The twins were singing along with a man in an animal suit on the television when Caroline called to them to get ready for breakfast.  Their song switched from the sing along to an assailing yell as they ran toward the kitchen to reap the strawberry jam and maple syrup that would be covering the silver dollar pancakes their mother had made for them.

Andrew and Lily climbed onto the stools at the island counter and, paying no attention to their small forks, began eating the little stacks on their plates. “Pancakes, how yummy!” said Mitch as he walked into the kitchen with Brian.

“Have some.  There’s plenty,” said Caroline.  She handed Mitch a small plate and gestured toward the platter stacked with the silver dollars.

“Thanks Mom.  Don’t mind if I do,” Mitch took the plate and sat down on the end stool next to the twins.

“You threw a great party last night,” said Mitch to Caroline as she handed Brian a plate.

“We were so glad you came,” said Caroline.  She put the mixing bowl into the dishwasher.  “What did you think?”

“About the plans for the Walker house?  Well Brian just showed them to me and I think they are amazing as always, but the material costs are going to go way up.”

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“You’re drunk!” said Abby.

Will’s eyebrows raised and his jaw dropped open.  Abby’s jaw clenched tighter.

“Are you Ok Uncle Will?” asked Caroline.

“Couldn’t be finer.”

Will reached into the truck, pulled out a bottle of wine, and then held the bottle into the air.

“I had two of these,” said Will, “one seemed to dry up.”

“Your intolerable Will Bellen!” snapped Abby.

Will was unfettered by Abby’s reaction to his entrance.

“Well if you are not going to invite me in, I’m coming in from the cold,” said Will and proceeded to the atrium choosing to tromp directly through the deep snow covered yard rather than by way of the driveway where the snow was clear.

Abby wanted to go back into the party and let Caroline deal with her father.  There would be no speaking to Will rationally.  Abby’s clenched jaw, ironically a trait from her father, made speaking tough.

When Will got to the steps of the porch he took them two at a time, though Caroline and Abby were not sure that was his plan.  He stumbled, almost dropping the wine, before setting the bottle on the top of the porch in front of him.

“Whoa,” said Will.

The women reached out their hands for Will then each grabbed an arm.  They pulled him to the top of the porch where he stood on his own balance.  The odor of smoked camels filled the porch and the women could see the purplish hue of Shiraz on Will’s lips.

Will bent over, picked up and then presented the bottle of wine to Caroline.  “So how are you this evening my dear Caroline?”

“Fine uncle Will.  Are you sure your ok?”

“Dandy.  What’s the weather like sunshine?”

“Partly cloudy, storm’s a comin’,” said Caroline.

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Caroline had borrowed a young bartender from the Stone Tavern to pour drinks and a neighboring high school girl to take coats.  Champagne flutes were filled with peach or mango belinis and given to guests as they arrived.  Proseco filled other flutes for continual toasts to the man of the hour.  Bob Jensen, owner of the Stone Tavern and close friend of Brian’s, walked among the guests with a bottle in hand ensuring everyone was well provided for.

Brian looked ahead to each year as something new and was pleased at forty as he was at thirty and would be at fifty.

Abby was not sure she would feel the same as Brian when she turned forty and thought that when her time came the celebration would be a wake for her youth and vitality.  This party contrarily celebrated Brian’s ongoing adventure and the conversations he was having with his guests reflected as much.  Brian spoke of plans for his home, his family’s cross-country vacation, and most of all planning for his guests.  Some of the guests at the party had Brian and Caroline design or renovate their homes and many more would have liked them to.

If Abby was afraid that forty was a tiresome ending point then Brian was there to assure her that he was still peaking.  Listening to Brian discuss architectural designs with the guests was exhausting to her.  So much so that she mentioned to Caroline, “ How can you actually pull off all of those amazing things Brian is talking about?  How can you do all of that?”

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There were three snowmobiles crossing the lake from Peters Beach, Will was not focusing on them.

Will’s mind was drifting from the completion of the urn to the inevitable thought that he was capable of completing a piece at all.  How effortless the wheel had been for him, as throwing the clay had been countless times before.  Surely the tremors were no reason for everyone to be so concerned, he was after all as able bodied as ever.

Just under six feet tall, Will was as solid at sixty-seven as he had been at forty or twenty.  He was moderately stocky and shared the crystal blue eyes and the sandy brown hair of every Bellen man before him.  Grey was the color of his hair now, yet all there, and a color that blended well with his studio.  Will was quite proud of that.  A little grey did not debilitate him.

Will thought Abby was audacious.  His daughter was always welcome to her childhood home.  Taking time away from her job was a bit much though.  If Abby had her own issues to work out, he would support her just as long as she did not project them on him.  Abby having an early mid-life crisis was not his fault.  Abby did not have to meddle in his life for distraction from her own.  Meddlesome is what they all were.  Little Caroline calling Abby in the city burned him a bit too.  Abby should be taking care of her life and he should be taking care of his.

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Kiln rooms added to the side of the studio housed industrial electric kilns and gas-burning giants.  The old wood-burning kiln which Will preferred stood half dug into the ground by the tool shed.  Despite the old kiln being Will’s preference the oven did not get much use anymore.

Inside the studio were two large tables with urns ranging in size at different stages of completion.  On the far wall were stacks of clay sacks and the smaller tool and paint storage rooms.  The bathroom was in the corner.  Everything was coated in a fine layer of clay dust giving the room a distinct grey accent.  Lined up and evenly spaced under the large window stood five pottery wheels.  Sitting at one was Will.

Will had spent most of his sixty-seven years in this greyed studio and was as much a part of the workshop as the clay and urns themselves.  All of his memories came from this place.  Bellen hands had built the Bellen studio.  Will had grown up in the studio and there he had raised his children.

The potter’s wheel is where Will felt most comfortable.  The wet clay felt moist against Will’s hands lightly running between his fingers.  Delicately the clay was brought to life by his seasoned touch.  Will had learned how to be a potter from his father and in turn had taught his son.

For generations the Bellen name was synonymous with hand crafted ornamental urns.  Since Will’s grandfather had built the studio, trucks had come to Willow Lake four times a year to pickup urns ready for consignment.  Will was proud that Bellen urns had been taken as far away as China and India.

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“Took you long enough,” said Brian.  He offered his arm out for Abby.  With his help she pulled herself up from the ice onto the terrace to remove her skates.

“I’m sorry.  I had a late start.  I hope Caroline’s ok.”

“Quite alright.  Caroline has almost everything wrapped up and she is excited to see you.  We both are,” said Brian.

“You are so sweet.  That must be what Caroline sees in you.”

Abby sat on a stone bench then unlaced her skates.  The house stood on a hill above her overlooking Willow Lake.  During the day the house was hardly visible from the lake below.  She looked up at the lights of the kitchen and could see Caroline and the five-year old twins trying to see out the large glass doors.  Abby waved as she crossed the weathered boardwalk between the terrace and the steps of the house.  Through the surface of the snow bordering the walk pruned shrubs shivered in their burlap wraps among the parched straw colored ornamental foliage.

As Abby and Brian topped the steps Lily and Andrew ran out of the kitchen door bundled in heavy winter attire.  They scuttled toward Abby then squeezed her legs tightly when they reached her.

“Hey!  Let’s get inside before we freeze to death,” said Abby.

Abby led the group stumbling into the kitchen where Caroline was preparing for the party.  Food in different stages of preparation covered every counter.  The aroma of cooked meats and spices filled the room.  Over the oven hung the sweet smell of the cake baking inside.

Caroline’s blonde hair was held back with a headband and the oversized collar shirt she wore had flour on the tails and cuffs.

Caroline embraced her cousin.  “Hey sweetheart,” said Caroline.  They kissed the others cheeks three times, like they had learned years ago on their summer abroad in Holland.  “Back on the skates, huh?  How is it out there?  The edges were a bit creaky last weekend.”

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Fixed high in the willow tree were two thick steel cables.  Abby traced one back to the house and the other to the studio.  Abby’s father feared that one day the willow would slip down the embankment into the lake.  He had assured Abby that the equal tension on the cables would maintain the willow’s upright position.  Though Abby doubted her father’s laymen engineering she never outright disputed him.  Adding one more contention would not benefit either of them and to her the cables fastening the tree were trivial.

Abby gave her legs a final stretch.  She adjusted her pink knit cap firmly and pulled her chestnut ponytail out of her scarf.  Leaning cautiously against the weeping willow Abby raised herself off the bench then with small crunching steps moved down the embankment onto the ice directly below.

The lake had little snow cover and would be easily traversed yet the only skating Abby had done in years was around the small city rink at the park.  A rink that would fit thrice into Bellen Bay and Caroline’s house was far around the point and half way across the long Willow Lake.  Already so late in the day Abby pondered if she had underestimated the effort involved in skating as far as her cousin’s after so many years off the lake.  She set out into the bay to counter any mounting hesitation.  To skate across the lake may be more of an undertaking than she had imagined yet standing on the shore would not get her there any faster.

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