"It doesn't surprise me, this heart attack,"
Kenneth said. "The man was always brooding,
grinding away at his insides, even as a teenager. You
all right?" he inquired.
"Yes."
"Sara must be a mess."
"She's doing okay," I said. "Cary's been a
source of strength."
"Really? Good for him. Are you going to be
able to work?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes. It's the best thing, the best way to deal
with worry, work it under the sand."
Kenneth laughed.
"That sounds like some beachcomber's
wisdom," he remarked and drove on.
We did work hard that week and Kenneth made
a great deal of progress, deciding by week's end that
he was ready to begin the actual sculpture. Holly did
some painting of her own while we worked. By her
own description, her work was ethereal, spiritual,
abstract, full of bright colors and ghostly shapes. In
one painting, the woman she'd painted had stars
looking down instead of eyes. Kenneth said she
usually sold all of her works in New York at her shop. Holly was always upbeat and pleasant and fun
to be with, which proved refreshing during these
troubled times. During my breaks, or if Kenneth
finished with me early, Holly and I usually walked
along the beach, practiced meditating, talked about
crystals and astrology, sunbathed, and dressed in her headbands and saris. One day she decided to repaint her car and I helped her create new images over a peagreenish yellow exterior. Kenneth thought our work was so far out, Holly might be pulled over on the highway for violating sanity. Everyone laughed. I felt very comfortable being with the two of them,
especially with Holly.