locked the door. I looked out to the street, at my car parked at the curb, his bike parked just behind it and asked, “You’re sure?”
“When do you get off work?” he asked.
“Seven.”
“See you here at eight?”
“Okay.”
“Have a good day at work, Aspen. I’ll swing by and check on how you’re doing if you’re alright with that.”
I couldn’t look at him, but I nodded. I was so torn. I felt pathetic, but I couldn’t deny I needed the help, even if it was just the company while I worked.
“Here at eight, sure,” I agreed.
“I’ll bring my truck; take anything you don’t want to Goodwill.”
“That would be helpful,” I said gratefully.
“Okay.”
He put his hand to my lower back and ushered me down the walk to my car, standing on the curb until I’d pulled away. I kept glancing in my rearview mirror, watching as he climbed onto his bike before I had to turn the corner.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and with shaking hands, guided my steering wheel and my little car through another turn as I wound my way to the freeway.
It was practically a straight shot up I-5 North to my little shop in the artsy corner of Georgetown, a neighborhood patrolled by the Seattle Police. Seattle as a city was full of these little pockets of neighborhoods with their own identities. Nobody local blinked about saying you were headed to Ballard, Georgetown, or Fremont as if they were little towns and cities all their own and not just a scrap of neighborhood that was a part of some larger whole.
I took the Swift-Albro exit and wound my way down over the freeway to the little intersection interchange that led me onto Airport Way. Parking in the lot behind my storefront, a block down from the old Jules Maes Saloon, I let myself in the back door and into the room that held my shelves of projects waiting to be fired.
I ducked into the little back office to set my things down and to take up my apron, slipping it over my head and tying it around my waist. I checked the messages on Clayrity’s phone system, putting them on speaker as I always did as I went about my morning duties of emptying kilns, putting finished, fired projects on their shelves, and unglazed or only first-fired projects on another as I listened and took mental notes.
“Hey Aspen, it’s Penny. I just wanted to let you know that your soon-to-be-ex was making inquiries about your financials. He’s still listed on your accounts so I had to give him the information. Please, do not tell anyone I told you. I could so get fired. I’ll see you on Paint Night and I’ll bring you a bottle of that Ice wine I was telling you about. I’m so sorry this is happening to you; I hope you’ve got a good lawyer. Okay, bye!”
Penny worked for the credit union I belonged to and had all of Clayrity’s financials routed through.
I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through the threatening tears. I didn’t think I was strong enough to do any of this anymore.
I finally sat down on the step ladder I kept back here to reach the higher shelves and let myself have a good cry.
No, it didn’t really help.
I looked up and around my little shop and felt it slipping away as despair surged in.
I think I knew deep down I was going to lose everything I had ever loved, but I just wasn’t willing to let go. Not yet anyway.
Too much, I thought to myself. It’s all just too much…
Chapter Eight
Fenris…
“The fuck you been?” my dad asked as I killed the motor on my bike.
“Out. Why the fuck you care?”
He shook his head and flicked the butt of his joint he’d been toking off of into the grass and said, “Believe it or not, no matter what you do and no matter where you go, you’re still my kid and I’m always going to care. No matter how much of a hard-ass you are.”
I smirked and bowed my head, laughing slightly, but then the reality of exactly where I’d been crept back in and curb stomped my smile back into a frown.
“Remember the chick I brought home from Mitch’s place a few weeks back?”
“Blond, pretty, got hysterical really damn quick?” he asked.
“Yeah, yeah she did,” I said slowly and sighed at the memory. “She’s got her reasons and I hate to say, they’re