Catching the Light

by Susan Sinnott

  ***

  Back in the apartment, Hutch filled the whole silent space. She’d wasted so much time. Why did she take so long to realize his grin wasn’t a trick? It was just his natural way of smiling and he was a smiley person. He did have a certain smile that said I like you, you’re cute, but it was just that—a kind of compliment. He was never shy with compliments. And after a certain stage maybe there was a question in it, waddya think? Hopeful maybe. Cathy remembered the first time he’d looked at her that way, at the art dance. The first time he’d really seen her.

  The phone rang—her supervisor. Her picture had been chosen to represent the college. He sounded so excited, telling her, and she’d been such a damp squib. She felt sorry about that afterwards, but it took a while for the information to sink through all the Hutch feelings. Minutes passed before the excitement started to bubble up and then she wanted to fly out of her building and tell every passerby—they picked it, they picked it. What if she won the contest? There was a chance now. She could learn so much and she’d practice and practice….

  Then her thoughts circled round to Hutch again. Oh god, she was exposing his picture to even more people and her insides sank and sank. She would split in the middle. Hutch’s face was in front of her, eyes serious, staring into hers with that soft look she loved, coming closer, blurring. She could feel his breath and the gentlest touch on her lips and the bristles, grown long enough to lie flat, warmth, pressure. Then he faded away to nothing and it was like a chill.

  If she had her time back would Cathy send in that picture? Nooooooooooo. Then she saw herself in this tiny apartment with Hutch, moping about because she couldn’t display her best work, no chance at that competition—all because of him. She’d be blaming him. Scowling and doing her black cloud act, as Hutch called it. She didn’t think she’d be able to hide the resentment—not all the time, not enough. He’d hate that, wouldn’t want to be with her anymore. No matter what, she’d have driven him away in the end.

  But where did that leave Hutch? She remembered how she felt when he took off with her sketches of Paul, waving her book around and laughing, how they’d all huddled around for a look. She’d felt so helpless, nowhere to run, nothing to do to stop it. She’d hated him then. Did Hutch hate her now?

  Her stomach sank. She felt it. Why did scientists say everything was in your head? And romance writers said everything was in your heart. It was Cathy’s stomach that called the shots—up in her throat when she was scared, down by her knees when…when the bottom had dropped out of her world. The way she’d felt that day up on the cliffs when she’d thought about jumping. She tried to think back clearly, to really see. When she’d been lying in bed the night after school finished, she’d thought of jumping, but maybe even then it was a little bit in the future, at a distance. She’d never thought of doing something immediate, like going straight down to the kitchen and cutting her wrists. Cathy shivered. There’d been a space between the thought and the action which had grown wider as she’d walked up to the lighthouse. And yet she hadn’t taken her painting bag, so she’d meant business. What held her back?

  She put herself on that cliff, tried to feel the wind on her face, the freshness, the ozone-spruce-saltiness. And the sunrise, so beautiful even though she had tried to ignore it that day. Imagine jumping out of a plane in a parachute and dropping through that sunrise. Would it be like going through a rainbow? As you floated down would you say to yourself, that purple just changed to magenta? That day Cathy had tried to focus on her problems, and the sky was a distraction—beauty maybe? Possibilties? A future?

  Things had been black but not completely. They were black now, or the absence of Hutch left big dark shadows. But Sarah had learned to live without children. Hutch had learned to live without his leg. Mom got along without being able to read. Everyone was missing something. She’d just have to manage without Hutch. Her mouth said the words out loud but the rest of her wasn’t listening.

  Arrivals and Departures

  After Hutch walked out he was back to filling every minute and leaving no spaces. He knew the routine, he’d had plenty of practice.

  The weekend he left had been easy enough: clearing out the mess so he could settle in, studying, and always someone around for a quick joke. He hated going back to the apartment but he’d left his stuff in a pile by the front door so he just scooped it out fast, threw his two keys on the table, and left. No sign of Cathy. And on Sunday Paul arrived.

  They went to Sailors because Sean’s place was blocked with people. Paul bought a round and they settled into a table near the back.

  “How long are you staying in Halifax?” Hutch asked.

  “Home a week Tuesday,” said Paul. “Then I’m going to Mariners Cove with the folks.”

  He hadn’t been back since just before the crash. Almost six years. Hutch nodded, kept nodding, smiled a big smile and raised his glass to Paul and they downed their beers together. Paul looked good. The sag was gone. He said art history was fantastic and he was looking into working with archives and museums in Montreal. Loved that stuff.

  They chatted about the crowd from Mariners Cove: Hutch’s brother Brian and his wife, Lori, were expecting their second; Jack was bringing a girl home for his brother Joe’s wedding; Bud was still trying to get into med school; and had anybody heard from Andy?

  They sat back without talking for a while then Hutch said, “So. Any interesting girls up at Concordia?”

  “Well I’ve been dating someone for a few months now.”

  “Yeah?” Hutch stopped in mid-swig, sat up straighter. “Tell me more.”

  “You might remember her. Laura? That friend of my cousin Amy’s.”

  Hutch grinned and said of course he remembered her and he was jealous. “Thought at the time she was just your style. Cathy said the same thing.” And they chatted about Laura for a while.

  “So what happened to you and Cathy?”

  “Oh, had a fight about art and art won.” Then he changed the subject to basketball and had Paul watched any games in Montreal?

  Flying Colours

  Was Hutch hurting like this? Cathy may have painted him as he truly was in all innocence, thinking only of the how and the what, but she took the portrait into school knowing that Hutch did not want her to. It was a wonder he hadn’t thrown the painting out the window.

  Cathy wanted to make it up to him in some way. She could never undo the damage but perhaps she could make him feel better somehow. She racked her brains for an idea and finally settled in to paint two small portraits of Jenny and Eugene, about eight by ten inches, on two scraps of board. She had less trouble painting Jenny this time because she was less emotional, at least about Jenny, and she had more technique to fall back on when instinct didn’t work. Eugene was easy.

  She took them to Sean’s house when she thought Hutch might be at school. Sean opened the door, said go on through, Hutch was in his room, but Cathy just passed him the package and fled.

  A few days later, in the Internet cafe, she found an email from him. Thank you. Great pictures. H. Her heart sped up when she saw it. He’d written. She was afraid he might not. Then she was disappointed at how little he’d written. You could almost see it all without opening it. She read and reread the message but she couldn’t stretch it into anything more.

  ***

  Cathy’s parents arrived and she put on a good show. They did all the Halifax tourist sites—Citadel Hill, Pier 21, the historic waterfront, and some galleries of course, and they drove out to Peggys Cove to see the lighthouse. Mom and Dad wanted to see Hutch’s portrait but it had been sent off for judging and Cathy found herself wishing they could see it so she could watch their reactions—Hutch’s take on it or hers?

  “Hutch didn’t like that I painted his stump.”

  “Well, of course he wouldn’t,” said Mom. “What did you expect?” Silence.

  “It’s a
compliment.” Cathy’s voice was a bit sharp. “He looks great even with a piece missing.”

  “Well, girls all have a soft spot for Hutch, so maybe he’ll get away with it.”

  “Why didn’t he stop you from painting it in the first place?” said Dad. Cathy didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Because it hadn’t crossed his mind. Because he’d trusted her.

  ***

  She wore her best pants and the pretty shirt with the scoop neck Sarah had sent her, then the graduation gown. She almost had to nail the board part of the cap to her head because it was so windy on Graduation Day. Mom said it was quite like home. Cathy received her degree, her bachelor of fine arts, up on the stage and they announced her picture would be representing NSCAD at the national competition this year. Cathy couldn’t keep the smile off her face then and Mom said she’d clapped until her hands were sore.

  A big card was waiting for her when they went back to her building—Congratulations from Sarah and Tim. There was a note in it from Sarah saying she would rather have sent flowers but Cathy must be packing up now so she hadn’t. And Dad said Sarah deserved congratulations too and that Cathy should send her a card and a thank-you or flowers. Cathy wouldn’t be standing here without Sarah. And Mom said yes, do it.

  Mom said she’d heard Sarah might be adopting two brothers aged three and five. No, not adopting—fostering. The adoption people made you foster children for a full year before they let you adopt. Nancy Stuckless’s cousin lived down the road from Dr. Brooks and had been seeing them with these boys off and on for months, very dark hair and eyes, almost Sarah’s colouring. The younger one looked sweet but the older boy threw a tantrum once, right there in the street. He looked like a handful.

  “Nancy said she hoped Sarah Brooks knows what she’s doing.” Mom sounded thoughtful, sad maybe. “But nobody knows ahead of time, do they?”

  Setting a Course

  Her father was in the departure lounge waiting for his plane to Goose Bay. Cathy and her mother sat in the airport parking lot, all set to drive back to North Sydney, loaded up with Cathy’s things. Mom was in the driver’s seat. Cathy was ready to read road signs and navigate but Mom said no need, Mel had explained and it was all quite straightforward.

  All the way home they talked, adult to adult, about Mom growing up and Dad’s parents, and how they’d had to wait years for Cathy to come along and how proud of her they were. Mom talked about working in the fish plant, the cold, wet misery of it, how so many in the community worked there and the being-together and the laughing and joking helped them get through.

  It was different from before. Cathy didn’t have to force herself to listen, didn’t say a private thank god when Mom turned on the news. She enjoyed that whole drive, almost told her about Hutch but held back. Mom might have guessed already about…everything, but as long as it was just a guess she wouldn’t give Cathy the big lecture and Cathy didn’t want to spoil the day.

  But there was more to her mother than Cathy had thought. Mom was like a little junco: keeping her nest cozy year after year, feeding and caring and sheltering. She should have had a nest full of babies.

  At home, Cathy sat in the midst of all the mess of unpacking and drew a picture. She drew her mother sitting on the edge of her chair, ready to jump up and get someone a cup of tea. She drew her face looking a little bit excited, like she thought something good was about to happen, ready to join in: eyes wide open, lips on the edge of speech, wanting to be part of it all. Cathy would try to paint her later.

  Vivid: adjective: producing powerful feelings or strong, clear images in the mind.

  Cathy had never thought of her mother as vivid until now. Juncos were just there—all-year-round birds, grey and plump and, yes, a bit drab. But there was that flash of pretty white tail feathers as they flitted around in a group in the snow and there was always one on the top of a spruce tree, singing its heart out on a nice day.

  Juncos were Mariners Cove birds: tough, full of life and bustle and song, family birds with sisters and babies. Her mother deserved more than just one awkward misfit like Cathy in her nest.

  ***

  Mom had painted the bench and patio chairs a dark red and had a new quilt on Cathy’s bed in a pretty blue and green rolling-waves design that she had just finished. Otherwise the house was the same. The poor cat was gone, but she’d lived to be seventeen. Mom called her latest cat Sir because he thought a lot of himself. Cathy called him The Blob. He had no personality at all. He spent his life sitting between the geraniums on the table in the window washing himself, and if anything startling happened he just slid under Mom’s chair. He would never be a flying Ibrow.

  What Next?

  Between time spent with Paul and time finishing off projects and the push and shove of living in an apartment with two other guys, there were no spaces during the day. It was the nights. Hutch would wear himself out, body and brain, so he’d fall asleep easy enough but if he woke in the night…. Sometimes it was a bathroom break from all the beer. Once it was a car alarm that could have doubled for an air raid siren and lasted fifteen minutes. He heard thumps and curses through walls that time, which was comforting in a weird way. But once he was awake with the edge off his sleep, thoughts marched round in army boots.

  The hip weakness and back pain were invisible so people didn’t see them as a problem—didn’t even believe in them sometimes—and Hutch found that harder to deal with than his lost leg. He hated having to stop in the middle of things to change position or be choosey about what he did and how long he did it. Hated not being able to do stuff on the spur of the moment.

  But his stump could be seen and measured. And Cathy made a picture of it for all to see. Then she put a stupid wimpy expression on his face to finish him off. Jesus. Hutch sat on the edge of the bed and put the light on, reached for the latest Popular Mechanics.

  If he just had to deal with the stump alone it would be okay. People danced and skied and skated with one leg—he’d seen pictures of amputees in canoes and kayaks. But they were all in calm water. Yes, he could probably manage his kayak in calm water. He could sit with his legs out in front now, for a short time, but he couldn’t lean forwards much beyond ninety degrees, and his balance and trunk strength were only middling. He could never tackle anything challenging and he just wasn’t a Sunday driver. If he couldn’t handle the wild conditions he loved he wasn’t about to paddle round lily pads on bathwater ponds.

  But things were getting better over time. He could do more, and more often, and he’d fitted those management tricks into his life so much that he hardly needed to think about them now. And here in the city, being out on the water wasn’t in his face. Dolph wasn’t part of this life. It was when he went home.

  The edge of the bed wasn’t a comfortable place to sit and he didn’t see himself building that sawhorse on page fifteen any time soon. He dumped the magazine back on top of his backpack, flicked off the light, lay down on his back, and twiddled his thumbs.

  He rolled over and grunted sorry to the wall when he elbowed it, punched his pillow when he realized. He couldn’t believe how much he missed Cathy. He’d been used to living on his own, should have been able to go back to that, no problem. Frigging picture. He’d told her and told her and she just went ahead anyway.

  He hadn’t been serious really when he said that to Paul—about art winning—just said it to shut him up. But now he realized he’d hit the exact truth. Art was part of Cathy, and every time it came down to a choice between art and Hutch Parsons, Parsons would lose. What if she was offered a year’s post at something artistic in some faraway place? She’d go. She might think about it for a bit because of him but she’d go.

  So if he was offered some interesting computer job somewhere she didn’t fancy, would she come? She might. She would if she could take all her art stuff with her. Was he being sexist? Would he take his laptop to her exotic place? What if there was no Internet?
No Internet and no leg? Shit, no.

  Then he saw her paintings of Jenny and Eugene. Just how he remembered them. Laughing. Fun. It was amazing how Cathy could see into people and show it in paint. Whether you wanted her to or not.

  ***

  Hutch met Paul again on Saturday. They strolled down Spring Garden Road and sat on a bench.

  “Saw your portrait in the gallery at NSCAD,” Paul said.

  “How d’you know about that?”

  “Cathy was at the door when I was having a look round our building so we caught up for a few minutes. Told me she’d painted your picture and it was in the gallery ’til the end of the week so I went to see it. She said you hated it.”

  “Don’t hate it. Just don’t want it on public display.”

  “No. I can understand that. But I have to say it’s a fantastic piece of work. I can see why she would want to use it for her project.”

  Hutch folded his arms, looked away.

  “And you look great,” Paul said. “Should have heard the comments from people at the exhibition. All compliments. Couple of girls saying what a great guy you looked like.”

  “Go on.”

  Paul shook his head. “Gospel truth. ‘Why is it I never meet a guy with a cute smile like that?’ That’s what one said. Almost gave them your number.”

  Hutch grinned and said he wouldn’t mind if he had. Then Paul was gone, and time stretched into light years.

  Staying on Course

  Cathy was home a week and every day she waited to hear about the contest, the internship, wondering about where the winner would stay, what they would do. Then she heard some girl in Edmonton with a Chinese-sounding name had won. There was only one winner, no second place, no honourable mentions, so she would never know if her work had even come close.