Chapter 1
Chapter One
Luna
Tallie pounces on me the instant I return to the studio.
“Well? What did the lawyer say?”
Flinging my handbag onto the old couch by the kiln, I flop down next to it. This brings my knees higher than my hips due to the couch stuffing having shifted around so much from various visitors’ ass grooves. Standing up from this couch is worth a hundred core muscle exercises, I swear.
“He’s not a lawyer, he’s an ‘estate planning attorney,’ and his name’s William Bryant.”
Bustling over to the stainless steel urn that’s plugged into a socket by the makeshift kitchen, Tallie throws a tea bag into a mug and pours a liberal amount of boiling water over it from the urn.
She brings it over to me.
“Tell me everything. How come you never knew about this aunt of yours? How did she die?”
Struggling to sit up straight before accepting the mug of lava-temperature tea, I grunt my reply.
“Tempest Aherne. That was my aunt’s name. She was my mother’s half-sister, so…” I do a quick calculation in my head. “So she’s my maternal grandmother’s eldest daughter, from granny’s first husband.”
Swiping her hand as if my complicated family tree bores her, Tallie makes a circle with her finger in the air. It’s to show that she wants me to get to the point faster.
“Okay, I’m getting there, I promise. Tempest chose to live with her father after the divorce. Apparently, my gran allowed her ex-husband and her firstborn child to just disappear together and never bothered finding out where they ended up.”
A long whistle of disbelief follows my revelation.
“Harsh! How much did your gran hate her ex?”
All I can do is shake my head. “I called my dad when I was in the cab coming back here. All he knows is what my mom told him—which was the same story as the lawyer’s.”
I can tell from the way Tallie checks out my face after I say the word that she’s monitoring me for tears. I always seem to get a lump in my throat whenever I talk about my mom.
Mom passed away ten years ago when I was only twenty-two years old. She never even got to see my first art installation—a massive two-floor terracotta mosaic in the lobby of Vegas’s top luxury hotel.
She would’ve been so proud.
“Trust your dad to be of zero help.” Tallie rolls her eyes.
That makes me laugh. “Frankly, I would have been shocked if he had been a fountain of information. What doesn’t bite my dad on the end of his nose, he doesn’t bother about.”
My dad surprised everyone by retiring early from the Minneapolis police force three years back.
But it wasn’t so that he could go live in Florida; he became obsessed with mountain climbing instead.
Once a year, he heads to the Himalayas to acclimatize and then climb some impossibly high mountain.
The rest of the time, he’s doing the same thing here in the States.
Tallie is like a dog with a bone when it comes to pumping me for gossip.
“But how did your aunt die? I mean, she must have known it was coming. She had time to visit William Whatshisname, after all.”
Daring to take a small sip of tea, I warm my hands on the mug.
“You would think so, but no. Mr. Bryant says Tempest didn’t have a clue when she was going to pass away or how long she had left to live. But he did say Aunt was sure about one thing—all her stuff was to be left to me.”
“And she never even met you.” Tallie is amazed. “It just goes to show, it’s best to stay far away from people if you want them to have a good opinion of you.”
Taking another sip of tea, I smile a little. “I hope that’s a generalization. As for me, I’m sad I never got to know my aunt. From what Mr. Bryant was telling me, she sounds like a wonderful person.”
Getting up from the deckchair where she was sitting, Tallie goes to turn on the kiln. All the chairs in the studio are either patio furniture rejects or seriously secondhand. Interior decorating is not our strong suit.
“What did Auntie Tempest leave you?”
Pulling a sheet of paper out of my bag, I squint down at the columns of words and rows of numbers.
“Tempest left me her property in Landslide. All of her possessions in Landslide. And her savings—about a quarter of a million dollars after what I have to pay in U.S. taxes and legal fees.”
The paper drops from my hand and flutters to the floor. It’s hard to take in. Such generosity from a relative I never even knew.
After saying some juicy swear words, Tallie whips out her phone and starts tapping.
“Landslide… Google Maps, Google should find it. Okay…” Looking up at me, Tallie frowns. “It’s not on the map.”
Time for me to explain. “The name’s a bit of a clue, Tal. You won’t find it on any map. Mr. Bryant told me there was a massive mudslide or earthquake way back, which caused a tidal island to form in one of the creeks flowing into the Lake of the Woods. That’s Landslide, I guess.”
Her thumbs flying, Tallie taps the lake name. “Okay, Lake of the Woods. Got it. God! It’s beautiful.”
“Landslide is at the perfect point where the northwest top of the Continental U.S. intersects the Canadian states of Manitoba and Ontario.”
Bending to check the kiln temperature thermostat, Tallie frowns. “So, where is it? Canada or the States?”
Draining my mug of tea, I move to the plastic bucket that acts as our kitchen sink to rinse it out.
“Neither. And both. It’s not like two countries would want to go to war over who gets to own a pile of mud. I guess Landslide belongs to both sides. A few logger families settled on the island when everyone was sure it wasn’t going to slide away again. And so did dear old Auntie Tempest’s father.”
A slight frown creases Tallie’s face. “I suppose this is the part where you tell me what you’re going to do with your new Landslide house.”
I mull it over as I do the rest of the dishes. Tallie is used to me tuning out like this. Sometimes I can sit and stare off into space for hours, my sketchpad lying blank on my lap.
Tallie is a talented potter and ceramicist. We started collaborating in art college.
She crafted terracotta pottery, and I wanted to create authentic mosaics similar to those made in the ancient world.
After I approached the student called Tallie Markham to ask if I could have the shards of all those unpainted terracotta pots that had shattered in the kiln, she was happy to give them to me.
Prematurely gray and full of energy, her sunny personality hid Tallie’s determination and ambition—an ambition that matched my own. Our dreams aligned. We would not stop until we were nationally recognized and celebrated artists.
Only a few years later, we were. And we still are.
Tallie’s amphorae and hand-painted tiles are sought after all over the world by collectors. As for me, I got my first mosaic installation commission not long after finishing college, and I haven’t looked back since.
I adore the soft earth tones of different clay soils, and I love piecing tiny broken squares of pottery together to form Grecian and Roman inspired scenes and images. Just like artists used to do thousands of years ago.
Bar a two-year stint in Italy, where I helped archeologists repair murals and mosaic flooring in Pompei, Tallie and I have shared a studio at South St. Anthony Park, just off University Avenue in St. Paul, for eight years.
“I think I’m going to drive up there. It can’t hurt to take a look around.”
Tallie and I don't say what we’re thinking out loud.
My ex, Giulio, went back to Italy three months ago. To say it knocked me for a bit of a loop is an understatement. His decision to leave me seemed so arbitrary.
We hooked up in Italy during my work there, and he loved me enough to follow me to America.
After cohabiting with someone for seven years, it never dawned on me that my relationship with Giulio would not follow a natural trajectory. Engagement, wedding, marriage, in that order. But it turned out Mr. Giulio di Bari had a different idea in mind.
I’d walked into my apartment—I’d paid down the deposit on a mortgage for a one-bedroom condo with a view of the river with my first commission check—to find my long-term boyfriend throwing things into an unzipped carry-on case.
It was one of those generic compact luggage brands with an extendable handle and wheels.
I remember the conversation we had distinctly.
“This is a surprise, sweetie. Where are you going?”
Not even bothering to look at me, Giulio had ripped off the Band-Aid quickly.
“Back to Italy. Mama needs me.”
Edging over to the side table, I’d put the key fob down gently. “Oh, no! I’m so sorry to hear that. Is… is she okay?”
“No, she’s fine.”
I waited for him to elaborate, but Giulio was not very forthcoming. I could tell from the way he kept glancing at his phone that he was already on a tight schedule.
He hadn’t texted me. If I hadn’t come home early, he might have been gone before I got back.
“So, what’s the emergency?”
Zipping up the case, Giulio had looked around the apartment that had been our home together for seven years. But the only expression I could read in his face was him checking to see if he had forgotten something important.
Stepping forward, he kissed my cheek. “There is no emergency, Luna. It’s time for me to go home, that is all.”
He was out on the landing before I could react. I grabbed his arm to stop him.
“What about your job at the deli?”
His shrug was very eloquent. “What about it? I quit.”
“Why?! Why are you doing this?”
Taking a deep breath, Giulio explained.
“You are not traditional enough for me, Luna. Look at the walls. No crucifixes. Just a bunch of weird paintings. Look at the kitchen. You don’t cook. The only small appliance you own is an espresso machine. And a corkscrew.”
I was outraged.
“I’m not a drunk!”
Giulio had held up his hand. “I didn’t say that, but you are happy to exist on coffee and take-outs with the occasional glass of wine. Domestic goddess you are not.”
“But that’s how I was when you met me.” I found it hard to make sense of what was happening.
“Yes, and that’s great when you are a girlfriend, Luna, but it is not what I am looking for in a wife.”
Pointing over my shoulder, Giulio sighed. “I wrote all of this in the note. Please read it. Ciao, bella.”
And just like that, he was gone.
Boy, oh boy, did Giulio’s note make it clear to me how much he hated my fiercely independent spirit and lack of nesting instinct. Tallie told me I was well rid of a bad bargain, but that did not negate the fear I felt at being thirty-two and newly single.
Here’s the thing. I managed to get through high school and college without losing my head—or my reputation—as far as sex was concerned. It’s not that I was frigid, but it helped that I got a decent vibrator the moment I could afford to buy one.
But here’s the problem with vibrators; they replace all those organic things that happen when two young people find one another attractive. No muss, no fuss.
By the time I finished my studies and had an impressive portfolio of projects to boast about, I was still technically a virgin.
My first two lovers were a bust—enough to ruin all my fantasies.
The guy who took my virginity, I think he was less experienced than I was, if that were at all possible.
It hurt to the point of pain, if not downright discomfort.
And partner number two was just as bad. He mounted me as if I was a machine gun tripod and then proceeded to jitter on top of me as he emptied his load. Ugh.
And then I’d met Giulio. He was sweet natured and looked like a young Renaissance prince with his curly brown hair and slim body. He stands heads and shoulders above all other men in my memory, because he gave me my first non-vibrator related orgasm.
Excuse me for being bitter that I still have my vibrator but I don’t have him!
Despite my acidic memories of how he left me, I have the same concerns as any other woman who worries that lightning might not strike in the same place two times. Will I ever dare to love again? And if so, will he be a good lover?
Throwing a lump of clay on the potter’s wheel, Tallie gives me a wink before wetting her hands and digging her thumbs deep into the cold, gray blob.
“You do that, Luna. Drive up to Landslide and have a look around. It can’t hurt.”