Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lily
The sun had barely risen when Lily slipped out the back door, the dew still clinging to the grass and the cool hush of morning wrapping itself around her like a shawl. She hadn’t planned on going to the studio today, but something pulled her there. The quiet urge to do something had returned.
Lily could still remember the way David had grinned when he led her down the narrow, grassy path toward his family’s boathouse, hand in hand, barefoot in the early spring sun.
The air had smelled of damp earth and the promise of warmer days, and she’d been laughing as he kept glancing over at her, unable to contain whatever surprise he was hiding.
When they reached the edge of the property, she saw the old boathouse: weathered gray shingles, slightly slanted roof, its dock long reclaimed by the tide.
It had been in his family for decades but unkept over the last few years.
It was half-swallowed by vines and salt air. She looked at him, puzzled.
“What are we doing here? Oh no, do you guys have to sell it in the estate?” Tears pricked her eyes.
She’d always loved this place. You walked in and could feel the history and the love of everyone who’d ever stepped foot in it.
There was so much space and possibility blooming in it.
With David’s father having just passed away, she had braced herself for what part of his family legacy they would have to part with to pay off his father’s bills.
David squeezed her hand. “It’s ours.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, breath catching a little.
“I mean…” He gestured toward the structure with a proud smile. “The boathouse is ours. But I thought… it should be your studio. For real. Not just the garage. You could teach classes, show more of your work, maybe even sell right here. It’s perfect, Lil.”
Her mouth fell open. “Are you serious?”
He nodded, eyes shining. “Dead serious. We’ll fix it up. Put in new windows, maybe update the porch out front. I can build you shelving. You tell me what you need, and we’ll make it happen.”
Lily threw her arms around his neck, heart thundering. “David Hartman, you’re out of your mind. This is…this is…wait, did you have to buy out Henry?”
He kissed her cheek. “No, I mean, I offered, but he wanted no part of it. He said it would be perfect for your studio and that he hoped I’d set something up for my woodworking.”
“Oh, that would be amazing. We could both be here doing what we love, every day.”
She had already begun picturing it then: rows of clay-dusted wheels, sunlight pouring through tall panes of glass, the gentle clinking of mugs and bowls on display shelves. A space that smelled of earth and glaze, filled with laughter, creativity, and the hum of something real.
They spent the rest of that afternoon walking the space, David pointing out which beams needed replacing, Lily talking excitedly about a kiln in the back corner.
They dreamed out loud, tripping over each other’s sentences.
The boathouse had been a relic of the past. Together, they would breathe new life into it. Put a new legacy to the Hartman name.
And they had.
Now, every time she crossed the threshold into that studio, she could still feel that moment—the beginning of something made with love, built with hands that knew hers better than anyone else ever would.
Her hands were tucked into the sleeves of her cardigan as she walked the short distance into town, where her studio sat.
On spring days, when it was somewhat warm but still nice and cool, it was nice to get out into the fresh air and let her lungs breathe in that salty ocean air.
It had been too long since she’d taken this walk, and she hadn’t realized how much she had missed it.
The walk and the studio still felt like hers, but they hadn’t always.
For a while after everything happened, just unlocking the door felt like betrayal.
Like moving forward meant letting go. But Saturday had been different.
Saturday, there had been laughter and clay under her fingernails, and for a few sweet moments, she’d forgotten how much it used to hurt.
Inside, the air was still, slightly warm from the residual heat of the kiln Anna had left running the night before. The red glow behind the small window of the chamber made her smile. She set down her bag and walked over, crouching to peer in.
The kids’ pieces were in there—uneven bowls, chunky cups, a lumpy sort-of-animal someone swore was a dog—but they were perfect.
Not in form, but in energy. They were proud of those shapes, their small hands shaping something that existed now because they believed it should. She felt lucky to be part of that.
Lily moved softly around the studio, slipping into the rhythm she had once known like the back of her hand.
She turned on the wheel, filling her bucket with water and reaching for a lump of clay she had prepped but forgotten about yesterday.
Her foot pressed the pedal, and the wheel began to spin, a low hum filling the room.
The moment her hands touched the clay, something inside her stilled. It didn’t hurt to breathe here. It didn’t feel like pretending. Here, she wasn’t anyone’s widow, anyone’s mother, anyone’s anything. She was just Lily. A woman with her hands on the wheel, shaping something out of nothing.
Hours passed. The light shifted. Birds stirred in the trees outside. She lost herself in the work, letting her fingers guide the clay up into vases, cups, bowls. Letting it collapse when it needed to. Letting herself be imperfect. The silence wasn’t empty here, it was sacred.
By midmorning, the kiln had cooled enough for her to check the bisque firing. She opened it carefully, the metal still warm beneath her gloves, and smiled at the sight inside. Everything had held. The colors weren’t fully revealed yet, but the promise was there.
She set each piece down carefully on the table beside her, spacing them so they wouldn’t knock together.
She made mental notes of who had made what: Nora’s little blue bowl with the flower print, Blaze’s attempt at a mug, complete with a crooked handle.
Her heart tightened with something warm and unfamiliar.
It felt good.
She cleaned up slowly, washing the slip from her hands, letting the water run over her wrists longer than necessary. Then she turned off the wheel, wiped down the tables, and locked up behind her.
The walk back to the house felt different, much lighter than anything had felt all year.
From a distance, she could hear voices,—laughter, the excited shriek of a child, the unmistakable bark of Max.
As she rounded the final corner, her steps slowed.
The yard was bathed in golden light. Blaze and Nora were in the grass, racing each other around in wide, looping circles, Max bounding after them, tongue lolling out in joy.
Anna sat on the porch swing, her legs tucked up, a book forgotten on her lap as she talked to Tom.
Margot stood at the railing, leaning forward to call something out to the twins.
It looked like something from someone else’s life. Someone else’s happiness.
But it was hers.
And she was here. She didn’t like that her son-in-law was overseas, in danger, but she loved the fact that for now, the kids and Anna were here with her. Their arrival had helped pull her out of her funk, that’s for sure.
Lily stepped up onto the porch slowly, not wanting to break the spell. Tom turned first, giving her a warm, easy smile that made her stomach flutter in a way she wasn’t ready to examine.
“Hey,” he said. “We were wondering where you ran off to.”
Anna turned too, her face soft. “She went to the studio,” she answered before Lily could. “You put the kids’ stuff in the kiln, didn’t you?”
Lily nodded. “I wanted to get a jump on it. Everything turned out really well. I think they’re going to love how it looks once we glaze.”
Blaze noticed her then and came sprinting over, Max close on his heels. “Did our stuff cook?” he asked breathlessly. “Did it turn into real pottery?”
She laughed and grinned back at him. “It did,” she said. “Everything made it through. Want to see it later?”
He nodded so hard his whole body bounced, then ran back to tell his sister the news.
Tom stood and walked down the steps to join the kids, giving Max a scratch behind the ears and tossing a stick for him to chase. Anna watched him go with a slight tilt of her head, then turned back to Lily.
“He’s good with them,” she said quietly.
“He is,” Lily said, her voice just as low. “He’s been… good. Just around. Not pushy. Just present.”
Anna nodded. Her mother’s words were full of a kind of awe she hadn’t heard in years. It wasn’t the sound of someone trying to hold it together. It was the sound of someone letting go, just a little.
Margot brought out lemonade, placing glasses on the railing and passing one to Lily. She took it, sitting in the chair next to Anna, letting her shoulders fall back. The scent of fresh-cut grass, warm sunshine, and clay still on her skin surrounded her.
Blaze and Nora laughed across the yard, Max barking in delight as they chased him. Tom pretended to get tangled in the hose, feigning dramatic collapse while the kids howled.
Lily smiled. Not out of politeness or effort, but because she couldn’t help it. Because it was good. Because it wasn’t scary to feel things today. Because it wasn’t heavy to breathe in this moment.
“Where have you been hiding the neighbor?” Margot asked quietly as she nodded toward Tom.
“I haven’t been hiding him anywhere,” Lily replied lightly. “I guess he just moved in not long ago and came over to introduce himself.”
“He’s handsome, but he’s also really nice,” Margot said.
“Is he? I hadn’t noticed,” Lily replied with a roll of her shoulders.
“I’m sure you hadn’t,” Margot giggled. “It’s nice to see you got that front step fixed before I broke my neck on it. Anna here tells me that he helped you get it situated.”
“That he did. He’s been really helpful with repairs this week. I’m grateful he introduced himself.”
“Only Lily would meet a good-looking single man and put him to work,” Margot teased with a shake of her head.
“I didn’t put him to work. He volunteered.”
“Sure, sure,” Margot giggled as she winked at Lily playfully.
Lily rolled her eyes before shaking her head. She took a sip of lemonade and laughed when Nora yelled at Max to stop drinking from the sprinkler. Tom gave her a helpless shrug as the dog shook himself off, soaking all three of them.
Lily looked at her daughter. At Margot. At the man playing with her grandchildren like he’d always been part of their story. She closed her eyes briefly, letting the warmth of the sun soak into her.
“Did you create anything while you were at the studio?” Anna asked softly.
“I did. I turned on the wheel and made some passes, at least. It’s not a masterpiece, but it felt good to feel the clay in my fingers.”
“I’m sure it did. It’s incredible what that does for you, Mom. You’re glowing with happiness. Your eyes are so bright and happy. It’s…it’s nice to see you like this. I guess we take a lot for granted sometimes.”
“We sure do, honey,” Lily said with a sigh.
The grief wasn’t gone. But it wasn’t winning either. She didn’t feel as helpless and lost anymore, and that felt nice. It was hard to explain, but it really did feel like the fog around her was starting to dissipate slowly. And Lily was finally accepting that it was okay.