Chapter 13 - The Second Gift
A month after the incident in the garden, Gage received his first full paycheck. It was eight hundred and forty dollars after taxes, earned through four hundred hours of bone-breaking toil. His fingers were permanently scarred, his skin hardened into thick leather.
He did not spend it on warm clothes or better food. On his Sunday off, he took a public bus to a craft supply store on the edge of the city. He spent two hours wandering the aisles, touching blocks of clay, carving knives, and delicate glazes.
When he returned to his drafty dormitory room, he sat by the single bare lightbulb. With clumsy, callused fingers that were better suited to steel beams than delicate craft, he began to sculpt.
Night after night, while his dorm-mates snored, Gage worked. He threw away five attempts. He ruined the glaze twice. He burned his hands on the small electric firing kiln in the depot workshop after bribing the maintenance crew for permission.
He was not creating an expensive luxury item. He was creating an apology.
He shaped a small porcelain horse—Lily’s favorite animal—its mane flowing, its legs delicate but sturdy. On its base, he carved three uneven words: I am sorry.
May you like
When it was finished, he wrapped it carefully in butcher paper, tied it with rough hemp twine from the shipping bay, and placed it inside his locker, unsure if he would ever have the courage to deliver it.
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