Paint Me True

by E. M. Tippetts

  “Pip!” I shouted. “Where are you? Pip!”

  He was a shy dog, so I didn’t expect him to come running. I did expect an answering jangle of tags, though. Maybe some barking. He was a dog, after all, and I was encroaching on his territory. “Pip!” I yelled.

  The kitchen was next to the formal dining room, which had a pair of French doors that opened out into the back yard. No sign of forced entry there. I wondered if the paramedics had used a window, though there was no stirring of breeze in the house that would give that away. “Pip?”

  The size of the house meant it had plenty of places for a tiny dog to hide. I decided to start from the top story, which meant I had to climb two flights of stairs. The corridor of the top floor had sea green carpet and slightly crooked doorways to each room. “Pip?”

  Just silence.

  At the far end of the corridor was my cousin, John’s room, still decorated for a little boy, even though he was now in his twenties. Blue wallpaper and a ship’s wheel on the wall gave it a nautical air. On the windowsill was a flashlight which seemed out of place. Other than that, the room was neat as a pin. I went over to the window and hefted the flashlight. It was an old one with a plastic sliding switch. The window looked out on the back yard. A glint of light on the garden wall caught my eye.

  Of course. I was being foolish. Pip had a doggie door that couldn’t be locked. If he didn’t come when I entered the house, he was probably not in the house.

  I jogged back downstairs and out the back door. “Pip!” I called out.

  A jangle of tags answered me, and I immediately stepped down onto the grass and called his name again. “Where are you, boy?” The jangle had come from a cluster of bushes just to my right. I got down on my hands and knees in the damp grass to peer underneath.

  Sure enough, there he was, his back hunched in a sad horseshoe, his tail tucked between his spindly back legs. He looked at me with his silky ears pressed to the sides of his head.

  “Hi, Pip,” I said. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m family. You’re safe. You want to come out?” I held out my hands to invite him to come and sniff me. “Hey boy. Come here.”

  My aunt always kept him impeccably brushed, but now he had mud on his legs and belly and even some splashes of it on his back. He shook himself, tags jangling.

  “Your fur’s not thick enough to be out here,” I told him. “Come on. Please.”

  He tilted his head one way, then the other, then shot forward with a burst of nervous energy. I had him in my arms now, his little body shaking like he’d just gotten out of a freezing river in December. I tucked him under one arm and went back inside.

  His fur was dirty and had some snarls, but nothing that wasn’t easy to put right. His paws were whole, no cuts or scratches that I could see. I held onto him as I searched the entire ground floor. There were no broken windows, no broken doors. The kitchen, I now noted, wasn’t just devoid of a broken bowl and peas, it was clean. There was nothing on the counters, no dirty dishes in the sink, nothing on the stove or in the microwave.

  I opened the cabinet under the sink and there, in the garbage can, I found the remains of the peas and broken shards of bowl. Well, I thought, there was no reason my aunt couldn’t have swept that up and put things away before letting the paramedics in. But the nurse had told me she’d arrived at the hospital unconscious. Had she passed out on the way?

  Pip eyed me curiously as I carried him out the front door and went to the third flowerpot along the driveway, the one that was shielded from view of the road and the other houses by a weeping willow that drooped its long, leaf laden branches all around three sides of the pot. I dug about three inches down in the soil and came up with nothing.

  Someone had taken the spare key.

  I carried Pip back into the house, shut the door behind me and threw the deadbolt. Unease warred with the rational voice in my head that pointed out that my aunt could have moved the spare key. Aunt Nora’s laptop sat on the dining room table. The china in the glass cabinet still crowded those narrow shelves. The silver tea service was out on the sideboard and her plasma television hung, unmolested, over the fireplace in the sitting room, framed by the two paintings I’d done of pansies that went with the rest of the décor. Her e-reader sat next to a stack of mail on the table in the entryway.

  I was jumping at shadows. Odds were, Nora had merely fallen asleep waiting in the emergency room for treatment and someone had put down that she was “unconscious” when she arrived.

  I went out onto the service porch and filled the sink with warm water. Pip wriggled with excitement as I lowered him in. His dog shampoo was on the shelf, just as I’d remembered, and I scrubbed the mud out of his coat, which was mercifully short. He was patient as I ran the wire brush through his fur, cleaning away the last of the dirt, though it snarled enough that I had to pick the knots out with my fingers.

  After I got him out of the water, I fluffed him with a towel and then blew his fur dry. This he also tolerated; he was accustomed to being spoiled and stood still as I dried his coat and ran the brush through it some more.

  “Better?” I said.

  He rewarded me with bright eyes and a wag of the tail. I noticed then that his food and water dishes were full. There was wet dog food in the dish that hadn’t congealed too badly yet. It wasn’t three days old. I put Pip down in the kitchen, got a change of clothes from Aunt Nora’s room, and then set out for the hospital again. Since I didn’t have my suitcase to lug, I could walk there.

  By the time I arrived, Aunt Nora had been moved to the main hospital. I found her in the lobby with a splint on her arm. “There you are,” she said. “They got my x-rays done and put this splint on, but when I asked for a phone, you’d think I’d asked them for a special referral to a holistic care clinic. They said they’d get back to me once they handled all the procedures for my request.” She rolled her eyes as she got to her feet.

  “Do you have a housecleaner?” I asked.

  “Yes. You don’t see her often, she’s such a quiet little thing, but yes.”

  “Would she have come while you were here?”

  “Mmmm, I’d have to check. I suppose so, yes. She comes on alternate Fridays.”

  “It looks like she fed Pip.”

  “Well that’s good. Poor little guy.”

  “Also, did you move your spare key?”

  “Olivia might not have put it back. I told her to use it to get a package of hers that had been left at my house. She called while I was out shopping a couple of weeks ago and I told her where it was.”

  “Oh, okay, because it’s also gone.”

  “Well, I trust Olivia. She’s a little forgetful is all. And she’s in Tenerife at the moment, so I’ll just remind her to give me the key back when she flies home.”

  I nodded. “Let me call a cab-”

  “We’re only eight blocks away. We can walk.”

  Normally we would have done so without me having a second thought, but she seemed so frail. But walking would be good for her. I held out my arm, which she took, and we set off.

  “By the way, that cute nurse at the other hospital?” she said.

  “Mmm hmm?”

  “I gave him your phone number.”

  “Did he ask for it?”

  “He was going to. I just helped him along.”

  I laughed. “You give out my number to random men often?”

  “Did you see him? He’s adorable.”

  “Yeah, I saw him.”

  “I bet he calls you.”

  “I won’t hold my breath.”

  When we got home, my aunt was a little winded, but otherwise fine. I let us into the house and found that day’s mail had arrived. It was scattered on the floor, having been put through the mail slot. I stooped to pick it up as my aunt strode on over to the stack of mail on the table at the far end of the foyer. Pip darted out from the sitting room and stood up on his hind legs, tail wagging furiously.

  “Junk, junk, junk,”
she said, tossing most of the envelopes in the nearby trash can. “Oh, so honey, do I really get a custom painting?”

  I glanced through today’s mail and noted most of the letters had been mailed yesterday. First class mail in Britain really was first class. “Sure,” I said. “It’ll give me an excuse to stay long enough to finish it.”

  “Sounds like a plan. You must think I’m ridiculous, calling you out here over just a broken arm.”

  I went over to put today’s mail on the stack on the table. “You don’t need an excuse. I’m always happy to visit.”

  She smiled at me. “Here, can you actually take these letters to the recycling bin? You know what I’d love? A portrait of Paul.” He had been her husband, and had died in a car accident before I ever got to meet him.

  “Yeah, okay. Do you have a picture you want me to base it on, or do you have a moment that you’d like me to paint that you weren’t able to get a picture of?” I dug the letters out of the wastebasket and saw that the date on the top one was Friday’s. My steps slowed as my mind chewed that over.

  “Ooh, I’ll have to think about that.”

  “Your housecleaner comes Fridays?” I asked

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “There are letters here that would have arrived Saturday.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Someone picked up the mail on Saturday. Would your friend who has the key do that?”

  “She’s in Tenerife, honey. I’m sure she’s still gone.”

  I walked through to the kitchen, dumped the mail in the recycling bin, and checked the row of pegs by the back door where the car keys hung. There was no spare key. “Someone was in your house Saturday, but they didn’t take anything. I mean, they left your laptop and stuff.”

  “That’s... that’s odd.”

  “Think, would anyone else have a key?”

  “No, I got the locks changed when I married Paul, and I’ve been very careful about who gets keys. No one has one to keep, and I change the location of the one I hide out front every time I tell someone where it is – save for you, of course. You’re the only person.”

  “What about your kids?”

  “They live clear out in Bristol and up in Leeds. I don’t think they’d be by.”

  “And your cleaning lady?”

  “Right, yes, she has one. Maybe she stopped by again Saturday, or maybe she was late last week?”

  I stepped back into the entryway. “Would it be an overreaction to call a locksmith and change your locks?”

  “No. That’s the easiest thing to do, isn’t it? Yes, why don’t we do that?”

  I nodded and went to find the phone book. I heard Nora move into the sitting room and plop herself down.

  “Sorry,” I said, “we were talking about Paul. How did you guys meet?”

  “I came over here for my junior year abroad. Did you know that?”

  “Huh-uh.”

  “Yes, I came over here for my junior year abroad. I was studying English and the outfit that organized this put us up in a house off the High Street, but I did some of my tutorials at Balliol College. You know the one? It’s on Broad Street.”

  “Right by the intersection of Cornmarket?” It was a fairly well known college, though I couldn’t conjure up a picture of it just then. I joined her in the sitting room, the phone book tucked under my arm.

  “Yes that’s the one.” She put her feet up and turned another page in the catalog she was perusing. “Paul was a student at Balliol.”

  “Oh, he studied here too?” I settled into one of the armchairs with its cushions so soft that it felt like I was being held in a plush embrace.

  Nora nodded.

  “But he lived here at the house?”

  “He lived in the college.”

  “Do you remember the first time you ever saw him?”

  “Oh yes.” She smirked. “I was at the Porter’s Lodge, you know the little front gate of the college? The porters are the ones who prevent just anyone from going in to wander, and that porter thought I had no business there at all. He kept saying that Balliol didn’t take American study abroad students, though that’s where my tutorial was.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I was there arguing with this pompous man- you have to remember, I’d never been on an airplane before I came here.”

  “Seriously?”

  She shrugged, as if embarrassed to admit the fact. “I was so far out of my depth. You’ve seen the small town I’m from. I might as well have gone to a whole different planet.”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “Anyway, I was there arguing and trying not to cry. I felt so lost. Paul stepped into the lodge from the quad and took my breath away.”

  “Did he talk to the porter for you?”

  “Oh no, didn’t even look my way. Stood for a whole five seconds, reading a piece of paper, and then he walked on past and out onto the street.”

  “So what did you notice about him?”

  “He had the most intense eyes. Blue-gray, like mine, and he carried himself with such confidence. He was tall and muscular, and even though he wore the same kind of sweater that every other guy seemed to be wearing, with brown corduroy trousers, on him they looked right. He could have been a model for that kind of clothing. And the way he looked at the paper was just so... I don’t know. Brooding. He smoldered, if that makes sense. No, I guess that sounds silly.”

  “I get what you mean.”

  “I’ll never forget the first time I saw him. You know that feeling when you really notice someone. They just stand out to you and you want to get to know them?”

  I nodded.

  “Well this was that, times a million. I mean, I was speechless after he walked through. I never thought in a thousand years that I’d meet him, let alone date him. It was love at first sight.”

  “I guess I’ve never felt that.”

  “Which is a pity. True love is all about those once in a lifetime moments when you don’t just find yourself a good guy who’s nice enough, but you find that man who’s beyond your wildest dreams.”

  I cast my mind back to the first time I’d met Len. I’d joined the singles ward when I’d moved to Portland and my very first week there, I’d seen Len. He was already in his seat in the front row, wearing a tie that was coming apart. I didn’t know that ties could be worn out like that, but his had been. The inner liner showed through several holes around the knot. He had a PDA in his hand and was poking away at it with his stylus – that’s how old and out of date his PDA was. It had a stylus, and was covered in duct tape. His shoes were beat up old sneakers, also with holes in the leather, and his pants were so wrinkled, it looked like he’d slept in them.

  I sat in the back row and Jenna Knight was the first person to find me. She was in one of her usual, sensible, straight skirts with a white blouse, and she sat down next to me with a businesslike air, her blond hair pinned back from her dainty, heart-shaped face. “You’re new. I’m Jenna.” She held out her hand.

  “Eliza,” I said. It felt a little odd to shake hands, but that, I’d soon learn, was Jenna’s way.

  “Welcome to the monkey house. Gah.” She made a shooing motion at Len. He’d seen us and was smiling our direction. At her gesture, his eyes twinkled and he turned back around.

  “Who’s that?” I said.

  “His name’s Len. He’s the clerk, so he’ll come bother you about your records and all that.”

  “You don’t like him?”

  “He’s annoying. Seriously, don’t speak to him any more than you have to. He just talks about video games and stupid stuff like that, as if you’re supposed to care. Oh, here he comes.” She rolled her eyes.

  Sure enough, he was advancing up the aisle. I waited until he was close enough to hear me. “You need my name and old ward?”

  “Yup.”

  “Eliza Dunmar. Sa-”

  “I’m Len,” he cut me off.

  “Yeah, hi. Eliza. I was in-”

  “So what brings you to Portland?”
<
br />   “Dork,” said Jenna under her breath, which I know Len heard, but he didn’t react.

  I had no prepared answer to that one, and I realized this was a mistake. What was I supposed to say? I’m here because of free housing? “I’m an artist,” I blurted, as if the connection between my art and living in Portland were somehow obvious.

  Perhaps it was to a person like Len, because he just nodded and said, “Nice. So am I, more or less. You know. I’m a sysadmin for a law firm.”

  “Um... what?” said Jenna.

  He smirked at her.

  She gave him a look that would have made an oak tree wither.

  But it didn’t affect him. He turned back to me and said, “Give me your email and I’ll send you the records transfer form-”

  I realized then that I’d zoned out on Nora. My mind withdrew from Portland and returned to my body in Oxford with an almost audible thud. “Sorry.”

  “Good thoughts or bad?”

  “Bad. Let’s talk about Paul some more.”

  “Oh, all right.” She winked.

  This time I focused on her entirely and let the room melt away as she told her story.

  I never let myself be caught in jeans and a sweatshirt again. The first thing I did when I got to my room was change into a skirt. I shook my hair out of its ponytail and put on some lipgloss. The next time Paul saw me, I was determined to look more sophisticated. And I did see him around Balliol. I began to make a habit of passing by or through the college whenever I could and when I saw him, I’d duck behind the nearest wall and spy on him. Silly of me, I know.

  A couple of weeks into my course, I was trying to get back home in time for dinner and I almost ran right into him on a street corner. He caught my arm and I just about fainted when I saw who it was.

  “You all right?” he asked. He looked me straight in the eye as he spoke.

  I just stared at him.

  “I’m Paul.”

  “Nora.”

  “You American?”

  “Yeah.”

  He looked me up and down. “What brings you to Oxford?”