Painted with Love: Romance Eludes Time and Death

by Karen Diana Montee

  “I was afraid to share my feelings with you, Dee, but I was also afraid not to. You’re the only woman that has ever made an enormous impact on me. My life will seem empty without you around.”

  “Paul, I appreciate your honesty, but I don’t feel that it’s a good time for me to date anyone right now. My memory is spotty, I’m depressed. I haven’t figured out how I will make a living. I need to focus on healing and evaluating my future. I’m a legally blind photographer, who lives in Seattle, who just met you, and I’m not interested in starting a relationship. I would love to have you show my work. I’m sure that you’re an amazing man, but I can’t see myself learning to live with this handicap while starting a new relationship. It’s too much for me right now.” I felt the lies leaving my lips and landing like a quiet bomb of destruction on the kind man across the table from me. It seemed like the right thing to do, but on some level it also felt wrong. When is a lie honorable? I wanted Paul to love me, but I couldn’t expect it or ask him to give up his life and enter my limited world.

  “I can respect how you feel, even if I don’t agree.” He paused, as if contemplating his words. Then he continued. “How can you be so beautiful, warm, engaging and charming?”

  “It’s a curse,” I said with a smile.

  “Yes it is, on me,” Paul replied. He paused. “I would love to provide an exhibition for you and show any other work you have available. It would be my pleasure. I will help to retrieve the pictures off your camera and have them printed, if you would like my assistance.” Paul smiled again. His smile was infectious and I found myself smiling in return.

  “Thank you for loving my work and being willing to show it.” I held my breath wondering if I should share what I was feeling. Then it slipped out. “I would be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that I felt a connection with you. But I just don’t feel comfortable dating right now. How could you possibly be interested in taking on a project like myself?”

  “Perhaps it doesn’t make sense, but when is logic a prerequisite to love?” Paul said softly with a slight sigh. He stared at me. I found myself staring back, seeing glimpses of him in focus and often two or more figures of him at once. “I would love to get to know you and keep in contact,” he added.

  “That’s fine, but I don’t want to mislead you. One day at a time. That’s about as far as I can look ahead right now,” I replied.

  “I understand. When are you going home?”

  “As soon as the doctor will discharge me. My daughter, Jessica, is getting married in a few weeks in Seattle. I will host the reception, with a lot of help. I have a new grandson whom I will meet for the first time when I return home. His name is David Luke.”

  Paul looked intently. “You’re a remarkable woman.”

  I felt myself blushing. I looked down, breaking the unfaltering gaze.

  We enjoyed our meal with light, warm conversation. Paul was easy to talk to and his love for art was fascinating.

  As the meal concluded, Paul said, “I look forward to learning more about you. I should go so you can rest. It has been a big day.”

  Our plates were mostly empty and I’d finished all that I could. I passed on the offer for the dessert he brought.

  “If you feel up to it before you go home, I would enjoy taking you to the waterfront. There’s a nice park on the bay.”

  My heart jumped when he said ‘the bay.’ My mind flashed back to the image of a dark night covered in fog and the frigid water that held me in its grip. Going back to look at the bay may lend me answers and healing. I swallowed hard and decided to face my ghosts. I said with some excitement, “Actually, I would love to go down to the water before I go home. That would be great.”

  “Excellent. You tell me when and I will make it happen.”

  “The doctor told me that I could have a four hour excursion next, and he would evaluate how I did before I go home.”

  “Four hours? Well that gives us time for some pampering as well. How about joining me for a healthy breakfast tomorrow and the best coffee San Francisco offers?”

  “You mean I would pass up this lovely hospital brew, so contrasting to my Seattle coffee?”

  “This coffee rivals what you serve in Seattle.”

  “Oh, a competition, and you seem so confident. Now I’m intrigued. Where do you find this excellent brew?”

  “Breakfast and coffee will be served at my home, which overlooks the Pacific Ocean on the south side of the Presidio. Then we will find our way down to the bay.”

  “It sounds acceptable. What time is coffee served?”

  “How about if I pick you up at 7:00 a.m.? Does that give you enough time to prepare for a luxurious morning followed by a gentle walk in the park?”

  “You really know how to make a girl smile.”

  “I enjoy making you smile, for selfish reasons.” His tone was soft, with light-hearted humor.

  “You’re in luck. I enjoy smiling.”

  Paul chuckled aloud, as if I’d truly delighted him. Paul left with a thoughtful good-night and a wave. After he was gone, I wondered if I was too encouraging. I didn’t want to embolden his interest. My heart felt sick with the idea of being a liability. My eye sight would compromise my self-reliance and limit my options, but I didn’t have to impose that Paul. I preferred to be handicapped without an audience.

  I didn’t sleep well that night. I woke a few times, forgetting what city I was sleeping in. When I woke, I remembered one short dream. I dreamt that I was Cherie, returning from the market with groceries. I’d become lost and couldn’t find my way back to our apartment. Jean-Paul found me wandering on the streets and said, “Never fear ma petite. For wherever you travel, I shall always find you. I have a nose for you like a hound dog. I shall paint you the clues and guide you back to me.” I woke with a sense of relief.

  I dressed in the most flattering outfit I could find in my limited wardrobe. I asked myself why I was trying to look nice for Paul. I argued back to myself that a woman has a right to look nice always, because women love to look beautiful.

  It took longer to dress than I expected. I was still putting on my socks when Paul showed up. “Good morning. You look refreshed and lovely. Did you sleep well?” I caught a glimpse of his eyes and my dream flashed before me.

  “I slept like a dream,” I assured.

  After he observed me tie my shoes without looking at my laces, Paul walked me to his car with my hand on his arm. He opened my door and guided me into his car with his left hand on my back and his right hand holding mine. We drove west, through the Haight-Ashbury District. As we neared the end of the land, I saw glimpses of the sea meeting the sky.

  Paul slowed the Mustang more and more. The homes were impressive and the ocean view even more so. Although I couldn’t make out detail with the car in motion, I realized the large stature of the homes and their respective estates. Fog hung in the air in patches. I could see hints of ocean far away and wondered what the distance was from the land to the water’s surface below. Paul guided the car into a driveway made of stone pavers and parked under a porte-cochere.

  “Welcome,” he announced casually.

  “Thank you,” I replied without revealing my amazement. His home was expansive with exceptional quality. It was modern, with large windows and a gentle sloping roof. The exterior was soft grey, but I couldn’t make out the material.

  We stepped inside the front door. The interior was immaculately clean and attractively furnished. His decor was simple, with no clutter, which appealed to me. I wished I could see the specifics. I noticed a painting near the doorway. I looked closer and discovered a beautiful sunrise. As I stared at the painting, Paul stood behind me and said, “I am always drawn to sunset and sunrises. They stir me in an unusual way. I can’t explain it.”

  My mind raced back to Cherie’s first sunrise with Jean-Paul. I drew in a deep breath. “I’ve had similar experiences,” I said.

  A woman walked up to us and Paul turned to stand between us. “Dee, th
is is Mechel,” he said introducing a small, older woman dressed casually. I didn’t understand if she was his wife, lover, housemaid or relative. No explanation was offered. I was too embarrassed to ask.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said. She bowed slightly and extended her hand to take my jacket. “Oh, thank you,” I said, handing her the only jacket my daughter brought from Seattle.

  “Are you ready for the best coffee south of Seattle?” Paul asked.

  “Well, that’s quite a promise. I can’t turn down the opportunity to decide if your tale is true.”

  “Very well, make yourself comfortable,” he said walking me into a living area with large windows and an ocean view. Then he guided me to a seat.

  Paul returned with a tray adorned with numerous items in elaborate style. I stared carefully, turning my head slightly from side to side, which helped me get more of the particulars. My double vision made it appear more beautiful, as if a soft, white glow surrounded each item. A silver, ornate coffee pot sat in the center with two delicate china cups to the side. Cut vanilla beans protruded from a tall cup. What appeared to be handmade white and dark chocolate truffles sat on silver colored paper cups. Fresh made whipped cream filled a bowl with a small spoon held in place by the thickness. A tiny pitcher of honey and wooden sticks covered in crystalized sugar provide a way to sweeten the fragrant elixir. This was by far the most extravagant way I’d ever seen coffee served. Although the details were blurred, I was impressed with my ability to discern what each item was.

  “Well, I certainly can’t complain so far.”

  “Let your palate be the judge,” Paul suggested as he poured me a steaming cup full of dark liquid.

  “Thank you,” I said as he handed me the drink. I was slow to find each item. I tilted my head in odd angles for better vision. Paul waited patiently. I spooned some whipped cream into the top of the cup and stirred in a bit of honey. I stirred the combination with a vanilla bean. Then I brought the fragrant brew to my lips. I sipped the hot liquid, coating my upper lip with a small amount of cream, which I removed with my tongue. The flavor of the coffee sat perched in my mouth, delighting my taste buds. My eyes closed as I focused. Whether from mere presentation or perhaps from the unique bean and way the coffee was processed, this cup was certainly my all-time favorite. “Mmmm,” I announced.

  “So you approve? How does it compare to the Seattle-brew that made the latte an American compulsion?”

  “I would say that Seattle is consuming an abundant amount of quality blends, while this is a feast for the passion for the morning ritual. I much prefer this indulgence, although it could be too early for truffles.”

  “One never knows the mood of a woman and the hour at which chocolate is a necessity. Luck favors the prepared.”

  “I see. You’re hoping for luck today?” I smirked, narrowly avoiding saying, ‘hoping to get lucky.’

  “Indeed. If I cause abundant smiles to grace your lips, I shall be a lucky man.”

  His response caused me to pause. Fortunately I did not release the wit that came to mind. My efforts to keep things light and superficial were thrown off by his meaningful kindness and genuine caring.

  “You’re off to a good start. I’m smiling already.”

  “There are more smiles in your future, I predict. After we dine on the magnificent creation of Mechel, then we’ll walk below to the water’s edge. There’s a gentle trail, a little long, if you’re up for the walk.” He paused, looking for my approval.

  “I feel well. A walk to the beach sounds inviting.”

  “Of course, I have some warm attire for you. It’s a bit brisk this time of year; most of the year, actually.” Paul smiled.

  My cell phone rang. The caller ID identified Brian’s number.

  “Excuse me, Paul,” I said before I answered. “Hello?”

  “Where are you?” Brain asked, obviously upset.

  “Relax, Brian. I forgot to mention I would be gone this morning.”

  “When I got to the hospital, you were gone with no explanation. I asked the nurse and she said you left with Paul to go to breakfast. I haven’t even taken you to breakfast since you woke up.”

  “Brian, I’m sorry. We are having breakfast. I will be back around noon.”

  “You’re having breakfast until noon?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is going on, Dee?” he asked.

  “Nothing’s going on, with you and me or with Paul and me.”

  “Dee...”

  “I’ll be back later. Bye.” I hung up the phone worried about Brian.

  “Is everything okay?” Paul asked.

  I took a deep breath. “Sure.”

  Paul looked at me in disbelief.

  “It’s nothing. Brian just won’t give up on the idea of being a couple. I tell him no and he keeps at it, like I’m going to change my mind. He acts as if what I want doesn’t matter. He’s driving me crazy. Let’s forget it and try to enjoy the morning,” I said.

  “I like that idea,” Paul replied smiling. “After we take in the sounds of the crashing waves, I thought we would head over to a beach on the bay, before I take you back.”

  “Great,” I replied.

  “Please tell me if you feel the slightest bit tired.”

  “Thank you, I will.”

  Paul and I enjoyed an exquisite breakfast of eggs benedict and fresh fruit. We sipped some more coffee and then Mechel presented me with some warm attire for the walk. We thanked her for the delicious meal and stepped out the patio door and descended down a few steps towards a gently sloping path. The walkway was broken occasionally by more steps, all descending the side of a steep cliff connecting the land to the sea. Paul kept his left arm firmly bent for my grasp and protection. As we neared the bottom of the trail and reached the sand leading to the waves, we encountered a few washed up logs blocking our path. Paul walked in front and offered me his hand to assist my climb. I held Paul’s hand and delighted in the warmth and comfort I felt from his touch. For an instant, I felt a feeling of never wanting to let go. Then guilt reminded me of my plight.

  As I finished my climb over the log, I tried to let go of Paul’s hand. He adjusted his grip to carefully fit my hand in his as he led me to the water’s edge. I felt a natural instinct to pull away and not allow his intimacy. With some uneasiness, I allowed my hand to be held and my body to be lead. As soon as we stopped at the edge of the wet sand, I pulled my hand away.

  “I love to come down here,” Paul told me.

  “It’s beautiful,” I replied. I saw the ocean in a way I’d never seen it before. My multifaceted vision made the ripples on the waves look multilayered. The sun looked like six suns almost in one place, but each ball of light slightly offset. It seemed as if I could see the energy of the sun leaking from her edges. The fuzzy sky looked surreal, with translucent strata and rainbow essence.

  Paul interrupted my daydream. “Yes. It’s peaceful, far from the reaches of the masses. But it’s more than that. There’s magic in the water. She’s mysterious. I throw my heartaches to the sea and I call to her to rescue me from what’s missing.”

  “What’s missing?” I asked.

  “Nothing is missing at this moment,” he replied looking at me.

  His words were non-threatening. I didn’t hear any demands or manipulation. He didn’t look for a promise, or an immediate knowing. He wanted a safe place to open his heart. He found it with me on this beach.

  We walked on the sand along the water with my hand on his arm. He offered his hand, and I declined politely. The waves made a beautiful sound, crashing in powerful rhythm as if they hammered a secret code.

  Paul broke our silent listening. His voice was serious and meaningful. “They came to the water often.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “John’s parents.”

  “Oh.” I replied. Something inside me told me he was right. We kept walking. The breeze blew a hard gust and I turned my face into Paul’s shoulder.

  “
I know why he painted life size portraits of her,” he continued.

  “Oh, really? Why?” I asked.

  “So that he would never forget her. To keep her memory alive.” Paul stared as if to see if I understood. We both held that thought, as if contemplating it would reveal the meaning of life or love.

  “Are you sure of all of this?”

  Paul stopped walking. He turned me toward him. “I’ve never been this sure of anything in my life. At the risk of seeming like I didn’t hear your request to keep us just friends, I’m going to share something with you.” He paused and looked at me, raising my chin with his index finger so I would meet his eyes. “Everything that I thought I knew in my life came to a standstill when I saw you. I felt things that I could never deny. I understand now that love is something that travels with us. Love breaks the barrier of death and distance, and time. Love is bigger than what we can describe with words or paint or show to someone special. Love lives beyond our bodies in some eternal realm we cannot see, but perhaps we get small glimpses of it, or touch the very edge of it. You showed me this. I’ve walked the earth in this life unable to let my heart go to a woman. I walked in fear of what pain I might have if I opened love’s door.

  “When I saw her in paint on canvas, I loved her, and it made me want to love a woman. But there wasn’t a lady who kept my attention for very long. Then you came along. I know, without any doubt, that you’re the woman who owned my heart in another time and perhaps many lifetimes. You’re the exact woman whom I painted, because my heart would have shattered into pieces if I couldn’t look at your smile and see those eyes.” Paul pointed to my eyes. “You’re the woman who completed me, and when I made love to my soul mate, every doubt of the possibility of love was chased away. You’re not the woman I dreamt of; you’re the woman my dreams are made of, and my soul must live forever, just so that I might love you once again.”

  I tried to stop myself, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want Paul to see my vulnerability, but my ability to hide from this man was impossible. Huge tears welled up in my eyes and fell to the ground. All my life I wanted to believe in the power of deep love. As long as I could remember I would tell myself that love is only about two people needing each other and that the fairy tale was a joke to keep us hoping for something more. For the first time, in my forty six years, there was a man telling me that he loved me; not my body, my hair color or my charm, but me. He loved my soul. He pined for me before he met me. He remembered me even when death had separated us.