Calendar Girl 12 - December by Audrey Carlan Read Free Book Online Page B

decisions. Her boss and Leona do. I’ve already cleared it with them. They gave me carte blanche to pick whomever I wanted, and I choose you. Now, I understand if you need time to think about—”
    “No need. I want the job.” Her voice was firm and confident.
    I grinned. “Even though you have to move?”
    “The winters in New York are brutal, and my family is all over the place. Besides, this is my chance to be on a regular show, making higher-level decisions, and working with someone I genuinely like. I hate that I’m kicked around here, there, and everywhere. I want to find a place and build a life. Working with you and Mr. Channing has been the highlight of my career so far,” she said excitedly. Probably the most animated I’d seen her.
    I cleared my throat just as the waiter delivered our appetizers. Wes went for a hush puppy and had one in his mouth so quickly, I worried he’d choke.
    “What?” he said around a mouthful of food.
    I laughed. “Anyway, there’s only one condition.” My eyebrows rose as she prepared herself.
    Her shoulders went back, she lifted her chin, her gaze focused directly on mine. It was hard not cracking up, but I arrowed my own gaze on hers and spoke my terms.
    “You have to agree to call me, Mia. This Ms. Saunders stuff is getting old.” I held a stoic impression for as long as I could before the piggy snort laugh started.
    By the time we were done talking, the entire table was howling. I’d informed the rest of the crew that I planned on reserving their services as well and they all seemed happy about the possibility of working together more in the future.
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    A fter lunch , we hit the third gallery and met with a man who called himself Bob the Woodsman. He whittled wood while sitting in a rocking chair he’d crafted himself. The gallery had placed his chair in a corner by the window. Bob was seventy years young and enjoyed hanging out surrounded by art and meeting new people.
    The gallery was a huge draw for local tourists, and since they’d given Bob the Woodsman a space to whittle, they’d upped their sales by thirty percent. He sat in his chair, whittled out small, unique pieces that the tourists could buy on the spot or others the gallery had on display along with additional mixed arts ranging from sculptures to paintings and more.
    Interviewing Bob, I found out that he’d served two tours in Vietnam, starting back in 1965. During the long hours of waiting for action, he’d cut chunks out of the trees, and using a pocketknife, he’d whittle small totems or figurines out of the wood. He’d give the bits of art to his brothers-in-arms so they could mail them back to their families, letting them know they were thinking about them. He was discharged in the early seventies because of three service injuries: he’d been shot twice in the leg and once in the hip. The leg didn’t heal as well as they’d hoped.
    Far more comfortable in a rocking chair, Bob the Woodsman started making his pastime a full-time job. Happier talking with his family, friends, and the public, and unable to get around easily to work a nine-to-five job, he found something that worked for him, something he loved, and made it his own.
    His story was inspiring and uplifting when so much of the world was in strife, dealing with the ravages of war and wanting nothing but peace. Bob’s story had a heaping dose of hope for our nation’s wounded veterans who I knew could use a bit of optimism. Bob’s story wasn’t easy to hear. He had been wounded protecting freedom, and sitting in a window of an art gallery in Aspen Colorado, he didn’t regret a single day of his service.
    A beautiful hero who crafted interesting pieces was amazing, but it wasn’t the story that made him special. It was the part of his experience each person he encountered took away with them.
    While we chatted, he whittled a small wooden heart surrounded by ocean waves. “Wedding gift,” Bob said when he handed me the piece.