Chapter Eight

Hauling her find home on the bus took longer than she’d planned, and she barely had time to shower and change. She pulled on a pair of skinny white jeans and topped it with a blue velvet Navajo shirt with silver buttons she’d found at a tag sale. The moccasins she wanted to wear would get water stained, so she opted for a pair of dockers. Running a brush through her hair just made it wilder, so she did a soft, fat French braid and clipped the bottom under with a silver barrette. Then grabbing her slicker, she headed to the art museum.

Rowan stood on the steps under a street lamp, looking somehow smaller than she remembered. He brightened when he saw her, and handed her a small package.

“What’s this?”

“A small token of my affection. Open it.” He ducked his head and watched her from under bushy brows, like a wild animal checking a clearing for safety.

Jessie opened the box. Inside were five unmatched silver spoons. They were obviously old and well loved, one with the marks of a  teething child, one worn to the brass below the silver plate where it had been held. She held one in the moonlight and watched it sparkle. She knew immediately that these were part of her sculpture.

“Rowan, they’re beautiful! I can’t believe how perfect they are.” She bent and kissed his cheek without thinking. He started, then slid his hand behind her neck, pulled her to him, and gave her a slow, warming kiss. They stood then, studying each other, awed by the strength of that kiss. Around them flowed the night life of the city, unaware that the universe had stopped. Humans and Otherlings alike passed them, but the new lovers were in a separate world.

Jessie was the first to pull up from that headlong dive into the unknown. She laughed, then said, “What was that? Rowan?”

“Ah…yes.” Coming to himself, he continued. “Perhaps we should go in.”

“Good idea. Come on.” Jessie took his hand. “I think you’re going to like this exhibit. My friend from school, Cate, has a couple of pieces. She does miniatures on driftwood. Very unique.” She chatted on, smoothing over the raw edges of their openness, relieving the tension.

They spent an hour perusing the exhibit, falling in love with the stained glass collages, laughing over the antics of the mimes in the courtyard. As they watched the show, a very slight young man with unruly white hair and twilight gray eyes approached them. He was dressed in black leather pants, boots, and a pale gray silk shirt.

“Rowan? What a pleasant surprise to see you here.” Rowan looked slightly embarrassed, but he recovered rapidly.

“Hello, Willy. I’d forgotten your fondness for art.”

“Oh, I never miss an opening! And who is this lovely young lady?”

“Jessie, this is Willy Raven. Willy, Jessie Martin.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Martin. Have you known Rowan long?”

“Please call me Jessie. Actually, no, we just met this summer in his delightful shop.”

“Ah yes, the shop. Quite the collection, eh? I’ve enjoyed shopping there myself for some years.”

They talked about the exhibition. Willy seemed very curious about Jessie, but finally they said good night and went their separate ways. Before they knew it, the museum was closing.

“Have you had dinner? I feel like sushi. Will you join me?” Rowan offered his arm, and Jessie took it as she stepped off the curb to cross the street.

“I am hungry. Thanks.” Jessie felt suddenly shy with this strange man. They walked along University with the night crowd around them. Music flowed from open doorways, and the coffee houses spilled their crowds to the curb. Reaching the Asian House, they settled into a table at the back of the room behind a silk Lotus tree.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, Jessie, but why isn’t any of your artwork in that exhibit?”

The question took her completely off guard. “My art? Oh, I haven’t made anything in years! I’m not an artist anymore.”

“Really? I thought – well, I just assumed…” Rowan paused, then started over. “When you talk about your art your whole face lights up. When you look at things, anything really, I can see that you are thinking of your art. Maybe you should do some more – I’d love to see you that full of light all the time.”

Jessie focused on the plate before her, thinking of the doorknob, the brass work, the spoons. “I have been thinking of a piece I’d like to do. You sort of inspired it.” She laughed. “At least, your wonderful oddments did.”

“That’s terrific! I can’t wait to see it!”

“I haven’t started it yet! But I have an idea…” They talked about her plans for the rest of dinner. Rowan drew a sketch on a napkin, and Jessie added to it. Before she left for home she knew how the piece would work.