10. Isaac
Chapter 10
Isaac
The soft scrape of the tool on the clay is meditative as I carve. After months of swearing and begging my sketchbook and materials to give me an idea, Calysto’s Cove has provided me with an abundance of them. While metal has always been my medium of choice, there’s nothing hard and cold about this place or the people in it. The soft breeze through the open window warms me. It’s good to get my hands dirty again.
“Hello?” I hear Brinn’s voice call from downstairs, her muffled greeting to PB too low to hear.
“Up here,” I call.
I still haven’t looked at the sketches inspired by Brinn since the plane ride. I’m trying not to think about how it would feel to map every inch of her and immortalize her in sculpture. Because if I think about that, I’ll have to admit some uncomfortable truths I am diligently trying to ignore.
Mainly the fact that I am falling deeply, madly in love with her. A fact that’s increasingly impossible to deny when I see her for our daily walks.
Over the past couple of weeks, we’ve been able to get further from home. Pork Belly has been thrilled to make it to the meadow with both of us. She will excitedly drop her ball at our feet and make us take turns throwing it in the tall grass for her to find.
Every day, I watch Brinn’s shoulders lose some of that heavy weight that drags her back to her empty house. Every day, I reach for her hand when her sharp inhale of breath signals the moment we’ve stepped out of the invisible boundary that tethers her to it. Every day, I watch her lips curve and imagine kissing them. Every day, I do my best not to stare at her absolutely perfect ass. Every day, I listen to her laugh, her stories, her fears, and I tell myself I can’t have her.
I can’t ruin this sense of trust and safety between us and take another thing away from her. It would be selfish.
Her round, smiling face appears in the doorway as she peeks in, and I desperately want to be selfish.
“Hey. Sorry, I am a bit early. I can come back later,” she says as she steps into the doorway. The afternoon sun washes her in golden light, her silhouette like a sculpture of an ancient goddess.
I swallow and look back at the leather-hard sculpture in front of me. “I’m almost done if you want to stick around for a few minutes.” She nods and enters the room before claiming the chair at my desk. I resume working as she watches.
“You’re carving a rope?” she asks after a few minutes.
“Yeah, I was watching the boats on the docks, and the strength of the ropes struck me. I expected them all to be synthetic, but a lot of the older vessels still prefer natural fibers. I have a sample over here if you want to look.” I point to the length of rope coiled on the tray next to my worktable in the center of the room.
She appears next to me almost silently, her delicate fingers brushing over the thick twist of aged manila hemp. “Is that porcelain clay?”
I nod. “Have you ever worked with it?”
“I almost failed my ceramics course,” she laughs. “Why porcelain? Isn’t it hard to work with?”
“It’s temperamental and delicate. I thought it was a good representation of the ocean and the people who work and rely on it. It’s a fragile ecosystem, but it’s so strong and resilient. The people who work on it are no bigger than the motes of dust in this room at scale. They are so small and fragile themselves in the same environment that provides for them but strong enough to weather it, like the rope. The end will be shattered, instead of frayed like the real rope.”
I leave out the part where I plan to re-glue some of the pieces on the end with gold in the style of Kintsugi, inspired by Brinn, as well as my sister’s path to recovery. It’s a testament to rebuilt strength, though some things change the matter of us permanently.
“Did you write that down as an artist statement already or...?” she teases as she watches me carve the last section of twisting fibers on the rope.
I smirk at her. “Take any more pictures lately?” She had sent me prints of some pictures she had taken of Pork Belly. I never doubted her talent, but seeing them printed and ready to hang gave me the full idea of how talented she really is. She confessed to me that it was the first time she had picked up her camera since her fiancé, Josh, died.
“Actually,” she says. “My camera is in my backpack downstairs. I was thinking we could go into the forest today.”
The rustle of the breeze in the meadow grasses provides a hushed applause as our boots cross the threshold of the tree line. Brinn lets out a tense exhale, but I watch as resolve settles over her. “We’re going away from the ocean,” she murmurs under her breath. Pork Belly trots alongside us on the old, seldom-used trail.
“What made you want to grab your camera today?” I ask as the coolness of the dense canopy begins to drive out the summer heat. Her camera hangs from her chest like a talisman. We’re likely nearing the distance where she would normally stop, and I want to give her something else to think about if she wants it.
“It wasn’t hard today. I saw it sitting there and didn’t fill with immediate dread, so I thought I should capitalize on that,” she says as I hold out my hand to help her over a log. “Maybe it’s like a muscle, and I need to exercise it.”
“What is? Your camera?”
“Creativity, resilience—I don’t know—living?” She shrugs. “I just know that every day I get a little further from my house, and it gets a little easier, but I have to keep doing it to keep that progress. So, maybe picking up my camera is the same.”
My heart swells with adoration for her and her determination.
We walk in silence for a bit before she stops. That telltale panicked gasp leaves her as her boots stick to the ground like magnets on metal.
“Do you—”
“Shut up,” she cuts me off. Her eyes close as she takes a deep breath. “Sorry. Just... give me a moment.”
“Okay.” Pork Belly stops sniffing at an old, rotten log and trots to Brinn’s side. She sits, gently resting against her leg, placing her head under Brinn’s fingertips. Brinn twitches before she runs them along PB’s soft, short hair.
I take in the forest, turning away to give her some privacy. Moss grows thick here, covering the land and tree trunks like decadent frosting. There are mushrooms pushing their way through the leaf litter and studding the trees. It’s beautiful and serene.
A shutter noise breaks the silence of the forest, and I turn to see Brinn’s lens pointed at me before it clicks again. My face breaks into a grin so wide my cheeks hurt. “There is a particularly cool log up ahead,” I tell her.
“Let’s go,” she says, her camera resting against her chest once more. She makes an excited noise as she passes me to examine the lichen, moss, and mushrooms that cover the decaying wood. Her camera comes up as she fiddles with it before taking some photos.
We hike another mile, stopping frequently so Brinn can take more pictures. She takes some of me, some of Pork Belly, and some of the surrounding forest.
“I think we should probably go home,” she says.
“Are you okay?” I ask. She doesn’t seem panicked.
“Yeah, but it’s getting late. I will freak out if we’re in the woods after dark.”
“Fair enough.” I turn back the way we came.
She grabs my hand as I pass her. “Wait here one second.” She unhooks her backpack, setting it on the ground, and takes out a tripod. “Let’s take a photo together,” she says as she sets it up. “I have a remote for my camera.”
I try not to stare at the way her round ass looks so delicious in her shorts as she crouches to look at the level of the device. I fail miserably and am rewarded, regardless.
“Okay, go stand on that log,” she directs. “A little to the left. Perfect.” She walks over to me, joining me on the log. Without a word, her arm slips around my waist and mine around hers. She calls over Pork Belly, who sits dutifully next to her. “Smile!” We all grin at the camera as she presses the button on the remote.
She looks at me, beaming, arm still around me. Her brilliant eyes match the surrounding forest, a million shades of ancient emerald flickering in the dappled sunlight. There’s joy and triumph in them, and they crinkle at the edges atop the rounded hills of her cheeks.
“Brinn?”
Her face softens into something else, something curious and surprised. “Yeah?” she asks. The soft, breathy tone of her voice is begging me to kiss her, but I can’t. I can’t ruin this.
“This is the farthest you’ve ever gone,” I tell her.
“I know. That’s why I wanted a picture.”
“You should take a picture by yourself.” I should pull away; I should put some space between us. I shouldn’t look at the gentle swoop of her mouth and imagine what she tastes like when she’s full of pride.
The camera shutter sounds, and she smirks. “I took many of them. I took one just now.”
“I meant alone.” I roll my eyes, but I can’t hide my delight.
The camera clicks again. “I took that one alone, see? No help at all.” She waggles the remote in her hand.
“You should commemorate your achievement without me in the picture,” I clarify.
“Why is that?”
“You achieved this on your own. You deserve to remember that.”
Her brows furrow in confusion. “I couldn’t have done it without you in the picture.”
I shake my head. “You’re so much stronger than you give yourself credit for, Brinn. You led the way. I just happened to be there.” I step back from her, finally dropping my arm from her waist. “Take the picture.”
I step off the log and walk behind the camera, leaving her there with Pork Belly waiting patiently.
“You take it,” she says.
“You’re so stubborn,” I laugh.
“I prefer tenacious.”
“And that’s why we’re taking a picture with only you,” I say. “Ready? Smile!”
She sticks her tongue out at me as the shutter closes.