What started out being a slender deer turned into a long-necked bird and then a squat rabbit with ears like paddles. The rabbit was good. She liked it. She gave it eyes and a tail.

She’d forgotten about Casey Kirkwood-Cole and Florida. She’d entered a space of her own making—a bubble—and was lost in a private reverie. It was strange—the rabbit was a real thing now and she was part of it and it was part of her. Fully absorbed, she watched it, watched her fingers reshape and shift things—the tail, the nose—ever so slightly. And then she felt as if she were the one being watched.

Casey.

“You’re good,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“Really good.”

She felt the bubble thin to nothing. She was back—alone with Casey.

Amelia turned her head, scanning the room. She wondered where Louise was. She’d been in the background all morning—flitting in and out of Amelia’s awareness like music—preparing for an afternoon class for little kids on the other side of the workroom, mixing big buckets of glaze, and making trips to the basement to unload and load the kiln.

Casey rose and walked over to Amelia. He bent down to get a better look at her rabbit. “Aunt Louise said you were a good artist,” he told her, nodding.

“I’m okay.”

“Yours is much better than mine,” said Casey. “I’ll show you.”

Amelia followed him reluctantly back to his work area, thinking it was the polite thing to do.

“Ta-da,” said Casey, gesturing with his open hands, hamming it up ironically.

They stared at his creation. It was kind of a mess. Amelia was at a loss for words.

“I’m better at drawing than I am with clay,” Casey explained.

Amelia rubbed her chin with the back of her wrist, her brain whirring, trying to come up with something to say that wouldn’t offend him but that wasn’t a lie, either.

“It’s supposed to be the Eiffel Tower,” Casey said with a doubtful expression. “But it kept collapsing so I kept making it smaller. Now it stands up okay, but it’s so small and crooked it looks like—like the skeleton of a miniature giraffe with really bad arthritis.”

Casey’s comment had the effect of opening a window in a stuffy room. Amelia laughed. And then so did Casey.

They were still laughing when Louise came up from the basement carrying a tray of children’s coil pots fresh from the kiln and ready for glazing. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

Amelia and Casey quieted, exchanged a look—and burst out laughing again. Then they got the giggles.

“Oh, good,” said Louise, amused. She breezed past them, glancing from one to the other. “I thought you might hit it off.”

6 • Gwen and Charlie Till Death Do Us Part

The day had changed. When Amelia had set out for the clay studio the sky had been muted, nearly invisible, and now it was as blue and bright as a gemstone. But it was still cold. Amelia turned up the collar of her jacket and dipped her chin even though they only had a block to walk.