“Stop rushing it.” He still didn’t turn to face her, and he came to the same conclusion she had moments ago.
“Okay.” Tearing her attention away from Ezra, she said to Bronte, “Ready to try again?”
“I might have one more in me before I crawl into bed tonight.”
“Let’s do this.”
Taking her cue from Ezra, she moved at a sloth’s pace, making trip after trip to the furnace. She blew part of the base, and reheated, then stretched the glass, then reheated. As it started to take shape, she tamped down her excitement. It was looking better than any of the others she’d created.
By the time she had it nearly done, her back muscles were tight and screaming at her and her arms were beginning to feel like noodles. No wonder Ezra had muscles. She looked at the topper on the end of the rod.
The color seemed right. The dimensions were on target—at least as close as she could get without pulling out a ruler.Damn. This could be it.
She knew she wasn’t really done. She’d need to make a couple of backups because she still wasn’t sure how she was going to attach the fake diamonds. That was going to take a lot of gluing. But since she knew the process, she could make more.
“What do you think?” Bronte asked.
“I think we finally got it.” London smiled and straightened her back. Her muscles spasmed and the rod in her hand shook.
“Whoa,” Bronte said.
“Sorry. My muscles are not happy with me right now.”
“Well, let’s see if we can get this off and into the annealer.”
London held the rod steady as Bronte grabbed the jacks to separate the topper from the pipe.
Just as she placed the metal against the glass, Ezra, said, “Wait. You might want to—”
He didn’t finish the statement because the glass shattered under Bronte’s hands. London stared in disbelief.
“What the hell?” Bronte said.
“I was going to suggest rotating instead of tapping. This piece seems too fragile to handle the vibrations.”
“And you couldn’t have mentioned that before I went to separate it?”
Ezra stared down at his sister. “Let me remind you that I’m not even supposed to be here. You didn’t ask for my help or my advice. This is your project. I was busy and didn’t realize you were done until I turned and saw.”
London held up a hand. The tension between the siblings made her uncomfortable. “It’s okay, Bronte. It’s no one’s fault. It’s glass. Glass is fragile. It happens, right?”
Ezra held a hand out toward London and shot Bronte a look that said, “See?”
“How can younotbe furious?” Bronte asked her. “We had it. We were this close to the finish line.”
“If I’ve learned nothing else from being here, it’s that failure is part of the process. I wanted to have a couple made anyway, so I have a backup in case anything happens. Now, I know the process. I can repeat it. And we’ve learned from our mistakes.”
Bronte stared at the broken glass at her feet. “It feels so wrong.”
“That’s the way art goes. Sometimes you get what you envision, and sometimes things fall apart.” She looked up at Ezra. “Thanks for the tip. We’ll be sure to try it next time.”
She stretched her arms above her head and bent backward. She groaned as her spine cracked and her muscles twitched. Then she swung forward and touched her toes, allowing her arms to hang and stretch again. When she stood, Ezra was staring at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She smiled and winked. “You don’t like to be stared at, but you enjoy doing the staring?”