The Ties That Bind

Shannon had chosen the letter S and embellished it with a wealth of fanciful flowers and birds. The colors were rich and strong, ranging from gold and red to an intense royal blue. Garth Sheridan studied the sweatshirt for a while and then asked blandly, "Is there much of a market for your work?"
    Not everyone liked decorated sweatshirts, Shannon reminded herself as she closed the jacket. Still, for some reason she felt a vague disappointment. She had hoped he might like the design. It was one of her best. "Well, the greeting cards are starting to do all right, at least locally. A lot of shops in the area carry them, and the tourists seem to like them. I've only done a handful of the T-shirts and sweatshirts so far, but they sold out, so I'm hoping for a fairly good summer. I'm excited about my new line of tote bags. How about you?"
    He resumed his ground-eating stride. "I haven't yet seen any of your tote bags."
    Shannon pursed her lips. "I didn't mean that."
    He hesitated. "I know." But there was no apology. He simply said, "I'm hoping for a fairly good summer, too."
    She nodded. He was probably working on a book. "Are you going to spend the whole season here?"
    "Unfortunately I can't do that."
    "Ah," she said with a knowing smile. "Still trying to hold down a job while you wait for your big break?"
    His mouth kicked up wryly at the corner. It was the first hint of a smile Shannon had yet seen, and it disappeared almost immediately.
    "Yes, I'm still trying to hold down a job."
    "It's tough trying to work a regular job and still find the time and energy you need for your art. I finally decided to take a chance a couple of years ago when my cards started selling on a fairly regular basis."
    "What were you doing before you quit your job to become a card designer?"
    Shannon's brows came together for an instant as she tried to determine whether there had been an underlying note of mockery in his question. Then she decided she was jumping to conclusions. "A little of this and a little of that. The usual things struggling artists and craftspeople do to make enough to pay the rent and buy supplies. I waited tables for a while, worked part-time in a library, did a stint in a department store-" She broke off and chuckled. "That didn't last long. I was only there for three days."
    "What happened? Couldn't hack the regular hours?" Now she was almost certain there was a hint of disapproval in his voice. "Not exactly. I flunked cash register training."
    Garth's head came around abruptly. There was an incredulous expression on his face. "You what?"
    Shannon waved one hand airily. "I flunked the training session that was supposed to teach the new employees how to handle the computerized cash registers. It was very humiliating. I mean, there I was with a college degree..."
    "In fine arts, I presume."
    "Uh, yes. At any rate, there I was surrounded by my fellow employees, many of whom hadn't gone any further than high school, and I just couldn't get the hang of handling all those little numbers. It's very complicated, you know. There are charge-card sales and refunds and exchanges and cash sales, not to mention inventory-control numbers and employee codes. And you have to be so precise. It must have been hard enough in the old days, but now with those computers all the big department stores have, it takes a mathematical genius to work as a salesclerk."
    "A mathematical genius or a high school graduate," Garth said dryly.
    Shannon sighed. "Yes, well, anyway, I flunked. But I managed to find work fairly routinely until I felt I was at a point where I could take the risk of going out on my own with the cards. It just takes perseverance. One of these days you'll reach the stage where you'll feel you can quit your regular job and devote yourself to what you really want to do."
    "An interesting idea."
    "Of course," she teased daringly, "you might have to sacrifice a few luxuries like the Porsche."
    "I don't consider the Porsche a luxury."
    "Oh." Before Shannon could think of a response, they arrived at the far end of the beach where a craggy point thrust out into the foaming water. The distant point was lost in the fog. Without a word Shannon and Garth halted and stood staring into the mist.
    "You can't even tell where the land ends and the water begins," Garth finally observed.
    "I know. It's the kind of scene where you half expect a ghost ship to suddenly appear out of the mist. An old-fashioned sailing ship, perhaps. One that's still