“She did come and then she left. She won’t answer my phone calls or return my messages. Long story.”
“You weren’t mean to her, were you? Or your family?”
“No, I swear. It’s just a misunderstanding. A bad one, but still, it’ll be fine as soon as she talks to me.”
“You know she has her pride.”
“Yeah, I know, I know. Too much pride. I better go. I have to find her. Any idea where she’d be? Any idea at all?”
“Try 7212 Northeast Prescott.”
“That is a really specific answer,” Ian said.
“It’s her workshop,” she said. “If she’s not there, then I have no idea where she is. But she’s there.”
“You’re sure?”
“It’s where she went after she was kicked out of your last party.”
“We’re going to get this party thing right eventually.”
“You better. I don’t have a lot of years left and I better see a wedding before I go.”
“I promise,” Ian said. “You can be my best man. Best woman.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
He kissed her cheek and headed back into Portland. On the way to Prescott, Ian called upon his mother’s faith and his father’s and prayed Flash was there. If she wasn’t at the workshop, he had no idea where she could be. She had other friends she could have run to and stayed with and it could be days or weeks before he saw her again. He tried to tamp down the apocalyptic thinking. It was just a misunderstanding. It was just a mistake. He wasn’t going to be like his father in twenty years still kicking himself for losing the woman he loved.
He pulled into the driveway of a weedy little green house with a hand-painted sign in the front window that read Studios for Rent. When he stepped out of the car he heard the unmistakable sparking sound of a MIG welding torch.
Ian knew he had to be careful if he didn’t want to take a torch burn to his face. He didn’t knock on the side door but simply slipped quietly inside and moved a safe distance from Flash’s worktable. She’d changed out of her dress and into canvas work pants and a white tank top. The dress hung on a hook behind the door. She’d wrapped it in plastic to keep it safe.
While he waited for her to acknowledge his presence, he glanced around the shop. He saw the mold she’d used to create the ivy leaves for the sculpture of his mother. She amazed him with what she could do with her mind and her muscle and her imagination.
Flash finally killed her arc and sat her welding gun down on the table. She raised the visor of her helmet and turned around to face him.
“What?” she asked. That was all. One word. What?
“What are you working on?”
“Nothing,” she said.
“Sounded like something.”
“Practicing a new technique I saw online. I’m playing with scraps. It’s fun when you don’t have to worry about screwing up.”
“You’re the only woman I know who would call practicing MIG welding techniques on scrap metal ‘fun.’ No, let me correct that. You’re the only person I know of any gender who would say that.”
“Not my fault you don’t know as many cool people as I do.”
Ian took a step toward her. She didn’t say anything to stop him so he took another.
“Are you going to ask why I’m here?”
“No,” she said. “But I’m guessing you’re going to tell me.”
“I am. But first, did you like your Christmas present I gave you?”