It’s all a lie, Gran’s voice warns, but it’s far off and muffled, and I can barely hear the warning over the sound of my pounding heart.
I step back and reluctantly let go of his hand. Even though I’m not touching him, the heat of his palm is still imprinted on mine.
“It’s not your fault.”
He frowns, looks at the studio full of glass. “Then what? You should be selling in museums, galleries, in stores and online. Why are you working three jobs? Why am I not doing everything I can to make the whole world see your work?”
I shake my head. “It’s not that simple.” I reach out and run my hand over a cerulean blue sphere. “Do you know why I started glassblowing?”
I look over at him and then realize how silly my question is.
He smiles. “Maybe I once did.”
I shake my head. Then I walk across the concrete floor to the farthest shelf. Gavin follows, his footsteps whispering behind mine. I can feel him, his warm presence comforting and solid, and I want to lean into him. Instead, I reach out and pick up a clear flower. It’s lopsided, varying thickness, the petals uneven, it’s clearly the work of a beginner.
“This is the first piece I ever made.” I hold it out to him and when he opens his hand I set the flower in his palm. “It’s not pretty. Not anything special.”
He nods.
“Mr. Garza, he was my mentor, he always claimed glassblowing is Gradus Ad Parnassum.”
“Right. The steps to Parnassus.”
I lift my eyebrows and Gavin stares back at me. “I speak Latin? Why do I know Latin?”
I lick my lips nervously. He watches my mouth and says. “Nitimur in vetitum. We strive for the forbidden.” Then he looks down at the flower and gives a wistful smile. When he looks up he shakes his head. “I’m sorry. Tell me more about your mentor.”
I glance at the flower and take a deep breath. “Mr. Garza. He started the glassblowing studio in Hollow Creek. It’s still there, that’s where I do all my work.”
“Not here?” Gavin looks around the barn.
“No. You need your furnaces, glory holes, annealers, benches…what?”
Gavin grins. “You and your holes. I’d really like to see this glory hole.”
“Maybe I’ll take you down. Help you make your first flower. You can stick your punty in the glory hole—”
“That’s in the cards?”
“Hmm.”
We stand there for a moment, just grinning at each other. Then I shake myself out of the moment and say, “You need a lot of space, insurance, fire codes in place. Mr. Garza left the studio to the town, and it’s run by a group of volunteers. I keep my supplies and my batches there. But I work out my ideas and bring my finished products here.”
“So, when do you find time to blow?” He lifts an eyebrow and I get the feeling he’s trying really hard not to add innuendo.
“I go between jobs, when the kids are at school. An hour here or there.”
Gavin carefully sets the glass flower back on the shelf. Then he wanders down the row, looking closely at every piece. I follow, biting at my lip, watching his reactions.
“So, Gradus Ad Parnassum?”
I push my hair behind my ears, suddenly feeling hot at his close proximity. “Right. Mr. Garza said glassblowing is just like the steps to Parnassus. There are mountains in central Greece, and you walk each one, getting higher and higher as you go, until finally you can climb the highest, Parnassus, where Apollo and the nine muses live. Nobody can reach Parnassus at the beginning, but if you work hard, and practice, then you’ll eventually get there.”
He looks back to the shelf. “So you start with a flower.”
“And you end with elaborate, technically difficult works of art inspired by the muses. Parnassus. It’s a long road though.”
He frowns. “So you aren’t selling these because they aren’t Parnassus? Don’t you believe in yourself? Didn’t I believe in you too?”