But she had to acknowledge that Eva knew things she didn’t. And evidently, Eva wasn’t the only one.
“Want to share with the class?” Maria raised her eyebrows.
Sam shook off her musings. “I was thinking that you’re pretty smart.”
When they smiled at each other, Sam was captured by the depth in Maria’s eyes. Their color matched her dark hair, and the slight crinkles at the corners bespoke a warm smile incongruous with the misfortune life had thrown at her.
“Hey, Sis, can I have the rest of the brownies?” Their eyes drifted from each other to Pauly.
“You bet, buddy. But I think you should wait until after breakfast tomorrow. You’ve already polished off the cookies.”
Pauly grinned proudly at his accomplishment.
“I should go. Thanks for a wonderful evening, Maria.”
Sam had only climbed the first two stairs before Maria’s voice stopped her.
“I might have had an ulterior motive when I invited you.”
“Oh?” Sam leaned against the open banister and crossed her arms.
“In addition to hoping you’ll facilitate Eva’s return to our salon, I would like you to present some of your own work.”
“I don’t draw.”
“Nice try, tough guy. You write.”
Sam had been played, but she didn’t have time in that moment to figure out how she felt about that. She shrugged. “Some day you’ll have to tell me how you do that.”
“Do what?” Maria said, the picture of innocence.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Our rule is that you can only come to two meetings as an observer, and then you have to present. You were a mathlete.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed, and Maria’s smile turned into a laugh. “Adiós, Samantha. See you next time.”
Three days later, Sam rapped on the red door of the Sanchez residence, her other arm wrapped securely around her mother’s waist. When Pauly opened the door, he was nibbling on a Popsicle. His lips and tongue glowed green as he welcomed Sam and Eva inside. “Can I get you anything?” he said, and Sam was again impressed by his impeccable manners.
“Got any purple ones?”
“Dunno. Let me see.” As he headed toward the kitchen, Sam guided Eva into a chair in the dining room and took a moment to look around the main floor, which she had simply breezed past when she had headed to the basement for the salon.
The rustically appointed first floor suited Maria. Dark hardwood floors stretched from the entryway, through the formal dining room, and into the kitchen. The high ceilings gave a lightness to everything—the heavy oak table and chairs that looked to be Amish made, the rich leather sofa in the living room, and the thick rug underneath. As she drifted around the rectangular dining room table, large enough to seat a dozen guests, she noticed with surprise a vase her mother had made resting on the sideboard. She was fingering it absently when a one-eyed, one-eared gray cat brushed against her leg. Squatting down, Sam wound her fingers through patchy fur and was rewarded with a purr of contentment.
“I see you’ve met Hephe,” Maria observed from the entryway.
“He seems…sweet.” Sam had never encountered a more hideous cat in her life.
Maria laughed. “Nice euphemism. You are quite the poet.”
“Okay, so he’s not the prettiest cat I’ve ever met.”
Maria crouched down and stroked his head. “We got him a few years ago. He’d survived a nasty fight in the woods, probably with a coyote, when I found him. He looks better now than when I first rescued him, but he’ll never be the handsomest of cats. That’s why I named him Hephe.”
“Jefe, like, Spanish for boss?”
“I thought you would be well-versed in the classics, Samantha. Hephe, short for Hephaestus.”
Sam dropped her hand, and Hephe mewed in protest. “You can’t be serious.”
“What’s the matter? You named your dog after a Greek god.”
“Yes, and I named my cat Aphrodite,” Sam said. They looked at each other and burst out laughing. “Well, if we ever want kittens, we’ll have to introduce them. I’m sure it will be love at first sight.”
Maria studied her, and Sam dropped her eyes under the weight of her penetrating gaze. After a long moment, Maria broke the silence, standing and calling to her brother. “Hey buddy, did you offer our guests food and drink?”
“Yep. I just found a purple Popsicle for Sam,” he called from the kitchen, and from the muffled sound of his voice, he clearly had another Popsicle in his mouth. “Hey, Eva, what kind of Popsicle do you want?”
Wrinkles formed across Eva’s forehead as she gave the question serious thought. The new surroundings threw her a bit, and she seemed to be casting back for memories of the place. Finally, just as Sam opened her mouth to answer for her, she said, “Orange.”
“Coming right up!” Pauly presented the treats with a flourish and took a chair next to Eva. “We used to draw downstairs,” he said to Sam, “but we can hang out at the dining room table, right, Sis?”
Sam stood, and Hephe slinked away. “That would be best. She’s gotten pretty good at walking on her own, but stairs are still a challenge.”
“The dining room table is fine,” Maria said. “I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.”
Sam unloaded the bags of supplies she’d brought, and before long, Pauly and Eva were bent over large sketchbooks, surrounded by charcoals. Pauly showed the older woman some of the drawings he’d been working on since her aneurysm, and he talked with her about shading, composition, and perspective. He summoned up lessons she had given him and returned them to her gently, following her cues. Sam observed in quiet fascination from the other end of the table as Pauly encouraged her when Eva appeared ready to move on, held back when she needed time to process, and when her eyes asked for it, delicately placed a pencil between her shaking fingers.
The line that bisected the sketch paper wiggled with uncertainty, punctuated by dark dots where the pencil that drew it ground to a temporary halt. Soon, other marks joined it, groupings of swirls dominating the top right quarter of the page and harsh angles in the lower left. Surprised that her mother, whose art had always been primarily representational, was sketching an abstract drawing, Sam leaned forward to get a better view. Of course, knowing next to nothing about abstract art, she wasn’t sure what she was looking for or how to interpret the image, but it seemed that the drawing captured the sense of loss that pervaded Eva’s life. Lines and shapes interrupted each other, never quite complete, always redirected or abandoned.
Eva’s muscle memory and training guided her more than her conscious mind. Her thumb trembled as she smudged portions of the upper left corner, and Sam was comforted by the realization that once her mother regained a little more strength and dexterity, she could easily return to art in some perhaps altered but nonetheless meaningful capacity.
A slightly wild gesture from Eva grabbed her attention, and Pauly slowly tore the drawing out of the sketchpad, presenting Eva with a new blank sheet. She clasped the pencil with a firmer hand this time and approached the sheet with more confidence. Lines sprang from nowhere, reaching for eternity, filled with a hope. Swirls untangled as some unseen force seemed to lift the drawing endlessly upward. The energy of the lines propelled Sam forward, and she gravitated toward the image filling the paper, and the woman creating it. Nothing was smudged in this second piece. Despite the slight shake in Eva’s hand and the resulting tremor in the lines, every curve and every angle spoke of clarity of purpose. Twenty minutes passed, then thirty. Sam’s back ached as she leaned against the arm of Eva’s chair, but the intensity pouring off her mother held her in place.
When Eva finally leaned back in her chair, her brow glistened with sweat and she was completely drained. Pauly separated the drawing from the blank pages remaining in the pad, and a tired
Eva reached for it. She gestured to the other drawing as well and slid them until they rested side by side on the table in front of her.
Sam stood, her back muscles trembling as the blood began to flow through them. “Mom? She hesitated. “Would you tell me a little about these?” She didn’t want to pry, fearing her mother wouldn’t be able to articulate an answer. But she had to ask—she craved this window into her mother’s soul.
Indicating the first image, Eva simply said, “Before.” She swung her hand toward the second and said, “After.”
“After? After your accident?” Sam asked.
“Yes. After. Now.”
She bent down again. “This drawing.” She gingerly picked up the second. “Is it happy?’
“Happy. Love.”
“Love? You’re happy now? Why?”
With effort, Eva turned her torso so she fully faced her daughter. “You.”
Sam sat back onto her heels, stunned. Gingerly, her mother reached out and caressed her cheek. Sam’s eyes closed as she leaned into the touch. There had been brief moments of lucidity, but this was the first time since Eva woke up from her coma that she seemed like herself, the first time there wasn’t a wall between her and the world around her. It took great willpower on Sam’s part to stop her eyes from watering.
When she looked up and gazed into her mother’s clear eyes, it was almost too much for her. Kissing her on the forehead, her mother offered her a smile as bright as a warm summer day. Pauly laughed—a full, carefree laugh—and the sound was so wonderful that Eva and Sam joined him. Maria, resting her hip on the doorway between the living and dining rooms where she had quietly observed them, nodded at Sam before turning and disappearing into the kitchen.
Sam turned her head and lightly kissed the back of her mother’s fingers. “Would you like to draw more?”
Eva shook her head. “Tired.” It made Sam think about how the sunset is always brightest in the instant before the sun dips below the horizon: once Eva’s moment of joy had passed, she faded back to gray.
“Pauly, I think we’ll head home now. But you’ve been great. Thanks for helping my mom.”
“No problem,” he said. “She helps me back, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. She helps me too.”
Pauly gathered the supplies and pulled a light windbreaker onto Eva’s drooping shoulders. He chatted amiably to his former mentor, making plans to draw together soon. With the cleanup well in hand, Sam drifted into the kitchen, where Maria sat perched atop the island, her legs swinging a bit as she leafed through a recipe book.
“Planning new menu items?”
“No, actually. I’m reading up on cocktails.”
“I thought Stowe Away only had a beer and wine license.”
“Sam, dear, not everything is about work, you know.” Maria hopped down, closed the book, and dropped it onto the granite top. “Everything go okay today?”
“Yeah—more than okay. Thanks for inviting us over.”
“Anytime. In fact, why don’t you ask Dolores to watch your mom a week from Saturday and come back? I’m having a little gathering. You should join us.”
The twinkle in her eye said that nothing good could come of this. “I thought you said the salon only meets every other week.”
“Different kind of gathering.”
Sam ran her hand through her hair. “I fear I’m not much company these days, and this has been a lot of socializing for me.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Bring ten bucks and your game face, my dear, because it’s poker. And I should warn you, the house always wins.” Maria hip-bumped her as she headed toward the front door to bid Eva good-bye.
“Oh brother,” Sam mumbled. “At least it’s only ten dollars.”
“Relieved we’re not playing strip?” Maria called from the other room.
Her thoughts briefly flitting to the image of Maria standing outside the bathroom in Eva’s house in a red see-through lacy bra, Sam groaned inwardly. You have no idea.
“You want another tea, Sam?” Pauly asked.
Sam leaned back in her chair and studied him, while he whistled and looked around Stowe Away. “What’s up with you? You’re being weird.”
“No, I’m not,” he answered, a little too hurriedly.
“If you say so,” she said, unconvinced. “Sure, another tea sounds great.” Pauly gathered up the saucer, mug, and spoon and retreated to the kitchen.
She was grateful for a moment’s peace, actually. She’d been unsuccessfully trying to explain to Pauly how it might be possible for adult cells to regress back to their stem cell state. Gathering her thoughts, she plotted a new strategy to explain the phenomenon a number of prominent scientists were currently striving to manifest. Maybe if she related it to reading a book backwards, Pauly would understand better.
He returned with her third tea, and just looking at it made Sam have to pee. “Thanks, buddy. Excuse me a minute—bathroom.”
She took her time in the bathroom, studying her face in the mirror. She looked older, that’s for sure. The ordeal of the last few months—caring for her mother, moving, withdrawing from med school—revealed itself in deeper lines around her eyes and mouth, and she was grateful the dim lighting in the bathroom masked the few gray hairs she’d found earlier that week. She kind of liked them, truth be told—if you’re going to go gray, might as well do it prematurely.
When she emerged from the bathroom and returned to the table, Pauly beamed at her.
“What’d I miss?” she asked, plopping into her chair.
Pauly was unsuccessful at stifling a giggle, and it came out as a snort. “Nothing,” he coughed.
“Pauly. What are you hiding?” She adopted her best stern voice.
Another snort. “I already said—nothing!”
Sam leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table. “Listen, Mister. I have ways of making you talk. That sweet tooth of yours will be your undoing.” She picked up a cookie she’d ordered earlier and waved it back and forth in front of his nose. Just as Pauly reached for it, Maria sauntered over.
“Hello, Samantha.” Her warm voice washed over Sam, who immediately sat back in her chair. With her hand resting lightly on Sam’s shoulder, she asked, “How’s Eva today?”
“Eva? Oh. Um, she’s fine. Good. Actually, she’s a little sick right now. Coughing a lot and stuff.” Sam had no idea what she was saying and no idea why she couldn’t seem to think coherently.
“Oh, that’s too bad. Will you please tell her that I hope she feels better soon?”
“Yeah, of course.” Sam cleared her throat, hoping to clear other things as well.
“And you? How are you holding up?”
“Fine. Good.” she coughed again.
“Maybe you’re coming down with the same thing Eva’s got,” Maria suggested, gently patting her on the back.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Pauly, Brendon needs a hand in the kitchen. Would you mind terribly?”
“Uh, right. No problem, Sis.” Pauly bolted out of his chair. “See ya later, Sam!” he called over his shoulder as he scampered behind the bar and through the swinging doors.
Sam turned to face Maria. “There’s something going on with him.”
“Who, Pauly? Nah, he’s just gets like that sometimes.”
At the same time that Sam asked, “Would you like to join me?” Maria informed her, “Well, I’d better get back to work.”
“Oh,” Sam said.
“Have a good day, Samantha.” Maria smiled at her, and Sam’s stomach did a flip-flop.
“You too.” She watched Maria disappear into the kitchen and inexplicably felt abandoned. A quick glance at her watch indicated it was time to leave anyway.
She gathered her things, stuffing journals, a laptop, and her cell phone into her bag. It took her a
moment to locate her keys, which she had thought she’d left in her satchel, before she found them on the table by the empty plate where her cookie had been. Pauly must have swiped it on his way to help Brendon. As she headed toward the door, she glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen, but neither Pauly nor Maria was visible through the window.
She arrived at Eva’s ancient Chevy, her primary mode of transportation since she’d moved back, and fitted the key into the slot, only to discover that the door was already unlocked. “Could have sworn I locked that,” she mumbled. When she pulled the door open, she audibly squealed as a dozen zucchinis tumbled out of the car and onto her feet. She looked around the parking lot, but it was empty and she was alone.
She’d never been zucchini bombed before.
It was a time-honored tradition born of necessity in Vermont, where zucchinis grew like crazy and gardeners ended up with what Eva called an “overabundance” if they didn’t pick the flowers off their plants every day.
Jack—never as proper as her mother—had dubbed it a “shit-ton” the year his office had been bombed.
Regardless of nomenclature, in late August, the time was ripe for dumping loads of unwanted zucchinis on unsuspecting strangers. A few years back, Eva had left the garage door open overnight while some art projects dried, only to discover the next morning that every one of her workbenches had a dozen zucchinis on it.
Shaking her head, Sam scooped up the damn things from the parking lot, intending to deposit them in the backseat. But a glance through the rear door revealed two-dozen more zucchinis, scattered around the seat, the floor, even sticking out of the cup holders. Looking again at the front seat, her eyes lighted on two zucchinis, each sporting a Sharpie smiley face, rubber-banded together and making out with each other atop the dashboard. Based on their long lashes, Sam guessed they were both lady zucchinis. At a loss, she threw up her hands, scattering the remaining zucchinis she’d been holding across the parking lot. Her shoulders shook, and she couldn’t stop laughing. Her hands on her hips, she turned to the only likely culprits: sure enough, Pauly and Maria, noses pressed against the windows of Stowe Away, were both laughing so hard that tears streamed down their cheeks.
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