Still, Thaw felt a bit stuck in lost time, a kind of latter day James Audubon preserved in a world increasingly filled by an overwhelming information flow of all kinds of reports of new and renewed terrorism and conflicts around the world. And he wondered if perhaps it was not more the subject matter of his paintings than his skill level that held him back from achieving any real success. Although he constantly sought subjects that were more compelling emotionally, to date he felt he had been unsuccessful in finding them. Perhaps it was his generally high comfort level and the natural peacefulness of Locklee’s surroundings. Only Thaw’s use of color and his desire to paint Natalie hinted at his potential for more earth-shaking passions.
When feeling playful but neglected, Natalie had a way of teasing Thaw by rerunning some of his more erudite explanations back at him. One day, having finished the book she had been reading, she perused the room from the bed in the loft where she lay. The cabin’s floor was rough cut cedar worn smooth with years of wear and innocent of ever having had any stain or finish beyond having been oiled in some way. The area was furnished with the barest of necessities. A small table and three chairs sat beneath a long, double-slider window that overlooked the lake. Beside it on a shelf sat were some writing implements in a jar, a pad of paper, and a small printer for the computer. On the hooks above the shelf hung a backpack-style laptop carrying case. A second shelf was stacked with slim, soft-covered sketch books, a plastic box of diskettes and half a dozen paperbacks.
A mild boredom set in for her as she passed the time eyeing the several easels of various sizes that stood on what had once been white but now were speckled, spattered, frayed and grayed lengths of canvas. Rolled in the corners and tacked at various angles and heights across the north wall was a collection of semi-abstract paintings of mountain nights, lake-filled days, wild flowers, lairs and grazing deer. Natalie knew they were good. Their colors were vivid, almost fauvist, but the lines within them moved harmoniously. She mused on what she thought of as the internal fire that inspired Thaw to light the pictures with such vivid colors. Yet Thaw’s results were generally soothing, each bringing the eye to some quiet focus on a carefully detailed resting animal, sparkling stream, or delicate flower.
Enough of this unabashed admiration! Face it! She was bored! She’d take the dive. “Gosh, T.W., just look at the quality you achieve…despite the lack of lead toxicity and in spite of the completely archival quality of your work!”
Thaw took note of the gently jibing tone. Obviously Natalie was in need of attention. Probably time for a quick cleanup. Perhaps a walk in the woods or, better yet, a romp in the loft. He swished his brush in the water, cleaning it, gave it a shake to shape it for its next use, and placed it on the tray. Turning, he found Natalie holding a bed sheet and wearing only a white turban.
Thaw was determined one day to produce a masterpiece in lead-style oil on primed linen canvas. Natalie would be his model. It occurred to him that perhaps later she would be willing to let him focus on her slim lines, fair skin and bright hair…if only for the pleasant contrast they would offer the darker hues of the background with which he planned to approach the style and colors of the old masters.
It helped that he thought that she was lovely when she was nude. The picture definitely could wait.
The romp in the loft was rather a grand one for both of them, and afterward Natalie agreed to pose awhile. Not bothering to pull on clothes, Thaw lugged an easel and canvas up the stairs and arranged some impromptu lighting in the sleeping area. Unabashedly naked, Natalie stretched out on the bed before him, the sheets in disarray about her.
Had he been working alone, Thaw might have finished the painting and found himself surprised to note the level of the sun to be again near the horizon or that he had forgotten to eat lunch. At such a time, as if returning from a dream, he would have become more gradually aware of his surroundings. This common occurrence usually happened when, despite having begun to fatigue, he had spent the final hour or so on some small object of interest, attending to it as if it were the most valuable thing in the world. And finishing it, the painter who wielded the brush would cease to paint only because on the one hand, he could think of no other thing he might do to improve his work, and on the other hand, his stomach sounds loudly insisted he turn his attention to food. But today he could enjoy no such luxury. He knew he would be lucky if he could keep Natalie there for much beyond a half hour. So, in the effort to catch her colors and without sketching first, Thaw began at once in acrylics, painting quickly and with complete concentration. To keep Natalie occupied, he commented as he worked, interweaving compliments with his artistic explanations.
“God, Natalie, I love your coloring!”
Natalie toyed with her hair, and almost imperceptivity, occasionally adjusted her position by lifting her hips.
“What I hope to do is catch the shadows beneath your breasts and near your hips as carefully as possibly.” He continued to paint. “And to contrast the reds and highlights in your hair with a very dark background.”
Again she lifted her hand to her hair.
“Natalie. Please. Don’t move.”
As Natalie became increasingly, subtly, restless, Thaw was forced to settle for a quick representation of the flow of her contours and the selection of key colors. It was time. He would develop the picture more on Monday, but for now he rinsed his brush, pointed its bristles, and crossed the loft to where she lay.
As Thaw approached, Natalie reached for him, just barely parting her legs as she did so. At her touch his body was almost immediately willing. Steadying himself on his bent arms above her, he slipped easily into her welcoming darkness, losing himself in the confirmation of the sweetness of her breasts against his chest and her lips beneath his. Sometimes he loved her so much that even this close wasn’t close enough. In one quick lift, his hand spread against the lower part of her back, and turning on his own back, he lifted her to ride above him. There he could not only feel her alive upon him, but see her.
11. Locklee, March 2020: Martha and Company
Martha loved her new home in Locklee. The adjustment had taken place imperceptibly over the months in which she had struggled to bring the place to a degree of order. The old house needed much work to ensure her basic needs for warmth, cleanliness, food and sleep could be met there. Her many years as a librarian in Aesopolis had molted and been cast-off. She had moved on. And for reasons unrelated to anger or loss, she lived now with no particular longing for her book-filled past. The lake views and mountains’ breadth filled her soul. New friends had embroidered themselves into her days. The open country and slower pace brought with them a deeper peace than she had ever known. Now Locklee was her home.
Today Martha’s kitchen was filled with the aromas of freshly baked baking powder biscuits, lyonnaised string beans, mashed potatoes, and broiled brook trout. The room had a glow about it offered by the colors of the wood kitchen cabinets that dated back some fifty years in origin and had mellowed to an orange tone with time. The new red oak floor, more yellow in its tone, reflected the light of the small lamp with an ancient and yellowed shade that sat on one of the counters. It was a good-sized rectangular room. At one end of it was a large dining area backed by a joined pair of small crank out windows that opened westward. In front of and beneath them was a table that was simply but neatly set for five. A small bowl of cut lemons, salt, pepper, a waiting bread basket, and some serving spoons and forks were spread across the table in expectation of foods to come. Martha stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the next room, which once had been a dining room but which Martha now used as a study where she could research and write. Dody, who provided a reliable cadre of workers to paint and do carpentry and small repairs, stood in the study.
“How about, Martha, you choose the tile and pick it up in Bain at the Home Depot there? Unless you want to go to Hartsville. Lowe’s also has pretty good prices. And then you call me when you have it and we’ll arrange to go to work on th
e bathroom.”
“If I pick it up this week, when might you start?”
“Well, I got some slow time a couple of days next week, and if it doesn’t matter which days we start, we could do it next week.”
“Doesn’t matter; any day is fine. I’m home most days and if I’m not, I’ll leave the back door open for you.” Marlena began to kick up a fuss, jumping around and barking out the front window. “That must be Lem. I see his truck out there. He brought me some fresh lake trout this morning so I invited him and Thaw to dinner along with Carol and her husband.”
Martha crossed the living room to open the door for Lem while Dody lagged behind in the study. “Lem. Welcome. Come in. Dody and I were just finishing up some plans for tiling the upstairs bath. Oh. How sweet. White Zinfandel. My favorite!” Martha reached up and planted a welcoming kiss on Lem’s cheek. Then they headed toward the kitchen.
Meeting Dody in the study, Lem reached out his hand to shake Dody’s, saying as he did so, “Dody, I just want to tell you how much I enjoy your son.”
“Ya’ don’t say,” replied Dody dryly.
“Yeah, we manage to get out fishing together two or three times a month. He brings Tufty, who loves the boat. It’s a rare day we don’t come back with two or three nights’ suppers. Sometimes even more. Right, Martha? Martha and I have a deal going. I bring fish for the bunch of us and Martha cooks and we all eat together. Fun.” He turned to face Martha who was just behind him. “We ought to get Dody to join us sometime. What do you think, Martha?”
“Sure thing. What about it, Dody?”
“Thanks but, well, I’m not a real fish eater. Never have been. Used to drive my dad crazy. He’d bring in a pile of fresh fish and I’d refuse to eat any. Couldn’t stand the looks of them, so to speak.”
“Well, maybe sometime we can all get together for a few drinks. Thaw has taken an interest in PhotoShop and can explain how it works pretty easily. Just won’t use it. I have it for my natural forms photos. Offered to let him use my computer anytime he wants to use it. Won’t do it though. Says he’s the painter. I’m the photographer. Nice young man, your son, Dody. I like him a lot!”
Dody raised his hand suddenly and slapped abruptly at an unseen bug apparently biting him on the side of his right upper arm. “Dang mosquitoes. Never leave me alone. Wife says it’s ’cause my blood is so sweet. Must be that morning coffee!”
Martha touched Lem’s forearm. “Lem, why don’t you open the wine now? Dody, you can join us for a before-dinner drink. What do you say, Dody?”
“Gave that stuff up years ago. Had my fill, so to speak. Overdid it. More than once. And for a long time. Wouldn’t touch the stuff now with a ten foot pole. My wife’s expectin’ me for supper soon anyway. Thanks but no thanks! Get, Marlena! Get!” Marlena was making the rounds and it was Dody’s turn to have his fingers licked. “Dang dog. Never gets the message!”
“Don’t like dogs, Dody?” Lem queried.
“Hate ’em, Lem. Hate ’em all.”
“Any special reason?”
“Can’t explain it. Just hate ’em.”
“I’ll put her out,” said Martha. “Come on, Marlena. You can come back in after Dody leaves.” The two men followed Martha into the kitchen as she headed toward the family room beyond it, Marlena padding along behind her. “Out you go!” But Thaw had pulled in. He was just coming around the back of his van toward her backdoor. “Oh, Thaw. Here you are. Come on in. Lem’s here. And your dad. But then you probably saw their trucks.”
“Hi, Martha.” Thaw kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Smells good.”
“Good evenin’ Lem. Hi, Dad.”
Somewhat to Thaw’s surprise, Dody nodded at him.
Lem addressed Thaw. “I was just about to ask your dad if he saw Martha’s latest acquisition of yours.”
But Martha rather than Thaw answered Lem. “No, I don’t think he’s been in the front of the house since I hung them.” She turned to Dody who stood in the door frame between the kitchen and her study. “Dody, have you been in to look around the living room lately?”
“Not since I helped you bring in that desk.”
“I thought not.” She turned from Dody to Lem. “Dody rarely gets past the kitchen when he comes. Likes the back of the house more, Lem.” She looked toward Thaw. “And don’t we all? Easier to park.” She gave Dody a nod in the direction of the living room. “So come, Dody.” Slipping past Dody into the study, she headed toward Thaw’s paintings. They hung in the living room on the wall behind her desk. “Come take a look.” Dody followed Martha into the living room and Lem joined Martha and him in front of the pictures while Thaw remained behind near the door to the study in the kitchen staring at the stove and thinking hard. The sound of Martha’s voice carried lightly and clearly to him. “Aren’t they just lovely?”
But Lem was not done. “I’m telling you, Dody, you are one lucky man having a son like Thaw. One of these days we’re going to see his works in the Aesopolis Museum of Art.”
In the kitchen Thaw, knowing his father’s attitude toward him, stood mortified as Lem’s deeper, full voice continued. “Yes, he definitely has his own style. And he’s prolific.”
“So, what do you think, Dody?,” Martha was saying. “That young man of yours is going to break me yet. First it was this one with the Yellow Dog Tooth Violet. Then I wanted the one with the Jack-in-the-Pulpit.”
“Great colors and balance, don’t you think, Dody?” Lem’s voice.
Thaw decided to head into the living room.
“Well, I guess I gotta giv’im that,” Dody conceded.
Silence reigned for a moment or two.
Dody hated silence. The others, he noted, were looking at him now. There was an air of expectation in their expressions. What the hell, he might as well go for it. “Thought for a long time though he was gonna’ come to nothin’ or at least next ta it.” He took a step toward the painting of the violet. Not turning, he continued. “Takin’ off like he did ta fight that war. N’ against my wishes.”
Thaw now appeared in the door between Martha’s study and the living room. He saw his dad pick up a magazine from the table and begin to turn the pages. The conversation seemed to have stopped. But all of a sudden, Dody restarted it.
“And then comin’ back and holin’ up in that cabin with the smell of weed and god knows what comin’ out so strong any time I stopped by ’at I din’t even have the courage t’knock.”
Thaw could have fallen in his tracks. He simply wasn’t prepared for his dad’s sudden dropping of the curtain. Had others been negotiating for him? Where was his father going with this? Would the aftermath be what he hoped for? Reconciliation? If it were, he worried that he might not react properly.
Dody put the magazine down and looked across the room to where Thaw stood in the doorway. Now it was Dody’s turn to look expectant.
But Martha was not about to have Thaw put on the spot like this. “Well, all that’s changed now, Dody. Just look at these paintings! Just look at how they liven up the room! But what I am most happy about is…just look at this statue!” Martha reached for the two-foot-high mother and fawn she had featured on top of her mantelpiece and held it out for Dody to accept. He accepted it and brooded a bit to himself.
Still Dody was not finished. Once the dam opens…
“Yeah. Felt like a failure as a father. Tried early on and then just gave up. Thought he was as good as a gonner.”
Thaw had the strange urge to give his father a hug. Somehow the older man seemed very small and somewhat older than he had just five minutes ago. But Thaw could no more move across the room to where his father stood than he could change history. Glued to the spot, the words came out all unplanned. “Look, Dad. I’m sorry. I’ve tried to tell you that, but you just never seemed willing to listen. So I guess I gave up, too.”
Dody was still holding the statue. He crossed the room and handed it to Thaw, who accepted it. Dody scratched his head and gave an almost imperceptible
nod to the side. “Well, Son, maybe I gotta do some re-thinkin’on this.”
“Yeah, Dad. Maybe we both do.”
The sound of the front door opening and closing broke the tension. Martha asked Dody again if he would be staying for supper, but he begged off and Rick, looking like a former football player, entered, followed by Carol, a slight, fair-skinned brown mouse of a woman who seemed to require only enough space in the room as was necessary to produce the ‘hi’ she offered everyone. Rick shook hands all around, kissing Martha firmly on the cheek as he grasped her hand.
In the confusion of the moment, Dody said hello and a quick wave goodbye and without excuses managed to make his way into the kitchen and out the back door before anyone could halt him.
Martha did not try to stop him as it seemed to be the best thing to do, given the situation. She then steered the group toward the kitchen. “Might as well sit down. Everything is ready. Marlena’s out. Lem brought us some White Zinfandel. Carol, want to grab us some wine glasses?”
Once in the kitchen, in what appeared to be a familiar ritual, Carol reached for the cabinet nearest her and pulled out five wine glasses. She passed them to Rick who passed them on to the others. Then without discussion the men chose chairs and sat while Carol stood waiting for guidance from Martha as to how she might help.
Martha and Carol then went about the business of putting out the food while Rick poured the wine. After Martha and Carol sat to eat, Lem raised his glass and looked around the table at the smiling faces before him. His toast had a ring of familiarity about it. “May the sun shine always on your face.”
Outside the open window, a small bird sang.
12. Locklee: Through the Looking Glass
This morning, with spring still officially a month and more away and despite the drop in temperatures at night, the days were already noticeably warmer. This morning throbbed with birdsong. Natalie had come to enjoy one of her weekend getaways to Thaw’s and, having no awareness of any need to prepare for the disaster that lay before them, she had pleasurably left city life in Bain far behind. When she woke, Thaw had been up and about for some time. A kettle of water steamed on the wood stove and the aroma of shaving lotion mingled with that of the coffee.
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