EMPulse

by Deborah D. Moore

  “It helps to add humidity to the air,” Jeff explained, “and it’s soothing. Here’s one of the new menus for you to take back with you. It lists the regular weekly meals like the Friday Fish Fry, although there are daily specials that the chef thinks up, depending on what comes in fresh.”

  “I tend to eat at home,” Adele murmured.

  “I’ve noticed. But there may come a time when you want to get out and enjoy something different, so keep us in mind,” he said cheerfully.

  ***

  Adele was in high spirits after her walk, until she saw her condo door slightly ajar. Cautiously she pushed the door open more and heard water running. She silently stepped inside and quickly looked around. Standing at the sink with her back to Adele, stood a young woman.

  “Who are you and what are you doing here?” Adele yelled.

  The girl spun around. “Oh, geesh, you scared me!” she said with her wet hand splayed on her chest.

  “Who are you?” Adele repeated with a snarl.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m Beth, the housekeeper. I’m only cleaning up,” she replied.

  “I didn’t ask for a housekeeper!” Adele was thoroughly upset having someone in here when she was gone. She didn’t like anyone snooping around.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, Miss Michaels. Your condo rent includes weekly housekeeping. I change and wash the sheets and towels, clean up the kitchen, dust, mop, and vacuum, things like that,” Beth said. “Didn’t Mr. Atkins tell you?”

  “No, he didn’t.” Adele backed off, trying to calm herself. “Is this your regular day?”

  “Yes, ma’am, Tuesdays will be your day, unless you wish to change that. We always try to work around the tenants’ preferred schedule. Or you can cancel the service completely,” Beth said contritely, looking down. “Since there are only six units currently occupied, I work only two or three days a week now. I’m sure looking forward to the holidays when I can get back to work full time.” Beth turned back to the sink, shut the water off ,and dried her hands.

  The hint wasn’t lost on Adele. “You lose pay if I cancel the service?”

  “I get paid by the hour, Miss Michaels, and I’m a good worker. But I understand that not everyone wants a maid, even a bonded one like me.”

  “I see.” Adele looked around. The place did look much neater, and she was accustomed to bi-weekly maid service at her penthouse apartment. Not having to hassle with certain chores would give her more time to work, and that Beth was bonded was a plus. “When will you be done here?”

  “I’m about finished. I was just washing the coffee pot,” Beth said.

  “I’ll see you next week, then,” Adele said, stepping into her bedroom.

  ***

  Once Beth left, Adele downloaded her camera into the computer and set the samples she’d collected in a tray to air dry. It had been a good day. No, other than the surprise of a housekeeper, it had been a great day. It was the first day in a long time that she felt relaxed and hadn’t worried about Kyle finding her. In fact, she hadn’t thought about Kyle at all.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Adele put the camp stove, lanterns, packs of batteries, propane bottles, and oil lamps in the back of her huge and mostly empty closet. The candles and matches went into the bottom drawer of the bathroom vanity. Now she could tell her mother she was indeed set for a power outage that would likely never come.

  “It’s time to get to work, kiddo,” she said aloud to herself. She’d done enough stalling and running around. Though honestly, most of what she had left the resort for were items that made her feel comfortable, and safe.

  She pushed her art table closer to the big window to take advantage of the early afternoon sunlight. Rusty orange, green, and black ink sat next to the numerous brushes and the four small bowls of plain tap water. She laid a sheet of heavy watercolor paper on the table and brushed it with the tepid water… and she began.

  ***

  Four hours later Adele stood and stretched her back and her neck. She opened a fresh bottle of wine and after pouring a glass, walked back to her work table.

  “Oh, this is looking good,” she said aloud. She moved the table so she could walk completely around it and see the new painting from all angles. There were pine needles strategically placed under the wet tissue paper, pine needles from the walk she took with Jeff a few days earlier; there were splashes of orange and of green, watered down and moved around. Adele reached into the box of ink and brought out a dark brown. This, she thought, would make a better accent than the black, but didn’t put the black away. Not just yet.

  The sun was nearly set. Time to quit and let everything dry. It was a good start. Adele dipped her finger into her wine and dripped some of the ruby liquid onto the paper at a corner, then tipped it so it would run and travel. Now it can dry, she thought.

  Another sip of wine and her stomach rumbled with hunger. While at Walstroms she had picked up a pre-cooked chicken. All it needed was reheating, and a salad. Always a salad; it was her favorite part of dinner.

  She took her dinner to the coffee table and switched on the big TV. She flipped through the channels to find some news. It wasn’t good. The powers that be were considering more sanctions on North Korea for arming a missile with a nuclear device and threatening to launch it at the U.S. She wondered how sanctions would stop a nutcase like the leader of North Korea.

  ***

  Adele woke at eight o’clock, surprised she had slept the entire night without waking. She surmised it was the lower stress level and that she was painting again. Painting always took her away from everything that bothered her. Kyle didn’t allow her to paint. He said she didn’t need the money anymore; she had him. He didn’t understand that it was the creativity that compelled her to paint, not the money. On the other hand, maybe he did, and it was one more thing he needed to take away from her so he had control.

  With a fresh cup of coffee in hand, she circled the art table, studying what she had done the day before, and she was pleased.

  She rinsed her cup out and sat on a stool in front of the new painting. While there was a painting on the table, there was never anything else. Coffee cups and wine glasses, anything that could spill, were forbidden in her mind. Still in a rumpled t-shirt and brightly colored thin flannel lounging pants, she picked up a fine-tipped brush.

  The delicate brush strokes that accented and outlined different aspects of the painting were mostly a muted dark brown, and blended softly into the other colors, giving life to the canvas. A touch of watered down black brought a pine needle to the front, giving depth to the others around it. She worked two handed, one with ink, one with water to keep that blending in motion. There were times it took weeks to do one painting; other times only a day or two. This one was almost complete. On the back of the paper, she listed the exact names of the inks used, the title, Wind Swept, and she signed it. Once she decided what angle felt right to her, she would add the title to the bottom front and sign it again.

  Adele rinsed and washed her brushes, setting them upright to dry after twirling them in the palm of her hand. The wind picked up and tossed snowflakes at the glass window, demanding her attention. At first she thought the weather had dimmed the sun, until she saw the clock read six-thirty p.m. Other than that one cup of coffee, she hadn’t drank or eaten all day, and she was still in her pajamas. She believed that finishing a piece needed celebrating. This was no exception. She eyed the laminated menu Jeff insisted she keep.

  Adele dressed in one of her new long skirts after she showered, added a touch of makeup, and wrapped in her new long coat, walked down to the resort restaurant.

  ***

  Jeff Atkins sat at a table along the windows and facing the entrance door of the elegant yet casual restaurant, so he could see who came and went. He was delightfully surprised when Adele walked in. He immediately stood and walked toward her.<
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  “Good evening, Adele,” he said. “Are you here for dinner or only drinks? Both are gourmet tonight.”

  “Dinner is what I had in mind, Jeff, and drinks. I’m celebrating,” she replied.

  “I love celebrations. What’s the occasion?” he asked, guiding her to the table he had just vacated.

  “I finished a new piece of… work,” she said, and automatically sat when he pulled a chair out for her. When he sat too, she noticed his drink and realized he had placed her at his table. “I didn’t intend to interrupt your evening, Jeff.” She started to stand.

  “Please sit, Adele. You’re not interrupting anything,” he reassured her. “In fact you’ve brightened my evening. What would you like to drink?” he asked as a waiter came up to their table.

  “May I see the wine list, please?” She smiled at the young man standing there. He had come prepared and set the wine menu and the food menu down in front of her, then silently stepped back. She quickly glanced at the offerings. “A bottle of this chardonnay,” she said, pointing, “and I’ll have whatever the chicken special is.”

  The waiter took the menus and departed.

  “A good choice on both accounts,” Jeff said. “I already ordered the chicken. You will be pleased with your choice, I hope.”

  A moment later the waiter returned with two chilled glasses, and opened the likewise chilled bottle in front of her, poured them each a taste, and nestled the bottle in an ice bucket. Jeff raised his glass and touched hers. “Congratulations on finishing your painting.”

  Adele was startled. “You know I paint?”

  Jeff chuckled. “Of course I do, Miss Adele Michaels, renowned artist. And, yes, I know who you are. I’m an admirer of your work.”

  “I see.”

  “No one else here and no one on the staff knows. I understand that for some reason you need the seclusion and privacy my resort offers. Your secret is safe with me,” he promised.

  “I hope, for my sake, I can believe that,” she whispered, and tried hard to ignore her mounting anxiety.

  ***

  “That was truly delightful,” Adele said, finishing the last bite of her boneless chicken. “The pesto sauce was light enough to taste the chicken seasonings, yet enough to taste the sauce. At first I thought the angel hair pasta would be too weak for the sauce, but it was perfect. The food here is excellent, I’m surprised you’re not busier.” She finished off her glass of wine and ordered a spot of port.

  “You have excellent taste in wine, Adele,” Jeff said. “That chard was perfect for the chicken. As for not being busy, we close the hotel portion for the month of November for deep cleaning and maintenance. The long term units, like yours, stay available, although only four of the six units are occupied right now. Things tend to get a lot busier once it snows.” His eyes were drawn to a side window. “Speaking of snow, it looks like the snow predicted for tomorrow has arrived early. Can I drive you back to the condo?” he offered when she had finished her drink.

  “I don’t melt,” she laughed. “I think I’ll walk, but thank you.”

  “Then I will walk with you. These inclines, slight as they are, can get slippery until I can plow and salt.”

  ***

  “There you are, safe and sound,” Jeff said when they arrived at her door. She had slipped only once and he’d tucked her arm in his for the rest of the walk.

  “Thank you,” Adele said, hesitantly. “Would you like to see the new painting?”

  “I would be honored!” he beamed. “May I stop by tomorrow though? I really need to attend to these roads.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Adele woke with a slight headache from too little to eat and then too much wine. Deciding a few aspirins would solve that, she headed into the bathroom.

  With her cup of coffee she wandered to the picture window and was shocked how much snow had fallen overnight. There had to be a foot out there and she gave an involuntary shudder at how cold it looked. She looked longingly at the woodstove and wondered where the supply of wood was. Today would be a break-day, a day to relax and to clear her head to get ready for the next painting. A fire would be really nice.

  ***

  Dressed for the blowing snow, Adele opened the front door cautiously, and still got a face full from the blast of arctic air. She closed the door behind her and ventured into the carport. On the wall adjacent to the house hung two pairs of snowshoes, two bicycles, a hatchet, and a shovel. On the opposite side there was a short stack of wood and a leather sling. She put four pieces of wood in the sling, tested its weight, and added two more pieces. After making a nice, neat stack of two dozen pieces next to the stove, it dawned on her there was no kindling.

  Adele was nearly done splitting up two larger pieces of wood with the hatchet to make kindling when Jeff pulled up in her parking area.

  “Good morning!” he said, jumping down from the high cab of the old pickup truck. “Looks like you’re getting ready to build a fire. Need any help?”

  “Not really; I’ve started many stoves up in Michigan. I could use more wood though,” she answered. Jeff pulled out his walkie and called down to the office.

  “As soon as Aaron can get the truck filled, he’ll bring you a load,” he said after a short conversation. “Any plans on using this side of the port?” Jeff asked.

  “None whatsoever. Since no one knows I’m here, I’m not expecting any company,” she replied.

  “Okay, then I’ll have him bring two loads. I don’t want you running out.” He grinned. “I’m going to be plowing much of the day. Would tonight be all right to come back and look at your new painting?” He didn’t want her to forget her offer, and he certainly didn’t want her to think he wasn’t interested.

  “That would be fine.” Adele tried to keep the enthusiasm out of her voice. She was looking forward to the visit, but didn’t want to seem desperate. The long talk they had over dinner had lifted her spirits. Jeff was an educated and intelligent man and she craved more of his company.

  She gathered up the new kindling and set it in the sling. With additional wood coming, she decided to split up more. The activity felt good and it reminded her of her sixty-year-old mother and all the physical work she did on a daily basis.

  ***

  The fire in the woodstove was blazing brightly when Adele heard someone pull into her short driveway.

  “Good morning, Ma’am. You ordered some wood?”

  “You must be Aaron,” Adele said to the pleasant and handsome young black man.

  “Yes, Ma’am. Mr. Atkins said to bring you two loads. I might not get the second load until tomorrow, though. It takes a bit of time to stack all this,” Aaron replied.

  “If you get it unloaded, I’ll start stacking. I could use the exercise anyway,” she said.

  “Oh, I don’t think Mr. Atkins would like that.”

  “Oh, I don’t think Mr. Atkins has any say in what I do,” she said, mimicking his words. She grinned and went back into the condo to find some gloves.

  ***

  An hour and a half later, Aaron returned with the second load of wood, only to find Adele close to being done stacking what he’d already brought.

  “Those are some mighty fine looking ricks, Ma’am. I can tell you’ve done this a time or two before.”

  “Yes, once or twice,” she laughed. “My mom has wood heat back in Michigan and I spent many summers helping her put up her winter supply. My ricks have never fallen down,” she boasted, referring to the neat, freestanding rows of cut wood. She stood and stretched. “If you unload in the same place, I will finish stacking tomorrow.”

  “If you don’t mind, Miss Michaels, I’ll finish. The boss-man pays me to do this, and you don’t want me to get into trouble, do you?” Aaron said with a chuckle. “And here is a pile of newspapers and a bag of fat-wood. I’ll leave them in the back here,
out of your way.” He slid a large covered plastic tub out of the back of the late model truck and set it against the back of the domed carport, and started unloading the rest of the split wood.

  “No, I certainly don’t want Mr. Atkins upset with you. And I appreciate you bringing the wood on such short notice, thank you.”

  Adele went back into the condo, silently thankful she didn’t have to stack any more wood.

  ***

  At six o’clock, Adele was beginning to wonder if Jeff forgot about stopping by. She felt an odd twinge of disappointment until she heard a knock on the door.

  “I thought you might have forgotten,” she said when she saw Jeff standing there.

  “Forget a date with you? Never,” he said softly.

  A date? She felt another twinge; alarm and excitement flooded her chest. She opened the door wider to let him in and saw his plow truck.

  “Isn’t that truck a bit old to be plowing the roads?” she asked.

  “That’s a 1963 Chevy Fleet side ¾ ton 4x4, I’ll have you know. It’s been completely restored and runs better than the new trucks. I love classic cars. I also have a ’57 Chevy and a 1942 Willis-Jeep, both need more work though.” Jeff held up two bottles of wine. “I brought a bottle of red and one of white, not sure which you prefer,” he said.

  “I prefer red blends, unless there is a food that needs something milder,” Adele replied. “And I have only a few rules about wine: red is cool not cold, white is chilled, and a wine glass, or anything that can spill, is never set down on my art table.”

  “Simple rules and easy to abide by,” Jeff agreed. He deftly opened the red wine and poured them each a glass. “Now, where is this new painting?”