Page 28 of Autumn With The Grumpy Mountain Man

Harper leaned both elbows on the counter and smiled at me. “So.”

“So,” I said weakly.

“How long?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hazel, honey.” She reached across and tugged gently on one rolled-up sleeve. “You’re wearing his shirt.”

I put my face in my hands. She laughed, a delighted, happy laugh, and when I peeked through my fingers, she was beaming.

“A week,” I said into my palms. “Please don’t tell anybody. It’s complicated. The internship, and Dr. Mills, and⁠—”

“My lips are sealed.” She made a zipping motion. Then she nodded at the window. “And Walt doesn’t talk to anybody anyway.”

Walt turned a page of his newspaper without looking up.

Harper made my latte. When she slid it across the counter, her face had gone softer.

“Can I tell you something?” she said. “Ever since Shepherd has been coming here, he’s always looked like he was carrying that whole mountain on his back.” She glanced out the window at his truck. “He doesn’t look like that anymore. He looks lighter.”

My throat went tight. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”

I carried my latte out to the truck. Shepherd was sitting behind the wheel with the newspapers on his lap and his jaw set, staring straight ahead.

“Well,” I said, buckling my seat belt. “That went great.”

He closed his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I laughed all the way to the hardware store.

My phone rang that afternoon while I was alone in the apartment, changing into a dry sweater. I’d knocked a bucket of wash water into my lap at the paint table, and Shepherd had laughed so hard he’d had to sit down.

I could still hear him downstairs. The staple gun, the radio, the creak of the ladder.

It was Dr. Mills.

“Hazel! Is this a good time?”

“Of course.” I sat down on the edge of the bed. “Is everything okay?”

"Everything's wonderful. I was going to wait and tell you in person when I come up next week for your site visit, but I couldn't stand it." She sounded almost giddy, which wasn't like her at all. "Have you heard of the Kessler Studio? In Sedona?"

I had. Everybody in my program had. They did enormous light and sculpture installations all over the Southwest, the kind of work that ended up in magazines.

“They have a yearlong residency,” she said. “One artist a year. It’s paid, with housing, and you work on their large-scale pieces from start to finish. I nominated you in September. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

I stopped breathing.

“They’ve seen your portfolio,” she said. “And the photos of your work this fall. The director called me this morning. Hazel, they want you. It starts in June, right after graduation. If you say yes, it’s yours.”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

"I know," she said, and she laughed. "Take a breath. They'd like an answer by Thanksgiving, so you have a few weeks. We'll talk it all through when I'm there."

I don’t remember most of what I said after that. I know I thanked her about six times. When we hung up, I sat on the bed with the phone in my lap and stared at the wall.