mean, why would I want to go on working for people who think like that?”

“Still, I hope they compensated you well.”

“It was a decent severance package,” Gabi acknowledged. “Which is why I can take my time before going back to work. I can experiment with things like this, find out if I actually have any raw, previously unidentified talent. If it turns out that I don’t...” She shrugged. “No real loss. I think I’ll still have learned something that will bring me personal satisfaction.”

She gave Sally a worried look. “Does that make you want to reconsider? I suppose I don’t sound terribly confident or dedicated.”

“No, you sound like a woman who’s had a tough time and is trying to get her feet back under her. I can relate. This wasn’t always what I did. Oh, I’d loved art and I’d taken a few classes working with glass, but it was just a hobby.”

“Really? What was your career?”

“I worked for a major brokerage company until the bottom fell out. A lot of my clients lost their savings. It wasn’t necessarily my fault. Most of them didn’t even blame me for it. But I blamed myself. I decided I needed to get away, do something in which the only person impacted by my decisions is me.”

She grinned and confided, “I’ve never been happier, but if you talk to my family, they’re all convinced I’ve had some kind of breakdown. For the first couple of years I was down here, they showed up on a regular basis to see if I’d snapped completely.”

“I think that may be what my father’s worried about,” Gabi told her, totally identifying with her situation. “He’s left me half a dozen messages about other jobs he’s heard about since I turned down the one at my old company.”

“Not even tempted?” Sally asked.

Gabi shook her head. “Not even a tiny bit.”

Sally took her last sip of coffee, tossed the cup into a trash can, then washed her hands. “Pull up that stool. You can watch what I’m doing. I usually try to cut a lot of these pieces of glass in various shapes and colors at one time, just to get that out of the way. I don’t want to turn this into some sort of assembly-line manufacturing situation, but I can speed up this part of the process. That gives me more time to create the central art for each piece.”

“I think that’s what struck me when I saw them,” Gabi told her. “The design of each piece is so amazing. I can recognize your style, but they’re not duplicates.”

Sally nodded as she put on goggles and gloves, then handed a set to Gabi. She talked as she began to cut. “I want them to be unique as much as possible, though I’ve had more than one request from a customer to do the same design that they bought as a gift last year. I do insist, though, that the stores that carry the wind chimes never display more than one of a design at a time. I think it’s important the people feel as if they’re buying a piece of art, rather than something mass-produced.”

“Do you make your own glass? The colors are incredible, especially when they catch the sun.”

“I do make some. I have a supplier for some. There’s an artist here who is known for hand-blown glass pieces. You’ll have to meet him. His work is incredible.”

“I’d love to,” Gabi said.

“He works with me sometimes, gives me pieces that didn’t quite work out for him but that I can cut and use. Sometimes, if I have an idea for something a little more old-fashioned, I’ll go to him with my design and he comes up with the most amazing glass for me. Of course, those pieces tend to cost an arm and a leg, so I try not to go too crazy with them. Not enough customers are willing to spend the money, especially if they’re worried that it’ll shatter in a windstorm.”

“That is a risk, isn’t it?” Gabi said. “I imagine it’s why a lot of people prefer the metal wind chimes.”

“Definitely safer,” Sally agreed. “Though for me the sound isn’t as sweet. We do temper the glass so it will hold up in a good stiff breeze, but a hurricane? Not so much.”

She glanced up at Gabi. “You know where I get my favorite glass? Salvage yards. Every now and again I go scouting around and find old stained-glass windows that have been discarded because panes are broken and can’t be replaced or whatever. There’s not a salvage yard for a hundred miles in any direction where they don’t know me. The second a window comes in, they call me.” She gestured toward a window frame on another table. “Last week’s find. Take a look at that glass. I’m guessing it has to be at least a hundred years old.”

Gabi studied the window, much of the glass shattered but enough left to make several amazing, unique wind chimes. “This is beautiful. I love the tiny bubbles in the glass and the slightly rippled surface. I’d give anything to own something made from this.”

Sally beamed at her. “Then you will. I might not get to it right away, but I’ll remember to let you have first chance at anything that comes from that. I love knowing my pieces are with someone who can really appreciate the beauty of the glass.”

Amazingly, even as Sally talked, she made quick work of cutting the more ordinary glass, mostly into rectangles, but a few bits were cut into triangles, circles and even an occasional S-shaped squiggle. After she’d worked awhile, she glanced at Gabi.

“Ready to give it a try?”

“I’m not sure my hand is steady enough,” Gabi said doubtfully after watching the confidence and speed with which Sally worked.

“Hey, there’s a bin right there at the end of the counter with my mistakes in it,” Sally said.

Gabi glanced over and, sure enough, there were pieces of broken glass

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