Chapter 21 #2
“You’ll see. Go change your shoes and meet at the Jeep.” Barefooted, Henry turned to go inside, to put his own shoes on, I assumed.
I thought about the last time I went somewhere with him, the tattoo parlor, and how that had been a good distraction. Curious, I did as he said.
By the time we pulled up in front of a storefront inland, my curiosity had eased the craving for alcohol a good bit. Bull in a China Shop, I read on the topsy-turvy styled sign, letters going in wonky angles.
Henry led me inside where mosaics were on display.
“Oh wow . . .” I ran my fingers over a vase. The shiny shards of tile in various greens reminded me of mermaid scales. “Are we making mosaics?”
“Not this time.” Henry walked over to a lady behind a counter. “Hi there. Two for demolition.”
“Demolition?” I muttered behind him.
“You got it, hon.” The lady handed him two pairs of goggles and two sets of gloves. “How many boxes a piece?”
Henry offered me one of the pairs of goggles and the smaller gloves. “One for me. Two for her.”
“Boxes?” I asked.
Neither one of them answered me.
Henry paid, at my protest, then the lady led us to the back of the building.
As we entered the room, things began clicking into place while I took in the space—a beat-up back wall full of scuffs and scars, a dusty cement floor, broken pieces of dishware and pottery scattered about.
Letting off some steam never seemed so creative as this.
A guy wheeled in three boxes filled with all sorts of dishes and placed them at the yellow line painted on the floor. “Just load up the broken pieces into those crates and leave them on the table.”
“Okay.” Henry put the goggles over his glasses and then worked his hands into the gloves. “The object here, if it’s not already clear, is to throw dishes at the wall. Easy enough, right?”
I eyed the box by my feet and decided on a pink floral-printed plate. “It doesn’t feel right to break these pretty plates.”
“But the broken pieces are used to create art. You’re an artist, so you can appreciate that, yeah?”
“I guess . . .”
An explosion rang out. Startled, I looked up from my plate in time to watch a shower of pottery rain onto the floor. “Good grief. Warn a girl, will ya!”
Henry leaned down and plucked a chipped teacup from his box. Without saying a word, he reared his arm back and threw the cup like a baseball. This time I got to witness it exploding into a million pieces.
Wanting in on the action, I tossed the plate, but didn’t get the same result. It practically bounced off the wall, only breaking when it hit the cement floor.
“You can do better than that.” He slung a plate with great force as if it were a Frisbee and it smashed all to pieces.
I went for a cup and tried the baseball method. This time it exploded on impact. “Great day! That’s satisfying.” Exhilarated, I gave Henry a high-five.
“Good. You have two boxes to break.” Henry nodded to the boxes on the floor, silently telling me to get to it, so I did.
For the next forty or so minutes, I took out my frustration on every poor unsuspecting piece of china.
With each burst, bits of frustration erupted out of me, the release much the same as that day I whacked golf balls with Gilbert.
The physical activity pulled the anxiety out of my body, piece by piece, until endorphins took over and banished it. For a short spell, at least.
On the way home, I talked nonstop about it, and Henry listened, only adding a head nod and smile. When he parked in his driveway, I figured that was that, but he walked me to my porch like the gentleman I knew him to be.
“Things are gonna work out, Junie. Not today, but they will. Just hang in there.” Henry wrapped his arms around me and just held me for a long time.
The man knew how to hug. Firm but gentle, in my space without dominating it.
I looked up to thank him but he mistook my intentions and began leaning down with his eyes zeroed in on my lips.
“Whoa!” I planted a palm squarely in the middle of his face and pushed him away. “No!”
Brows furrowed and glasses sitting askew, he looked adorably confused. “I thought—”
“No thinking like that, mister!” I waggled a finger at him, as if it were all his fault. Had I felt that pull between us? Yes, but no way could I go anywhere near that. “No kissing!”
Squinting, he tipped his head to the side. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. We have to be sure!” I clutched my bag to my chest and backed away. “No kissing!”
He held his palms up. “Fine. No kissing.”
“I better get inside.” I pointed a thumb over my shoulder.
“Junie . . . If things were different and life more settled . . . would there be a possibility of kissing?” This sweet man looked so vulnerable that I wanted to wrap my arms around him and never let go.
Instead, I backed up several steps, hand reaching behind me for the door. “Yes, Henry. There would be so much kissing. But I can’t. Fern has to be first from here on out. I’m sorry.”
He took his glasses off and wiped a hand down his face. “Don’t ever apologize for focusing on Fern. Please. Fern first. That’s how it should be.”
Him agreeing so easily made me want to rush back to him, so I turned and hurried inside before I did something stupid, like leap into his arms and kiss him anyway.
How could something feel so right, but show up at the wrong time?