Kim didn’t smile. “You had no ropes, and you were alone. That was dangerous. Don’t do it again,” she said sternly.
“For fear of dismemberment?” he said, and something about the word made him grimace. He put potato salad on the plates. “So what did you do while I was out?”
“Tried to form wax into moonlight.”
He looked at her in curiosity. “What does that mean?”
“Last night at the wedding I thought the moonlight was so beautiful I wondered if I could translate it into jewelry.”
“What does that have to do with wax?” he asked as he began eating.
Kim sat down next to him and took the plate he’d filled for her. It ran through her mind that the food had been cooked by Dave and she really ought to tell Travis about him, but she didn’t.
“I make jewelry by construction, welding on a small scale, or the lost wax process.”
“Lost wax? Didn’t I see that on TV? Some mysterious method that had disappeared over the centuries.”
Kim gave a derogatory snort. “Those idiots! It’s called ‘lost wax’ not because the process was lost but because the wax melts and it flows out. The wax is lost in the making.”
“You’ll have to show me. Maybe you could—”
“Travis!” Kim said, “I want to know what’s going on. You said you needed my help and I’m sure it’s not to give you a course in jewelry making.”
He hesitated. “I have three weeks,” he said.
“Three weeks until what?”
“Until I have to face my father with the news that his wife wants a divorce.”
“Then what happens?”
“Legal battles,” he said. “Dad will fight and I’ll fight him. It will be a war.”
“But once it’s done, will you be free?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I don’t know what I’ll be free to do, but I will no longer have an obligation to either of my parents. Except morally and ethically, and through affection, and . . .”
“But what are your plans for now? For these three weeks?” Kim asked.
“Maybe I’ll harness some moonlight so you can put it in wax and lose it.”
Kim smiled. “That would be nice. I need some new ideas. I’ve always been inspired by organic forms and I’ve pretty much run through the ones I know.”
“What about those flowers you used to tie together?”
“They grow from clover, and they’re considered weeds.”
“I liked them,” he said softly and for a moment their eyes locked. But then Travis turned away and picked up the empty plates and put them in the dishwasher.
“If you’re going to be here for three weeks we need to tell people who you are.”
“People?” he asked. “Who would that be?”
“Travis, this is a small town. I’m sure they are all talking about how I picked up some dark stranger and took him home with me.”
“Has your mom called you yet?” he asked, smiling.
“Last I heard she was in New Zealand so the news will take—I hope—another twenty-four hours to reach her. But my brother is here. And so is my cousin Colin.”