On Wednesday, Lynne and Eric saw Dr. Salters, who expressed joyful surprise in their news. Lynne gave a urine sample, and while Dr. Salters felt that Mrs. Snyder was indeed expecting a baby, she would call them personally with the test result. Lynne had decided not to actually speak about her condition until they had received that call, but it became more difficult to ignore what was probably occurring. She was often nauseous, her breasts were very tender, and she was exhausted no matter how long she slept. But in scattered moments when she felt fine, she began to ponder the miracle, how she thought of it. Then she would seek her husband, but usually he wasn’t far away. Eric stuck closely to her, in part for his own peace of mind, but mostly for her needs. When Lynne wasn’t feeling poorly, she was very desirous of him, and Eric acquiesced to her wishes. Then she would smile, wondering where they had made this…. Where she had conceived, she would correct herself. Lynne could admit that she had conceived, but that was as far as she permitted that notion, even if she was bent over the toilet, puking yet again.
She called Renee after seeing the doctor, but Lynne didn’t bring up attending church with them. She didn’t want to go until they knew, but she didn’t want Eric to tell the Aherns until she and Eric were certain. By Friday Lynne had posed for her husband, in the sunroom, but Eric hadn’t painted her for very long, although not due to her morning sickness. He had set down his brush, then helped her to the inflatable bed, unable to keep his hands from her torso. He was very gentle with her breasts, but more tactile around her lower abdomen, and he spoke softly in between kissing her lips and neck. Then he made love to her, and Lynne smiled, unsure how he would get any canvases finished. But a few hours later, after she had napped, he presented to her the beginnings of what he said would be the most cherished series he would ever paint. Then he laughed, saying that he would never complete it, for it would encompass not only this pregnancy, but the rest of their lives as parents. She was crying as he spoke, for while he didn’t put a number on their projected offspring, he made it sound as if this would be her first of many confinements. He didn’t employ formal terms; Eric used everyday speech, which Lynne still could not. But she loved hearing his enthusiasm, and the painting, even in this early stage, was stunning. Lynne had never felt so beautiful in Eric’s eyes, but indeed, something had changed, and this time it was her.
On Saturday morning, she woke first, and to her shock, she didn’t immediately need to throw up. For a few seconds Lynne was terrified, until the familiar wave of illness rolled through her. She smiled, then got up, used the bathroom, but only to urinate. Eric was sound asleep; she didn’t remember when he came to bed, although he had been there as she had lost consciousness. She put on her robe, then went downstairs, first heading into the kitchen for apple juice. She had given up coffee, preferring something sweet first thing, not so bitter when she vomited it back up again. Plus cold drinks were nicer than warm; ice water had become her beverage of choice once the barrage of nausea had waned.
Slowly she sipped the juice, pleased to be awake before her husband, who she felt needed extra rest as much as she did. Then she padded into the living room, inhaling paint and turpentine. Lynne suspected Eric had lain with her until she was asleep, then he had returned to work. As she stepped into the sunroom, her suspicions were confirmed. She clasped her hand over her mouth, then blinked away tears. The painting was done; she knew it from his signature in the bottom left corner, and in how an incandescent glow radiated from the canvas. But for all the nudes he had painted of her before, none compared to how he saw her now.
Her skin tone was warmer, her brown hair shining as if each strand was on fire. Her breasts were larger, even she could see that, and gently she cupped them, noticing the added heft. He had painted her nipples a rich pinkish red, nearly the same color as her lips. Her eyes were wide, but the gaze was a little wary, and she nodded at her image, thankful he still understood her hesitation. While her left hand rested on a flat belly, her right hand grasped the back of her neck. The pose was definitely that of an uncertain woman, yet the smile wasn’t fearful; concrete hope lurked in Lynne’s sly grin. Now she smiled in a similar fashion; the next several months of posing would be an adventure.
The next several months would be nothing like what she had endured at this time last year. One year had passed since Eric left, and now here she was, expecting…. Lynne clutched her middle with both hands, then looked at that section of her body. Was this real, had he actually been healed during those agonizing weeks? His foot had, that had been obvious. But within him another restoration had occurred. All those years Lynne had placed the blame squarely on herself. Eric had never agreed with her, and he’d been right. She could conceive, she probably was…. She walked to the sofa in the living room, sitting with a plop. All she wanted was for Dr. Salters to telephone with the results. Once they had the lab results….
Then she gazed at the painting; was she that suspicious? The way she gripped the back of her neck, yet, that smile was more pleased than that in the Mona Lisa, relaying that much knowledge. What had that woman been thinking when da Vinci painted her, Lynne wondered. Was it something as precious as all that Lynne had been considering as Eric worked his magic. How late had he been up last night, she then wondered. He needed to pace himself, for at least right now she wasn’t in much shape to take care of him. Then she smiled, as he plodded onto the landing. “Lynne?” he called, sounding half awake.
“In the living room.”
He lumbered down the steps, then joined her on the couch. “Good morning. How do you feel?”
“Not quite so green.” She motioned to the canvas, then snuggled against him. “It’s beautiful. But how late were you up?”
“Midnight. Did you have some juice yet?”
She nodded, as he stroked her face. “Even kept it down, so far.” Then she giggled. “I have yet to throw up this morning.”
“Well done,” he smiled.
They cuddled for several minutes, then Lynne stood, stepping into the sunroom, stopping in front of the canvas. “Eric, this’s different from the other ones.” She stared at him, and he nodded. Then he came to her side, putting his arm around her.
She leaned into him, and for the first time, she thought about what having a family with this man meant. She could conjure that word, for the woman in the painting wasn’t the same woman Eric had depicted over the last several months. Lynne was changed, she was pregnant. She gasped, then grabbed Eric’s waist, burrowing her face against his chest. Then she peeked back at the canvas. The eyes were leery, but that smile was so positive. Her right arm balked at the news, but her left hand embraced it. Then Lynne gazed at her husband, but even Eric seemed altered. He wasn’t merely her spouse; he was a father, in the dark circles under his eyes, the stubble on his cheeks, and the widest smile he had ever worn. But it wasn’t sexual in nature, as before it would have been. Before made Lynne chuckle. Before had nothing on the life they now lived.
She kissed him, but in a new way that translated all she felt. It wasn’t about making love, yet it was all about affection and devotion, but not only to each other. He set his palm over her belly, and Lynne placed her hand on top of his. “I’m having your baby,” she said softly, but conviction rang through her voice. “We’re gonna have a baby Eric.”
“Yes we are Lynne.” His tone was deep and blissful. Then he kissed her forehead. “I think I’d like to tell Sam and Renee today.”
Lynne flinched for seconds, then nodded. She didn’t need to wait for Dr. Salters’ call; the truth was right in front of her in Eric’s painting, and inside of her, starting to make her woozy. She smiled, then winced, then pulled away from Eric. Then with a joyful rush to her steps, she ran to the downstairs bathroom, where she vomited. As Eric handed her some toilet paper, Lynne smiled, even if she still felt unsettled. She had morning sickness because she was carrying her husband’s baby.
After lunch, Lynne napped in the sunroom, lying fully clothed on the chaise lounge. Eric began a new
painting of her, for he didn’t only want to capture her undressed. He smiled as he worked; half of these early canvases might be of her asleep, but so much was occurring within her, it was no wonder she nodded off easily. Having studied human anatomy in college, Eric knew quite well what was going on inside his wife.
Yet he didn’t think of it in molecular terms; he considered it as he had his own transformations, how without any rational explanation her uterus was now housing a developing embryo, or perhaps it was already called a fetus. He couldn’t remember, for that had been over a decade ago. But in a matter of weeks, a child would be formed, and he wondered if they would be able to hear a heartbeat through a stethoscope. Probably, he hoped. He wanted to hear their baby’s heart rate, added proof of the fantastic marvel that now made Lynne so sleepy.
She had wanted him to call the Aherns, but she’d been so tired after lunch that Eric suggested that first she lay down. It hadn’t taken her long to fall asleep, and as soon as she was settled, he sat at a blank canvas, and with very little conscious thought on his part, she began to take shape within his reach. He would need to stretch more canvases, some horizontal like this one, and in a few months, those vertical. He wanted to illustrate her from every angle, especially once she started to show, but as she softly snored, this position was necessary too. There weren’t enough hours in the day for all he wanted to accomplish; loving her and caring for her and painting her would need to be meted out accordingly. For now, looking after her came first, but making love to her was part of that. Painting was for his own pleasure.
He took great joy from this action, in part that she was so close to him, and that he felt very protective of her. The day was warm, the French doors open, but the gentle breeze didn’t stir her, or he would have closed those doors. She wanted the Aherns aware, which Eric felt was right, not wishing to worry them. But telling them would raise some uneasiness, yet Eric felt the slight sorrow would be short-lived. If anyone would be happy for them, it would be Sam and Renee.
Eric didn’t rue that his mother was dead, or that Lynne’s parents were gone. Some families were limited, but that didn’t make them less happy, or relevant. He wondered what Stanford and Laurie would think; Lawrence would be thrilled, Stanford somewhat aloof, especially since Eric would probably stay here in October. But then Stanford would soften, as Lynne’s deep contentment spread. Eric was ecstatic about becoming a father, but his feelings paled in comparison to those of his wife.
He wasn’t dismayed by that disparity, and perhaps it was only in this early stage, or maybe until she had their baby. She was doing all the work, and had blamed herself. Now she had to rearrange her beliefs, which wasn’t something achieved overnight. But it also wasn’t going to be a long process. Her words that morning, followed by her request for him to tell the Aherns, were walls falling. And once she wasn’t so sick, he smiled, then perhaps she could embrace this pregnancy like most other women.
Then he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. One aspect would probably trouble them both, but there wasn’t anything either could do about it. Eric didn’t feel like a transformation was imminent, but he couldn’t rule it out. He didn’t want to miss a single moment of her pregnancy, but it wasn’t up to him. Eric set down his brush, then gazed at his wife. Lynne was deeply asleep, but her mouth curved in the smallest smile. Was she dreaming, and if so, about what? Probably not him turning into a hawk, or anything else turbulent. Eric stood, shaking his shoulders, then touching his toes. Then he stepped to the open doors, warm sun shining on his face.
He walked outside, to the edge of the new patio, which now ended at the fountain. His studio was so close, and he looked forward to next year, when more acreage was cleared. But instead of them planting the boysenberry vines, Eric would hire someone. Lynne would be busy with the baby, and he would be painting his wife and…. He wanted a daughter, which didn’t surprise him. He wouldn’t say anything to Lynne, far too early to consider gender, but Eric accepted that desire. Maybe a female Snyder wouldn’t change into a hawk, he smiled wryly.
Eric approached the studio, wondering when he would next paint in there. Right now, Lynne needed to be close to the house. But morning sickness would probably end by fall, and while the weather was still pleasant, he would paint her in this outbuilding, where maybe they had made their baby. He smiled, then looked back at the house. Who knew where exactly, but within this property, Eric had found his way into Lynne, and there he would stay until no more room remained.
He chuckled, then was glad she wanted to give birth at home, assuming all was well. She knew more about that aspect than he did, but he wanted to be present. He wanted Renee there too, and if Sam was amenable, perhaps he would be waiting in the kitchen, or if Lynne was too loud, maybe Sam would slip outside, wandering the grounds until the screaming stopped. Eric laughed, then gazed back at the sunroom. This was his whole world, safely tucked behind walls and shrubs, encased in the newly renovated house, resting deeply within his wife. All that time it had been Eric to hold them back, but time had been necessary for him to establish his career, to seek out his father, for Lynne to quit work. And now…. Now all he had to do was tell Sam and Renee.
Eric didn’t explore that, for what happened next was solely for the Aherns. But after time for contemplation, they would embrace this news, and Eric needed that support. After all Sam had done for him last December, Eric didn’t want to go through this without him, and Renee, as a part of it. Eric didn’t consider Renee as his sister, but Sam was definitely Eric’s brother, and while Eric wouldn’t spill all of his guts to Samuel, there were a few things he ached to share, details that perhaps Lynne might not understand. Particulars that only a man could comprehend, but maybe Sam might not want to hear what Eric had to say.
Eric shivered, then shook his arms. A few times last year, Sam had started to speak about Korea. Eric had been intrigued by Sam’s ramblings, but Sam had stopped himself before too much was revealed. Maybe the next few months would usher in another level of the men’s friendship, or maybe it would taper off. All Eric could do was be honest, and hope Sam would respond in kind.
Chapter 33
The Hawk: Part Two Page 11