The Snyders’ Christmas preparations did include new home furnishings. By mid-December, Eric and Lynne slept on a new queen-sized bed, and their sofa had also been replaced. The old couch was moved to the studio, but Eric had yet to paint anything. He had spoken to Stanford, the day after Lynne returned to the house. Stanford had been slightly cool toward the painter, but a subsequent chat a week later revealed no obvious cracks in their relationship. Another week had passed when the Snyders received Christmas cards from both Stanford and Lawrence, and while Eric seemed surprised, Lynne wasn’t. She still hadn’t told Eric about Stanford’s slip in September. There had been other issues to discuss.
But Eric didn’t speak about his dad right away. Eric and Lynne spent much of those first two weeks reclaiming the other, mostly in that new bed, also out of it. On nice days, when he was feeling strong, they walked in the garden. Taking slow steps, they spoke little, for words weren’t necessary. Often Eric leaned upon Lynne, but as the days passed, his appetite increased, along with his stamina. Since Lynne didn’t have to leave, she poured all of her nursing energies into her husband, and Eric fared well from her attentions. The Aherns visited a few times, but only for cups of coffee and slices of pie. The two couples needed the break, but plans had been made for Christmas to be celebrated at Sam and Renee’s. Renee had it off, Christmas Eve as well, and while neither Ahern had pointedly asked, the implied invitation to midnight mass had been issued. Lynne wanted to go, and Eric was amenable, although they would wait until the date neared to tell the Aherns of their intentions.
Lynne had told her husband that while she wasn’t considering becoming a Catholic, she had prayed for him, and felt not only that her prayers had been answered, but that someone had been listening. Eric had smiled, for in a way, he’d had a similar experience with his father. The couple traded stories, for five months had created a small gulf to navigate, and neither wanted to overwhelm the other. Eric’s revelations were more significant, but what Lynne had discovered wasn’t ignored.
In the evenings, they sat on the new sofa, a fire crackling, a few decorations signifying the impending holiday. Eric wanted a Christmas tree, and Sam said he would pick one out, and bring it over in the coming week. As these details were shared, Lynne snuggled beside her husband, wondering how she had fallen asleep in this room by herself. Perhaps it had been possible because of all the love made on their old sofa, right before Eric left. They hadn’t had intercourse since his return, but pleasure had been shared in a multitude of manners. She had also started her period, which had eased some of their longings, but now she was almost done, and his semen looked very close to normal. They didn’t discuss what that discoloration meant, and Lynne didn’t mull it over inwardly. That Eric was home, and completely human, was the only Christmas gift she needed.
That he had earned such peace of mind from that long journey was priceless, and it was while lounging on the sofa they could speak about that part of his absence. He wasn’t sure how long it had taken to find his father; the weather was still warm when he reached the prison. Eric wasn’t sure how he knew his dad was there, but as he always made his way back home, perhaps it was all based upon instinct. He had easily spotted Howard Snyder, a tall man and still burly. But he had aged, and walked with a limp. It had taken Eric several weeks to discern the history behind that injury, but by then, Eric had learned much about the man who had caused his wife and son such devastating heartache.
Howard hadn’t minded talking to a hawk, once Eric established his continual presence. Other prisoners found themselves drawn to the predatory bird, but Eric focused his attention on Howard, and soon that man became possessive of their time, which at first had unnerved Eric. He knew so little about his dad, and what he did realize teemed with rage and drunkenness. Howard admitted that he was there for murder, after a bond had been established between father and son, a fact Eric couldn’t escape. This was his father, but as the days wore on, it became easier to accept.
Eric had stayed until the first hard frost. By then, Howard and other prisoners weren’t often allowed outside, and Eric hadn’t wanted to fly in cold weather. But an early storm had knocked him off course, and for several days he took shelter in abandoned buildings. Food was scarce, why he had come back so thin. But he wasn’t deterred by the worsening conditions. As he quietly told his wife, not long after he left the prison, he had forgotten that he’d ever been a man, all his considerations honed to surviving as a bird of prey.
Lynne had shuddered from his words. He had never lived as a hawk for that length of time, but as Eric noted, perhaps that had saved his life. He never forgot his mate, and he caressed Lynne’s face as he spoke. A lover awaited him, spurring Eric on even when the cold made his wings ache and the rumble in his belly overpowered rational bird thought. Then Eric had smiled. No matter if he was hawk or human, he knew where he was needed. It wasn’t until he had landed in their thicket that he recalled his mate’s name, and that had led to a near-breakdown, when the transformation didn’t immediately occur. Eric spared her the details, but gave thanks that Sam had been there. Only around that man had Eric felt safe, for the last thing Eric had wanted was to burden Lynne with his care.
She hadn’t scolded him on that point, for now she wasn’t sure if she could have contended with his prolonged alteration. She admitted that in the beginning she was angry, but as days passed and no major changes transpired, it had been easier to sit at the Aherns, waiting for tidbits of news. Lynne reiterated that even if Eric hadn’t altered, she would have stayed with him, but both were extremely grateful that the transformation had finally occurred.
Eric was still thin, and every other day he napped in the afternoon. But Sam was catching forty winks here and there, Renee had told Lynne, so it was an ongoing process for both men. Since Lynne’s return home, Eric hadn’t spoken to Sam in depth, but Lynne understood the bond the men now shared. They were brothers, Eric had smiled. The Aherns were now the closest family Eric and Lynne Snyder possessed. The secret had initiated the connection, but now there was no going back for any of them.
Lynne was looking forward to Christmas dinner at the Aherns, in that by then, perhaps some of the last months’ events would be dimmed. Eric hadn’t mentioned any sense of needing to revisit his father, and while neither said it, perhaps another transformation would be months away. Eric hadn’t talked about an exhibit in the new year, but Lynne assumed that after the holiday, Stanford would call, or maybe Eric would get in touch with his dealer. Lynne didn’t mention the studio, but she had informed Eric that both Stanford and Lawrence Abrams had seen her portraits. And that she didn’t mind if they were shown, or sold. Eric had been surprised, but quietly pleased. He had spent an afternoon examining his canvases, and had asked Lynne why the painting of the fire was displayed. She told him about that night, and how that painting had again radiated heat. Eric had wiped away her tears, then led her to their room, where they had spent the next few hours in bed. She had just started her period, perhaps that had stoked her moody declaration. Or that she wanted him to know just how unique were his paintings.
That Saturday evening, the couple didn’t talk much about anything. They necked passionately, and only stopped when Eric added more wood to the fire. When the clock chimed eleven, both laughed, lost to the time. Eric put the grate in front of the flames, then sat beside his wife, who wasn’t wearing any upper clothing. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked.
“How can I be?” she giggled. “Are you?”
He smiled, shaking his head. “But I’m still dressed, unlike you.”
“Maybe you should rectify that,” she teased.
“Maybe I’ll give the fire another fifteen minutes, then take you upstairs and….”
She kissed him, which led them to another long session of necking. When the clock chimed eleven thirty, they broke apart in laughter. The fire was nearly dead, but they hadn’t noticed. Eric stood, then helped Lynne from the couch. She slipped on her blouse, but left her sweater where
it had landed on the floor. She went up first, while he checked the doors. When Eric reached their bedroom, Lynne lay under the covers, but with the blankets pulled to her neck, he wasn’t sure if she was nude underneath.
Yesterday his semen had appeared normal, but she was still achy, and he had wanted to be absolutely certain before they made love. That morning he had ejaculated as the tub drained, and again all looked as expected. Eric undressed, then got into bed. “Chilly up here,” he said, snuggling against Lynne’s naked body. “But you’re warm enough.”
“Yes I am. Eric, can we….”
“Oh yes, I think we can.”
She giggled, as he lay on top of her. At first their kisses were brief, then turned into the ardent exchanges shared on the sofa. Yet Eric didn’t initiate any more than fervent cuddling. Lynne tried to accommodate something more intimate. Eric, however, seemed not to notice.
“Is everything all right?” she asked, as they caught their breaths. “Do you wanna wait another day?”
“I just, I don’t know. It’s been so long, but now I’m….” He sighed. “Lynne, it’s different now.”
“How?”
He moved to her side, then wrapped her in his arms. “I feel like a different man sometimes.”
“Like a hawk still?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Is it something to do with your father?”
It was, in part. It was also in what Eric wanted to give his wife, what he thought might now be possible. Several times he had wondered if his irregularly colored semen was indicative of his extended time as a bird, or was it due to another alteration. His foot still bore scars, but no longer was it misshapen. He’d bought new shoes, and hadn’t needed the left one to be altered. What if…. “Lynne, maybe now we could….”
But even thinking about it made Eric hesitant, and that too was related to his father. Howard Snyder had maliciously poured scalding water on his five-year-old son’s left foot, then stomped on it, causing a little boy to black out from pain, then blot out much of the memory. Why Howard had done something so vile Eric never knew, until late summer. Howard had never given his wife any decent explanation, other than he’d been drunk and Emma had been working, Eric the only target for a father’s inexplicable rage. But during summer, Eric learned that Howard had been viciously beaten by his father from the time he was younger than Eric when his foot was ruined. Howard had felt some guilt over that incident, but his tortured upbringing muted most of the blatant horror, and for many years he blamed Eric for the entire episode. Howard told the hawk how at one point he had almost killed his son, when that boy interfered with Howard giving his wife a damn good pounding. Howard never spoke Eric’s name, but Emma had been asking for it, harping how he didn’t do anything but drink and cause her misery. Howard had wielded an iron skillet, and would have smashed her head in, until his boy yanked on his arm, causing him to fall over backwards.
Howard had retrieved the skillet, narrowly missing bashing it into his son’s face. Then the boy, who was maybe nine or ten, Howard couldn’t remember, picked his mother off the floor, and pulled her out of the house, calling for help. How he did that, Howard mused quietly, was a mystery. That boy had a hard time walking, wasn’t more than a slip of a thing. He was wiry though, Howard said to the hawk, wiry and…strange. Sometimes that boy disappeared into thin air. Then he’d be gone for a day or two, and come back and Howard never knew how that happened.
Eric didn’t understand many things about his sojourn, not how he flew home with the mind of a bird, but then recalled every detail with clarity. He wasn’t sure how he had even found his dad, or returned to Lynne. He had no idea how he had managed to sit day in and out as a convicted murderer spilled his guts, at times in a contrite tone, but at others with no regard for his previous actions. But what confused Eric the most was learning that he was the descendant of violent drunkards who had cruelly abused their children. As Howard recounted his abysmal childhood, Eric had been relieved for not having passed along those genes. But now, lying so close to Lynne, all his previous desires stirred within him. He ached to make love to her, for possibly now they could conceive a baby. His foot was healed, perhaps his reproductive health had been restored. But if it was, might it be better to remain childless than to further a damaged genetic history?
“Eric, what are you thinking about?”
Tenderly he kissed the top of her head. Then he realized he was flaccid. “I was thinking about….” He sighed, then stroked her waist and hip. Immediately he was hard, which pleased him, but doubts remained. “Lynne, I wanna see a doctor.”
She flinched, then stared at him. “For what?”
“To see if I’m sterile.”
“Eric….”
“I wanna know if my foot’s an isolated case. Although….” He grimaced. If he saw his regular physician, that man would inquire about Eric’s mostly healed left foot. Eric could lie, noting that his extended absence had been to fix that previously damaged limb, but he wanted to keep falsehoods to a minimum. “Honey, I’ve wanted to do this for a while anyways and….”
“But what if they find some other abnormality?”
He inhaled deeply. That was a danger. “Lynne, I know all we’ve ever wanted was to have a child. And I do, I mean….”
“Now it’s different. Eric, I understand.” She stroked his face. “After you were gone, I realized how difficult it would’ve been if we’d had kids, trying to explain your absences, or if they saw you change. It wasn’t easy accepting that, but our lives are this way for a purpose, and so’s our….” She sighed, then kissed him. “Our infertility. Can you imagine what it would be like if we had….” She winced. “It’s for the best, and yeah, while your foot’s better, maybe this is still the same.”
She placed her palm against her belly, then on his groin. He wasn’t hard, but her touch was soothing. Eric nodded, then put his hand over hers. “But what if something has changed, what if it’s been me all along, but now maybe….”
“Eric, if for some reason I do conceive your baby, I, I….” Lynne sniffled, trying to fight tears. “Well, I don’t know what I’d do or how I’d feel except sick and tired and eventually very big.” She smiled, wiping her face. “Of course I’d have your baby, if that ever happened. But now it doesn’t mean what it used to.” She placed her hand over his heart. “You’re all that matters to me, here, in this bed, at my side, every morning and night. I can’t fathom anything else because you came home, and became my husband again. I wasn’t sure that either was gonna happen, but you returned, and your foot’s whole, mostly whole, and you’re at peace and you don’t feel like you’re going away anytime soon. You’re my whole world, Eric Snyder, and it’s always been that way, but I was distracted by what we couldn’t make. Maybe I needed those five months just as much as you did. Because I learned that nothing means more to me than you, than us. We’re our own family, Sam and Renee too. You and I never had any siblings, and now we do, and there aren’t any secrets between us. And for the rest of my days I’m gonna be here, bugging you about this and that, getting in your way as you try to paint.” She giggled. “Because you are gonna paint again Eric, and soon, I can tell. You’re getting that look in your eye, in your beautiful human eyes.” She traced around his eyes, then kissed his nose, making him chuckle. “Who knows what you’re gonna paint next, but I have you, and you certainly have me, and what more do we need?”
He absorbed her statement, then nodded. “You’re right. Absolutely correct. But Lynne, what if we….”
“If that happens, then I’ll be big and uncomfortable and very happy to have….” Her voice broke, but she smiled. “And I hope Sam and Renee won’t mind.”
Eric nodded, for he had considered their reactions. Then he smiled widely. “All right. Well, then I guess we have that out of the way.”
“Well, mostly out of the way.” Now her tone teased, as she stroked his erection.
He chuckled, as she lay down. Eric pressed into her, maki
ng her moan. “Oh Lynne, there is one other thing.”
“Yes?”
“I do know what I wanna paint next.”
“Uh-huh.”
Eric lay on top of her, easing himself into the crook of her thigh. “I want to paint you Lynne. I wanna paint….”
“Oh Eric, oh my God, please….”
“Can I paint you like this?”
“Like this?” she gasped.
“Just like this,” he panted, nearly inside her.
Lynne took shallow breaths, then fully widened her hips. As he slid inside her, she nodded, then cried out his name. They came immediately, limbs entangled, their hearts pounding. Eric didn’t think about anything but colors, vibrant and rich, and exactly how he would depict the final aspect of his homecoming, wrapped tightly against the most important person in the world.
Chapter 25
The Hawk: Part Two Page 3