by Nan Rossiter
“Sorry—but can I just say something here?” Rumer asked.
They all looked up.
“Okay, well, I took numerous life-drawing classes in college—and I can assure you I saw plenty of aroused boys when the model was a woman—and even a couple when it wasn’t! So, I think David was either a saint or he wasn’t being entirely honest.”
“Well, you have to remember you were in class with eighteen-and nineteen-year-old boys,” Beryl said. “They’d take every chance they could get to see a naked woman; David was thirty-one and married, so he’d been there, done that.”
Isak shook her head. “Been there, done that?! Are men ever done? I think Rumer’s right. It sounds like he still wanted her to model, and by saying he didn’t think of it as sexual, he might be able to convince her.”
Beryl frowned. “You make him sound so … predatory. I don’t get that impression at all.” She looked at Micah. “What do you think?”
Micah laughed and shook his head. “Oh, you shouldn’t ask me—I find the mere conversation arousing!”
They all laughed and Isak exclaimed triumphantly, “See! I told you!”
The month of May flew by, and as Memorial Day approached, John asked if I could work the dinner shift—just for the weekend because we would be shorthanded. He said he would take care of breakfast and lunch. I asked my parents and they agreed to take the girls overnight—and I was thrilled because I would get to take them to watch their grandfathers—who were both WWII veterans—march in the Memorial Day parade.
When I delivered David’s lunch on Thursday, I told him about the change. “It’s only for the weekend,” I said. “I’ll still see you at dinner.” I didn’t stay that day because I’d promised to take the girls to the beach. He said he understood, but I could tell he was disappointed. It was so nice to be off the next morning and not have to get everyone up, dressed, fed, and out of the house at the crack of dawn. Isak was the worst when we had to get up early—I think ole Cranky Crankenheimer crept into her room at night. I was up early, though, hoping to make a dent in the mountain of laundry that was taking over our laundry room. The house was quiet and while the teakettle clicked and sputtered, I looked outside. It was cloudy and cool, and I knew the girls would be disappointed because they’d asked if we could go to the beach again.
It’s funny, though, try as I might, I can’t really remember much else about that day. We may have gone for a hike instead, if the rain held, but I can’t be sure. The only thing I remember is that it was raining when I dropped the girls off at my parents’, because I had to run back and forth to the car and, when I got to work, I was wet and chilled.
Some days—now—writing is a struggle. It almost seems as if I’m losing bits and pieces of memory along the way. In fact, I keep picturing pieces of my brain breaking off and falling into a dark void—never to be retrieved again! It sounds crazy, I know, but I keep having these moments of nothingness—when my mind is completely blank and I feel overwhelmed with a sense of …
Beryl looked up. “It looks like she couldn’t think of the word she wanted… .” She tried to read her mom’s handwriting. “On the next line she wrote the word urgency—but it’s misspelled—which is so unlike her.” Isak, Rumer, and Micah nodded, sadly realizing the loss and helplessness their mother would have felt.
“She must’ve been beside herself,” Isak said quietly.
“And she never said anything,” Rumer added. “She kept it all inside.”
Micah smiled sadly. “She was protecting you.”
Beryl turned the page. “There’s a small notation scribbled at the top of the next page. It simply says, ‘Today is better …’ ”
We were so busy that night that I hardly had a chance to say hello to David. He was sitting with a large group of artists and they were having a rousing discussion. I asked one of the other waitresses what they were talking about and she said they were talking about Kent State. I nodded as if I knew all the details—but, in reality, I didn’t. I’d only heard that there’d been some kind of confrontation between students and policemen … and it had ended tragically. As much as I wanted to keep up on the news, I barely had time to keep up with my life!
The evening slipped by and the residents finally started to leave. I was wiping down a table in the corner when David came over. “Hey,” he said with a smile.
“Hey,” I replied, looking up.
He pushed back his hair. “Do you have to head home right away?”
I straightened up and started to answer, “Yes, I …” But then I suddenly realized I didn’t have to head home—the girls were sleeping at my parents.
“Want to come by for a beer?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know—it might be late,” I said. “We still have the kitchen to clean up, and then we have to set up for breakfast.”
“I’ll still be up,” he said. “I’m a bit of a night owl.”
I nodded. “Okay, maybe …”
An hour and a half later, I parked under the oak tree and rolled up my windows. Although the rain had stopped, it felt like it might start again at any minute. The porch light was on and I saw David leaning against the railing with a beer in his hand.
“You came!” he called happily.
“Against my better judgment,” I called back. I opened the car door and, just as I did, the skies opened up and it started to pour! I ran, laughing. “See what I mean!” I said, almost slipping on the steps. He laughed, too, catching me with his free hand. I looked up, and he gently brushed the raindrops from my cheek—his touch sweeping through me, arousing a sensation I thought I’d never feel again. He searched my eyes—and then shook his head as if trying to fight some inner turmoil.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
He shook his head and turned away. “Nothing …”
I looked at his back as he leaned on his cane. “It must be something,” I said softly.
“It’s nothing,” he said, turning to me and smiling. “Are you ready for that beer?”
I nodded.
“I’m afraid I only have Bass.”
“Anything,” I replied.
“I finished my still life. Would you like to see it?”
“I’d love to,” I said, following him inside. He’d set up his props on a table near the window.
“I borrowed that blue and white bowl from the kitchen,” he said. “I hope they haven’t missed it.”
I laughed. “Actually, I think someone was looking for it today.”
“Well, I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”
He handed a frosty bottle to me and I thanked him and took a sip. “Mmmm—this tastes good. I can’t remember the last time I had one.”
He nodded, turning the easel toward me.
“Oh, my! It’s beautiful! I’ve always considered still lifes to be … well, boring, but I love the way the light from the window falls across the bowl and the way you’ve painted shadows in the folds of the cloth. And the apples make me think of autumn—it looks as if someone is getting ready to make a pie.”
He smiled and nodded thoughtfully. “I’m learning how to do that with people, too—you should let me show you sometime.”
“Ahh … now I see where this is going.”
“Not at all,” he protested, looking into my eyes. “Mia, you’re beautiful—I would love to draw you.”
I nodded slowly, my heart pounding. “Okay,” I said softly, hardly believing I was actually agreeing.
His face lit up. “You will?!”
I took another sip and laughed. “You better hurry up before I change my mind.”
“Okay, give me a minute to think. Would you like to lie down or sit?”
“Sit.”
“Clothes or robe?”
“Clothes. And I don’t want to be paid.”
“Agreed,” David said, setting a stool in the middle of the room and moving a lamp next to it. He maneuvered his easel closer and looked around for his pad.
“Okay if I fres
hen up?”
“Of course—down the hall, first door on the right.”
I went to the bathroom and quietly closed the door behind me. I stood in front of the mirror and tried to come to terms with my reflection. It had been quite some time since I’d given any thought to my appearance. I was busy—I had no time—and who was looking anyway? As long as I was showered, dressed, and moving in the morning, that was all that mattered. But now … someone was looking. I unbuttoned the top button of my blouse—and then one more, and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to get it to lie flat. Then I rebuttoned the lower button and turned my head to one side, wondering—for the first time in my life—if I might actually have a good side. I felt self-conscious and nervous … and then I noticed a soft terry-cloth robe hanging on the back of the door. I paused and bit my lip, trying to decide.
David looked up when he realized I was standing in the doorway. “You look comfortable,” he said with a slow smile.
“I couldn’t resist—I love the color—and it’s so soft,” I said, moving toward the stool.
“Well, I’m glad you couldn’t resist,” he said quietly, adjusting the light.
I sat on the stool, and he asked me to turn toward him. He stepped back and looked; then he stepped forward, turned the light away slightly, and lifted my chin. He adjusted the neck of the robe and hesitated. “Would it be okay if I open this a little?” he asked.
I nodded and he slowly slid the robe off my shoulder.
“Are you comfortable?”
“To be honest, I am a little warm.”
“Well,” he teased, “there’s a way to fix that …”
“A fan?” I asked.
He laughed. “Okay, I’ll be quick.” He moved to his easel and began to draw, and although I couldn’t see him looking, I could feel his gaze.
Ten minutes passed and a cool breeze drifted through the window. “Would you like to see it?” he asked.
I nodded and walked over to where he stood. I couldn’t believe my eyes—with a few sweeps of his pencil he’d captured my likeness and made me look confident … and beautiful.
“That’s amazing!” I said. “I can’t even draw a stick figure—but you, in a few short minutes, have made me look the way I’ve only dreamed of looking.”
“That is how you look.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
He looked in my eyes and said, “Mia, I can’t draw what I don’t see.” He paused. “Are you up for another?”
I nodded, feeling more at ease.
“On the couch?”
“Okay,” I agreed, taking a sip of my beer. He moved the lamp closer and I sat down, trying to keep the robe around me.
“Do you want to lie down?”
“Do you want me to lie down?”
“I want you to be comfortable.”
I leaned back awkwardly, trying to stay covered. “How’s this?”
“Good,” he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully and eyeing the robe, which had somehow wrapped itself more tightly around me. “What do you think about loosening the robe a bit—so I can see a little more of you?”
“Okay,” I said. “You do it.”
He shook his head slowly. “No … you do it.”
I looked down—and slowly pulled one end of the belt until it came undone. I looked up to watch his face as I pushed the robe away, but his solemn expression didn’t change. I leaned back on the cushions and felt his eyes taking in my body as he began to draw.
I lay there for a long time, watching him. He seemed completely caught up in the moment, focusing intently on the different curves and shapes of my body. “Lay your hand here,” he said, putting his hand on his lower abdomen.
“On you … or me?” I asked.
“Whichever you’d prefer,” he said with a slow smile, still trying to focus.
“I think you should show me… .”
“I just showed you.”
“I mean on me …”
He took a deep breath. “If I come over there and show you … I may not leave.”
“You better stay there, then.” I laughed.
He nodded and kept drawing.
Beryl looked up. “Can you believe this is our mother?!”
Isak shook her head. “Yeah—no!”
Rumer grinned. “I can believe it.”
Micah laughed. “She really had a wild side!”
Beryl glanced through the next few pages. “Well, that looks like the end of this section—she didn’t use chapters. Should we stop?”
Micah sat forward. “I’d like to stay, but I should get going. You don’t have to stop on my account; I can always catch up later.”
Beryl looked at her sisters.
“We can stop,” Rumer said. “I need to call Will anyway.”
“Fine with me,” Isak agreed. “I need to call my kids, too, before it gets too late.”
“Okay, well, tomorrow’s Wednesday, and if we’re going to finish before everyone starts arriving, we’ll have to have a marathon session tomorrow night—although …” she said, thumbing through a number of blank pages on the bottom of the pile, “it might not be as long as it looks.”
“Marathon it is,” Rumer said with a nod.
Micah stood up and stretched, and Beryl handed the papers to Rumer and got up to walk him to his car.
“Good night, Micah!” they called.
“Good night,” he called back with a grin.
“I forgot to ask you,” Beryl said, falling in step beside him with Flannery at their heels, “how did tutoring go?”
“Good! There were four boys and two girls—and one of the boys has autism. His name is Henry and my mom said she’s known him since he was little. His grandfather was Mr. Wyeth, the history teacher.”
“I had Mr. Wyeth—he was great, everyone loved him!”
“I know, silly,” Micah said. “I sat behind you.”
“You did?”
“Gee, I can tell I made a big impression on you.”
“I’m just teasing; I remember. I always borrowed your pen.”
“And never gave it back—I went through more pens that year! Anyway, my mom said Henry’s on the cross-country and track teams—in fact, he’s their best runner—and he’s very neat and organized—perhaps it’s characteristic of autism. So, when I mentioned that you were looking for someone to help in the shop, she said he’d be great at making sure the shelves are stocked and everything’s in its place—he’s very particular about stuff like that.”
“Does he have any negatives?”
Micah shook his head. “None that I know of. He has a service dog named Honey that’s always by his side—I don’t know if he’d need to bring her, but she’s a beautiful yellow Lab, very well behaved and mellow.”
“Hmm … Henry and Honey—I’ll have to think about that. Are you tutoring tomorrow?”
“I am—in the morning. I saw all the boxes, though. Do you want help after lunch?”
“Are you sure you don’t have something better to do?”
“I’m sure,” he said. “Oh, and before I forget to ask, tell me again what time the service is?”
“Eleven,” Beryl said with a lump suddenly forming in her throat. “I don’t even want to think about it,” she said, her voice full of sadness.
Micah put his arm around her shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Ber—you need to think of it as a celebration of her life.”
“I know, but I just keep thinking that all the people she loves will be together in one place and she won’t even get to enjoy it.”
“She’ll be there in spirit,” he said softly, “and she’ll be smiling.”
Beryl looked up at him. “How come you always know the right thing to say?”
He shook his head. “I don’t always,” he said, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I say the wrong thing all the time.” He kissed her forehead lightly and whispered, “I should go.”
“You’re right,” she said.
&n
bsp; “I should go?”
“No—you’re right about saying the wrong thing.”
He gave her a puzzled look.
“You’re supposed to say, ‘I should stay …’ ”
He shook his head and laughed. “Believe me, I’ve been thinking about it …”
She smiled. “Well, as long as you’re thinking about it. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Tomorrow, then,” he said with a grin. “Tomorrow, ole girl,” he said, squatting to scratch Flannery’s head.
23
Beryl looked at the clock—it was 5 a.m. She groaned. It couldn’t have been the cat landing on the bed that woke her—Thoreau was sound asleep; and it couldn’t have been the birds singing—they’d already been up for half an hour. Someone was singing, though—and the out-of-place sound had roused her from her slumber. She looked over at the twin bed against the wall and saw the lump that was Rumer. “Ru,” she called softly. No answer. Finally, she pushed off her covers, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and shuffled sleepily into the hall. The singing was coming from her mom’s room, and when she pushed open the door, she saw Isak sitting on the opposite side of the bed with her ear buds on. Beryl leaned against the door and listened as her sister softly sang the melancholy, lonely song, “Desperado.”
“Hey,” she said when it ended.
Isak looked up, startled, and then looked away. “Hey,” she said, pulling the ear buds out of her ears. “Did I wake you?”
“No,” Beryl lied.
“I did so.”
“It’s okay, I wanted to get up.” She walked around the bed and sat next to her. “How come you’re up so early?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Isak said, trying to brush away the tears on her cheeks before her sister saw them.
But Beryl did see them. “Hey,” she said softly, “what’s the matter?”
Isak shook her head, feeling her eyes filling with more tears. “Nothing,” she whispered, her voice tight with emotion.
“Something,” Beryl said, refusing to be put off. “Tell me …” Isak shook her head again.
“Is it Mum?”
“No … well, partly …”
“And—what else?”
Isak nodded and bit her lip. “It’s just … I think …” She cupped her hand over her mouth as she tried to fight back her tears. “Oh, Ber, I just keep having this terrible feeling that Matt’s cheating on me.”