by C. S. Moore
“Well you are, so get over it,” Sylvia said before smoothing out the cover on my bed. “What do you want to do today?”
There was something that Sylvia had told me she would do a long time ago, and even though I was a little bit worried about bringing it up, it was probably the only thing that could take my mind off of Jaron and my dreams.
“Could we maybe find an art supply shop?” I asked.
“Of course!” she said, her face lighting up. “We can paint all day, a peaceful day before Clarissa comes tomorrow and we shop till we drop. The two of us need to start planning our annual spring break party as well. Remind me to stop by that party supply store… and I still haven’t found material for your prom dress. Maybe I’ll work on that while you paint—”
“Well…” I started, not sure how to continue. “I was actually hoping that you could do a portrait of my mother…”I trailed off when I saw the horror on her face. “I know it might take longer than just today, and you don’t have to unless you want to. I just thought… I don’t know, it would be nice to see her, you know. Just see her.” I turned away, choking on emotion. I was never one to get upset if someone saw me crying, but I wouldn’t pressure Sylvia into doing something she didn’t want to do with tears. Her hand gently squeezed my shoulder and I faced her.
“I won’t be able to capture her just right. She was too beautiful, so full of life. She won’t look right on canvas,” she said.
I felt my heart drop as the hope I had irrationally gained fled. “It’s okay—”
“No, sweetheart, I’ll do it. It’s time that I should. I just wanted to let you know that anything I do.” She stepped over to the bed and sat. “It just won’t be good enough.”
“You’ll do it?” I screamed and jumped on the bed next to her, ruffling the covers again.
Sylvia beamed. “I would do anything for you, Mari. Making you happy, it’s what me and Dylan live for,” she said running her fingers through my hair. “Well, hop in the shower. I’ll meet you downstairs in half an hour. If we’re going to do this, we’ll need to go to the best shops and get stocked up. I’ll need all new brushes…” Sylvia left my room and shut the door behind her, but I could still hear her making a shopping list on the way down the stairs.
I showered and dressed quickly, not wanting to waste any time. Sylvia was going to paint my mom. I was going to see her. See her face, her eyes—see the woman who had brought me into this world. I went to slip on my Nine West heels but thought better of it—my legs were feeling unsteady—and put on my red ballet flats. It wasn’t like I was actually going to meet my mom. I shouldn’t be so nervous. But just the thought of seeing any kind of image of her had my mind reeling.
I ran downstairs and saw Dylan smiling up at me from his coffee mug. “She’s finally going to do it, huh?”
“Yes!” I jumped up and sat on the counter. “Can you believe it? How long do you think it will take her?”
He took a sip of his coffee. It smelled of vanilla. “Well, I know it won’t be one of the paintings that she churns out in a day. I wouldn’t count on anything less than a week or two.”
My mouth fell open. Sylvia had never taken that long to complete a painting, not even the detailed family portrait of us that hung above the fireplace at home. It was such a lifelike image of me that sometimes it felt like I was looking in the mirror when I was in front of it.
“A whole week?” I asked, pouting.
“Maybe two,” he added with a laugh. “Don’t worry, time will fly, and it will be done before you know it. Your mother was just so special to Sylvia, and to me, it will be hard for Sylvia to paint her for a hundred reasons…” He paused and I felt guilty, maybe I shouldn’t have asked Sylvia. He must have seen something on my face because he added quickly, “Don’t get me wrong, I think it will be good for her to paint your mother, almost therapeutic, and good for you to see her. It’s time that you knew what you came from.”
“What do you mean?”
He stared into my eyes, seeming to be searching for something. What, I wasn’t sure. “Just that seeing your mother might help you feel complete, that’s all. I know how hard it can be to lose a parent, but I don’t know how it is to not even get to know them before they’re gone.”
Sylvia came into the room holding a pen to a notepad. She was still making a list, it was funny I had never seen her so worked up. I mean it wasn’t complicated, canvas, paint, and apparently she needed new brushed; but even then, it was a pretty small list. She walked to the coffee pot wide-eyed, but Dylan held out a hand.
“Think you better skip the caffeine this morning, dear, might give yourself heart palpitations.”
“I’ll just get some when I go into town. I mean, Starbucks brews a better cup of coffee than you any day,” she said, winking at me.
“What?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Oh that was a low blow.”
“Come on, Mari honey, I’ll get you a vanilla latte the way they were supposed to be made.” She walked over and looped her arm in mine; I gave an apologetic look to my uncle, but was happy to see that Sylvia had chilled a few degrees. I didn’t want her on stress level nine for the next week… or two.
***
We walked down Main Street past some of the more touristy shops into the art district of town. Wide windows displayed an array of oil paintings by local artists, some of them quite remarkable, and others not to my taste. Then again, I never did understand ‘modern’ art. It didn’t seem special at all to me. But I guessed the beautiful thing about art was that, like life, everyone saw it differently.
“Maribel!” my aunt called out. She had gotten a few paces ahead of me while I had paused at the window. Her beautiful face was moving back and forth searching the crowd, when she landed on me, her eyes lit up.
I sped walked to her, only slowing for a moment when I noticed a beautiful red Harley parked on the street. “What’s up?” I asked looking inside the shop she had paused in front of. No paintings hung in the windows, or if they did, I couldn’t see them, as they were blacked out.
“This is the first shop I want to hit,” she said.
I looked the dark shop over once again. The whole building seemed like it didn’t belong. “Okay…”
We walked together down the entryway and through a door that strings of beads covered. Pushing them aside, the beads rattled and caught my eye. They shone in iridescent gold and purples. I pinched one of the gold ones between my thumb and forefinger and inspected it. It was the most beautiful bead I had ever seen. At first I thought it to be glass, but the weight was all wrong, it was too light.
“Pretty aren’t they?” Sylvia’s voice startled me. I looked up at her as she ran her fingers through a string of the shimmering purple beads. “The owner of the shop makes them.”
“Out of what? I was just trying to figure it out?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. This shop is filled with raw ingredients to make a variety of things. That‘s why I came here first. I need to know what they have so I can try to find things that will work at other shops if they don‘t have everything I want,” she said.
We walked into the heart of the shop; the inside was well lit by antique looking wavy green light fixtures. It put out an interesting glow, almost like the light that shone down through the pool water when I was at the bottom looking up.
“Can I help you?” a voice so deep it shook my bones asked. I jumped and turned around.
The gruff looking man belonging to the voice was at least six foot three and had a long graying beard, a Harley Davidson bandana wrapped around his squared off brow. I guessed that he was the reason the bike was parked in the art district. He was almost as wide as he was tall, though I wouldn’t call him fat by any means; he was just thick like an old tree. His brusque demeanor melted away when he set his eyes on Sylvia.
“Sylvia?” he asked, smiling. “Well I’ll be. I haven’t seen you in ages! How are you and Dylan faring?”
Sylvia swiftly glided forward wit
h the grace that only she possessed and embraced him. “We are very well. And sorry about my absence, Johnny, we've been busy raising a teenager.” She wrapped an arm around me.
Johnny turned his brilliant gray eyes to me. “Is this Maribel?” he almost whispered.
“Yes it is,” she said with pride, like I was someone who had accomplished much more than I ever had.
His eyes were bright as they shifted over my face seeming to try to memorize every detail. “She so looks like her mother,” he whispered.
Sylvia cleared her throat, and he shook his head and looked up at her. “That’s actually why I'm here. I'm going to paint Maribel’s mother, and obviously I can’t use some factory made hue to capture her.”
His beard-ringed mouth fell open. “I should think not!” he said putting a thumb to his chin. “I may have a few things in the back, why don’t you go see if you can find what you need. I’ll show Maribel around the shop.”
She nodded and pulled her notepad out of her purse, with a look on her face that was all woman on a mission.
“What is she trying to find?” I asked him, still unsure of what we were doing there.
“She wants to make her own paint for your mother’s portrait, and I can’t blame her. Nothing in the store would be right,” he said.
I looked toward the storeroom door and made sure Sylvia was still out of sight. “So you knew my mother?” I asked tentatively.
He took in a deep shaky breath, the same way Sylvia or Dylan did when I asked about my parents. “Yes, I did. I’m sorry you never got to know her,” he gazed up at one of the lights, his eyes distant. “She was the most remarkable person that I have ever met.”
I studied him. He seemed so different from my uncle and aunt. He had the appearance of a rough old biker. How could they have run in the same circles together, it didn’t seem like they had much in common?
“How did you know my mother?” I asked.
He pursed his thin lips together in concentration. “Your mother was something of a writer. I used to make the ink she used in her books. The day she died was the saddest day of my life.” I could tell by the look on his face that he meant it, but for some reason, the statement struck me as odd. I didn’t know what it was but his words felt off. “Let me show you something.”
I followed him over to a glass case that displayed an array of jewelry making supplies. He popped open the case and pulled out a white box and set it on the counter. “Open it up,” he said.
I opened the lid. Resting inside were some of the beads I had seen by the door. Only there were all different shapes, sizes, and colors.
“Which one is your favorite?” he asked curiously.
I loved the turquoise and blues, the brown reminded me of the dark flecks in Jaron‘s eyes, but my favorite were a deep coral and the gold I had already seen. All of the colors were too rich and I had never seen anything like them. To call them by the names I associated with them almost seemed a crime. Even though I knew that gold was what the color was, it was too brilliant to be called the same thing as the other golds I had seen my whole life. And the coral had orange and pinks peeking through its surface more glorious than any sunset could muster.
“It’s a tie,” I said, feeling silly for not being able to make up my mind.
“Really?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “What are the lucky colors?”
“Well, all of these are beautiful, but the gold and the coral are my favorites.”
A grin spread across his face. “Of course, of course.”
Sylvia came back into the showroom, beaming. “I think I found everything I’ll need!”
“That’s good.” Johnny made his way over to the cash register.
“How much do I owe you?” Sylvia asked.
“Really? You think I’m going to charge you?” he asked, seeming insulted.
“Come on, Johnny, I will just leave hundreds of dollars in your bike’s riding pouch if you don’t tell me,” she said.
“Oh, you would too. Even though they’re locked up tight, I know you would find a way…” he said begrudgingly. “Okay eighty-five dollars and sixty-two cents—and don’t give me a hard time about the family discount I’m giving you.”
“Oh, all right.” She pulled out her purse. “But don’t give me a hard time when I say keep the change,” she said, handing him a hundred dollar bill.
He rolled his eyes and he took the money. “Hey, how long will you be in town?”
“We’re going back to the house in a few hours, but we will be back tomorrow for some more shopping,” Sylvia said, nudging me with her shoulder.
“Can you stop by the shop when you’re done tomorrow?” he asked.
“Of course. Actually Maribel will have a friend in town to keep her company. Would you like to go to dinner with me and Dylan tomorrow?” she asked while shouldering the large cloth bag Johnny had put her items in.
“That would be wonderful, truly wonderful.” He turned to me. “Gold and coral, right?” he asked.
“Uh… yeah,” I said, shrugging. “Everything that you make is beautiful though.”
“All right,” he said with a grin that, accompanied with the beard and ignoring the Harley logo on his bandana, made him look like Santa Claus. “See you tomorrow, Sylvia!”
When we were back at the lake house, my hopes of a quick portrait were dashed as it took Sylvia the whole day to mix up just one color. She had shown me how to mix pigment, linseed oil, and some iridescent powder that reflected light like glitter—but more subtly—to make the paint. It would have been something I thoroughly enjoyed had the time-consuming procedure not meant the realization of exactly how long she would take to complete it. I huffed and stood from the patio chair I was in and walked to the railing of the deck that hung over the lake. The sun was still in the sky, but it was starting to get low on the horizon. Our house was built in a horseshoe shaped inlet and there were a few houses that ringed us, the most visible of which was the farthest from us that was built half on top of the lake. Movement on that home’s deck caught my eye.
A figure stepped up to the railing and paused; the setting sun was directly behind the person and cast him in a dark silhouette. The size and shape of the figure was distinctly male, and as the stranger tore off his shirt, I wished I had a pair of binoculars handy. His shoulders were wide and cut down in a deep V to his small waist. In one swift jump, the man was standing on the railing. I had never seen anyone move like that and had expected him to loose balance and fall, but both his feet stayed planted on the wooden railing. His head scanned the horizon and he put his hands up as if he meant to dive into the lake. The lake wasn’t all that deep around the shoreline so he couldn’t be jumping in, unless he didn’t know.
As his knees bent, I called out to him, “Don’t!”
His head whipped toward me just as he sprung off of the wood. The water swallowed him up without even a splash. I waited for the person to surface, and when he didn’t, I ran down the steps leading to our dock. The water was choppy, so the dock rocked and swayed underneath me as I surveyed the water. What an idiot! Who just jumps off of a deck without knowing how deep the water is? I kicked off my shoes and threw off my shirt. Just as I was about to dive in to go rescue the stunt man neighbor, someone surfaced right in front of me, making me scream. He flipped his dark hair back, sending small droplets of water raining down all around us. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming, and I didn’t want to wake up. Because even though it shouldn’t, happiness shot through me.
“Jaron?” I stuttered.
He bobbed up and down in the current with a smile on his face. Drops of water ran from his hair, cutting trails down his sharp face and thick neck, ending where his muscular chest met the water. I shook my head and cursed myself for noticing his body.
“So you’re the concerned neighbor, huh?” he asked in amusement. “Looks like you were about to come in after me. I should have pretended to be drowning.” He pointed up at me.
I look
ed down and realized my shirt was off. “Oh my God.” Luckily I was wearing a bra, but it didn’t make me any less mortified. I bent down and picked up my shirt and ran back down the dock.
“Wait! Maribel,” he called out to me.
I pulled my t-shirt on and turned back to him, glad of the ten yards I had put between us. “Why should I wait, Jaron? Don’t you think you left me waiting long enough at the movies?” I shouted. “No I don’t think I need to do any more waiting for you.”
“Hold on,” he said pulling himself on to the deck, still dripping. He was wearing jeans, and the weight of the water had them riding so low I lost my train of thought. “Listen, I’m sorry about the movies. There was a family emergency.” He said.
He had closed the distance and his proximity had my heart contracting in an erratic pattern that made me feel like I was having a heart attack. I closed my eyes so I could think better.
“Really, a family emergency? You can’t come up with anything more creative than that? Don’t insult my intelligence, Jaron.” I kept saying his name. Why did I keep saying his name? I opened my eyes, I had been so startled to see him I hadn’t notice how bad he looked at first, but he did. He seemed tired and he had dark circles under his eyes so purple they were like bruises.
“I wouldn’t have blown you off for anything that wasn’t an emergency, Maribel.”
His words rang full of truth but his expression was tortured, like I was throwing salt in a wound. I couldn’t handle him looking like that.
“Are you all right, Jaron?” I asked.
His eyes darkened. “Not really, and I don’t see an end in sight, but I see you. And I know how I feel when I’m with you.” He stared at me with hungry eyes, like he wanted nothing more than to gaze at me forever. “And as long as I have that, maybe there is an end.”
“You know that I have no idea what you’re talking about, right?” I asked him and he smiled.