Invisible Anna

by Coralie Moss

  What if she went into her studio and just…played? What if she went to the art supply store and got a chunk of modelling clay and wire for making armatures or a few pieces of soapstone and whatever tools she would need and tried her hand again at sculpting?

  In that earlier moment with Leo, when the sun carved the waves of his hair and faceted the colors in his eyes, she’d been completely arrested by his beauty. Recording those moments was what drew her to sculpting and drawing in the first place. Then, as now, it was less about copying reality and more about taking the feeling invoked in the moment and working in an artistic medium to create something that detailed those feelings and impressions.

  God, making art was complicated. First, she had to make money.

  Instead of walking out the door near the kitchen and heading for her studio, she walked into her bedroom and opened the closet.

  The narrow, oblong space was crammed with clothes on hangers and in protective plastic bags. Cardboard shoeboxes and random containers were stuffed with who knew what. Anna tightened the corners of her bedspread, pulled clothes out of her closet, and piled them on top.

  New rules.

  If she hadn’t worn something in a year, it needed a powerful reason to go back in the closet. If it was a vintage piece, it could go in the box she kept in her studio for Gigi. Some of those clothes and accessories had been labeled for future projects a decade ago.

  Future projects. She surveyed her small bedroom. There was no way she could make it into an art studio. Working with stone and clay was a messy process. She left the messy pile of clothes, walked across the living room to the other bedroom, and opened the door to the larger room, with its bunkbeds and memories—and two windows instead of her one.

  This room could become her room. Not a place that stayed empty, waiting to be filled by others, not a place where she had to wear her business cap. Stepping closer to the exterior wall, she spread her arms, taking a rough measurement. There was enough space underneath the windows to fit a long table for her sculpting materials, and she could even tuck a comfortable chair in the corner for reading, journaling, sketching, or simply musing. The boxes in her sewing studio that had been taped shut when she turned from art to more commercial pursuits could be stored in the closet.

  Better yet, she could go through those boxes and put her old sketchbooks on the shelves, and even though everything was probably faded and cracked with age, all those things were still parts of herself.

  Parts of me.

  Anna’s chest shuddered at those words. She lifted watering eyes to the ceiling and looked around her kids’ old room. So many memories that needed the reassurance of a comforting hand. Making space for her to move in was not about erasing those memories. Not at all. Decision made, she took a deep breath and returned to her clothes closet.

  One hanging bag, its plastic cracking with age, held a few of Gary’s jackets, along with ties and dress shirts. She wasn’t sure for whom or for what occasion she’d saved the last articles of his clothing. She would ask the kids on Thanksgiving if either wanted any of their father’s things, and if they didn’t, she’d donate the contents of the bag to one of the thrift shops in town.

  Finding Gary’s clothes sobered her.

  She cleared a spot on the bed and brought the bag to her lap. When she unzipped it, the scent of mothballs wafted to her nose. Gary’s smell was long gone. A wave of guilt almost rocked her to her knees.

  Tires on gravel sounded through her window, followed by a knock, and a door opening.

  “Anna, you here?”

  “In my room,” she yelled, pressing a hand to her breastbone. Elaine was the only one of her friends who showed up spontaneously on a regular basis. Cupboard doors opening and the tinkle of crystal announced she’d brought wine.

  “Wash those before you use them,” she yelled, again. Sounds of the tap running and drawers slamming reached her ears. “And the drying cloths are to the right of the fridge.”

  “What the heck are you doing?” Elaine stopped in the doorway to the bedroom before handing Anna a flute of bubbly prosecco and plunking herself on the opposite side of the bed.

  “Out with the old, in with the new.” Anna zipped the garment bag closed and hung it over the doorknob.

  “But not old friends, right?”

  “Not old friends,” she reassured Elaine. “How are you?”

  “Aside from an irritated urethra, I’m good. But I didn’t come here to chat about my bladder. I want to know how you are. You’ve gone from zero to sixty in seven days, and I want details.” She dipped her glass at Anna and took a closer look at the piles on the queen-sized bed. “And what brought on this flurry of activity?”

  “You started it.” Anna had taken everything off the closet rod and eyed the shelves above and to the sides. Shoeboxes might have to wait in the hall until she could sort through them.

  Elaine snorted. “Those little vibrators were meant as a joke, but the workshop, that I was serious about. Anna, you’re only fifty, not a hundred and fifty, and you need to get back on the horse. Cleaning your closet doesn’t get you any closer to the stable.”

  Anna raised an eyebrow at her friend and took a sip of the wine. “I never was much for horses, you know.”

  But I did have a nice ride earlier today.

  “Back on the horse, back in the saddle, back in the game,” Elaine lectured. “It’s all the same thing. You’ve been a good widow for five years, and it’s time to move on while you still have some juice. Tell me about Leo the Study Buddy.”

  “What do you want to know?” Anna appraised the messy pile of garments on her bed, holding the cool surface of the crystal flute against scarlet-hot cheeks. If she turned around, Elaine would know everything by the color of her face.

  “What’s his real name?”

  “No idea,” she said, shaking her head.

  “What does he do for a living?”

  “He mentioned something about furniture design. He’s from New York, and I think he said he lives north of the city.”

  “Is he married?” Elaine continued. “Does he have a girlfriend?”

  “No, not married. Was almost engaged. Was also diagnosed with cancer a couple of years ago, but he’s okay now.” Anna mulled over what to do with a pair of faded sweat pants gone transparent in patches.

  Elaine sipped at her wine. “Toss those. There’s no room for saggy-ass pants in a brazen hussy’s closet.”

  “My thoughts exactly. What do you think of these?” She smoothed her hand over the side of her hip. “Gigi made them for me.”

  “I bet Leo liked them. Just a hint of camel toe.”

  Anna looked down. Elaine was right. The center seam tucked up between her labia, which was likely due to all the attention they’d received earlier.

  “Now that you point it out, I’d say yes, he did like these pants.” She wanted to savor her hours with Leo, and she wanted to tell Elaine everything.

  “Ha! I knew it!” Elaine slapped her thigh. “You had sex!”

  “We got physical,” Anna corrected her. “We didn’t have sex.”

  “Details?”

  Anna busied her hands with buttoning the blouses she wanted to keep. “We started here, like I wanted, and we were reviewing some of the exercises from the weekend, and one thing led to another, and he suggested we try kissing.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Did I like it?” Anna dropped what she was doing and sat heavily on the bed. “Oh, my God, Elaine, I haven’t been kissed like that since…at least since Gary and I were a lot younger. You know, back in the days when kissing my husband got me hot and bothered.”

  “Back in the days before having kids sucked the life out of you?”

  “I never really felt that way, El, but having kids definitely put a damper on our sex lives, especially in a small cottage like this. But once they were in school,” she said, smiling in recollection, “we had a lot more daytime sex.”

  “To Gary.” Elaine r
aised her glass and bowed her head. “And so, what happened after you kissed the hot guy from New York?”

  “We went to his cottage.” Anna pointed out the window.

  “He’s renting the MacMasters’ place? That’s handy!”

  “It’s very handy, and he moved the bed into the living room, so when you’re lying on it, you can see the water.”

  “And you know this because you gave the bed a test drive?”

  “Yep,” she admitted, “and it has a very smooth ride.”

  “You’re killing me, Granger, killing me.” Elaine stood and stretched. “More wine?”

  “Please. And while you’re in there, could you pull the casserole dish out of the fridge and put it in the oven? I’d love it if you’d join me for dinner.”

  While Elaine busied herself in the kitchen, Anna went after the stack of pants. Some were never going to come back in style, and some would never again fit over her ample thighs and ass.

  “Elaine?”

  “Coming,” she said, her voice muffled by the carpeting in the narrow hallway. “What do you need?”

  “I’m trying not to over think this or get too confused, but I had an incredible make-out session today with a guy who’s into me and who’s also leaving in, like, two months. And I’m nervous and excited and terrified because an old boyfriend wants to fly me to Mexico for three days. You’re right—I have gone from zero to sixty.”

  Elaine nodded, wise as ever. “Let me guess. You want to know if it’s okay to have two guys in your life.”

  “Yep. Because this is a first for me.”

  “Well, according to Richie’s rules of relationship, be honest and open about what you’re doing with everyone involved.”

  “I did mention to Leo I was going away in two weeks. But I didn’t say ‘old boyfriend’ and ‘Mexican beach resort.’ Do you think I should?”

  “Are the two of you going to have more study sessions?”

  “He’s coming over Friday afternoon, and we’re going to make pasta for dinner.”

  Elaine tapped her fingernails against her glass. “That sounds like a date, Anna.”

  “It kinda does, doesn’t it? But I did tell him I didn’t know if I would be getting sexual with my travel companion.”

  “And he was okay with that?”

  “He seemed to be.”

  “Then you’re good. And not to change the topic or anything, but how’s work?”

  Anna emitted a growl from the back of her closet.

  “Not nearly as nice as my love life,” she said. Backing out, she turned to Elaine and handed over a stack of sweaters. “I went to see Harry about the seiner he bought, the one he wants to turn into a floating holiday rental—which, if you recall, was my idea in the first place—and turns out his nephew needed a project, so the kid is doing the work.”

  Elaine shook out one of the sweaters, appraised it, and harrumphed. “This is good for moth food, and I’m sorry to hear about that boat.” She tossed the sweater onto the growing pile near the door and picked up the next one for inspection. “And yes, floating weekend love boats were your idea. No reason two can’t play at that game.”

  “Are you suggesting I buy a boat and fix it myself?”

  “Maybe. You’ve got the skills and the connections down at the marina.”

  “Yeah.” Anna caught on that Elaine had something up her sleeve. “But I don’t have the capital.”

  “I could loan you the money, one hussy to the other.”

  “And what, so we can have a fleet of floating bordellos?” She was tempted to toss out the blouses hanging limply from both hands. Or wave them in Elaine’s face.

  “Crazier ships have been launched from less and stayed afloat. I’ve got money stashed away,” she pointed out, raising an eyebrow to Anna’s resistance. “You do too.”

  Anna sat on the edge of the bed, roving her gaze over the mess in her room. “That money came from Gary’s life insurance policy. I’m scared to touch it.”

  Elaine set the pile of sweaters to the side, rested her palm between Anna’s shoulder blades, and rubbed the backside of her friend’s heart. “You don’t have to invest the entire amount. It doesn’t cost anything to have an idea, and I’m ready for a change. I haven’t told anybody yet, but I plan to put three of the food trucks up for sale in January. One of my assistants has already gone to her family about a loan.”

  “But what are you planning to do?” Anna asked. Elaine’s food trucks were popular before the movement took hold in other places, and now their culinary offerings were legendary. It was hard for her to imagine Elaine severing her connection to one of her most successful ideas. “I had no idea you wanted to do something different.”

  “My fiftieth birthday is two years away, and when I cross that threshold, I want to be free to come and go as I please. All we need is a fantastic product, a strong social media presence, and a tiny crew on island to prep the boats for guests and take care of repairs if we’re not here.”

  “Have you written a business plan already?”

  “Nope.” Elaine laughed. “The idea came to me as I was folding your ratty sweaters. And the more I picture it, the more I like it.”

  Elaine stayed for dinner. Together, they finished the bottle of wine and started a list of tasks for their new business venture. Over mugs of decaf coffee, they returned to Anna’s closet. Elaine took over sorting her wardrobe while Anna hashed out her inner resistance to dating two men at the same time.

  Except she and Leo weren’t dating in any traditional definition of the concept, Elaine pointed out, and she and Daniel weren’t doing…anything. Not yet. Except for a little flirting, inspired by shared memories of how things were between them for that brief time oh, so many years ago.

  Daniel continued to text her once a day during his trip. He was due back in New York on Saturday, which meant Anna had two days to see Leo again. And then she’d make her decision.

  Elaine suggested there was nothing to decide. Neither man was asking for exclusivity, and what she and Leo were doing was not, technically, dating.

  Like she said, they were study buddies.

  Chapter Eight

  Friday afternoon, Leo knocked at Anna’s kitchen door. She waved him in, noting the cloth shopping bags dangling from each hand, and reached for one, placing it on the counter to her right.

  “What do you have in these?” She pulled the straps apart.

  “Stuff for making pasta.” He placed the other bag on the opposite counter and turned, leaning against the chipped edge of the ancient Formica.

  Anna searched for what to say, and Leo seemed equally uncertain about this interlude between social niceties and getting to the intimate exercises. He wasn’t trying to get too close or touchy, but he did seem to be waiting for her to take the lead. She experienced waves of reservations, even with Elaine cheering her on and with Gigi’s reassurance that having a guy in her life was more than okay.

  He finally spoke. “What’re you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking how domestic and yet mildly awkward this is. You, in my kitchen, bearing, let’s see…” She peered into one bag. “Fresh tomatoes and pasta flour. And coconut oil?”

  “I’ll take that.” A wide grin broke across his face. Leo hustled the jar out of her hand and rotated the lid off. He sniffed at the contents and invited her to do the same. “How do you feel about massage?”

  Anna pressed the tip of one finger into the jar. The solidified oil softened from the heat of her skin. She rubbed her fingertips and thumb tip together. “Silky.”

  Leo repeated her actions, licking his finger where the warmed oil glistened. “Mm, tastes good, too. And I agree. I know what we’re doing is unusual.”

  He leaned against the front of the refrigerator and crossed and uncrossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t seem to know what to do with himself in the confined space. They stood in the kitchen for another silent pause.

  “Maybe you could bring in some firewood?” Anna sugges
ted. “We could warm up the living room.”

  “What about your bedroom?”

  “It’s a mess in there. I started another cleaning project. And I don’t know,” she said, shrugging, “just thinking about bringing a man in there still feels weird.” She reset the lid on the jar and set it on the table by the couch. “You okay with being in here?”

  Leo nodded. “Yeah, I am. Point me in the direction of the woodpile.”

  Anna moved the couch toward the wall to give them more floor space and gathered pillows from her bed and quilts from the guest room. Leo started a fire in the woodstove while she made a comfortable place for them to lie down, near enough to feel the heat. She left to get hand towels as he concentrated on unlacing his boots. She detoured to the front door, locked it, and pulled the shade. Leo moved to the makeshift bed and knelt, feeding another log into the woodstove. He sat back on his heels, the dancing flames in front of him giving a warm glow to the rest of the room.

  “What did you have in mind for today?” she asked when she returned. Leo stared at the flames before answering.

  “Performance anxiety begets failure,” he began, looking at her over his shoulder and pointing both hands to his groin. “Which makes it a challenge to think about anything else, and the rest of my body’s been neglected.” He leaned forward to adjust the air vent and lowered himself, belly-up, onto the pile of quilts. “Saffron, I would like to be touched.”

  Anna tucked her legs to one side so she could lean against his hip. “I’m no masseuse, but I would love to touch you, Leo.” She peeled off her socks and traced the length of his legs and torso with her gaze. “I had a massage last week, and the woman working on me did something that felt really good.”

  “What was that?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  She came onto her knees, cupped her hands over one of Leo’s clothed thighs, and squeezed then released the pressure, and repeated the movement down to just above his knee. One part of her brain began a commentary on the fabric. She was, after all, a professional seamstress. Another part of her brain marveled at the ease with which Leo had insinuated himself into her life…or that she had invited him in. And another part pointed out this wasn’t as much about the cut of the cloth or the cut of the man, but about her relationship with risk-taking.