Free Foolish Notions by Aris Whittier

she’s fine.”
    “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
    For a very long moment he just stared
at her.
    “What? What is it?”
    He shook his head. “Nothing.”
He turned. “I need to go. I have an appointment.”
    “What about breakfast?”
    “I’ll grab something on the
way.”
    “You always used to eat breakfast
with me . . .” The words faded as she realized what she was
saying.
    “Yes, I did, didn’t I?”
    “That’s not . . . I’m
sorry . . .” Samantha watched him as he turned swiftly away
from her. He went outside to say goodbye to his mom. Through the
window she watched him as he gave Marie a quick kiss on the cheek
before he reentered. He didn’t speak a word as he walked past
her. The click of the front door closing was the only thing left in
his wake.

Chapter Seven
    When James arrived home that evening,
he found Samantha in the kitchen, sitting at the bar as she artfully
glued seashells onto a terracotta flowerpot. Soothing instrumental
music flowed through the house and the light scent of burning candles
filled the air. The sliding glass door was open, allowing the roar of
the ocean to mix with the relaxing ambiance. “Good evening.”
    Samantha looked up from her project. “I
didn’t hear you come in.”
    “Has my mom turned in already?”
James asked as he strolled into the kitchen, looking at two
flickering candles.
    “Yes.” She turned her wrist
and looked at her watch. “About an hour ago.”
    His head popped up. “That’s
a little early. Is she okay?”
    “Yep.” She smiled gently.
“She was just a little tired, that’s all.” She
fiddled with a small shell while she scrutinized the clay pot from
several angles. “We had a busy day of getting things in order.”
She looked up. “But we are all organized. How was your day?”
    “Good.” James worked off
his tie as he studied her creation.
    “What is that?”
    Samantha’s gaze slid away from
James to what she held in her hands. “What do you mean, what is
it?” She tried desperately to collect the long, stringy strains
of glue that were draped all over the pot, her hands, and the glue
gun. Once the majority of them were contained, she spoke. “Isn’t
it self-explanatory?”
    He shook his head, enjoying her antics.
“Not really.”
    “This is a one-of-a-kind,
hand-crafted flowerpot, with genuine seashells collected by,”
she gave him a brilliant smile, “yours truly.” She held
the pot in the air with pride.
    He stared at the pot quietly for
several moments, before saying, “One of a kind, that’s
the truth.”
    She squinted as she glared at him. “Are
you mocking my creation? It’s a work of art.”
    “A work of art, that’s a
stretch.”
    “Okay, craftiness isn’t one
of my finer talents. However, I think Marie will love it.”
    “Yes, she will, and no it’s
not.” He seized a long strand of glue that had found its way
into her hair. He allowed his fingers to glide down the length,
enjoying the slight contact with her. After he rolled the string into
a ball, he flicked it into the trashcan and watched her for a moment.
Damn the wind for tousling her hair like that. Damn the sun for
giving her skin that magnificent glow. Damn the air for making her
smell sweet and heavenly. He took a step away from her. Waking up to
her presence in the house this morning had been hard, but being with
her right now was torture.
    “I’ve been working on this
for almost an hour.”
    “Really, that long?”
    She lifted the pot, careful not to
damage any of the shells, and regarded it. “Do you know how
hard it is to glue onto a round surface?”
    “I haven’t a clue,”
he said dryly.
    She adjusted a few shells. “It’s
not that bad.”
    “If you say so.” He picked
up the mail on the counter.
    “You have to have an
imagination,” she explained. “Picture it with a beautiful
flowering plant of some sort in it. Glossy green leaves cascading
over the edge.”
    “For some reason the vision just
isn’t coming to