But Violet, the one behind the front counter, had told her she was glad Maya came back, and that was before Maya returned the box. And Trudy let Maya help her with her sculptures. Maya didn’t understand their kindness. Usually people being too nice to her meant ulterior motives. Or blatantly inappropriate ones. But she didn’t get anything close to those vibes from these two.

The day was warm, the air thick and sugar scented from the doughnut shop on the corner. She lifted her hair off the back of her neck and twisted it into a knot, poking the ends under so it wouldn’t fall down. She paused at the door as a customer angled her large shopping bag through the doorway, then took a step inside. Violet was behind the counter as usual, ringing up a customer, and Trudy was at work at the table in the back. With a cautious glance through the shop, Maya approached Trudy’s table.

She sat to one side, her tackle box open on the floor next to her and an assortment of green and brown glass pieces scattered on the table in front of her. At the other end of the table were a pair of wire cutters and a spool of thin wire, a few pieces of driftwood, and the jar of clear tumbled glass. A small wooden bowl held clumps of dried seaweed, and the rolling pin of untangled fishing line sat perpendicular to the edge of the table. The second chair at the table was empty.

As soon as Trudy made eye contact with Maya, Trudy tipped her head to the side, toward the empty chair.

Maya raised her eyebrows. “You want me to sit?” Trudy nodded but Maya hesitated. She glanced over to where Violet was helping an older gentleman pick through a rack of sterling silver necklaces, then turned back when she heard the scrape of the chair against the floor as Trudy nudged it back with her toe.

Maya obeyed and stroked her fingers over the materials on the table—the cool wire and knobby wood. The rough seaweed and still-sandy shells. Her fingers itched and she could almost hear the various pieces telling her how they wanted to fit together and where they belonged.

Trudy slid a note toward her. Go ahead. Just play.

So play she did. For an hour she arranged and rearranged the pieces, intertwining wood pieces and tacking on feathers, knots of wire, and loops of twine. Iridescent jingle shells, coquinas as small as a pinkie nail, and tiny striped oyster drills. Everything mixed and mingled under her fingers as she shaped and wired and tested and pressed. In the end her creation vaguely resembled a tree, but it also somehow reminded her of her grandmother, with outstretched arms and a sturdy middle.

A moment later, she turned to Trudy and the words fell from her mouth. “I’d really like to work here.” She pressed her lips together. She hadn’t even realized that’s what she was going to say until she said it, but once it was out, she knew that was exactly what she wanted. What she needed.