"Oh, you mean, come see where my etchings aren't and make me one?"
"Exactly. And you've nothing more than the pig?" He looked disappointed.
"Well," and honesty made her hesitate, wondering how she could avoid showing him either the bust or the soldier if he came to the house. Maybe, if she left him in the living room with the Running Child…
He was thumbing through an engagement book.
"Hmmm. I'll be back in town in three weeks."
"Oh?" and she was as dismayed as she was relieved.
"Yes, I'm just here overnight before the southern part of the tour. Didn't I mention it?"
"I don't think you had the chance."
"Have you any plans for October 26th? That's a Wednesday." She shook her head. "Then, if I may, I'll come to your home at eleven, assuming that is where you have your studio…"
"Yes."
"… And I'll be completely famished by twelve and you can suggest any place in town except this one for lunch afterwards as a reward for my good behavior."
"I'll keep that in mind," she said with mock severity. "The 26th it is."
"Now, aren't you at all interested in my fascinating experiences as a peripatetic piano player?"
Mirelle sat back, smiling, only then aware of how tense she'd been. She listened to his amusing narrative, needling him where she could, knowing from the twinkle in his eyes that he appreciated her jibes even when he ignored them. He used his hands expressively and she watched them almost as much as she did his face. More distinguished than handsome, actually. And the trouble with his jawline is that the left side is slightly longer than the right. That was the disparity.
He stopped midphrase and jabbed a finger at her. "I suspect the sculptor's eye is pinioning me. There's a glazed and calculating look on your face."
"Occupational hazard. Of course, yours is such a well-used face…"
"Thank you, madam." He inclined his body in a bow.
"They are more interesting to work with."
"As I was saying…" and he continued his tale.
It was two-thirty before they finished lunch and she reluctantly suggested departure.
"The school bus returns at 3:00 and I should be home when Tonia gets there. It's not that she isn't capable of taking care of herself," Mirelle added hastily, "it's just that…"
"You take being a mother seriously, don't you?" There was no barb in his words. "More than my ex did."
The sunlight was blinding as they stepped out of the darkened room. It was that, Mirelle was sure, which contributed to her fall. As she stepped aside to make room for him, she caught her heel on the uneven paving and lurched backwards. He caught her arm and pulled her sharply toward him so that she fell against his chest rather than back onto the sidewalk. Her head gave his jaw a crack and they both stood still, his arms around her: she with an aching ankle, he with a sore jaw. He reached up to his chin and looked disgustedly down at her.
"Oh, Jamie, I am so sorry. The sun blinded me and this ankle of mine is not all that reliable in heels."
"Excuses, excuses," he mumbled, rubbing his jaw but grinning. "I retract what I said about not letting my women disgrace me."
She stepped back, feeling the warmth of his hand at her back long after he had dropped it to his side. Someone opened the door behind them and there was a brief spate of apologies and jockeying of positions. Howell took her firmly by the arm and led her to her car.
"I shall be glad to take the road again," he said drily. "Most of the singers of my acquaintance can keep their feet under them. I suppose I'll have to use a different rule for sculptors."
"Think of us as chips off a new block," she suggested.
He grimaced.
"It was a lovely lunch, Jamie. Thank you very much."
"Till the 26th then."
He gave her a lopsided grin, rubbed his jaw once again before he went around to his own car.
She hurried home, with twenty minutes to spare before Tonia's bus came. She threw a smock over her dress, got out the plastic bucket and mixed up plaster of paris immediately, dashing green dye in for the color coat. While the plaster was setting, she cleared the rest of the breakfast dishes, groaning as she picked up the tepid bottle of milk. She put it carefully at the back of the refrigerator. Roman hated to get warm milk.
She raced back to the studio and tested the plaster. Just right. She took one long last look at her little soldier, comparing it in her mind with Jamie and finding it true to the model. She slathered plaster over the figure, building up between the legs, working deftly so that the soldier was completely anonymous by the time Tonia came in at the door.
"You covered him all up!" Tonia complained. "Why'd you do that?"
Mirelle cocked her head at her daughter. "There was a very pretty little deer which I'd made for a dear of my own. It stood on this very same wheel and certain small hands wanted to see if it felt soft. I believe that was the excuse. Well it was soft, and it was pulled all out of shape by the grabby little paws."
"Ah, I was a baby then, Mommie." Tonia pouted. "I didn't know any better."
"On the contrary, you did. Because you'd been told, as I told the boys…"
"Lecture… lecture…"
"Yes, it is! You know how little time… all right, no lecture. But from then on, every time I have a piece finished, I keep it safe in plaster."
"Is it a model of Daddy as a soldier?"
"No. Just a soldier."
"I know. You were watching Combat the other night. Is it the sergeant or Caje?"
Mirelle pretended to consider. "You might say Caje. He's the tall one, no?"
"Yes."
Tonia settled on the stool to watch her mother work.
"You starting on a work toot, Momma?"
She sounded so mature that Mirelle turned objective eyes on her child. The last lines of baby fat were gone from face and body. The nose was lengthening from a snubbed stump. The little child whom Mirelle had captured in the running figure had been superseded by a leggy pre-adolescent. A new beauty was emerging slowly.
"I'll have to do another one of you soon, hon," Mirelle said with a smile.
"Then you're on a working toot," Tonia said happily. "I'll help with things now. I wasn't big enough before."
"Why so helpful if I'm on a toot?"
"Because," and Tonia's face was contorted with the pronunciation of that invaluable conjunction.
"Why 'because'?" Mirelle insisted.
"You're all different," and the thin shoulders shrugged as the mind made the body express words which the intellect still lacked. "It's like this," and Tonia cocked her head, "you forget all the silly things…"
"Like rooms being picked up and meals on time?"
"Well…"
"And you guys watching TV till you fall asleep…"
"Oh, Momma, that's NOT what I mean."
"Come, kiss me, hon. And watch out for the plaster on my hands."
Tonia jumped off the stool and hugged her mother tightly about the hips. Then she skipped to the steps before she made her parting shot.
"When you see, we all get presents."
CHAPTER FIVE
MIRELLE THOUGHT she could tell how Steve's trip had been by the way he closed the car door on his return. If the omen was bad, she'd quickly send the kids to the TV room and let him vent the first wave of dissatisfaction on her. Tonight, when she heard the door slam, she read a pleasant oracle in the sound.
"It would've been a bit much if he'd come home seething today," she told the oven as she peeked in at the casserole.
"Hi, honey," he yelled jovially, struggling in with his suitcases. "Roman! Nick! Give me a hand here!"
They came bouncing in to help him, Tonia on their heels.
"Bring me anything? Whaddja bring the boys?"