by Karis Walsh
Danny obviously loved his mother, but at times Pam saw him looking at Mel as if seeing her for the first time. And he was, in a way.
Seeing her not just as a parent but as a woman who was capable of following her dreams, working hard to make a better life. And while Mel never stepped out of her natural role as his mother, she also never hesitated to show her vulnerability, to admit when she didn’t know something or to ask his opinion, to let him share as they rebuilt their lives and renovated the inn. Pam was happy the two of them had found this common project to draw them closer. But she didn’t want to be involved. Their bond was strong, permanent. Their connection to Pam was circumstantial, transitory. Nice while it lasted, but not to be trusted. She’d made that mistake before.
“I probably should get back to the gallery since I left Lisa there alone,” she said, standing up and stretching her lower back.
Mel looked up from her list. “Lisa? You said she works for you every holiday season. And that your gallery doesn’t get really busy until Thanksgiving weekend.”
“Busted,” Danny said quietly.
Pam gave him a mock glare before turning back to Mel. “I really shouldn’t do manual labor. You wouldn’t want me to risk hurting my hands before I finish your paintings.”
Mel waved away her excuses. “I’m sure the next mosaics will have more depth of character after you’ve done some honest hard work.”
“‘Depth of character’ means you aren’t going to like what you’re about to do,” Danny said.
“Yeah, I kind of figured that out myself,” Pam said. She was starting to enjoy the banter, especially since each interchange between her and Danny brought out a smile Mel couldn’t quite hide. “Okay, I give up. What do you want us to do?”
“Danny, you can run the lawnmower. I found a gas-powered one in the back of the garage, so no complaints. When I mowed last, I had to use the push mower. Start with these areas, where the path will go.
Pam can mark the boundaries of it, and I’ll measure and go buy the stones.”
Pam walked side by side with Danny out to the garage. She searched for something to say to break the silence, but she had no idea what a teenaged boy would want to talk about. He seemed comfortable with the silence as they cleared a path and pushed the lawnmower into the backyard.
“Hey, someone’s flying a kite in the rain,” he said, pointing toward the beach. A rainbow-colored box kite was barely visible at their height before it dipped out of sight.
“As long as there’s a breeze and it’s not pouring, you’ll see kites on the beach. Cannon Beach has a kite festival in April, and you’ll have a great view from up here.”
“I don’t want to watch, I want to fly one. Do you know how?”
Pam shrugged. “Sure. I usually make a few to sell in the gallery during the festival. There are always a few tourists who get caught up in the excitement, and they’ll pay a fortune for something unique.”
Danny checked the mower’s gas tank. “Maybe you can design one for me. A duck. A big green-and-yellow duck.”
Pam laughed. “I would have expected you to pick something fierce like a dragon or a tiger.”
“My school mascot and colors,” Danny explained. “Think you could make one?”
“Huh. I made an eagle kite last year. Just a variation of a delta, so it was easy to fly. No reason we couldn’t adapt the pattern and turn it into a duck.”
The moment the words were out of her mouth, Pam wanted to retract them. She wasn’t getting involved with this kid or his mom.
She was here for a few weeks, and then she’d be out of their lives. She tried to ease the panicky concern that she had made a commitment she had no intention of keeping by assuring herself Mel would be out of business and gone by then. Unfortunately, as the days passed she was having more and more trouble selling herself that lie. She hadn’t really believed it since Mel had painted her first bedrooms. Contrary to what Pam had expected, the work wasn’t breaking Mel down. It was building her up.
Danny appeared unaware of the internal chaos she felt simply because they had talked about possibly making a duck kite together.
He just said, “Cool,” and continued tightening bolts on the mower. He stood up and pulled the starter cord.
“You need to pull harder than that,” Pam suggested, ready for the noise of the mower so they could stop talking. Before she offered to do anything else with the kid.
“If I do, the cord’ll probably snap in two.”
“Well, if you don’t, it isn’t going to start,” Pam said, mimicking his smart tone.
He looked at her, his hands on his hips. Pam could see laughter in his eyes—so like Mel’s—but he seemed stubbornly prepared to refuse to move if she continued to tell him how to do his job. He got more than his eyes from his mother. “Then why don’t you take care of the mowing since you’re such an expert.”
Pam raised her hands in mock surrender. “Hey, your mom said you mow, I mark the path. I’m not going to disobey.”
Mel set the sketch pad on a dusty bench and watched her two laborers having a laughing argument over the ancient mower in the rain. Pam had seemed so reluctant to be around Danny, but he was slowly breaking down her barriers without even trying. Mel saw Pam’s body language soften and relax, mirroring the change in her speech patterns as she started to talk more normally, without the hesitation and reticence she had shown at first.
Mel brought some string and small stakes over to the patio.
She had been determined to prove she could do everything on her own when she started to renovate the inn, but there was something so much more satisfying about today’s project. She watched the odd parade move through her backyard—Pam in the lead as she showed where the meandering path should go, Danny behind with the old lawnmower, and Piper following them both with occasional yips as if she was concerned they might damage her yard. There was no way Mel could get all the yard work done in time for the wedding by herself, but her easy acceptance of this assistance made her nervous.
Having Danny there to help was wonderful, but learning to rely on Pam’s presence, to think of her as part of this new little family, was dangerous.
Pam was only there temporarily, and Mel would be foolish to expect more than a few weeks of her companionship. And Mel hadn’t even had a full week of living here alone before she had invited Pam to move in. How could she get back in touch with who she was when she couldn’t even live on her own? She had spent too many years with someone she let change the way she thought and acted and lived. Mel wouldn’t allow Pam, as strong and confident as she was, to dictate who she would become.
And now Pam’s influence would permeate the backyard. Every time Mel walked along the garden path or hosted a party in the studio, she would see Pam. In fact, every room in the house would have part of her on the walls.
“You don’t like kids, do you?” Mel asked when Pam came over and picked up a handful of stakes. Danny was still mowing the resisting yard, stopping occasionally to uproot a tough weed or shrub by hand.
Pam looked surprised by the question. “Well, I wouldn’t say… it’s not that I don’t like them, I just…”
Her voice faltered to a halt. Mel shrugged. What was she doing?
Picking a fight in order to push Pam away? She wasn’t sure if she was trying to keep Danny from being hurt by Pam’s reticence or if she was afraid of her attraction to Pam, her fleeting desire to see Pam as part of their family. As a mother, she’d always try to protect her son. But she would protect her individuality by being strong, not by pushing weakly at anyone who got close. Anyone she was tempted to let close.
She needed to have more faith in herself and in her newfound, hard-won independence. She changed the subject back to the work at hand.
“Why don’t you mark one side of the path. I’ll measure and mark the other side so the width stays the same.”
“Okay,” Pam said, bending over to push the first stake into the ground. “Danny’s a great kid
,” she said as she walked forward a few steps and bent again to mark a curve in the path.
“I know,” Mel said shortly. She held the measuring tape in place with her foot and used both hands to force a stake into the hard soil.
Pam might be able to say the right things a mom would want to hear, but she couldn’t hide her desire to avoid interacting with Danny.
Mel didn’t understand why Pam seemed to reel between stiffness and an easy joking manner with Danny. Why she struggled so hard against her art, but produced such exquisitely beautiful paintings.
Pam was complex, hard to read. But one thing was simple for Mel.
Danny. Yes, he was getting older and would be on his own soon, but she was building a home for them as a family, a place where he’d always belong. Mel wouldn’t settle for any relationship, friendship or otherwise, in which Danny wasn’t welcome.
“He’s smart and funny and easy to talk to,” Pam said. Her back was to Mel as she created the left border of the path. Mel followed more slowly, measuring to accurately delineate the right side. She had to strain to hear Pam’s quiet words over the mower.
“I know,” Mel said again when Pam paused.
“You must feel proud about how you raised him,” Pam continued, apparently undeterred by Mel’s brief responses. “To see how well he does in school and in sports. And how much he wants to spend time with you and help out here.”
Mel thought she detected a wistful edge to Pam’s voice, but she didn’t respond to her comment. She didn’t want to know more. Didn’t want to find out whether Pam’s reaction to Danny had been caused by discomfort or sadness, rather than simple dislike of young people.
She shoved the last stake in the ground and stood to join Pam by the back gate. She looked at the outline of the path leading back to her patio. If she had designed it on her own, she would have made a direct line from the inn to the staircase leading to the beach. But Pam had given the walkway a free-form route. The gentle curves would still be easy to maneuver, but they fit more naturally into the rest of the planned garden than a straight line would have done.
“I like it,” Mel said as she walked back to the house along the grassy path with Pam right behind her. She had to admit Pam’s artistic eye was already improving the garden. And she’d be foolish to turn away a much-needed laborer. She’d control her growing interest in Pam and her unease with whatever had happened in Pam’s past to give her what seemed to be a conflicting longing and reluctance to be close to Mel and Danny.
“I appreciate your help,” she said as she handed Pam an edger.
“Danny and I couldn’t do all this without you, and the design you made for the garden is lovely.”
Pam looked at the garden tool and then back at Mel. “I do much better work with a pencil than with an edger.”
“I’m sure you do,” Mel said as she jotted down the measurements from the garden path. “But we’ll take what we can get.”
❖
On Thursday morning, Piper trotted halfway down the staircase before she leapt off it to explore the hillside leading to the beach. Pam rested her back against the gatepost as she lit a cigarette. She kept an eye on Piper’s progress through the brush, but her attention wandered occasionally to Mel’s newly renovated backyard. There was still a long way to go before the yard was complete and perfected, but Mel had made a good start. Pam had been surprised by Mel’s ability to make her vision come to life. She had merely sketched some ideas on a piece of paper, but Mel had turned the pencil drawings into a living garden.
The fountain and benches were missing, and the yard had a patchy, weedy look that would only be fixed by months of fertilizing or a complete re-sodding. Still, the gardens were outlined neatly and filled with shrubs and wild grasses. They were sparse and too symmetrical for Pam’s taste, but time would soften them. The path was completely finished in a geometric pattern that Mel and Walter had designed. It had taken Mel hours to finish, but Pam loved the stark mathematical precision and how it contrasted with the wavy outline she had created.
Most of all, though, she had enjoyed the feeling of hard work.
She and Danny had hauled wheelbarrows full of old brush and carved-out sod out of the yard while Mel painstakingly laid her paving stones and bricks in the loose sand. Pam had complained about the labor involved, but as long as she was sweating and working in the chilly drizzle, she didn’t have to worry about painting or creating. She just followed orders. And once she had gotten over her initial reluctance to be around Danny—something Mel had noticed and commented on—Pam had enjoyed working with the teenager. He had a typical young person’s aversion to work combined with seemingly boundless energy, and Pam found the combination energizing. They groused every time Mel assigned them a new task, but they met each one with a whirlwind of activity and determination. They were like balls of energy orbiting around the stable sun of Mel, and Pam found she enjoyed the release of constant activity.
Still, she avoided any sense of family Mel and Danny tried to offer. They’d invited her to eat dinner with them, watch a movie and relax in the comfortable new living room, but Pam had gone up to her room alone instead. Piper had chosen to remain with Danny, but Pam ignored the urge to join her dog and give in to the temptation—and illusion—of happy family life. The habit of avoiding people and closeness was familiar, an ingrained habit by now. What she hadn’t expected was the pull she felt toward Mel and Danny. Usually she could shut her door on any relationship that threatened to get too intimate. Why had she stood with her hand on the doorknob last night, so close to opening it?
Pam saw Mel step out of the back door and walk along the path.
She wished they didn’t have these barriers between them. Every time she saw Mel, whether she was wearing a robe or paint-splattered jeans or today’s neat slacks and peasant blouse, Pam had the uncomfortable urge to get closer, to touch her. If Mel didn’t seem so hell-bent on making this inn work, so determined to make a life for herself at the ocean, Pam would give in to her desire to seduce her. But Pam couldn’t sleep with Mel and walk away. Run into her in town or at the store and pretend nothing had happened. Mel seemed to be building forever here. Pam couldn’t offer that.
“Good morning,” Mel called as she got closer. “How do you think it looks out here?”
Pam straightened and stubbed out her cigarette in her ashtray.
“It’s great. Once you get the chairs and some flower arrangements set up, it’ll be a perfect place for a wedding.”
Mel smiled her thanks as she sat down. She handed Pam a plate covered with a napkin. “Ham and Tillamook cheese omelet,” she said.
“I thought I’d serve something local and hearty for a winter breakfast.”
Piper lost interest in her exploring and came to sit by Pam as she bit into the omelet. Mel picked a chunk of ham off Pam’s plate and fed it to the dog.
“This is great,” Pam said around a mouthful of eggs. “And it’s no wonder she always wants to be around you and Danny. You both keep feeding her scraps.”
“I saw the picture,” Mel said, instead of responding to Pam’s joking accusation.
Pam fed Piper a piece of melted cheese. “I thought it’d look good in the dining room,” she said casually. The moment she had seen the finished room, with its eggshell-blue paint and the Wedgewood dishes Mel had placed on the sideboard, she had known the exact picture that would complement Mel’s vision. She had gone home yesterday, pretending to be concerned about the contractor’s work, and had dug through the old paintings she had tucked in the closet in her loft. She had exchanged frames to match the warm wood tones of the sideboard and table Mel had sanded and stained. And she had hung the painting after she knew Mel was in bed. “Think of it as a housewarming present. And a thank you for letting me stay here for a few weeks.”
“Thank you,” Mel said, just brushing Pam’s shoulder with her hand before she clasped her arms around her knees. “It’s exactly right.”
Pam knew it was. She h
ad seen the subject of the painting years ago when she and her partner had brought little Kevin to the beach for the first time. He had slept, snuggled tight against her in his backpack, while she’d sketched the young girl at the edge of the ocean. Diane had been angry because Pam had spent so much of their time at the beach capturing various scenes that caught her attention, so she had been forced to quickly get the outline of each image onto paper. She’d finished the paintings weeks later, in the privacy of her studio at home.
She remembered the layers of the painting—the actual girl standing on the beach, the first strokes of color on the virgin canvas, the resolution when she packed all her paintings into boxes and shoved them deep into the closets and nooks of her new, small home.
The girl had worn a blue sundress, makeshift and knotted at the shoulder. She’d stood with her back to Pam, holding the dress up and out of reach of the ankle-deep water that covered her bare feet. The juxtaposition of her innocent frailty against the powerful, relentless waves of the ocean had grabbed Pam’s attention. And once she saw the room Mel had worked so hard to perfect, she had immediately wanted the girl’s portrait on the wall.
“I’m glad you like it,” she said as she broke off a piece of cinnamon scone and ate it. Mel had definitely learned how to work with dough, and the pastry was tender and flavorful.
“I do, and it makes me feel guilty for asking a favor,” Mel said, looking toward the ocean and avoiding eye contact with Pam.
“A favor?” Pam repeated. She set her fork down. “I am not digging up any more sod. My hands are callused enough from last weekend.”
“Not a working favor,” Mel assured her. “I just got a call from one of the grooms. His mother has decided to come to the wedding. It’s great for him, but it means I need one more room…”