Invisible, as Music

by Caren J. Werlinger

  To Ryn’s surprise, it had been Henrietta’s suggestion. It took a little doing to tie the boat securely and stabilize it so that Ryn could guide Henrietta into it and get her seated. Henrietta did acquiesce to Ryn’s demand that she wear a life jacket. Ryn’s memory of her own unexpected swim that day with the snake made her only too aware of how quickly something could happen, and she wasn’t certain—what with Henrietta’s braces weighing her down—that she could get to her fast enough if the boat did sink or overturn.

  “This is the first time I’ve been on this pond since 1945,” Henrietta murmured.

  She gazed around, and Ryn was certain she was seeing ghosts.

  “Are you okay?”

  Henrietta nodded. “I’ve been thinking a lot about Una lately.” Ryn listened as she rowed. “We were so naïve and innocent with the plans we were making, but now, I think if we’d been in New York or Paris during the fifties and sixties, it would have been very easy for her to fall in with the wrong people.”

  “Brilliant but tragic? Like Sylvia Plath or Patricia Highsmith?”

  Henrietta looked at Ryn. “Exactly.”

  Ryn angled her head, studying the way the sunlight struck Henrietta’s face. “But not you?”

  Henrietta smiled, and it warmed Ryn’s heart. “I don’t think so,” Henrietta mused. “I’m not built that way. Too practical. Not brilliant.”

  “No,” Ryn disagreed, shaking her head. “Too strong. Too independent. Which isn’t always a good thing.”

  Henrietta glanced sidelong at her. “Are you ever going to let me forget that?”

  “Nope.” But Ryn grinned. Her grin faded and she reached for Henrietta’s hand. “But if you hadn’t pushed us to the precipice, we might not have found our way here.”

  Henrietta’s lips compressed as she squeezed Ryn’s hand. She still got very emotional, thinking about that night. Ryn let go and grabbed the oar again.

  She took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of the honeysuckle growing along the banks of the pond. The summer was flying past. The art show in Albany had been a huge success, with gallery reps from New York now jostling to get Henrietta to do a show with one of them. She still bristled when they referred to her paintings as “quaint” or “rustic”, but Ryn pointed out that they were all of those things.

  “I would much rather be surrounded by your paintings than scenes of cities or violence or, heaven help us, modern art,” she’d said.

  The honeysuckle was full of bees, busily searching for nectar.

  Ryn glanced at her watch. “Time to go.”

  “Not yet,” Henrietta protested.

  “Yes,” Ryn insisted. “If we don’t get your exercise in now, there won’t be time before we’re due at Sandy and Maxine’s. And don’t think that I don’t know that that’s your evil plan.”

  Dr. McCourt had set Henrietta up with a physical therapist who had taught Ryn several exercises they could do to build up the strength of Henrietta’s arms and legs. The only part of it that Henrietta liked was the discovery of sweatpants. Although she’d worn a pair of Ryn’s home from the hospital, she hadn’t really experienced the freedom. She now lived in them almost exclusively in the house.

  Henrietta frowned. “You would have made a good physical therapist.”

  Ryn laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “You would,” Henrietta grumbled.

  Ryn dug the oars in and made for the dock.

  An hour and a half later, both of them still flushed from Henrietta’s exercise session, Ryn wrapped up a warm casserole dish of baked beans. It had been an awkward conversation when she’d called her mom to get the recipe, “but it’s good you talked,” Henrietta reminded her. “It will get easier.”

  Maxine was waiting for them when they parked the Chrysler. “Henrietta, you’re positively glowing!”

  Ryn, reaching into the back seat, chuckled when she heard Henrietta say, “Oh, hush. I know this is a conspiracy.”

  The conspiracy theory was confirmed when Gordon McCourt stepped outside.

  “Hello, Henrietta,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek as he guided her into the house.

  “Hmmmph.”

  He grinned at Ryn. “She still pretending to be angry with us?”

  “Yep. But she’s getting stronger. Thanks for your help.”

  “Any time.”

  Within a few minutes, they were all seated with wine and overflowing plates of hotdogs, burgers, chicken, beans, corn on the cob, fresh tomatoes and green beans—“my first attempt at a garden,” Gordon said proudly.

  The food was wonderful, but what really warmed Ryn’s heart was watching Henrietta laugh and talk. When their eyes met, the smile that illuminated Henrietta’s face made Ryn’s heart stop for a moment.

  After dinner and kitchen cleanup, they all went to the living room with fresh glasses of wine while Sandy turned on the television.

  They’d all been watching the Democratic national convention over the past few nights, but Ryn had been waiting especially for this night. When Geraldine Ferraro took the stage as the Vice-Presidential nominee, they all whooped and clapped.

  “It’s about time a woman was on a major ticket,” Ryn said, standing to clap some more.

  Sandy wiped tears from her cheeks. “I never thought we’d see a night like this.”

  Ryn glanced at Henrietta, who sat stoically. “What’re you thinking?”

  Henrietta focused on her wineglass.

  “You don’t think they’ll win?”

  Henrietta shook her head. “I don’t. I think too many rich and powerful people are benefitting from Reagan’s economy. Mondale’s ideas are too egalitarian for them. I admire his ideals, but I don’t think he’ll win.”

  “But we’re still going to work for his campaign, right?”

  “Oh, yes.” Henrietta nodded, adding in an undertone, “I’m all for tilting at windmills.”

  Ryn narrowed her eyes. “I heard that.”

  Gordon stood and went to the window, where he jangled the change in his pocket. “Did any of you see Bobbi Campbell’s speech?”

  The women all exchanged worried glances.

  “Gordon, how many friends do you have who have AIDS?” Maxine asked.

  He hadn’t said anything directly, but it had become an unspoken given that Gordon was gay.

  “Have or had?” he asked. “Thirteen have already died.”

  Henrietta, who had been educated by Ryn on the lack of research and funding by the Reagan administration, asked, “But you’re not…?”

  He turned and gave her a sad smile. “No. One of the benefits of being so isolated. And so closeted. I’m careful. And it may have saved me.”

  He pointed at the TV. “But it won’t save Bobbi or thousands like him. Just wait. Wait until this epidemic spreads beyond the gay community. And it will. But it’ll be too late for too many.”

  His voice cracked, and he turned back to the window.

  Ryn went to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll do what we can, which, for now, means trying to get Mondale elected.”

  But the silence from Henrietta, Sandy, and Maxine weighed more than her words.

  The lake below was dotted with several small boats while the larger tour boats chugged along their routes. Henrietta and Meryn both had easels set up before them, though Meryn chose to stand.

  Beside her, Meryn huffed impatiently and stepped back.

  “You’re being too literal,” Henrietta said, frowning at the canvas. Meryn was trying to paint every tree, every undulation of the hills between the inn and the lake.

  Meryn had finally expressed a desire to resume her painting lessons, and they’d decided to go back to Owasco Lake for a weekend. Henrietta decided to try a different approach.

  “Some of the songs you sing, I’ve heard other versions of them on the radio—”

  She paused when she saw the doubtful expression on Meryn’s face. “Oh, hush. I do listen to music, you know. What I’m saying is
, you don’t sing the songs as an exact mimicry of those artists. Your interpretation of them is different, uniquely yours. Why?”

  “Because I couldn’t copy them if I tried,” Meryn said. “I’m not good enough, so I just sing and play for me.”

  Henrietta simply raised one eyebrow.

  “Oh.”

  “Exactly.” Henrietta pointed with her brush. “Now paint what you see and feel, not what you think I would paint.”

  She reached over and swiped long swaths of white paint over top of what Meryn had done. The girl yelped, but Henrietta ignored her. “The beauty of acrylics. They’re very forgiving. You can paint right over anything you don’t like and start over.”

  “Maybe they’re forgiving…” Meryn mumbled.

  Henrietta chuckled and returned to her own canvas.

  The light gradually shifted as the sun moved lower in the west. The porch fell into shadow, and Henrietta took a peek at Meryn’s canvas.

  “Much better.” She smiled. “I like the colors you chose for the water.”

  “Doesn’t look like the lake,” Meryn said, frowning.

  “It looks like your vision of the lake,” Henrietta corrected. “I’m hungry. Let’s pack up.”

  Phyllis had a table reserved for them. “And I’ve already set aside two slices of my apple pie,” she told them as they perused the menu. “So don’t fill up on dinner.”

  They took a walk through the garden after supper, under an indigo sky that was rapidly deepening to purple. The tree silhouettes were black against the fading light, and the first stars were beginning to pop.

  “It’s a Maxfield Parrish sky,” Meryn said.

  Henrietta’s heart swelled. It wasn’t just the interest Meryn took in art, or the fact that she wanted to spend time doing what Henrietta loved. It was a million little things: the way Meryn always checked to see if Henrietta was chilled; the way she automatically scanned for the obstacles that could trip Henrietta up anywhere they went; the smiles and glances they shared. She’d never dreamed she could be this happy. And if, every now and again, the niggling doubts wormed their way in, well, she could be forgiven.

  She and Meryn often lay together, just holding each other and talking. Sometimes, Henrietta longed to touch Meryn, to explore her beautiful body and give her what she knew she must be missing. But Henrietta’s own body was so floppy without her braces. She felt spineless—in both senses of that word. She couldn’t bring herself to initiate anything so intimately physical. Yet.

  She tried to focus on what she did have.

  She had a circle of friends who were dearer to her than she’d once thought possible. And she had a love she’d never have let herself believe she wanted.

  Or needed.

  She could finally admit it, at least to herself. She needed Meryn and her love like she needed air. No, not air. Like art. She knew she could survive without love. She had done for most of her life. But I was only half-alive, she would have said. Surviving and living, she now knew, were two completely separate things.

  “So,” Franny said, stretching out her long legs and crossing them at the ankles, “couldn’t help but notice you’ve kind of turned Henrietta’s yard into a Mondale/Ferraro shrine.”

  Ryn grinned as she poked the pond with a stick. “Think the country club set will change their vote?”

  Franny choked on her beer, sputtering as she tried to swallow. “Fat chance,” she gasped when she could speak.

  Ryn had also redecorated Nelly’s rear hatch with new stickers proclaiming her allegiance. She took a long drink from her own bottle of Heineken.

  “Can’t believe how much better good beer tastes.”

  Franny laughed. “Told you.”

  “Gosh, it’s good to have you guys back.”

  “Can’t believe classes start next week.” Franny pointed her bottle in Ryn’s direction. “Your position is secure?”

  Ryn shrugged. “At least for this year. If I can survive one more provisional year after this, I’ll be more or less permanent. Then tenure.”

  “Have you met the new guy?”

  “Yeah. Met him last week. Andy Webb. Taught at a small college in Georgia, but his wife is from Syracuse, so they wanted to be closer. Seems like a nice guy. Much better than Geary.”

  “You ever hear what happened to him?”

  “Not really.” Ryn lowered her voice, though there was no one else around to overhear. “Beverly told me Talbert got a reference request from a school in Oregon.”

  “Oregon?” Franny chuckled. “Wanted to get far, far away, didn’t he?”

  “Guess so.”

  They sat for a long while, listening to the birds and frogs while they watched turtle heads pop up along the edges of the pond in the wake of a pair of mallards paddling in lazy circles.

  “Have you had any contact with Tamara?” Ryn asked.

  Franny hesitated a moment. “We heard she transferred to SUNY Buffalo and is delaying her postulant year.”

  “Really?” Ryn considered. “Buffalo will probably be good for her. A bigger campus, closer to home.”

  “You okay with that?”

  “Me?” Ryn took a drink. “I’m completely fine. I wish her well. I really do hope she figures out what will make her happy.”

  “Me, too.” Franny raised her bottle to drink. “I don’t think it’ll be with us, but…”

  Ryn studied Franny more closely. She looked tired, which was something of a surprise.

  “Good summer?” Ryn asked somewhat doubtfully.

  “Kind of.” Franny sat forward with her elbows on her knees. “I told you we had to do a retreat this summer.”

  “Yeah.” Ryn eyed Franny curiously.

  Franny picked at the corner of the label on her bottle. “You remember when I told you this life is sometimes a hard slog?”

  “Yeah.”

  Franny heaved a shaky sigh. “Well, this summer has been fucking sloggy.”

  Ryn wasn’t sure what to say or how to help. “In what way?” she asked tentatively.

  Keeping her head bowed over her knees, Franny had to clear her throat a couple of times before she could speak. “Have you ever done a retreat?”

  “No.” And judging by the way Franny was behaving, Ryn was certain she never wanted to.

  Franny covertly swiped a hand across her eyes. “Well, sometimes they can be great. Full of light, almost like a really good orgasm.”

  Not having had one of those in a very long time, Ryn was glad Franny wasn’t looking at her. “I’m taking it this wasn’t one of those times.”

  A half-bark of mirthless laughter from Franny confirmed her guess.

  “This one dug deep, but not in a good way. It really left me questioning what the hell I’m doing here.”

  Franny’s confession twisted Ryn’s heart. “You’re not thinking of leaving?”

  “I don’t know.” Franny pulled the rest of the label free. “Maybe.”

  “No.” Ryn scooted her chair closer and laid a hand on Franny’s arm. “You’re the one who told me real love is supposed to be hard. You said sometimes it takes sacrifice and… and compromise. You said it grabs you and won’t let you walk away. Even when you’re getting nothing back.”

  “Damn.” This time, Franny’s chuckle sounded more genuine. “You really listen to everything I say?”

  Ryn grinned sheepishly. “I didn’t like it at the time, but this summer… It saved me.”

  Franny looked up, her eyes still wet and red. “When you called?”

  Ryn sat back. “I was ready to give up.” Her hands strangled her own beer bottle. “Henrietta was trying so hard to push me away. I didn’t know what to do. I ended up in the campus chapel.”

  She rubbed the back of her neck in embarrassment. “I prayed. Just asked for help. It came.”

  Franny’s eyes reflected her surprise.

  “Maxine and Sandy showed up out of nowhere. I don’t think that was an accident. They took me home with them. I spilled my guts. They dro
ve me back here and kind of forced Henrietta and me to talk. Turns out Henrietta got a bad diagnosis—her polio might be flaring up—and she was trying to make me go.”

  She leaned forward again. “My point is, you were right. It is hard. Maybe it has to be, or it doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know anything about religious life, Franny, but you spoke last spring with so much conviction. You said this kind of love, it’s always there, even if it doesn’t give anything in return. But it won’t be like this forever. I know that. Don’t walk away.”

  Franny sat back and sniffed. “Shit.”

  The library was abuzz with activity. Henrietta sat at a table where she was registering people to vote. She knew Meryn was outside, corralling passersby, asking if they were registered and, if not, inviting them to come in and do so. Judging from the steady stream of people approaching the table, Meryn was very persuasive.

  Henrietta smiled and greeted people, showing them how to fill out the form.

  She’d taken great delight in standing out in her front yard among the new garden of political signs proclaiming her allegiance to the Democratic nominees. Waving to the scowling faces behind the wheels of cars turning into the country club, she couldn’t help realizing how much happier she was now. She was glad she’d declined their efforts to get her to return.

  “Here you go.”

  She glanced up to find Maxine placing a cup of fresh coffee on the table. “Thank you.”

  Maxine gave her shoulder a rub. “Thank you for volunteering.”

  Henrietta scoffed. “You think I had a choice?”

  Maxine laughed, and Henrietta couldn’t hide her smile.

  “Sandy and Gordon are cooking something up between them for dinner, so make sure you’re hungry when you come over tonight.”

  Maxine returned to her library duties.

  “Well, Henrietta Cochran.”

  Henrietta knew that voice before she even looked up. “Hello, Genevieve. Come to change parties?”

  Genevieve Talbert gazed down her nose at Henrietta. “I swear, you’ve become positively communist.”

  Henrietta’s brows shot up. “So it’s communist to register to vote in a democratic election?”

  Genevieve glanced around. “Most of these people don’t even know what they’re voting for. They’re sheep, doing as they’re told.”