Free Hands On by Christina Crooks Page A

not a team player. But their reaction was due to being intimidated by her, Ginnie was pretty sure. She’d explained herself to them. “I’d sure like to be behind the stage instead, though,” Ginnie finished, wistful. “It’s a joy to make your work come alive, connecting with the audience and inspiring imaginations in ways TV and Hollywood can’t touch.”
    “So, why don’t you? If you enjoy it, do it.”
    “It’s not that easy.” She should know. She’d had the years of apprenticeship, building sets and creating marionettes, touring with a medium-sized company. She’d lived and breathed puppetry for the better part of a decade. She’d actually gotten quite good.
    Then Rick happened, and the gravitational pull back into her mother’s orbit and the accompanying destruction of the confidence she’d built up.
    “It’s never easy,” she said. “Especially when the most important people in your life think it’s a silly habit of just playing with dolls. It’s really not. It’s a challenging form of art to operate a good puppet show, not to mention making handcrafted, quality marionettes.”
    He nodded. Hesitated. “I occasionally perform construction on buildings along with the contractors. Woodworking, mostly. It can be rewarding to build something complex with your own hands. I imagine it’s like that for you?”
    “Yes.” A warm glow of gratification unfurled inside her. He understood. “Exactly. But then again, bills have to be paid. Besides, they need me where I’m at.”
    “Supervising.” Harry picked up a female marionette’s wooden handle. He jiggled it, and the painted girl jiggled too. He manipulated the finger-crank controlling her mouth—open, closed—and tugged on the strings to make her bend her knees.
    Delighted, Ginnie boogied Little Jeffrey in a half-circle around the girl, a vigorous courtship. The girl wasn’t that good of a dancer and seemed somewhat mentally challenged, the way she gaped her mouth open and closed like a fish. And Little Jeffrey’s smashed face appeared a bit gruesome, as if he were a victim of some horrible mugging. But Little Jeffrey’s undiminished ardor for the girl had him bending and twisting and occasionally high-kicking, as if he were possessed by a passion beyond his control.
    They danced awkwardly, and Ginnie laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. Harry had a broad grin too, she noted with satisfaction. “You’re a natural,” she praised him.
    “Liar. You’re the natural.” He laid the puppet aside with obvious reluctance. “That was fun.”
    “It is fun, isn’t it?” They looked at each other, still smiling. She dragged her gaze away with an effort. She noticed he immediately stepped farther away. He didn’t want a relationship.
    Why not? Not that she necessarily wanted one, either, but…
    He liked her and he wanted her, she could tell. And he was the sexiest thing she’d ever known. And he was a hottie with a fabulous house. And they had fun. She was willing to bet Harry didn’t have fun very often. “Harry, what did Jaye Rae do to you?” she blurted.
    His head whipped back, and his eyes ignited with an icy blue fire. He didn’t speak, only stared at her. It made her feel as if she were a novice with a puppet on stage for the first time, alone in the glare of spotlights without a clue what her line was supposed to be.
    “Never mind.” She gathered up Little Jeffrey. She needed more materials from her own basement. She needed supplies from the store.
    No, she needed answers.
    She put down the puppet.
    “Never mind the never mind. Harry, I don’t want to pry, but whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. You’re a wonderful, generous, attractive man in your prime. With great taste in tenants.” The joke fell flat. “Breakups can mess with your mind,” she said, speaking from experience. “I’m a good listener, if you want to open up about it. Go ahead. It’s safe.”
    Harry continued to stare at her.
    Finally he spoke.