best behavior. As a sign of which, I noticed that there was no need to open a second bottle of wine. Apparently, no one wanted to test what might be said with a bit of alcoholic lubrication.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Jacob asked.

Kara looked at me, so I said, “I need to leave just after lunch. Everything’s packed, so I just turn the key and go. I’ve got no plans for the morning. Though, there’s a nice, short hike if people are interested.”

Jacob said, “I might be game. I just plan to buzz around and see the area some, so I can leave whenever.”

“Didn’t you make hotel reservations?” Kara asked.

He smiled. “I’m a ranger, remember? Tent and sleeping bag are in the car.”

She shook her head. “I can see the appeal . . . the freedom. But, ah . . . I like my morning showers!”

“Not to mention, a bed that doesn’t include rocks!” Brea shivered in horror.

“I do try not to put the tent down on rocks,” Jacob said solemnly. But his eyes were laughing.

Kara looked around the group and said, “Why don’t we just play it by ear in the morning, then. See what we feel like.”

“Sounds like a plan, lov . . . .” Brea stopped herself. She blushed, and finished, a bit more brightly than called for, “See you all in the morning!”

Jacob was saying something to Kara, so I followed Brea inside and closed the slider. “Hey Brea?”

She looked back at me, wary.

“I just wanted to thank you for trying so hard to make this work. I know it hasn’t been easy for you. Either of you.”

She was clearly surprised. Her expression eased, and she touched my shoulder. “Thanks, Kez. I’m sure it’s been hard on you, too. And thanks for a great evening.”

I smiled, warm and sincere. Truth is, she’s very hard not to like, and I’d always admired her. “Good night, Brea.”

Her eyes regained their usual twinkle, and she gave my appearance a last look. “Good night – Sweetie!”

We giggled – a rare moment of harmony – and she went off to bed.

I put my apron back on and went back out to clear the table.

Jacob moved to help, but I stopped him. “You gave me a full day’s work, Mister. Don’t worry about this.” He opened his mouth to say something, but I gave him a look, and moved my head and my eyes to indicate that he ought to follow Brea.

The light dawned, and he changed what he was going to say to, “If you’re sure?”

Smart man! “Absolutely. Go on!”

He went inside.

Kara was watching me, a sardonic smile on her face. “Got them all settled, do you?”

I walked over slowly – the patio’s pavers were, I learned, a bit of a navigation hazard with the heels of my sandals – and put my lower arms around her torso loosely, elbows at my sides. I dropped my head to her shoulder and closed my eyes. “Go easy on me, love. I’m doing the best I can.”

Her arms wrapped around me in bands of steel. “I know you are,” she whispered fiercely. “And I love you for it. Please don’t think I was criticizing.”

I found myself feeling strangely emotional; the events of the day just seemed to catch me all at once. The tensions . . . and the moments of quiet. I had a sudden vision of Jacob’s face, limned by a cloud of golden light . . . . I clutched Kara more closely.

“Hey! Hey! Are you okay, Dreamboat? It’s okay, babe.” Her voice was gentle. Insistent.

“Just . . . just a long day, that’s all.”

“And it’s enough, too! Listen: I want you to go and take a bath – a nice, calming bubble bath – and leave the clean-up to me. I’ll be there in a few to check up on you, okay?”

I was batting back tears, and I didn’t even know why. Normally, I’d insist on helping, but the idea of just collapsing was too seductive to resist. “Okay, love. Sorry.”

“Don’t you be sorry! Besides; you cooked. I’ve got this.”

I went back to our bedroom, feeling uncharacteristically wobbly on my heels. What is the matter with me? When I got inside, I got the bath started, then sat on the toilet with the seat down, just staring at the tub as the water rose and the bubbles formed.

It was a great day. A great evening, too. What’s come over me? I couldn’t reason my way to it. But when Kara had seemed to fault me for sending Jacob off to be with Brea, some sort of damn had broken inside. It’s not about you, Kez, I told myself.

But this time, a voice in my head talked back. Oh yeah? Why ISN’T it about me?

I had no answer to that, and no energy to find one. I slipped out of my nice dress and just let it fall to the tile. Panties and shoes followed. I put my hair, which I’d worn loose, into a cap, and stepped into the tub.

I woke sometime later to find Kara dressed for bed, perched on the side of the tub, holding a towel. I shook my head to clear it. “I must have dozed off . . . .”

She smiled softly. “I know. You looked so peaceful in there, I didn’t want to bother you. But it’s time for sleep. Preferably someplace where you won’t drown.”

“How long . . . ?”

She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. The dishes are done, the kitchen’s clean, your pretty dress and shoes and back in the closet, and I want you in my bed. Clear?”

“Well, if you put it that way . . . .”

“I do.” She transferred the towel to an arm and held out a hand. “Come on, let me help you out.”

I did feel a bit unsteady, so I was happy for the help. I set the tub to drain and stepped out onto the bath mat, taking the towel Kara had offered. She disappeared back into the bedroom, returning when I was dry with a clean cotton full-length nightgown in snowy white.

“Thanks . . . I really don’t know what hit me.” I pulled the nightgown over my head and pushed my arms through the three-quarter length sleeves.

She kissed my forehead gently. “Kez, honey . . . it’s a lot. For all of us. You’ve just been doing your usual thing, and worrying about everyone but yourself. There’s a price tag for that, and it looks like payment just came due.”

“I’ve got to be functional tomorrow,” I said, suddenly worried. “I can’t be, like, spaced out or something!”

“You’ll be fine, Honey. Honest. You just need some good rest, and I’m going to make sure you get it. Now, take off your makeup, moisturize, and brush your teeth.”

“Yes, Mom,” I said, ruefully.

“Long as you do what I say, I’ll take it,” she growled.

I did, and when I was finished I went into the bedroom to find Kara waiting for me. She had me sit on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, then she started brushing out my hair. Her strokes were long and even, soothing. She took her time about it, getting the undersides as well.

Finally she put down the brush, put her hands on my shoulders, and kissed me on the side of my neck. “I love you, Keziah Brown. You are my sunrise and my sunset. My always and forever. Now, come and get a snuggle.”

So I did. “Always and forever, Kara.”

To be continued . . . .