Free Sea Glass Inn by Karis Walsh

damage to her house for the fourth time that morning. The first storm of the season always seemed to bring a rash of downed trees as the weak and dying ones, unnoticed over the summer, succumbed to the winds and rain-soaked ground. The earliest estimate she had so far was two weeks away, and she was torn between toughing it out in her dripping house and cramming an air mattress in her tiny office at the gallery.
    “Careful, there might still be glass on the floor,” she called to Mel before returning to her conversation with the contractor. Mel nodded and stopped a few feet away from the standing water on the floor while she inspected the tarp-covered hole. Pam, with the help of a neighbor and his chain saw, had gotten the pine off her house early that morning only to find the damage was more extensive than she had thought. If she could have covered the hole with plywood, the house would have been habitable, but the tree had managed to fall on a corner and take out large sections of two walls and the roof.
    “Yes, I’ll hold,” Pam said with a sigh. She watched Mel turn away from the damaged area and look around the rest of the downstairs.
    It didn’t take long for her to scan the entire living room, and Pam knew her bare walls and uncluttered surfaces were more revealing than a room full of personal items would have been. Mel was bringing vibrancy and light to her run-down old inn, transforming it into something beautiful, but Pam brought nothing of herself to this house, hadn’t enhanced it in any way. Anyone could see how unproductive and uninspired she was.
    She spent her days at the gallery surrounded by other people’s art, by reminders of her own emptiness. She found it soothing to come home and be free of the taunting creations, the explosions of color and inspiration. The few times she had invited women to her house, she had heard comments about how they had expected her to have paintings covering her walls and had expected an artist’s loft to be messy, as if she was constantly in the throes of creative passion. Well, Pam had had expectations of her own once upon a time. And she had realized they were never going to come true.
    She had stopped bringing anyone to her home once she discovered how much of her soul was reflected in the barren environment, and seeing Mel walk through her space—and guessing at the judgments forming in her mind—made Pam feel as cracked open as the side of her house.
    The contractor came back on the line and promised to be out by the end of the week to check the house and give her an estimate. Pam gave him the address. She would believe it when she actually saw him arrive on her doorstep.
    “How did your house weather the storm?” she asked Mel after she turned off the phone.
    “Aside from being cold and dark, there was no damage,” Mel said, putting the nature guide she had been leafing through back on the kitchen table. “I found the generator, but I didn’t have any idea how to run it. I’ll figure it out before the next blackout.”
    Pam just nodded. No doubt Mel would learn how to use the generator before the week was out. Pam would commiserate as she, too, struggled with the aftermath of the storm. But she wasn’t obligated or expected to help. In fact, Mel wouldn’t want an offer of help. Usually women wanted something from Pam, not caring if she had problems of her own, but this new relationship was different.
    Pam felt an easing in the tension she had experienced when Mel first walked into her house.
    “How long will it take to fix that?” Mel gestured toward the dripping tarp.
    “I have a couple of appointments set up,” Pam said. “We’ll see who gets here first. It’ll be at least a week, but more likely three.”
    “Oh. I’ve finished the upstairs bedrooms, if you need a place to stay. Two of them even have beds.”
    Pam heard the hesitation in Mel’s voice and she hurried to turn down the offer. Of course Mel would offer her place. She had a huge