Running through the Words, 8

Eight.

“I brought muffins from Piping Hot,” Bert states, lifting his hand and acknowledging the white paper bag that it’s holding. “And I wasn’t sure if Rex would be here or not, so I just got a half dozen. You can take the leftovers home to Bas and Nol.”

“Rex’ll be here in about forty-five minutes,” Lucy says, “so it’s good you brought extra. That boy can eat.” She clears a box of merchandise off the round table she uses when meeting with customers and mapping out commissions. “Sit down,” she instructs. “I’ll make some coffee and we can start brainstorming.”

Halloween is still months away, but the prospect of the Pink Pumpkin Plunge has been a positive distraction for Bert. He likes having a goal to work toward and an event to organize, so rather than push off the mascot-making until closer to October, he asked Lucy if she’d mind getting a headstart. “Are you kidding?” had been her answer. “Depending upon what we come up with, I might need a headstart!”

Since business is generally slow on Tuesdays, and since Bert usually feels well the day right before chemo, they’ve agreed to meet at Lucy’s pottery shop to start mapping out some ideas. “I’ll be honest,” she says now, scooping ground coffee into the machine behind the register. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot. The mascot, I mean. I have some thoughts.”

Bert takes a seat at the table and allows his eyes to travel around the eclectic studio. It’s been quite some time since he last visited Lucy in her shop. Several of the walls host tall shelving units that reach almost to the ceiling. Bowls and pots and pitchers are artistically displayed here, their glazes crackled and glossy. Plates and platters have been mounted to the limited available wallspace and large flower pots, a few of them currently housing actual plants, cluster on the floor right inside the door. As fall approaches, the inventory will begin to incorporate ceramic jack-o-lanterns that can be lit with a candle and placed on a porch in lieu of messier, more traditional pumpkins, but for now, the focus is spring. Bert opens the bakery bag and selects a raspberry-cream muffin, popping a chunk of its crispy, sugar-glistened top into his mouth. “What’re your thoughts?” he asks through the crumbly half-chewed bite. “Because I was sorta leaning toward a clown.”

“Were you really?” Lucy glances over at him, a smile toying with her lips.

“I really was, yeah.”

“That’s weird because I had the same thought.” She grabs a pad of paper from the counter and walks over to join Bert, taking a seat across from him and pulling a pencil from behind her ear. “Are you leaning toward a male clown or a female clown?”

“Okay, so that’s an interesting question because I originally wanted to use this fundraiser as a way to bring awareness to breast cancer in men… but men only make up, like, one percent of breast cancer diagnoses. So I think our clown should be female. And I’d like to name her Penelope.”

“All of that sounds good to me,” Lucy says as she opens her sketchbook and jots down a few notes. “How do you envision her? Tall and thin?”

“Pink, plump, and pigtailed,” Bert says immediately.

“I’m noticing a lot of alliteration…”

“Yeah, I noticed that too. But it works, right? I mean, can’t you just see her? With some fuckin’ polka-dot bloomers, a bunch of pink petticoats, and a ruffled patchwork dress? And clown shoes. I definitely want her to wear clown shoes.”

Lucy laughs as she frantically scribbles all of these details onto the page. “You have put some thought into this!” And then she begins to sketch. “I’m thinking we might need a fat suit,” she muses, having drawn Penelope to be a rather roly-poly little thing. “I’ve always wanted to attempt sewing a fat suit, so that might be fun.”

“I’ve never worn a fat suit before, so that will definitely be fun.”

“How ‘bout we make her dress pink and orange to sort of embrace—”

“Breast cancer awareness and the pumpkin plunge?” Bert guesses. “I like that.”

“Maybe some striped knee highs?”

“For sure! Pink ones.”

“And about these pigtails…”

The coffee maker has stopped gurgling so Bert hops up to retrieve a mug for himself and one for Lucy. He dumps a hearty splash of cream into hers before carrying it back to the table. “Have you seen those yarn wigs?” he asks. “I feel like that’s the kind of hair Penelope would have. Real thick yarn, all different shades of pink, pulled into sloppy pigtail-bun-thingies on her head. With a big bow.”

“A pink bow?”

Bert blushes. “Oh… probably.”

Lucy glances up at him, her eyes twinkly and alive with creativity. “Bert,” she says seriously. “This is going to be so much fun.” And just as she says it, the door to the studio swings open and Rex Edwards steps inside.

“What’s going to be so much fun?” he wonders, having heard this last sentence. “Are you guys planning something?”

“We are,” Lucy informs him. “We’re planning a Pink Pumpkin Plunge for Halloween morning.”

“To fight cancer?” Rex confirms, and when Bert nods, the teenager says simply, “I’m in.” He smiles boyishly and walks over to place his backpack behind the register. The younger son of Lucy’s good friend Kathryn Emerson, the sixteen-year-old works part time in the shop during the summer and generally squeezes in a day or two each week during the school year as well. He’s a sweet kid who enjoys talking to customers and can be counted on to properly package large orders for shipping. That’s what Lucy wants him to do today, but first she offers him a muffin and asks about his weekend. “Did you do anything fun?”

“Teddy and I went camping. It was great until it poured down rain on Saturday night and we realized our tent had a leak, but…” He pauses in his story and raises his shoulders in a shrug. “We survived.”

Four years older than Rex, Teddy is somewhat unique in that he actually enjoys spending time with his younger brother. The two frequently camp, canoe, and hike together, and Lucy knows how much Rex misses his sibling each fall when Teddy once again travels north to attend classes at the University of New Hampshire. When one considers the brothers’ parents, it’s rather surprising that both of them turned out as kind and personable as they did, because as much as Lucy adores her dear friend, Kathryn is neither warm nor fuzzy. Her husband, Will, is an absolute jerk.

“Hey, Rex?” Lucy says now, recapturing the boy’s attention before he disappears to package up pottery and address boxes for shipping. “Bas told me to let you know he’s free Thursday morning if you wanna squeeze in a driving lesson before work. Just text him if you’re interested.”

“Really? That’d be great! I’ll get in touch with him during my lunch break.”

Bert’s eyes find Lucy’s and he arches his invisible brows, asking a silent question that she waits to answer until Rex has slipped away to the shed in search of boxes. “Bas is teaching him how to drive,” she explains. “Will’s never around and Kathryn is not the person you want riding shotgun while learning to navigate the highway and parallel park… so Bas offered and Rex accepted and they usually get together once a week.”

“Huh. That’s really nice of B to volunteer his time like that.”

“I thought so too, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I think he likes spending time with Rex.” What she doesn’t add is “I think it also helps him to keep his mind off worrying about you.” Because the truth is, Lucy can see that Sebastian is struggling. Short of that first day home from touring, when he officially learned of his best friend’s diagnosis, Bas hasn’t allowed himself to show even a moment of weakness, but Lucy knows that he’s scared.

“Is he doing too much, d’you think?” Bert asks suddenly, seeming to intuit the thoughts coursing through Lucy’s head. “Teaching Rex to drive… taking me to chemo every Wednesday… staying with me on the nights that I feel like shit… Is he doing too much? Because it hasn’t even been a full month yet and he just never fucking stops.”

“I know.”

“I’m worried he’s gonna stretch himself too thin.”

“Me too, Bert. Me too. But he’s not going to stop taking you to chemo, and he’s not going to stop crashing at your place when you’re sick. You can ask him ‘til you’re blue in the face, but it won’t do any good. I think he needs you right now every bit as much as you need him, so let him help, okay? Let him show up and do his thing.”

Bert bites his bottom lip, considering all that Lucy has said, and then he nods. “Alright.”