The Sea Glass Collector – Part 2: The Drawer

The drawer was a treasure chest.

Callan slid it open on the scrubbed kitchen table, and the light from the window poured over a thousand pieces of sea glass, green and white and amber and blue, heaped and shimmering. Isla's breath caught. She touched them with one finger, as one might touch a sleeping animal.

"Twenty years," he said. "I never knew what to do with them."

"I do."

She spent the evening at the table with her pliers and wire, building a necklace from his glass: seven pieces on a thin silver chain, graduating from pale green to deep sea blue. He sat opposite her, watching. Outside, the light in the lighthouse tower began to turn, sweeping its beam over the darkening bay.

"There," she said, at last.

She held it up. The pieces caught the lamp and glowed like water. He swallowed.

"It's the sea."

"It's your sea."

"Isla." He turned the necklace over in his hands. "May I give this to someone?"

"Who?"

"You."

Her heart turned over. "You'd give me your own glass?"

"I'd give you everything in the drawer."

She laughed, a trembling laugh. The beam swung across the window. The dog sighed on the hearth.

"Can I ask you something?" said Isla.

"Yes."

"May I kiss you, Callan?"

"Yes," he said. "And if you say stop, you must make me a second necklace."

"That's no punishment."

"I know."

She kissed him, soft and sure, a hand rising to his sandy hair. He kissed her back with a quiet reverence, the necklace warm between their palms. The lighthouse beam swept slowly round. The sea whispered on the rocks.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Isla. "Very green."

She sells her jewellery at the harbour market now. Each piece comes with a card: This glass was collected by Callan. Its story is told on request.

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