Bess looked up from her work, reading glasses low on the bridge of her nose. “Oh. Did you have a good time?”
“It was okay. Tricia can really cook. And she’s so nice! I really want to dislike her but she makes it very difficult.”
“Yeah,” Bess said, looking back to the card she was preparing. “She’s the genuine article.”
“I guess. Wait, how do you know her?”
“I bumped into the two of them in Arabica the other day.”
“Oh.”
“I hope you’re happy for Alec,” Bess said, in a pointed way.
“I’m coming around.”
There was another silence as both women worked on. When Bess spoke, her tone was light. “So, how’s ‘the one that got away’ adjusting to life in Portland?”
Iris dropped the pencil she had been using to mark some of her sketches. “What? How did you know?”
Bess rolled her eyes. “I’m a witch. Seriously, Iris, you’re very easy to read. At least, I find it easy to read you. And you did tell me that you two were once inseparable.”
Iris retrieved her pencil from the floor where it had rolled after falling off the table. “Oh,” she said. “Right. I forgot. Anyway, he didn’t actually get away.” She paused for a moment before adding, “It’s more like he was the one I tossed back.”
Bess raised an eyebrow. “You might not want to do that again.”
Iris shrugged noncommittally.
“ ‘But we loved with a love that was more than love . . .’ ”
“Even I know that,” Iris interrupted. “It’s from Poe’s ‘Annabel Lee.’ ”
“ ‘And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.’ ”
“Anyway,” Iris said when Bess had finished reciting, “you’re assuming Ben would want to be with me again.”
“Were you planning to marry?”
Iris toyed with the pencil. “We weren’t formally engaged,” she said quietly. “We didn’t have a ring. But yes, we were going to be married.”
“The jewelry designer without a ring.”
“Whatever.”
“So, in spite of what you told me the other day, you didn’t just outgrow each other.”
“No,” Iris admitted.
“Did you take him by surprise when you broke things off?”
“Not entirely by surprise,” Iris explained. “I think he knew that something was . . . wrong.”
Like when I told him he didn’t have to come to Mom’s funeral. Like when I didn’t shed one tear throughout the wake or funeral. Like when he tried to take my hand on the way back to the house afterward and I pulled it away.
“Yes,” Bess said. “He didn’t strike me as slow-witted.”
“He’s anything but slow-witted,” Iris agreed.
They worked quietly for a time and then Iris found herself saying, “Ben knows me at my absolute best. And at my absolute worst.”
“And?” Bess prompted.
“And that scares me.”
“Are you saying you’re afraid of intimacy? Real love means exposing the best of you and the worst, the strongest and the weakest, the beautiful and the ugly.”
“Then yes, I’m afraid of intimacy.” Rather, Iris corrected silently, I became afraid of intimacy. When my mother died.
Bess sighed. “Too bad. I feel sorry for you.”
“Don’t,” Iris said, faking a laugh. “I feel sorry enough for myself.”
“ ‘To pity oneself,
to cry out for justice from an improbable God
or an unfathomable universe,
is to invite the disdain of both.’ ”
“Well, now I feel even sorrier for myself than I did before.”
“The lines belong to Jack Parish, a poet I know in Vermont,” Bess said. “The sentiment is a bit harsh, but then again, so is Jack.”
Iris nodded. “All right. I think I’ve had enough poetry for one day.”
“There’s no such thing as enough poetry, but I’ll respect your wishes this one time.”
They worked quietly again for a while until Iris found the words coming out of her mouth in spite of her strenuous mental attempts to drag them back in.
“Did you know,” she said, in a falsely casual voice, “Ben was the last person to see my mother alive.”
Bess put down her pen and looked intently at Iris. “Of course I didn’t know.”
Iris looked down at the worktable. “It was about nine o’clock at night. Christmas Eve. My father and I were sent home. I didn’t want to go, I didn’t want to leave my mother’s side, but I was exhausted and so I allowed myself to be persuaded. Ben left with us. But he went back to the hospice, later that night. And he was there when she died, just before midnight. Not me. Ben.”
“Wow,” Bess said softly. And then, after a moment, she asked, “Do you blame yourself or Ben?”
Iris’s head shot up. “It wasn’t Ben’s fault that I left the hospice that night!”
“Then why have you been punishing him?”
“Is that what you think I’ve been doing?” Iris asked. She was stunned by the idea. Had she been punishing him? God, she thought now that she had.
Why had it never occurred to her that by punishing herself she had also been punishing Ben, and unfairly? She had assumed he would be glad to see her go so that he could be done with sickness and death. She had assumed when she had no right to assume.
“Do you still love him?” Bess asked now.
That was an important question. Ben had done nothing to make her fall out of love, dislike him, hate him. But Iris said nothing.
“Did you hear what I asked?”
“Yes,” Iris said a bit testily. “But even if I did still love him, what would it matter?”
“It would matter,” Bess pointed out, “if he also still loved you. And, you haven’t answered my question.”
No, Iris had not answered Bess’s question but she had the answer at hand. Of course she still loved Ben. She had never stopped loving him. She had just stopped . . .
Iris sighed and rubbed her head vigorously with both of her hands. “Why is all this happening now?” she muttered.
“ ‘To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.’ ”
Iris smiled. “So you’re branching out from the Americans and the British.”
“The ancient Israelites know how to write, my dear. Talk about powerful poetry.”
“I thought you weren’t going to quote at me anymore today.”
“I lied. So, have you told Alec about Ben?”
“Not really.”
“Why?”
“Oh, he’s so into Tricia right now. . . .” Iris’s words trailed off lamely.
“He’s your friend. Get a male perspective. Granted he’s not an average guy but that’s a good thing. And he’s certainly not going to be jealous.”
“I’m not sure I want him to be telling Tricia my secrets.”
“You could ask him not to tell her about Ben,” Bess said. “But he might, anyway. He tells me he’s in love.”
“Since when are you and Alec such good friends?” Iris asked.
“I make it my business to know the friends of my friends. Hey, did you know Alec likes seventeenth-century English poetry?”
“Honestly, I had no idea. God, what were Alec and I doing all that time together?”
“Not being together.”
“Touché.”
“This pen is running out,” Bess announced. “Do you have another?”
Iris nodded. “There’s a box of them on that shelf.”
She watched as Bess retrieved a new pen. She was surprised she had revealed so much of herself to her friend, though she had stopped short of admitting that she still loved Ben. But she was pretty certain Bess knew that. There wasn’t much that got by her. Maybe that opal ring she wore rea
lly did have some magical powers.... The thought made Iris smile.
“What’s amusing?” Bess asked, returning to her work place.
“Nothing really. I was just thinking about your opal.”
“Are you hoping I’ll leave it to you in my will?”
“Bess!” Iris cried.
Bess grinned. “Just asking.”
Chapter 18
Iris stood outside her studio building on Wednesday afternoon, the fourteenth of December, staring down at the large square appliance on the sidewalk, and wondering how she was ever going to get it into the lobby, in and out of the elevator, down the hall, and finally into her studio. The fact that she had gotten it this far amazed her.
“Need some help?”
Iris whirled around. “Oh, Ben.” She laughed a bit wildly. “Uh, yeah, actually I do need some help.”
She pointed down at the appliance. It was an ancient dorm room style fridge. Some of the enamel exterior was chipped away but the inside was perfectly clean.
“How did you manage to get it this far?” Ben asked, eyeing it dubiously.
“I took a cab from my house, of course. But the driver had no interest in helping me any farther than the curb.”
“Smart man.”
“But I offered him five dollars.”
“That’s not going to cover the cost of a torn hernia.” Ben crouched, took a deep breath and lifted the fridge in his arms.
“At least the elevator is working,” Iris said as she held the lobby door open for him. “It’s been broken more often than not lately.”
“It didn’t occur to you to borrow a dolly?” he puffed. “Or a hand truck?”
“Obviously not.”
They said nothing else until the elevator jolted to a stop on the tenth floor. “Wish me luck,” Ben muttered. Then he wrangled the old fridge down the hall and into the studio with an admirable minimum of huffs and groans.
“You know,” he said, straightening his back with a slightly pained expression, “a new one can’t be that expensive and it’s got to weigh less than this dinosaur.”
“I know,” Iris admitted. “But my downstairs neighbor seemed so pleased with herself for offering it to me I couldn’t say no. She’s got some sort of mental disability—she told me that once—but she’s the nicest person and quite competent as far as I can tell.”
“Does she live alone?”
“Yes. And I’m not sure she has any real friends. I mean, I never see anyone coming or going, except for her sister. The family owns the condo. The sister seems to be the one designated to keep an eye out for Maeve.”
“At least she has family,” Ben remarked.
“Sure. But it would be nice if she had some friends, as well.”
Ben regarded her with interest. “Who are your friends here in Portland?” he asked. “I mean, besides that woman I saw you with the night of the tree lighting.”
Iris laughed a nervous little laugh. She wondered if Ben had meant his question in a challenging way. “There isn’t really anyone important besides Bess,” she confessed.
“How did you two meet?”
“We were on line at the library not long after I came to town and we got to chatting. Actually, she approached me. Next thing, we were having coffee and our friendship took off from there.”
“What about a boyfriend?” Ben asked. “I mean, are you seeing anyone?”
Iris felt her cheeks go red.
“Come on, Iris,” Ben urged, his tone light. “I told you about my marriage. I haven’t assumed you’ve been living an entirely celibate life since . . . since I last saw you.”
“All right,” she said. “There was someone for a bit. His name is Alec. We’re still friends. Actually, that’s really all we ever were. He’s seeing someone else now. She’s totally different from me and he’s very happy.”
Ben had the good grace to smile but to refrain from commenting. “You know,” he said, “some of your old friends in Boston still ask about you.”
“Oh. Who?”
“Herbie Taylor, from the Nightingale Gallery, for one. And just a few weeks ago I ran into John Morelli and he asked me if I knew how you were doing. He’d read something about your work in an online journal.”
“Oh.” Iris didn’t know how she felt about this. She tried hard not to think about everyone she had left behind. Out of sight, out of mind. Mostly, it worked. “Well,” she said, “I doubt they miss me. It’s been almost three years.”
Ben took a step closer to her, maybe casually, maybe with purpose. “Don’t be so sure,” he said. “You might be gone but you’re not forgotten.”
Iris felt her cheeks flush again. She wondered if he was talking about his own feelings. God, it was horrible not to know exactly what Ben’s words meant. They had never dealt in anything but clear terms, but so much had happened.. . .
“Well, I should give you the grand tour, I guess,” Iris said, her voice unnaturally high. She scooted a few feet away from Ben. “Over there is my safe. Well, obviously, what else could it be? And then there are my tools. And then there are the worktables and the shelves. And, well, that’s about it.”
Ben nodded. “It’s a good-sized space. Are you happy with the light?”
“Oh, yes. The light’s good.”
“Good.”
Oh, God, Iris thought, I wish he would leave! But she couldn’t make the words, “Well, I have work to do,” come out of her mouth.
And it seemed that Ben had no intention of leaving. “Iris,” he said, his voice low and careful, “I know this must be a hard time for you, with your mother’s anniversary in a few weeks. And then, I showed up unexpectedly.. . .”
Iris folded her arms across her chest. “You have no idea,” she blurted.
“I think,” he said, “that I might.”
For the space of a moment Iris felt that to spill the secrets of her heart would be an enormously welcome relief. But what she whispered was, “I’m so sorry, Ben.”
“For what, Iris?” he asked, his eyes pleading with her. “Tell me.”
But no, she couldn’t tell him the truth, not now, not here, not ever. Iris shook her head. “I’m just . . . I’m just sorry.”
Ben stepped even closer and lightly laid a hand on her shoulder. Iris jumped back as if she had been stung.
“Did you know you can see the Rising Cairn from this window?” she said, her voice trembling.
“No.” Ben slid his hands into the pockets of his coat.
“Well, you can. If you stand right here and lean just this way. . . .”
Ben smiled vaguely. “I should get back to work,” he said.
Iris nodded. “Sure. And thanks for helping me with the fridge. I owe you a favor.”
“No, Iris,” Ben said. He was already walking purposefully toward the door. “You don’t owe me any favors.”
And then he was gone.
Chapter 19
It was Friday, the sixteenth of December, exactly two weeks since Iris had spotted Ben across the crowded museum yard, and exactly nine days until Christmas. It was also the day of Iris’s holiday open house. Several other artists in the building were also holding open houses and the halls rang with laughter and conversation. It was better, Iris thought, than the noises one usually heard in the building—faulty plumbing, a creaking elevator, and the skittering of mice in the walls.
“You’re doing nicely,” Bess informed her sotto voce, two hours into the event. “And look who just walked in. The ghost.”
Iris felt her stomach knot. She had so hoped that he wouldn’t come, especially after their last, supremely uncomfortable encounter two days earlier. She had come perilously close to revealing all to Ben and if she were to live the new life that she had chosen, that must never happen again.
“We probably shouldn’t keep calling him that,” she said, hoping to sound casual. “He’s become all too real.”
“Who’s become all too real?” Marilyn asked.
Bess nodded toward Ben. �
��Him. He’s Iris’s former beau. But don’t say anything.”
Marilyn looked puzzled. “What would I say? And to whom?” When neither Iris nor Bess answered, Marilyn shrugged and wandered off.
As Ben came toward her Iris remembered all the times he had supported her at shows and fairs and openings. He had been such a selfless, generous friend....
“You didn’t have to come,” she blurted.
Ben raised an eyebrow. “I’m aware of that.” He turned and extended his hand toward Bess. “Hello, Bess is it?”
“Yes. And, Ben, it’s nice to see you again. How’s the new job?”
“Pretty good, thanks.”
A well-dressed woman of about fifty joined them. “I’m back,” she said to Iris, almost apologetically. “I’m sorry it’s taking me so long to make up my mind. . . .”
Iris smiled. She was used to hesitant customers. In the beginning of her career, it had been hard to accept the fact of a potential buyer walking away empty-handed. She had taken it as a personal rejection. But over time she had come to view a walk-away as “just one of those things.”
“There’s nothing to apologize about,” she assured the woman. “Please, take your time.”
Iris stepped off a bit to allow the woman space, but she remained close enough to hear Ben speak to her.
“My mother’s been buying Iris Karr’s work for years,” he was saying. “In fact, she asked me to come by today to pick out a new piece for her. The trouble is, I can’t decide which piece to buy. I know she’d like just about everything here.”
The woman smiled up at Ben. “That’s so nice of you, to shop for your mother.”
“What piece are you considering?” he asked.
The woman pointed to a slim gold bracelet with a scattering of small inlaid citrines. “Oh, that’s definitely my favorite. Citrine is my birthstone. It’s just that I don’t know if I should spend the money on myself. . . .”
Ben laughed. “I know what my mother would say. God helps those who help themselves.”
The woman laughed as well. “You know, your mother is absolutely right. I’ve made up my mind. I’m buying the bracelet!”
The woman beckoned to Iris and they completed the sale.
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