Read Online The Gilder by Kathryn Kay - Free Book Online Page B

not to be. With Sarah present, she had been able to shrug it off as a photographer’s quirk, but alone with Thomas, it felt implacable.
    She stood with her back to him, washing the cup as if her life depended on getting every last germ, when suddenly Thomas stepped toward the front door and opened it.
    “Look, I brought you something. Come see.”
    Marina dried her hands and followed him into the alley, where a blue bicycle leaned against the wall. It had been well used—the paint was worn and the beginnings of rust showed on the handlebars—but the tires looked new and the chain glistened with grease.
    Thomas looked pleased with himself. “I’ve done a little work on it. I think it rides pretty well. Don’t worry”—he chuckled—“I didn’t find it in the street. A friend gave it to me. Why don’t you give it a try?”
    Marina knew Thomas often wandered the streets at night when he couldn’t sleep, reappearing at first light with all sorts of things people had put out on the street for the rubbish men, things Thomas considered treasure, but Sarah considered junk. Marina hesitated a moment, then mounted the bike and pedaled down the alley and around the corner toward the main street. She hadn’t been on a bike in years, but it felt glorious, and it would make the trek to the other side of the river so much faster. She made a tight turn at the end of the tunnel and headed back toward Thomas, ringing the bell.
    “This is great!” The brakes squealed a little as she came to a stop next to him. “Thank you so much. It’s just what I need.”
    Thomas smiled. “I know. Sarah told me that your class is over near my studio in Santo Spirito. That’s quite a hike from here. You should stop by some time when you’re in the neighborhood. It’s not fair for Sarah to have all the fun.”
     
    Sauro’s workshop was located in a warren of streets behind Santa Croce, where it appeared that every ground-floor space was some sort of workshop. Some had glass windows so grimy Marina couldn’t see inside, and from all of them came either the hum of machinery or the softer vibrations of handheld saws and hammers. She moved down the street, searching for the number Sauro had given her. She was excited to see his workshop and show him the completed frame. Arriving at a wide wooden door that stood open to the street, she paused, then stepped over the threshold. It was dark, and only the muted chatter of a radio announcer came from the shadows. As her eyes adjusted, she saw three heavy wooden workbenches with built-in adjustable vises, each lighted by a goosenecked lamp. Three men were at work. At the bench nearest the door, a stooped, old man with thin, white hair stirred something on a Bunsen burner. At the next, an older version of Sauro with salt-and-pepper hair was engrossed in carving a large frame. Toward the back of the workshop, she saw Sauro stacking boxes against the wall.
    She took another step and stopped. The old man looked up, but Marina could not tell if he saw her, since he bowed his head again and continued to stir. Sauro’s father nodded at her and called to Sauro, who stopped what he was doing and came to greet her. He shook her hand and, indicating the old man who was now muttering into his pot, said, “That’s my grandfather,” but he didn’t take her close enough for a personal introduction. Instead, he turned to introduce her to his father as his “studentessa Americana.” Sauro’s father shook her hand, then folded his arms across his chest as if to say, “I’ll believe it when I see it.” Thomas had warned her that she would not be taken seriously, but the fact that Sauro had invited her to his grandfather’s workshop confirmed that at least he had faith in her ability and dedication. She didn’t think the grandfather would be much of an obstacle, as he seemed already to have one foot in another world. But Sauro’s father, that was a different story. She would just have to do her best and