The Potter's Daughter (Literary Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B

had just
broken her father would have simply mended the clay before firing.   The debris was a tell tale sign that urn
broke because of an episode.
    “Are you alright Dad?”
    Abby knew the answer before he
spoke.
    “Yea,” said Will, “I tripped.”
    “Are you sure that is what
happened?”
    Will raised his voice, “I said I
damn tripped.   Isn’t that enough for
you people?   It’s this damn floor.”
    “Yea, alright Dad.   We heard a loud noise and just came to
see what the hell happened.”
    Will was still rubbing his arm, his
head bent toward the floor, “I guess I better get the broom and clean this up.”
    “You remember Mitch?”
    “Of course.   I’m old, not senile.   Hey there Mitch.”
    “Hey there, Will,” Mitch
replied.   “You need help cleaning
up?”
    “No,” said Will, his voice calm and
softer.   “No, you kids go ahead.”
    Mitch turned to Abby.
    “I should probably get going
anyway,” said Mitch.
    “Thank you for bringing the skates
by,” said Abby then quickly added, “And thank you for the conversation.   It was nice.”
    “Me too, I mean thank you for the
tea, and the conversation,” said Mitch.
    Mitch turned and walked out the
doorway.   “What a girl,” he thought
as he made his way to his yellow pickup.   The conversation really had been refreshing and Mitch felt that he had
connected with someone in a way he had not in a long time.   As Mitch got into the truck, a smile
crept across his face.   Abby was
waving good-bye from the door of the studio.   Mitch waved to Abby, backed his truck
out of the driveway, and kept smiling.
    Abby walked back into the studio
and discovered her father still on the floor.   Will had not moved from his kneeling
position.   Walking over to the side
room to grab a broom she said, “I don’t remember the last time I saw you smash
an urn.   I’ve seen you repair
worse.”
    “Well I dropped it.   Is that what you want to hear?   Damn, it’s not the first time I dropped
a piece of damn clay.”
    “Colorful language,” said Abby as
she started to sweep up the remnants of the urn strewn across the room.   “I bet you can’t even get up.”
    “I can get up.”
    Will lifted himself from the floor hobbling
a little on his right leg as he did.
    Abby walked toward him, “Let me
help you.”
    “I don’t need help!”
    “I think that is exactly what you
need.”
    Will raised his voice again, “I
think you need not worry about it.”
    “Well how long do you think it will
be ‘til I have to?   Give me a heads
up so that I can know ‘now it’s the time to worry!’”   Abby threw down the broom and stormed
out of the studio.
    Will had never been one to yell yet
lately his voice was rising quite a bit.   Yelling was something Abby was not accustomed to and certainly not going
to stand for.
    Will slowly walked over to where
Abby had thrown the broom.   He bent
forward and picked the broom up with his good hand.   His other arm was not shooting pain
anymore.   Will opened his hand
stretching his fingers wide and then pensively he closed them together into a
tightened fist.   A fist that still
felt weak.
     
    * * *
* *
     
     

Chapter 9
    Walking into the Stone Tavern Abby
was washed with a wave of warmth.   The whole place had the smell of burning wood and stale beer.   The room was full of people shooting
pool, leaning at the bar, and sitting at the yellow lacquered pine tables.   A group of men and women standing at the
bar wore full body snow suits, some blue and others black, all undone to the
waist with the sleeves hanging behind them like tails.   They were the owners of the small fleet
of snowmobiles parked in a line outside of the tavern.
    In the corner of the room was a
small stage that held the house band’s equipment and a space cleared for
dancing.   The equipment consisted of
microphones, monitors, and a single bass drum kit.   Tonight the two men on stage in blue
jeans and t-shirts were not using