Page 4

Who is it?

Sophie

My new neighbor, who was leaning heavily into the whole lumberjack vibe, disappeared, leaving me with a lot of pent-up frustration and nowhere to vent it. I didn’t trust myself to work, so once I’d made sure Mountain Man was in the apartment and out of listening range, I called Diane.

Diane Fischer owned what was arguably the best luthier shop in Austin, String Theory, repairing stringed instruments and custom-building guitars.

She’d been my mentor when I was learning my craft.

After Dad and Cash’s guy, Conrad, had refused to waste his time with me—his words—her support had been invaluable in giving me confidence in what I wanted to do.

Once I’d moved on to my own shop we’d become friends, and we usually got together a couple times a month. We were due for a meetup.

She picked up immediately. “Sophie! What great timing! I wanted to talk to you.”

I heard the smile in her voice, and I was smiling too. “So now is a good time?”

“Absolutely. Come to the shop?”

“I’m heading out now.”

It wouldn’t hurt to earn some goodwill with the new tenant by keeping the noise down while I knew he was there.

I closed up the workshop and walked over to the house.

Cash’s stupidly big place had a four-car garage, which contained his truck and my little Honda.

Maybe someday he’d be around often enough to get another vehicle—he had enough money—but right now he was more interested in his work than enjoying the money he was making.

I got into my Honda, which always looked like it didn’t belong, and took a left when I was past the gates.

Diane’s shop was in a strip mall on what had been the outskirts of the city twenty years ago.

Austin had grown up around it. Diane said her neighbors when she started included a pawn shop, a burrito takeout, and a convenience store.

Now there was a sit-down restaurant that required reservations, a spa that I wouldn’t dare to enter, and a yoga studio.

I loved Diane’s place. I loved my own shop—the smell of wood and oil and varnish of what was my happy place.

But mine was still new, and Diane’s shop had decades of accumulation of those odors.

She was one of the best luthiers in the state, maybe the country.

I’d loved being her apprentice and would have happily continued but there were others needing the opportunity.

A lot of luthiers wouldn’t take on apprentices anymore.

When I had questions, or problems I couldn’t solve, I’d come and talk to her.

She was generous with her knowledge, and we were close friends now as well as colleagues.

A couple of years ago she’d lost her partner, and she still wore the trace of sadness in her expression.

Theirs had been a long and happy relationship.

She had mostly recovered, but a love like that wasn’t something to get over.

It wasn’t what Ollie and I had, and I wasn’t sure I was capable of that kind of passion.

There weren’t any customers, since it was almost closing time. Diane’s guitars were custom ordered, and most of her repair work was done by appointment. There were some comfortable chairs in front of the store window, and a counter. Behind that, a luthier’s wonderland.

Diane looked up when the bell over the door rang and smiled at me. “Come on back. I want to show you something.”

I walked around the counter displaying guitar accessories, and joined Diane at the workbench. A beautiful Dreadnought was lying there. “Is this one of yours?”

She nodded. “My client decided she wants some inlay done on the neck, so I thought of you.”

“Me?”

She raised her brows. “Yes, you. You do incredible inlay work.” She held out her hands. “I’m just not able to do that detailed stuff I used to.” Her hands were lined with veins, her knuckles looking large against her fingers.

I ran my hand down the neck of the instrument. “Thank you. What are they looking to have done?”

Diane described the star pattern they wanted on the neck and headstock. “We could use bone, or mother of pearl. Maybe on an abalone background?”

“Do they want large, small, cascading…”

“They want stars. They don’t have an exact image, so they want to see what we come up with. Think you could make up a design?”

“I can give it a go, sure.” If they hated it, there wasn’t much lost.

“Sophie, when they described what they wanted, you were the first person I thought of. Don’t just give it a go. Come up with a design, and if the client approves, when do you think you could get it finished?”

I narrowed my eyes, imagining what could be done. “It’ll take me a couple of weeks to get through the major projects I’ve got right now. But I can work on the design in the meantime, and once they approve it and I get the supplies ordered, a week or so. Say four to six weeks for a buffer.”

Diane nodded. “I’ll let them know, and wait to hear from you.”

“I want to make sure I do the instrument justice.” Diane’s custom builds were masterpieces, and I’d hate to mess one up.

“You will. You up for some Tex-Mex?”

That was an easier ask. “Always.”

I helped Diane close up. I hadn’t been here in a couple of months, and I could see she was slowing down. Did she not have an apprentice on hand now to assist?

I drove us to our favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurant. We’d come here often when I was training with her. The owners knew us and stopped to chat before taking our orders.

“I hadn’t realized how long it’s been since I saw you. We need to get together more often.”

Diane leaned back in her chair. “Interesting that you mentioned that. I wanted to talk to you about more than that guitar.”

Suddenly my throat tightened. Was something wrong with Diane? This reminded me too much of when she and her partner had let me know about Jane’s cancer diagnosis. “You’re okay, aren’t you?”

She smiled softly, understanding my fear. “I’m getting older, but otherwise I’m fine.”

My shoulders relaxed. “Good.”

“But I am getting older. And this job is taxing. It’s time for me to retire.”

And there came the tension again. “Retire? You’re closing the shop?”

It was hard to imagine Austin without String Theory. Austin was a music city, and Diane was an icon.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’d like you to consider taking it over.”

I choked on air.

Diane had a faint smile on her face as I caught my breath. “Thought that would surprise you.”

I rubbed my hand on my chest. “Obviously. Why me?”

“Because I believe you can keep String Theory one of the best shops in the city. Because you’re a woman, and we get short shrift in this business. I’d like to think women could continue to learn and create in the place I built.”

I agreed with her one hundred per cent. My experience with Conrad was typical of a lot of the established luthiers.

Teaching an apprentice often used time that could be spent earning money, but it was important to pass on the craft—not just what you could learn in courses, but the knowledge only years of hands-on work could provide.

“I’m confident you’d give other women a chance to apprentice. You know almost everything I do.”

That was an overstatement. “I’ve never built my own guitars—I mean, in the course I took, but not seriously.”

“I’ve been cutting back on the custom jobs I do, and I’m not retiring immediately.

Say, two years and I’d be done and the place would be yours.

You can help with the customs I work on and decide if you want to keep that part up, but even just maintaining the repairs and restorations would keep the spirit of String Theory going. ”

The server came to take our orders, and Diane let the topic drop while we chose our favorites.

“Maybe the timing works out well—I was going to ask if I could do some work at your shop.”

“Absolutely. Is there something wrong at your place?”

“Dad talked Cash into letting a tenant stay in the apartment upstairs.”

“Without asking you?”

“It’s not my property.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re taking care of the place, so it would have been considerate. But anyway. Who is it?”

“I didn’t have a chance to even ask his name. Dad called to ask why Cash wasn’t answering, then Cash took about thirty seconds to tell me someone was moving in upstairs. The guy arrived just before I came over.”

“A friend of your dad’s? Someone he’s recording or touring with?”

I laughed. “He’s a lot younger than Dad, more my age, and has a thick mane of hair and a full beard.

He says he has weird hours and travels… You could be right.

He might be a musician. And he apparently has a dog, which will be great with Goober.

In any case, when he’s home in the daytime I can’t make too much noise, so I hoped you’d let me work here till I find another place. ”

“It plays right into my plan. You do what you need to, then we can talk and see how this might work out.”

For the first time since Cash had mentioned renting the apartment, I could relax. I’d meet my obligations and spend more time with Diane, so win/win.

After we’d split the bill and returned to String Theory, she brought retiring up again. “Please think over what I said. You’re talented and I’m always impressed with what you do. I’d feel good, passing the business on to someone who would keep the spirit going.”

I promised to think it over, but realistically, I couldn’t do it. I had a small clientele, often referred by Diane, and an arrangement with a couple of stores locally. I was busy, but not a well-known name. How could Diane believe I was ready to step into the big leagues?