moment to glance back at Ellery. She was lifting a piece of concrete as if it was a feather. Her expensive suit and her handsome face were smeared with soot and her eyes blazed with a fierce determination that won Sarah’s admiration. As she started to walk away, she realized she had more in common with Ellery than probably either of them realized.
Chapter Five
Two weeks later
Ellery tacked the final piece of leather into place and stood back to assess her work. She’d given the well-worn brown leather she’d recycled from old theater seats a sleek new life as a midcentury channel back chair, and she was pleased with the clean lines and the simplicity of the piece. She gazed around her studio at the massive amount of work she had accomplished in the last two weeks. This new collection was different from her previous work. These pieces were lighter, more utilitarian, modern and bright. She’d taken a lot of her inspiration from the theater seats. She’d bought them for practically nothing at a flea market months ago, but it wasn’t until after the night of the bombing that she’d been inspired to incorporate them into her work. As she carefully salvaged the leather from each chair, she’d offered a prayer for the victims of the bombing whose lives had forever changed.
She had stayed at the site of the explosion for hours, helping clear debris and assist the first responders in any way she could. At some point during the night, April found her there and tried to get her to leave or at least promise to come over when she left, but she stayed until dawn and then she’d gone straight home. In the shadow of their mortality, she could no longer pretend she and April still had anything in common, even if doing so would have never given companionship in those dark hours.
When she had finally arrived home she had at least a dozen messages from her parents. She’d called and spoken briefly with her father, but his dizzying round of questions made her wish she hadn’t. He’d wanted to talk about every last detail. Was it a bomb? What kind? Foreign or domestic? How long before they had suspects in custody, and more importantly, who would represent them?
Ellery had listened to his questions, but she hadn’t engaged, finally managing to convince him that she was okay and too exhausted and too busy to dwell on the details. What she’d seen that night had been too horrific to process, even with him. All she could do, like the rest of the nation, was spend the next twenty-four hours glued to the television, watching the major networks wield various theories about who had been behind the fatal blast. Pundits talked and politicians postured, but hours passed with no new information beyond an increased tally of injured and dead.
She found her solace in work and she’d barely left her studio, even sleeping some nights there on the couch. Karen, the owner of the showroom in the Design District that sold many of her creations, had finally shown up on her doorstep when she couldn’t get in touch with her. Ellery assuaged her concern by showing her the new collection she’d started and then shoved her out the door so she could keep working. Other than a wave at her neighbor, Leo, when she met the kid who delivered groceries to her door, she hadn’t spoken to another soul since. Now, two weeks out, she was beginning to feel restless.
Four more pieces. Karen had scheduled an event showcasing up-and-coming designers, and when she’d seen this new work, she’d insisted that Ellery participate. The additional pieces would round out the collection and Ellery had plenty of ideas. She didn’t know whether she should be happy or sad that a national tragedy had spurred her creativity to new heights.
She shrugged. It wasn’t fair, but then nothing really was. You lived your life, did your best, and hoped for the best in return, but everyone present that night had learned nothing was certain. The most important thing was to have no
Chapter Five
Two weeks later
Ellery tacked the final piece of leather into place and stood back to assess her work. She’d given the well-worn brown leather she’d recycled from old theater seats a sleek new life as a midcentury channel back chair, and she was pleased with the clean lines and the simplicity of the piece. She gazed around her studio at the massive amount of work she had accomplished in the last two weeks. This new collection was different from her previous work. These pieces were lighter, more utilitarian, modern and bright. She’d taken a lot of her inspiration from the theater seats. She’d bought them for practically nothing at a flea market months ago, but it wasn’t until after the night of the bombing that she’d been inspired to incorporate them into her work. As she carefully salvaged the leather from each chair, she’d offered a prayer for the victims of the bombing whose lives had forever changed.
She had stayed at the site of the explosion for hours, helping clear debris and assist the first responders in any way she could. At some point during the night, April found her there and tried to get her to leave or at least promise to come over when she left, but she stayed until dawn and then she’d gone straight home. In the shadow of their mortality, she could no longer pretend she and April still had anything in common, even if doing so would have never given companionship in those dark hours.
When she had finally arrived home she had at least a dozen messages from her parents. She’d called and spoken briefly with her father, but his dizzying round of questions made her wish she hadn’t. He’d wanted to talk about every last detail. Was it a bomb? What kind? Foreign or domestic? How long before they had suspects in custody, and more importantly, who would represent them?
Ellery had listened to his questions, but she hadn’t engaged, finally managing to convince him that she was okay and too exhausted and too busy to dwell on the details. What she’d seen that night had been too horrific to process, even with him. All she could do, like the rest of the nation, was spend the next twenty-four hours glued to the television, watching the major networks wield various theories about who had been behind the fatal blast. Pundits talked and politicians postured, but hours passed with no new information beyond an increased tally of injured and dead.
She found her solace in work and she’d barely left her studio, even sleeping some nights there on the couch. Karen, the owner of the showroom in the Design District that sold many of her creations, had finally shown up on her doorstep when she couldn’t get in touch with her. Ellery assuaged her concern by showing her the new collection she’d started and then shoved her out the door so she could keep working. Other than a wave at her neighbor, Leo, when she met the kid who delivered groceries to her door, she hadn’t spoken to another soul since. Now, two weeks out, she was beginning to feel restless.
Four more pieces. Karen had scheduled an event showcasing up-and-coming designers, and when she’d seen this new work, she’d insisted that Ellery participate. The additional pieces would round out the collection and Ellery had plenty of ideas. She didn’t know whether she should be happy or sad that a national tragedy had spurred her creativity to new heights.
She shrugged. It wasn’t fair, but then nothing really was. You lived your life, did your best, and hoped for the best in return, but everyone present that night had learned nothing was certain. The most important thing was to have no
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