Patterns in the Sand by Sally Goldenbaum Page B

envy of the crowded colony. Aidan let it grow as it willed, with sea grass and wild roses surrounding his house and a thick copse of trees beyond. The only tended part was a small plot between the studio and the house, where Aidan had carved out a garden—a quiet, almost hidden retreat.
     
     
“Aidan needs more room in here,” Ben said. “This place is jammed.”
     
     
Nell nodded in agreement. She looked around at the jostling crowd and focused on a small group that surrounded a life-sized mermaid. She was carved from a single piece of pine and stood tall on her flayed fins. Her shape was exaggerated and fanciful, her full lips in a wide smile, and her wavy locks a brilliant cascade down over her breasts. A small discreet knob on the front opened the wooden sculpture to reveal a bookshelf and several small drawers—a perfect place for hidden treasures.
     
     
Nell felt the vibe of the admiring crowd and moved over to the side of the room, where Aidan stood, watching people’s reactions.
     
     
“Aidan, you’ve outdone yourself with the mermaid—they seem to be a specialty of yours. She’s gorgeous. But please, do not let Ben buy her. We’re going to have to build an addition to satisfy his addiction.”
     
     
Aidan looped an arm around Nell, his weight heavy on her shoulders and his voice deeper than usual. “She’s a pretty one, isn’t she?”
     
     
Nell noticed the slight slur in Aidan’s voice. She looked into his face, wondering if perhaps he’d been drinking. The glass in his hand was nondescript, but nearly empty. “Are you all right, Aidan?”
     
     
“Damn heat, that’s all. Where did it come from?” He wiped his forehead and upper lip on the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. “But it isn’t keeping folks away. It’s a good night, Nell.” Aidan reached out and touched Nell’s arm, as if to steady himself. “This is what we need, these kinds of things. Not Sobel’s exhibit.”
     
     
He stopped talking then, as if he wasn’t sure of what he had said. His brows pulled together in an attempt to focus. Then he looked at Nell again. “Billy isn’t a bad guy. He’ll be okay.”
     
     
Nell touched Aidan’s arm and looked into his eyes. They seemed cloudy, unfocused. “Let’s go outside, Aidan. Get some air.”
     
     
“There you two are,” said Ben, walking up behind them. “Nell is probably paying you not to sell me anything.”
     
     
“Ben,” Aidan said, hanging on to Ben’s hand, “I need to talk to you. Tomorrow?” With his other hand, Aidan wiped the moisture from his forehead.
     
     
“Sure, Aidan. Name the time.”
     
     
“Put some things in order.”
     
     
Ben nodded, and Nell listened, concerned about the unsteadiness of her friend.
     
     
It didn’t surprise her that Aidan was asking for Ben’s help—that happened frequently, and Ben was always there to help. Ben’s business law degree and experience—not to mention his big heart—pulled him into more family affairs than Father Northcutt’s confessional.
     
     
But what surprised her was the urgency in Aidan’s voice, and the fact that his face had lost most of its color in the short time they had been standing together.
     
     
A discussion at the counter over the cost of a carved box forced Aidan’s attention away, and Nell watched him weave unsteadily through the crowds.
     
     
“I think he’s coming down with something,” she said half to herself, but Ben was already on the other side of the room, checking out a tall, wooden fisherman with a marlin standing beside him.
     
     
Nell shook her head. Where in heaven’s name would she fit a fisherman in their home? Probably beside the mermaid.
     
     
She wandered around the shop for a while, admiring a wall of intricately carved mirrors that Aidan had assembled. She often wondered if an imagination like his ever ran dry—or if there was always another sea urchin, another mermaid or fisherman waiting to be born of his knife and spirit.
     
     
The dampness on Nell’s neck was becoming uncomfortable, and