“Do you think it’s okay that I sort of, well that I’m friends with your son?” Please let him fall for it, I prayed.
Having a conversation with Doctor Martin sometimes seemed like watching a news broadcast where there were two anchors and one was in a foreign location. A question would be asked and then the reporter would stare for a second before the question seemed to register. Like there was some sort of delay. Only I knew with Doctor Martin it was because he was a muller. He’d mull over the question and then slowly, deliberately, ask a question back.
“Does that bother you? That Robby knows you’re a patient?”
Yes, he was going for it. What a relief. “No, but he’s asked me over later. I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable with me at your house. You know, think, oh no, there’s a crazy kid in my kitchen,” I said a little theatrically.
He had a smile like Robby’s and it was just as charming, for an old guy.
I touched my cameo, which I’d put back on this morning and decided to go for a little more truth. “I… like Robby and I think he likes me. I know my mom will think he’s great when she meets him. But you’re not being introduced to some girl your son likes, he’s bringing home one of your patients.”
Another Doctor Martin ten-second delay. “Are you asking if I approve?”
I hung my head; I couldn’t help it. I was a little afraid of what he really thought of me. I mean, there he was, the head shrinker with the fancy degree and there I was temporarily playing the emotional basket case.
His voice was smooth and soothing. “You’re a lovely young lady Salem and I think you’re just what Robby needs. He took his mother’s death very hard. You can be a comfort to each other.”
My eyes started to well a little. First, because he didn’t mind I was with his son, and second, because it wasn’t fair that I was feeding him a load of crap to avoid mentioning I brought a little something extra to the relationship.
He handed me a tissue. “I’m glad, really. And I’m sure he’s part of the reason you’re doing so well also.”
“Him and Skyler, my kitten. That little ball of fluff…” I shrugged unable to find the right words.
“Pets can do wonders.”
Yeah, they can point out when there’s a ghost in the room, I wanted to say. But I couldn’t.
****
“Wow, so you get this all to yourself?” I asked as I checked out Robby’s personal space. It was amazing. He’d taken an old barn and turned it into an artist’s studio. Paintings filled the wooden walls making it appear like a gallery opening was in progress. His work-space occupied the center of the large room, complete with multiple easels, a table for still life paintings, and an old kitchen island piece that housed palettes and paints.
“I’m glad you like it. Take a look around.”
It was an invitation to look at his paintings and I jumped at the chance. There was a portrait of a woman that was so lifelike it almost didn’t seem possible that a teenager could have produced it. “You did this?” I asked a little unsure.
He nodded. “My mom.”
He didn’t even need to say it. I knew by the expression of love on his face that it couldn’t be of anyone else. It was the same way I looked at my dad’s picture.
“My father wanted to put it in the house, but I needed to have it here. She hangs out with me when I create. I guess you could say she’s my muse. Well one of them anyway.”
The corner of his mouth turned up in a grin and I blushed at the implication he made. The thought of being his muse made me a little nervous and my next step sent me tripping over my backpack. Robby grabbed my arm to steady me, which only made me blush more. I took a deep breath and focused on the painting to gain my composure.
“I can see why your dad would want this. It’s like a photograph, but better. And she’s beautiful. You’re so talented, he must be so proud of you.”
Robby laughed bitterly. “Not proud enough.”
Okay, so this was a new development. From the way his dad acted, he seemed proud. Robby probably just didn’t see it. “Why do you say that?”
Robby looked at me like he’d said too much already. Then he shrugged his shoulders. “I want to go to Rhode Island School of Design and pursue art, but my father wants me to go to URI or any other traditional college. He’d love for me to go into medicine like him.”
“Yeah, most successful dads want their children to follow in their footsteps. That’s like normal.”
I saw his hands ball into fists. “But I made it clear that it just wasn’t happening. Since then he wants me to get a business degree or something like that. He says I don’t need to know more about art, but do need something else to fall back on. He seems to think I can paint as a hobby.”
It was hard to believe that Robby’s dad, who had such insight into others, was completely clueless about what would be best for his own son.
Why did so many parents lose all intelligent thought when it came to their own kids?
“It’s your life though. Ultimately, it’s your decision. Your dad can’t decide what you’re going to do with the rest of your life.”
He looked down at the ground and sighed. “And what about you? Do you know what you want to do when you graduate?”
Hang up a sign and tell fortunes. Nope, couldn’t say that. “Um… I’m not sure. Go to college, definitely, but I’m not sure what I want to do yet. I figure half the people who go, end up changing their major anyway so I don’t have to decide right away.”
“Smart move.”
“So are all of these yours?” I asked wanting to change the subject.
“No. Upstairs in the loft there are some paintings done by my grandfather’s brother. He must be who I inherited my skills from,” he said then seemed embarrassed at how boastful it sounded. “There’s one painting in particular that he did… well it’s the reason I wanted you to come here.”
I smiled half-heartedly. And here I thought that he invited me here because he liked me. I mean it’s not like I thought he was going to beg me not to date anyone else, but I thought he was at least interested.
How humiliating. “So you wanted me to come here to see a painting a relative of yours did?” I asked.
He must have sensed my discomfort. “No, that’s not the only reason.” He stepped a little closer and his voice softened. “I wanted to see you again.”
That’s all he needed to say. I’d look at a whole gallery worth of any old guy’s paintings as long as I could view them with him.
“But I mean the reason I wanted you to come out here rather than meeting anywhere else was the painting. You’ll understand once you see it.”
He pointed toward the loft. I wasn’t big on climbing thin wooden steps, but not much choice here.
“After you,” he said and pointed again to the ladder.
Great. Now not only did I have to make the climb, but I’d also have his head leveled with my butt the entire way up. How flattering.
I started the ascent and when my knees reached the landing I rested them there and leaned forward into a crawl position. After inching my way further a few feet, I stood and realized how foolish I must have looked to Robby the frequent climber. He didn’t crawl like a baby, but instead grabbed the handrail and walked in the way anyone with any intelligence would have.
Did I fail to mention I’m afraid of heights? I’m sure my pallor gave him a clue.
The loft had two large doors that opened out. It must have been used to pitch hay. Robby opened them and the sun blasted through. He pointed to one canvas on the wall and I walked over to it. He stayed where he was and didn’t crowd me.
The painting was of a Rhode Island summer, most likely the fourth of July because the people in the painting were holding sparklers at a picnic. You could tell it was old, of a time gone by. The young women in the painting were wearing long pale peach sleeveless dresses. Possibly thin cotton or more likely chiffon.
My breath caught and I understood
why he wanted me to see this. As I looked closely, so many things made sense. Like why he looked at me so oddly the first time he saw me. See, for him it wasn’t really like seeing me for the first time, because there I was in the painting.
I looked more closely and my knees began to buckle. The girl in the picture who looked like me, well she was also wearing my necklace.
No wonder he was interested in it. He must have thought he entered land of the freaks when I appeared on the scene.
I looked at him hoping for an explanation. It didn’t take long.
“My grandfather’s brother died in the war. That’s why we don’t have many paintings by him. My Great-grandparents kept them and displayed some of them in their home. Being the only other child my grandfather inherited them and they graced the walls of his house too. Still do. Except for the few that are here, like this one.”
He nodded at the picture of … well… me. “So how did you end up with this one?” I asked.
“I’ve always loved this picture. I’m not sure why, but I always have. My mother did too. When she was so sick, at the end, I asked my grandfather if we could move it into her room so she could enjoy it.”
My heart was breaking for him and I knew what it cost to tell me about it. But at the same time it made me feel good that his mom enjoyed a portrait of a girl who resembled me. It somehow made me close to her.
“When she passed my grandfather let me have it and told me its story.”
He brought his hand up to the girl that looked like me and let it hover over the picture. “It was war time and couples were getting married left and right. This was a painting of a group of bridesmaids celebrating at the beach after they sent a newlywed couple off on their honeymoon. They danced in a circle as the groomsmen watched. My great uncle painted this of them before he had to ship out himself.”
He paused contemplating how to say his next words and the pause was so lengthy and his stare so intense I knew he’d be dropping a bomb.
“He was engaged to the girl who resembles you.”
I tried to not have my eyes bug out at that interesting fact, and hoped his taste was like his great uncle’s.
“She was only sixteen when he shipped out so they were too young to get married. The strange thing is every single groomsman that was paired with these bridesmaids died in the war. Every single one.”
What made the whole thing even more tragic was the way the girls looked in the picture. Especially the one who looked like me. So full of joy. Love emanating from her eyes. No wonder this painting was a comfort. You could feel the love in her gaze. “What happened to her… the one who looks like me?” I asked even though I had a pretty good idea.
“She stayed in town, eventually married and settled down here.”
“My grandmother?” I asked hoping he had the answer.
He gingerly took the painting off the wall and turned it around. Written on the back was ‘My Marie Louise the day I proposed.’
I clutched the frame and held on tight. It was my grandmother all right. Young, happy, and in love … with someone other than my grandfather. I wondered if my mother knew.
“So if your uncle hadn’t been killed in the war, we might have been related,” I said, the pitch of my voice rising at the end of the sentence.
“I for one am very glad we’re not.”
The way he said it brought on a blush of 9.2 on the Richter scale. I was pretty glad too.
“Maybe this is some kind of cosmic justice. Like the universe decided they didn’t have enough time. They didn’t get a chance, so…” I wasn’t sure what to say. It’s not like I could say maybe we were intended for each other. That would have been stupid and extremely embarrassing.
He nodded. “Yeah, this is kind of Twilight Zone, don’t you think?”
“No doubt,” I said thinking about how “weird” was quickly becoming my normal.
“I have a favor to ask you.”
“What kind of a favor?” I raised one eyebrow and he started laughing.
“Remember our deal about me painting you? Well, I’d like to paint a companion to this one. A type of close up of your grandmother, only it’d actually be you. I’d like to paint you in a similar outfit with your hair up and the necklace on.”
I grinned and remembered he wanted me to model for him. What an awesome idea. “On one condition. I’d like to borrow this for a week or so. My mother needs to see it and she can help me with finding a dress or maybe making one. That might be the only way we can recreate it. And my mom can sew.”
Robby hesitated, the battle keenly evident on his face. This painting must have meant a lot to him and that alone sent my emotions soaring.
“I promise we’ll take good care of it and that you’ll get it back soon.”
“I know you will and it’ll be worth it to do the close up. It’s funny. I’ve wanted to attempt a close up before, but something always prevented me, like I knew the right time hadn’t come.”
Then I thought about the painting and Robby’s dad. Let’s face it, if it was in his mom’s room near the end of her life then his dad would have been in contact with it a lot. “Hey, how come your dad didn’t recognize me?” I asked.
“My father isn’t into art. Not mine and not my uncle’s. He wouldn’t have noticed if his own likeness had been in the picture. That’s why this was given to me and not him.” He ran his hand over the frame affectionately, like greeting an old friend.
“My grandparents, now that’s another story. They recognized you right away. That’s one of the reasons he came into the store when you were there. My grandmother went to get him when she saw you. He remembered your grandmother and asked if you looked familiar to me when you came into the store.”
I needed to sit down so I went to the only thing there was to sit on, a bench up against the wall. As soon as I sat there I saw why the painting hung where it did. With the barn windows open and the light shining in, the painting was illuminated and there was an unearthly tranquility.
This must have been the perfect place to think or just relax. And I wondered how long Robby had come up here to this spot to unwind and gaze at someone who looked like me. It was hard to take my eyes off the painting the way the light was hitting it, but I needed to look at Robby. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He laughed like it should have been obvious. “What? That I like to sit and look at a picture of your grandmother?”
It sounded sick when he put it that way.
“Now there’s a great opening line. Hey, want to go out with me? And by the way I have a picture of your grandmother in my loft and I use it for inspiration.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, that would have been one bizarre pick up line. I would have thought you were stranger than… than,” I’d been about to say me, but couldn’t without explaining. “Stranger than anything.” I finally settled for.
In spite of all the weirdness I just couldn’t seem to bring myself to tell him that I inherited more than just my grandmother’s looks.
Things were freaky enough as they were.
Chapter Ten
Crack. Crack. Crack. The loud popping sound exploded in my ears and I shivered.
Bolting up in bed I grabbed my head and held it hoping it wouldn’t implode. I was grateful for the darkness. Bright lights only made my headaches worse. And they’d been more frequent lately. Since my head was still foggy with sleep, I had to concentrate on the sound that woke me.
Then with an instant clarity I knew what the sound was. I’d heard it on television often enough, but it was never as real as it had been a minute ago. Never as frightening.
And I’d hear it again. That’s what terrified me so much, the knowledge that even though it wasn’t real yet, it would be. Slinking in my bed hoping it could somehow protect me from my own mind, I tugged the covers close around me in an attempt to stop from shivering. But it didn’t help because the quivering didn’t come from cold, but from dread. I didn’t want this to get a
ny clearer, didn’t want that sound to turn into sight and sensation so that it would flood my mind overpowering it.
Skyler stealthily stalked over and meowed. Then he began to circle the way he did before, like a plane waiting for clearance to land, and abruptly halted right under the light. Finally he sat and fixed his eyes on the ceiling staring up at a darkened fixture.
“Anyone there?” I whispered in the dark.
Skyler meowed, chortled then moved to the crook of my arm and settled in for a cuddle. I started to pet him and not much later I began to relax. Finally my headache subsided a bit and my heart rate went back to normal.
I glanced around the room, my eyes as adjusted to the darkness as the cat’s. Just because I couldn’t see her didn’t mean she wasn’t there. Not wanting to risk the possibility she couldn’t read my thoughts, I voiced them. “I’m going to need some help with this one, Gram. I don’t know what I can do. It’s real, isn’t it? It’s going to happen. Someone’s going to have a gun. But where? When? I need help, Grandma.” I waited motionless and listened to the silence praying for an answer.
None came.
*****
“So what do you think is going to happen?” Berkley asked. She sat at the computer looking up more information on ESP. If she kept reading everything that was out there, pretty soon she’d be the resident expert.
I shook my head. “Not sure. I know something is going to happen with a gun, but I don’t know what. The gun will fire three times. That’s what I heard, three gunshots. But that’s all.”
I started pacing hoping it would help. “The strange thing this time was I only heard the shots; I didn’t see anything. That’s what’s so frustrating. There’s no point of reference, nothing to attach any meaning to. No person. No place. No other sound but the gun.”
Berkley squinted as if looking for something and began biting her lip. “Think. There must be something. You just don’t remember it. Try harder.”
“I have,” I yelled then felt guilty. “Sorry, I don’t mean to take it out on you. But I’ve tried so hard to focus, but there’s nothing to focus on, just those damn popping sounds.”
Berkley turned away from the computer to face me. “Sure it wasn’t just popcorn?”
Salem's Sight Page 8