“Since it seems like the rain has finally let up, yeah, I think I’ll be moving on. I’m heading to California.”
Lee nodded. “Not much for a young person like yourself to do here. What do you have going on in California?”
I thought about it for a moment. “Nothing,” I admitted. “Guess I just picked it because it seemed like the furthest from home.”
“Where you from?”
“Georgia,” I said, and Lee laughed, his cheeks going pink.
“Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Lucky the flooding didn’t hit Armstrong—sometimes we get mudslides and such, but we were lucky this year. You should see what happened to Phoenix.” He whistled. “Be careful on the road, I’m sure you’ll encounter some hairy shit out there. And you’re bound to encounter more rain. It’s not over yet.”
“Oh, great.”
“No rush. Stick around for a while. Reynold wouldn’t mind having you stick around for a few days, I’m sure.”
“Thanks,” I smiled, “But I probably should get going. Sooner I get to California, the sooner I can figure out what the hell I’m doing.”
“Right.” He jutted a thumb towards the minimart. “I’ve gotta get the shop all set up and the pumps turned on.”
Lee went off to do his thing, and I stood in the garage doorway and surveyed the town of Armstrong in the daylight. Dark gray clouds hung overhead, and with the forest of pine trees surrounding the station and Armstrong road, the little sunlight barely made it to the ground. It almost felt like it was reaching evening rather than the morning. The pavement was scattered with debris and trails of muddy water flowed down the road carrying branches and pinecones and other things ripped loose from the storm. I heard thun
der rumbling off from somewhere in the distance.
Further up the road, I saw a crossroads with a bent stop sign, and past that I could just make out what looked like a few shops or other businesses lining either side of the street. That was probably the entire town right there, if it could even be called a town. A community, more like it. A stop for people on the way in to the national forests to refuel and maybe get something to eat, and for people to retire to.
I went back inside and found the big bag of cat food that Reynold had left out. “Henry,” I called, shaking the bag up and down. He always seemed to meow when he was about to be given food, and I listened out for his call—but heard nothing. “Henry?” I filled up the bowl and then shook it, but he still didn’t show. I frowned, and crouched down to peer beneath all the shelves and cabinets. I looked under the car, then popped the hood to see if he was hiding up in the engine. Nothing.
“Henry!” I called. Now I was getting nervous. I walked around the garage, searching for places he could hide. Surely, he wouldn’t have gone outside. He’d never wandered away from me before—I mean, I’d only had him for a few days, but every time I’d let him out of the car he’d always stick close by. I ran to the garage door and took a quick peek outside. Again, nothing.
“Hey, Lee,” I said, peeking into the minimart. He was watching the TV.
“They’re talking about the CEO of that company BluTech who resigned,” Lee said, gesturing to the TV. “Can you believe she just up and left? Must be nice to be a multi-millionaire if you can just quit your job.”
“Oh, really?” I wasn’t distracted, and not really interested in the news at that moment. “Hey, you didn’t happen to see a cat when you opened the garage, did you? Small, black.”
“A cat?” He shook his head. “No. You have a cat with you? I was wondering why Pinky’s old litterbox was out. No, I didn’t see any cat coming in. But I wasn’t exactly paying attention…”
“Okay,” I said. “There are no ways a cat could escape, are there?”
Lee frowned, slowly getting to his feet. “No… Not other than the garage door. You can’t find him?”
“No,” I said, the panic starting to show in my voice. I hurried back to the garage with Lee following behind me. I dropped back down to my hand and knees and did another look under the shelf and the car. “Henry? Henry where the hell are you?”
Grabbing the bowl of food, I went out front, shaking it and calling his name. Lee was rifling around the garage in all the same spots that I had checked before, but Henry wasn’t there. He must’ve gotten out somehow. This whole time I’d thought that he just wasn’t the kind of cat to wander off on his own, but I’d assumed way too much.
“Henry!” I shouted desperately as I ran around the gas station, dropping down into the mud to peer under bushes and the big propane tank that was out back. He wasn’t there. I’d only had him for four days, but I loved the little guy like he’d been with me for years. That little black ball of fur had trusted me and looked to me for help when he was in trouble. I’d rescued him, but in a way he’d rescued me too, when I was at the lowest point in my life and thought that nobody would ever need me. I’d wrapped him up in his towel and fed him canned tuna, and silently promised him that he’d never be cold and wet again. And now…
I came back to the front of the garage, where Lee was still looking around for Henry. “Anything?” I asked. He shook his head. Suddenly, thunder boomed overhead, and I flinched as fat raindrops began to patter down noisily onto the roof of the garage.
2
Lucy
I stood in the old sunroom that I’d designated as my new pottery room and stared silently at the empty wheel, its surface completely spotless. Nothing had been made on the thing in over a year now. Even in New York, when I was still able to produce work, I’d barely touched it. My ex-husband, Charles, ran the company and it seemed like all the clients wanted clean, clean, clean—ornate but in a completely predictable, cookie-cutter way. It was all stuff that was simpler to design on the computer than to throw by hand on a wheel, and so that’s what I’d done.
The rain drummed down on the roof. It’d been going for about an hour now, and the forecasts said to expect another storm shower later in the day. It was a good thing I’d moved back in and done so much needed upkeep. With my parents long out of the place, and none of my siblings willing to take care of it, the old Duncan home had basically fallen to shambles. With this crazy storm, it probably would’ve washed away if I hadn’t come back.
I set up all my supplies by the wheel and pulled up a stool, exhaling as I sat down. I rubbed my face and stroked my chin, eyeing the clay and willing it show me its hidden form. It’d been a week since I’d had the courage to sit and try again, and a year since the block had firmly settled into my body, preventing me from doing anything meaningful with my work. Or maybe it’d been much longer than that—when Charles and I had formed Lucy Duncan Ceramics and I’d been churning out those shelf-stocker pieces. The thing was, despite my traditional education and background, despite all the awards I’d received for my pottery, I’d felt completely happy with what I was producing. It was paying the bills—no, far better than that, truthfully—and it was still somewhat creatively fulfilling even though I wasn’t pushing any boundaries. Challenging, though? Perhaps not.