“I could still work if I had a chance,” Adelina said. “Some people here can’t.”
The familiar narrative broke Ivy’s heart, especially coming from someone who reminded her so much of her mother.
“We’re glad you’re here,” Ivy said after listening to her story. “I understand the city is working on some housing assistance programs. Would you be interested?”
Adelina’s eyes brightened slightly. “I would. There must be a waiting list though.”
“I’ll see what I can find out for you.”
“If only I could continue working.”
“What do you do?”
Adelina sighed. “I’m an artist.”
Ivy’s interest was piqued. “Would you tell me about your work?”
A wistful smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “I’m a glassblower and mosaicist, meaning I design and create mosaics. At one time, I had a waiting list of clients. But during my husband’s extended illness, I lost first my will to create, and then my studio. I thought I could pick it up again, but that chapter is closed now. Still, I miss creating beautiful art.”
“I love mosaics. Did you ever create anything in the style of Gaudí?”
Adelina pressed a hand to her heart. “When I was young, I spent time in Barcelona, so Gaudí and the Catalan modernist movement inspired me. Of course, La Sagrada Família and Parc Güell touched my heart. Gaudí’s whimsicality and vibrancy have always made me smile.”
“I imagine your art has brought smiles to many faces, too.”
Ivy recalled the beautiful grape-laden light fixture that Emilie had showed her. In speaking with her, she’d learned that Emilie wanted more items but had been unable to find the artist again. This woman might know of them.
“How did you learn glassblowing?”
“From my father. He learned the original methods in Italy. As a young man, he came here during the war and enlisted in the military. However, he was injured and sent to recuperate in Summer Beach at Las Brisas del Mar. Do you know about that phase of your inn’s history?”
“I do,” Ivy replied. They spoke about that for a few minutes.
“My father wasn’t one to sit still, even though he wasn’twell enough to return to active duty. He once told me how he continued to aid the effort by watching for enemy ships along the coast. Most people don’t remember or know anything about that.”
Ivy felt a prickle on her neck. “Did he ever mention a bunker?”
“Why, yes.” Her eyes widened. “It’s probably been built over by now. How do you know about that?”
She wasn’t sure how much to say. “There is a group of historians and researchers I’d like to put you in touch with. They’re investigating right now. Would you mind?”
“I’d love to share what I remember.”
Ivy promised to put her in touch and took her name. Soon, she realized, she should make an announcement to the community, but not until they could secure the entrance against intruders.
They worked through the afternoon, sorting, organizing, and helping visitors select what they needed. Not everything went smoothly. Ivy accidentally knocked over an entire carton of stuffing, and Bennett opened a bottle of soda that stained his sweatshirt and sprayed everyone nearby, but the mishaps only made them laugh more.
As the afternoon wound down and the stream of visitors slowed, Ivy found Bennett in the storage room, organizing the last of the donations.
“Helping here meant a lot to me,” she said, leaning against the doorframe.
“To us and everyone, I think. Though next time, I’ll be more careful opening sodas.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Ivy teased.
With his sweatshirt now bearing stains, Bennett pulled her into a hug, but she didn’t care.
With their work done, they prepared to leave.
