Baby on Board. Lisa Ruff

ceramic creatures sprung from Molly’s fertile imagination. Some of the beasts sported smooth, shining skin in ocher, sienna and russet. Their eyes glinted slyly. Others were rough-hewn and mossy, features grumpy and fierce. Between them, shining spires of red, green, blue and yellow glass—creations from Kate’s studio—spiked skyward. Delicate orbs of lustrous silver and gold glass hung from the branches of the wisteria, catching the light and reflecting it back to the house.

      At the edge of the patio stood several large ceramic pots, also Molly’s handiwork. Crimson geraniums spilled over their sides, spicing the air with scent. Kate took a sip of her tea and savored the morning air. She emptied her mind, trying to concentrate on the whimsical beauty of the garden, but it was no use. All too soon, the pansies and marigolds were overlaid by Patrick Berzani’s angry face. She closed her eyes and sighed.

      As the baby fluttered in her stomach, Kate went over the previous afternoon in her mind. Again. Her argument with Patrick was all she could think about, worry about. The night had been filled with disturbing dreams about him. In one, she and Patrick had soared through the air like eagles. They each held the hand of a tiny baby that squealed and giggled. Kate had felt exhilarated and free. When she turned to her companion, his face had changed, and her brother Danny looked back at her through large, sorrow-filled eyes. The baby’s hand slipped from her grasp and the two figures dropped away from her, falling through the air, becoming smaller and smaller. Kate had tried to scream but couldn’t. She woke with a gasp, her heart pounding. After that, she had given up on sleep and dreams and risen to make tea, hoping a new day would put the old one behind her.

      “Good morning.”

      Kate opened her eyes and looked up to see a tall woman in a bright orange-and-gold caftan step onto the patio. Her wild hair was caught up in a messy bun on the back of her head, tendrils flying and dancing as she moved.

      “Molly! Good morning. When did you get back?”

      “Late last night. I should still be sleeping, but the morning’s too glorious to miss.” The older woman brought her mug to the table and sat across from Kate with a sigh of satisfaction.

      “How did the festival go?”

      “Amazing,” Molly said, excitement lighting her oval, tanned face. “I sold everything! There wasn’t a cup or a vase left at the end.”

      “Fantastic. I’m glad it went so well.”

      “Me, too. It was definitely worth the trip.” Molly studied her carefully. “You look tired.”

      “I didn’t sleep well.”

      “You’ll have to get a nap in later.” Concern shone in the pale blue eyes looking at Kate.

      “That’s my plan.”

      “Good.” With a nod, Molly leaned back in her chair and stretched like a cat, slow and long. She closed her eyes and raised her face to the sun, smiling happily. “Oh, what a wonderful morning.”

      Kate smiled as she watched Molly. She knew her aunt wouldn’t care one iota that the sun highlighted every line on her face. She had told Kate often enough that she didn’t understand women who fought time. There were too many other interesting things to do with life than trying to look young. She was a woman comfortable with herself and her age.

      With her hair, her wild caftans and a love for bright lipstick, Molly was the stereotype of an artist. She lived alone, happy and content by herself, in the house next to Kate’s. A common wall joined the two residences and they shared the garden with separate patios on either end. Behind the houses, fronting the main street was the retail shop they also shared. On the other side of the alley was the studio with Kate’s furnace and Molly’s kiln.

      Their work complemented each other’s perfectly. Their shop, Fire Works, was popular and profitable enough. Molly claimed that Kate’s fantastic glasswork was the reason. The pieces had an airiness and delicacy that tempted the eye. Kate returned the flattery, pointing out how much of Molly’s colorful, fanciful pottery flew out the door every day. They had been in partnership for five years, ever since Kate had finished school and her apprenticeship.

      It was through Molly that Kate had found her passion. As a girl, she had been fascinated by the clay and minerals her aunt used to create pottery. Shaping the raw materials and burning them into a new, solid form intrigued her. With Molly’s encouragement, Kate took it one step further and discovered molten minerals—glass—and her true artistic calling.

      Kate ran her finger along the rim of her tea mug. Bright green with stripes of blue, pink, purple and orange, it was one of Molly’s bolder designs. She didn’t want to spoil the tranquility of the morning, but she had to talk to her aunt, the one friend in whom she could confide.

      “Patrick’s back.”

      Molly’s eyes snapped open. “You saw him! How did it go?”

      “Not so well. He knows I’m pregnant.”

      “You told him?” Molly asked in surprise.

      “No, Shelly did. She told me she thought he knew. Oh, Molly,” Kate groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I made such a mess of it all. When he asked about the baby, I just panicked. Then I lost my temper.”

      Molly chuckled. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

      “It was bad enough.” Kate sighed. “I should have been cool and firm. I’ve already made the decision, right? All I have to do is stick with it.”

      “Does he know what you’ve decided?”

      “He does now,” Kate said ruefully. “Poor Patrick.”

      Molly snorted. “Poor Patrick, my fanny. He deserves whatever he gets. He’s the one who disappeared without a word.”

      Kate sipped her tea. “I suppose so. I can’t help wishing I’d handled it better, though.”

      Who would have guessed that she, even tempered to a fault, could be so moody? When she got weepy during a commercial for laundry fabric softener, she had known something was wrong. A trip to the doctor had confirmed her suspicions. She had cried, then laughed. More than once since, Kate had found herself laughing and crying at the same moment. The abrupt mood swings embarrassed her, but she had no control over them. She sighed again, regretting yet another emotional outburst.

      Molly leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “Did seeing him change your mind?”

      “No. Nothing’s changed.” Kate looked at her aunt and shrugged. “He gave no excuse for not keeping in touch, just that he was busy with the race. He said he was sorry, but that doesn’t mean much.” She paused, then added in a whisper, “He forgot about me. What if he forgets his own child, too?”

      Tears swam in Kate’s eye as she said the words aloud. It hurt right down to her soul to experience that indifference again. She thought she was over the pain but apparently not. Being abandoned by someone you loved was something you never got over.

      Molly reached out and took Kate’s hands in hers, squeezing them tightly. “You know what the future is like with Patrick Berzani. If you want a different childhood for this baby than you and Danny had, then you need to take charge and make it happen.”

      “I know I do,” Kate said, feeling comfort in her aunt’s warm handclasp. “But am I nuts, Molly?”

      “Wanting a good father for your child?”

      Kate nodded, looking at Molly hesitantly. “At least, going about it the way I am seems crazy to me sometimes,” she admitted.

      Molly looked at her intently. “Well, as I’ve said before, it’s a bit out of the ordinary, but I wouldn’t call it crazy. And you could raise the baby on your own. I’ll be here to help.” She cocked her head to the side. “But then I will be anyway, regardless of what happens.”

      Kate felt a lump rise in her throat seeing the support and love in her aunt’s eyes. “What would I do without you?”