As Lynne rolled out pie crust, Eric hummed in the sunroom. He was finishing another painting of her, and his tune was merry, which made her smile. In the week since he had started this new series, Lynne had realized notions about being an artist’s model that had not been prevalent earlier in the year. Now she didn’t wonder how Eric was depicting her, nor did she feel any trepidation. And as soon as the gardeners left that day, Lynne would appease Eric’s final wish, the studio cleared out, waiting for them.
In the meantime, there was pie to make, but Lynne was distracted by the new expanse of her kitchen, and Eric’s cheerful melody. He had altered too, but not in any painful manner, and perhaps only she would be aware of the change. Part of it was in how he painted, a little more slowly than before, or maybe that was due to how often he set down his brush, wishing to make love to her. He had bought an air mattress during the week, allegedly for a future camping trip. Instead they used it in the sunroom, after he had put down his tools, helping her from the chaise lounge, then easing her onto the inflatable bed. It was too low to the ground for her to pose on, but perfect to explore other passions, and Eric had laughed, that it would stay in the sunroom until visitors arrived. Sam and Renee hadn’t stopped by yet, at Eric’s request. He wanted their home fully restored, and he had needed the uninterrupted time to paint. Lynne had enjoyed the solitude, ignoring the gardeners while resettling their possessions. But now her eyes wandered from her work, as Eric’s hum wound into her brain. It led her back over the last seven days that seemed to mark a new phase in their marriage. She didn’t rue having waited so long to pose that way for him, there hadn’t been the time before. She smiled; before was no longer the bane of her existence. Everything that had occurred was for these days, and all of those to come.
Eric stopped humming, and Lynne returned to the task at hand. She heard him step outside, then men’s voices mingled. Eric came back into the house, quickly taking the stairs. Lynne wondered if they were finished already; there had been much to clear, plus the new patio to construct. She didn’t mind that the garden had been reduced, as she loved her spacious kitchen, and the downstairs bathroom, and the sunroom. Eric had mentioned that maybe next year he would have some of the thicket cleared, if they felt the garden was too small. Several acres remained as scrub, maybe they could plant more boysenberries, he had smiled. They spoke of these ideas late at night, in weary but grateful voices as slumber teased. Then they woke in desperate need of the other, yet, Lynne felt no anxiety that Eric would change into a hawk. Not that she thought those days were over, but the peace he had earned from last year, coupled with the calm he’d gained from painting her, had set them both at ease. Maybe he was through with altering into a bird. It had been over six months; he had never gone so long between transformations before. She smiled. All that had happened before seemed like another life.
Eric returned down the stairs as Lynne put the crust into the tin. She squinted, seeing through new kitchen windows the workmen carrying their tools, heading to the front gate. She smiled, scooping the prepared berries into the shell. She worked a lattice top, then crimped the edges, hearing faint voices from the front of the property. As Eric entered the kitchen, Lynne was placing the pie in the oven. She set the timer, then washed her hands, as he met her at the sink, wrapping his arms around her waist. “That’s it, Mrs. Snyder. Just you and me.”
She nodded, taking a deep breath. “About time, although this pie has fifty minutes. After that, I’m all yours.”
Another idea Lynne had learned about being a model was that the human body wasn’t a single entity. Sometimes Eric talked as he painted, noting how various features could be viewed apart from the rest. Her breasts, he had grinned, were like smiles, while her belly was similar to the top of a pie crust, which had made her laugh out loud. Then Eric had grown quiet, glancing at her with a curious grin. When she asked him about it, he shook his head, noting that painting her was also like exploring a new world, finding intriguing vistas in the crooks of her elbows, the curve of her armpits, the length of her legs. Then he had set down his brush and palette, walked to where she reclined, then buried his face in her…. Lynne shivered, then giggled. “I mean it Eric. I am not gonna let this pie burn while you….”
He had moved his hands from her waist to her chest, but the pressure was gentle, as were his words in her ears, how much he loved and needed her. And that he would wait for the pie, although it wouldn’t be easy. She groaned, wondering how long he would tempt her, and himself. Then she chuckled, as he pulled away, deep breaths taken.
As she cleaned up her workspace, he investigated the garden, and they met in the sunroom, which still looked like a studio. Lynne gazed at the canvas, but didn’t blush; she was used to seeing herself naked, but in a way, she was attired in her husband’s love. She was glad he didn’t want to share these paintings, although later perhaps both would change their minds. For now, Lynne needed these pictures to remain concealed. It wasn’t anyone’s business how much they meant to each other.
Then she thought about Stanford and Lawrence. Purposely she had reverted to thinking of Lawrence with his full name, for she didn’t want to slip and embarrass all of them later in summer. If Eric showed these paintings to them, might that elicit a confession? Then Lynne shook her head. The men’s relationship was none of her business, but the pretense still bothered her. They were all adults, and why should Stanford and Laurie….
She huffed, then crossed her arms. “Honey, what is it?” Eric asked, rubbing her shoulders.
“If you wanna show these to Stanford, that’s fine.” How many canvases might Eric have accumulated by then, even if he was painting more slowly than before. Then Lynne grasped his hands, squeezing tightly. “All that we feel about each other’s in this picture.” She released his hands, then faced him. “But they can’t do that, not even here, behind our walls. They’ll come in August, and we’ll pretend nothing’s between them, but that’s so wrong.” She sighed. No matter how much she wished otherwise, Stanford and Laurie…. Lawrence, she chided herself. It simply wasn’t her concern.
But she turned back to the painting, her heart aching. Since Eric’s homecoming, Lynne had accepted a new level of love for him, mixed with thankfulness that he had returned, and changed back fully into her husband. She had given great thought to what Renee must have experienced when Sam came home, and how precious were these men, and these moments. Now Lynne didn’t have to be away from Eric, and all their time could be spent in one of the most intimate manners available. Why had she been so reticent to pose for him like this before? She winced, then blinked away tears. Before, Lynne had never realized the worth of her husband, those brief sojourns pale in comparison with all the time he was away last year. She had lamented the baby they couldn’t make, unaware of the treasure within her grasp. She kissed him, then began to cry.
Eric walked her to the sofa in the living room, then sat her down. He rocked her as she wept, saying little, as the ticking timer seemed to speak for him. Life was precarious, and limited. Lynne expended her grief, then she had a wry smile. “What?” Eric asked, stroking her face.
“I keep thinking of Lawrence as Laurie. When they visit, I know I’m gonna slip and….”
“And then maybe the truth will come out, and they’ll both sleep in the guest room, the master guest room,” Eric chuckled. “Lynne, I know, and I agree. But we can’t force them into sharing that part of their lives with us.” He gazed toward the sunroom, then inhaled deeply. “I don’t know if I wanna share these paintings, I mean, maybe one day, but you’re so vulnerable in them and….”
She stared at him. “I don’t feel that way, really. Eric, I’m not afraid at all.”
He laughed gently. “Well, that’s good, because when I’m painting, I wonder just how much more of you I should reveal.”
She giggled. “I think you’ve stripped away anything left.”
He nodded, then wiped away the last of her tears. “Lynne, it’s more than that, it’s lik
e I’m….” He kissed her cheek. “Like I’m screaming to the whole world everything that matters within my life, all that’s happened to me. Well, not about being a hawk, but….”
They both chuckled. “Eric, I feel that way too. Like for the last several years I was pretending at being your wife. I should’ve posed for you like this a long time ago.”
“But how?” he said slowly. “Really honey, how could you?”
His tone was soft and questioning, and her heart pounded, for she wasn’t the only one being transformed by these sessions. No longer was she a nurse, or the wife of an unknown artist, terms that had defined her, also limiting her. She was Eric’s lover, his muse, and something even deeper, the keeper of a secret that no longer haunted them. If he turned into a hawk tomorrow, Lynne wouldn’t fret, for now they were bound more closely than ever before.
“Eric, last year, when I thought about our life, before would hit me, like I’d give anything for all those little trips you used to take, as if that was okay. I’d think, well, before this and before that, and pretty soon before became the ugliest word in the English language. But now it’s harmless, because before is irrelevant. All we have is now, and I’m not even gonna think about tomorrow. Because maybe tomorrow won’t come, we have no idea. But we have this moment, these seconds. I have you, oh honey….” She gasped, then smiled. “Why was I afraid to pose for you, I have no idea. Why were you gone for so long, who knows? But you’re here, and in a little while the pie will be done, and after that….”
He nodded, his smile a beacon. “After that, we’ll have to let it cool, won’t we?”
“Oh yes,” she grinned. “For at least an hour, but two or three would be better.” She looked toward the sunroom. “Plenty of light left, isn’t there?”
“Plenty of light Lynne.”
“And would there be more outside, I mean, in the studio?”
Eric’s eyes grew wide, then he closed them. Lynne traced around them, as he again nodded, but didn’t speak. The only sound was the ticking timer, as they curled into each other, remaining as one until the timer buzzed.
In the studio, Eric hadn’t started a new painting, but they had shed all their clothes, making love on the sofa as another summer’s day came to an end. Lynne felt no reservations lying near her husband, fully exposed, exploring their passions as birds chirped overhead, as tree limbs blew in the breeze, as their voices rose and fell, barely contained by the aged glass panes that allowed light to pour over them until the sun no longer shone. Now as dusk turned into night, Lynne snuggled against Eric’s chest, caressing his back. She didn’t think about anyone or anything but her husband.
When she’d met him, he was shy, but not without a smile. Then he had pursued her, although hesitation had dogged his initial advances. Neither had families from whom to seek approval, but when he told her about turning into a hawk, Lynne was momentarily adrift. After she witnessed that transformation, she was bound to him, for a variety of reasons, but a large part of it was her need to protect him. They married with that specter in place, but after she became accustomed to it, her worries abated. Then the mundane notions of matrimony and work took over, buffered by his artistic dreams. Infertility turned into their biggest obstacle, although he still changed into a hawk, which had kept her from focusing too strongly on being unable to have a child. She had known him coming on ten years, a third of her life, and for the rest of their days, she would pour all of her energies into supporting his work, and being a part of it. But as it happened, the life of an artist’s model was superior to nursing, which made Lynne smile. This was her true calling.
Eric stood up, then offered her his hand. “Shall we go inside?” he said, his voice tired but content.
“I don’t know. We could sleep out here, seems a perfectly pleasant spot to me.”
“Who are you and what have you done with my wife?” Eric laughed, then knelt beside her. “What happened to the proper nurse I married?”
“I quit nursing Eric. Now I’m the bohemian lover of one of America’s great painters. Who needs a big house? We can just live in the studio.”
“Now you tell me. And what were all those renovations for?”
“Oh, just for Stanford and….” She giggled. “Mr. Abrams. Eric, I am not gonna be able to stop from calling him Laurie.”
“One of us will slip.” Eric sat beside Lynne, who had scooted to the left end of the sofa. “But maybe that’d be for the best. God, can you imagine what would happen if I suddenly changed while they were here?”
For all of her previous peace, Lynne’s blood ran cold. She shivered, then nestled against Eric. “Do you feel something?”
“Oh honey, no, not at all. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to….”
She shook her head against his torso. “No, it’s just….”
“Lynne, look at me.”
She met his gaze, but only light from the emerging moon permitted her to see his eyes. “Eric, no, I’m sorry.”
He cupped her jaw in his hand. “I have never felt so right within my own skin.” He tapped his left foot. “Maybe this’s part of it, and I know painting you has been some too. This evening in here as well.” He smiled, then kissed her gently. “Now, I’m not gonna say I’ll never change again, I can’t give that sort of guarantee. But never before have I felt so….” He took a deep breath, then let it out. “So totally correct. Always something was nagging in the back of my head, but not anymore. I wish I could explain it better, and while I don’t wanna give you any false hope, I just can’t see myself changing….”
She set a finger to his lips. She carried no fears, although a part of that was accepting his transformations weren’t only for her to bear. Sam and Renee’s knowledge had taken much of the weight. Still, she didn’t want anyone else aware, especially Stanford and Lawrence. Then she sighed. He was back to that formal moniker, and she closed her eyes, wondering if she would ever be immune from that oddity of her husband’s existence. Perhaps she would always wonder, until the day Eric died.
Lynne opened her eyes, but could barely make him out, other than his steady breaths, and if she concentrated, the throb of his heart. Yes, for the rest of Eric’s life, that possibility would linger, but she couldn’t dwell on it. They were together, he was whole. He was also healed, and Lynne said a brief prayer, thanking…. She wasn’t certain who, but someone, for she couldn’t accept all of this was arbitrary. It was at times inexplicable, but not without a reason. Then she chuckled.
“What?” he asked.
“Eric, if I started attending church, what would you think?”
For a moment the studio was silent, and she smiled. To him, this place was a sanctuary, and Lynne could see it becoming the same to her. It was a place to fete the other, and his art, but was there more than that? In that moment, Lynne decided there was, although exactly what it was remained elusive. Going to church would be like attending a lecture, learning about a new subject. Would it be a Catholic church, a Protestant church? If the latter, which one? She could visit several denominations, but she would start where Renee and Sam worshipped, feeling a debt was owed. If nothing else, the Aherns’ faith had brokered Eric’s well-being, and Lynne’s too.
“If you went, where would you go?” Eric’s tone was curious.
“Well, I’d start going with Renee and Sam, if they’d have me.”
Eric chuckled. “I’m sure they’d love that. Do you want me to go with you?”
“Only if you’d like to. I just wanna….” She smiled. “It’d be like going to class, which probably isn’t how the Aherns or any other Christians would like me to look at it, but….”
“I think that’s fair. No Lynne, I wouldn’t mind that at all.”
She nodded, but wasn’t sure if he could see her. “Eric, I love you, I just wanna investigate it.”
“No, I understand.”
“You do?”
“Lynne, I won’t join you, but I think it’s good, to investigate.” He said those last two words
slowly. “You let me do that when I came back, and now it’s led us out here.”
He had kept his tone smooth, but a hint of a chuckle finished his sentence. Lynne smiled, then shook her head. “So Eric, shall we stay out here all night?”
“Is that more investigating?” he teased.
She rolled her eyes, but knew he couldn’t see her. “Actually, there aren’t any blankets out here. Not that it’s a cold night, but….”
“I’ll keep you warm Mrs. Snyder, don’t you worry.”
“When will you be done with the painting, in the sunroom?” Her voice was soft.
“I can bring it out here, if you’d like.”
“Will that mess it up, I mean, the light won’t be the same and….”
“And if it isn’t, so what? That painting is for us Lynne, just like whatever you learn at Sam and Renee’s church is for you. I can finish it out here, I’d love to do that honey.”
“If we sleep out here, are you sure you won’t get cold?”
“If I do, I’ll just wake you up, and you can keep me warm.”
She smiled, then giggled, then laughed. “All right Eric Snyder, you just do that. And if I don’t wake up, then what?”
“Then I’ll pick you up and carry you into the house. And if you still don’t wake up, then I’ll put you into the bathtub and run a cold shower over you.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I might,” Eric teased. “But I don’t think we’d even get through the French doors before you realized something had changed.”
His tone was odd, as if something already had altered. Lynne stared at him, but mostly she was gazing from where his voice had emerged. She reached out, finding his face, then moving her hand to his neck, then his shoulders. Then he leaned toward her, finding her mouth, where he remained for many minutes. Then their positions changed. As he pulled away, Lynne was lying on her back, her husband’s body covering her. Then he was inside her, keeping her very warm indeed.
Chapter 30
The Hawk: Part Two Page 8