by Sofia Tate
Very amusing. She graduated from Ashby. I like that.
I gesture to my desk chair. “Please sit down.”
She nods silently and settles herself as I pull up a stool from one of my worktables.
“So, you like The Lovers.”
A wide grin envelops her face. She leans back in the chair and clears her throat. “Um…yes. Yes, I do.”
“You called it your ‘sanctuary.’ What do you like most about it?”
She tilts her head before replying. “Whenever I’m having a bad day, that’s where I go to clear my head. I forget everything that’s going on and focus on the sculpture…her long hair, the hem of her dress as if it’s actually waving, the pain the man must be in to need that kind of comfort.”
I nod as she bites her lower lip. “What is it?”
She shakes her head. “No, forget it.”
“It’s all right, Lily. Ask me.”
Suddenly, her eyes fix on mine. “What was…I mean…what made you create that? You don’t have to answer if it’s too personal.”
I breathe in deeply, giving her a brief smile. “I don’t mind, Lily. All art is personal. The Lovers was one of my first sculptures. It was incredibly cathartic for me, working on it, that is. I never truly addressed my parents’ death, and it just helped me express a lot of emotions that I hadn’t faced until then.”
“Emilia told me about your parents,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you for that. And thank you for your thoughtfulness about asking me. But tell me, do you do anything when you’re there? I mean, do you just sit and stare at it?”
She laughs quietly. “Sometimes, but I like to take pictures of it. Close-ups, really.”
I lean back on the stool with my mouth agape, surprised by her confession. “I wasn’t expecting that. Would you let me see them?”
She sits up as her jaw drops, completely beguiling me. “Really?”
“Of course. I’d love to see my work through someone else’s view.”
“They’re on my Nikon at home. I’ll bring it with me next time.”
“I’d enjoy that.”
Silence permeates the room as we sit grinning at each other. But then, a cold realization hits me…I’m smiling. When have I ever smiled so much?
The newness of the emotion sends me reeling.
I jump to my feet. “Yes…well…” I stammer, “You’re probably tired and would like to go home.”
She laughs again, rising from the chair. “I do, but I really enjoyed talking to you. Thank you for the postcard and for the invitation.”
“You’re welcome. Here, let me get the door for you.”
When she reaches me, she turns to me with another grin. “Thank you, Mr. Shaw.”
“It was my pleasure. And please call me Grayson.”
She nods. “Good night, Grayson.”
I swallow. “Good night, Lily.”
I close the door behind her, slamming my back to it.
I am such a fool. Babbling like that in front of her. What she must think of me.
I take a few steps to the back table and stare at my work in progress. Something about it doesn’t feel right.
I mash the clay together, eliminating all traces of what was there.
And then I start over.
Chapter Eight
Did you read that article in the latest issue of Fortune about the Top Ten father-son businesses in America?”
“My DAR chapter is planning the most glorious benefit.”
“I think it’s time I upgraded to the newest BMW series.”
I sit at the dining table of Charles and Adeline Shepard silently eating the lobster bisque that Mrs. Shepard had her personal chef prepare as Mr. Shepard, Mrs. Shepard, and Reed engage in brunch conversation on the most boring topics.
Ever since Reed and I started dating, I’ve learned that Mrs. Shepard never steps foot in the kitchen. Every appetizer, entrée, side dish, and dessert is either cooked by her chef or ordered from the finest gourmet grocery store in Saratoga Springs. Even Whole Foods is beneath Adeline’s standards, and forget about Trader Joe’s.
The fine crystals in the limestone of their stately home sparkled in the sun when we pulled up this afternoon, no doubt from the power washing that I’m sure Mrs. Shepard ordered before today. Everything about the house is perfect, the kind of home where one would be afraid to touch something for fear of breaking it.
To me, this house is a mausoleum. There is nothing alive about it, no spirit. I suffocate from the atmosphere alone. Reed’s parents sit at either end of the table, while Reed and I are seated across from each other in the center. The conversation numbs my mind. I have nothing to contribute to it. Politics and religion are never discussed because both are considered taboo and distasteful as conversation topics.
What is Grayson doing for Christmas? He probably never celebrates it. He was so sweet with me in his studio, the way he got nervous at the end before I left…
“Lily.”
The sound of my name crossing Mrs. Shepard’s lips snaps me out of my musings.
“I’m so sorry. Yes, ma’am?”
“I asked how your teaching job was going.”
I glance across the table at Reed. His jaw is clenched, his green eyes searing into me, wordlessly warning me not to do it.
I don’t care. I’m telling the truth.
“I lost my job, Mrs. Shepard. Budget cuts. I’m going to be an afterschool tutor for the spring semester, so at least I’ll be teaching in some form. For now, I’m a part-time cleaning woman for a private client.”
There’s no way I’m giving away Grayson’s identity because I know it would only impress them, and they’d want to know everything about him. I refuse to betray his privacy.
The mood in the room instantly changes. The chill becomes palpable. Looks are exchanged between the Shepards, then they share a disdainful glare at their son. This seems mixed with disappointment that I read as if they are saying, Oh, how could you, Reed? We simply can’t have a cleaning woman in our family.
Mr. Shepard clears his throat. “Well, it’s temporary, I’m sure.”
I look at Reed again. He gives his parents a reassuring smile. “Of course it’s temporary. She’s a great teacher. Aren’t you, Lily?”
I grit my teeth, taking a deep breath, flashing the Shepards a smile so fake it hurts my facial muscles. “Thank you, Reed. Yes, I am.”
* * *
“What were you thinking? Why did you tell them you were a maid? Do you know how embarrassing that was for me?”
Reed’s booming voice echoes inside his car, vibrating off the glass. I simply sit with my hands folded in my lap, looking out the window.
“Will you answer me, for chrissakes?”
I turn my head to face him. “Your mother asked a question, and I answered it. I wasn’t going to lie or sugarcoat anything. And I said I was a cleaning woman, not a maid.”
He slaps the steering wheel with his leather-gloved hand. “Same difference. You could’ve just said you were in between jobs.”
“I’m not a liar, Reed. I wasn’t raised that way. My family isn’t like yours, where everything is shoved under the rug.”
“At least I was raised with manners. Your mother’s language is offensive.”
It’s one thing to mess with me, but when it comes to my mother, the gloves come off.
“Don’t you ever talk about my mother that way!”
With a screech, he pulls the car over, puts it in park, and grabs my wrist. “And don’t you ever talk to me that way!”
Despite the soft leather of his glove, his fingers grip me so tightly that I shout in pain. Trying to pull out of his strong hold only increases the hurt.
“Damn it! Let go of me, Reed! You’re hurting me!”
At the sound of my strangled voice, he instantly lets go. “I’m-I’m so sorry,” he stutters. “I really am. My parents just bring out the worst in me sometimes.”
I slowly rub
my wrist to ease the pain. “I wish I knew why you act like this, Reed. One minute you’re sweet and loving, and the next you’re cruel and hurtful. Why are you like this with me now?”
He sighs audibly, grabbing the steering wheel harder. “I wish I knew too, honey. Maybe it’s just the stress from work. I swear to you I’ll do better. And I’m so sorry for hurting you like that.” One of his hands reaches over to caress my left cheek. “You know I’m sorry, right?”
Looking straight ahead, I nod silently, his hand still holding my cheek. “Yes, I know that.”
Despite having just eaten brunch, my stomach drops as if I hadn’t consumed a morsel of food. Chills run up and down my arms. I wrap myself tighter in my coat.
Do I truly know that? Or am I just lying to myself?
* * *
Grayson
Going over my schedule in my diary as I sip my morning coffee, I take particular notice of the date.
Christmas. It’s almost here. My least favorite holiday.
I try not to watch television during Christmas. Everyone is too cheerful, the movies are saccharine, and every film and TV show ends happily with the entire cast singing a carol.
I can’t stand it. Despite Emilia’s protests, I order her every year not to put up any Christmas decorations or a fucking tree. What would be the point? I’d only have one person to exchange gifts with, anyway.
Closing my diary, I pick up the breakfast tray Emilia brought over two hours ago to return it to the kitchen.
Once in the kitchen, I place it on the counter. I’m about to head back to the studio when I hear humming, then singing. “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!”
Wonderful. A Christmas carol.
I follow the sound to the foyer, where I find Lily facing the windows that frame the front door, spraying them with cleaner, then wiping them, every move accompanied by singing or humming.
I sigh.
Too cheerful.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say to her back.
She jumps at the sound of my voice, instantly dropping the paper towel and bottle of window cleaner to the floor. “Oh my God!”
When she turns around, her face is slightly pink from activity, her hand raised to her chest. “I didn’t hear you come in. I’m sorry if I was disturbing you.”
She gives me a brief glance, then just as quickly looks away.
“You weren’t disturbing me. I just don’t think it’s necessary for you to wash the windows. Did Emilia tell you to do that?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you needn’t bother. I think the windows are clean enough. Did you bring your camera?”
Her face lights up. “I did. But I still have to vacuum the upstairs hallway.”
I shake my head. “The hallway isn’t going anywhere. Get your camera and I’ll meet you in the living room.”
She nods with a smile. “Okay.”
While she’s retrieving her camera, I settle myself onto one of the sofas in the living room. She stops when she sees me, biting her bottom lip.
I need to ease her nerves. “Come show me what you have.”
She leaves about a foot between us when she sits down next to me, silently handing over her camera, which I handle carefully. “Could you show me…”
Lily shakes her head. “Oh, right. Of course.”
She moves closer, and the fresh scent of flowers wafts over me. I breath it in deeply, intoxicated. I glance at her as she presses a set of buttons on the camera. She probably wears the perfume to counter the antiseptic smells of cleaning products that she uses when she’s here.
An image pops up on the screen: the face of the woman in The Lovers. The way Lily’s captured her stuns me into silence. A sprinkling of white snow presents a deep contrast against the dark stone of the sculpture.
A few minutes pass. Lily leans closer to me, her finger hovering over the camera. “Shall I…”
“Yes, please,” I reply, watching as another picture appears onscreen. “I can take over from here.”
She laughs. “Of course.”
With each picture, my body warms with the attention to detail that she’s given my first completed work. Is this how everyone sees it? I doubt it. And yet, my eyes grow wet at the thought that I never got to see The Lovers in person after it was placed on campus.
I clear my throat. “Have you ever thought of taking pictures of something other than my work?”
A confused look crosses her face. “No. Why?”
“Because your eye for detail is amazing. Instead of just taking pictures of my sculpture in its entirety, you focus close up on the face, the hem of her dress, the little things that many people wouldn’t even think to consider.”
Her face grows pink. “I don’t know what to say. Coming from you, that’s a huge compliment. Thank you.”
“I’m serious. For example, what would you take a picture of in this room?”
Lily’s head pivots back and forth, landing on the French doors. “I suppose the doors and how the light comes through the windows.”
I gently hand the camera back to her. “Well then, go ahead.”
I watch her as she rises from the sofa. Standing a few inches from the glass, she aims the lens and shoots, the whirring sound reaching back to me. She stops and looks at the screen, no doubt going over what she’s captured.
When she returns to me, she hands me the Nikon once more. I examine what she’s taken and I gasp in awe
“Lily, the way you captured the sunlight coming through the glass, and then shifted to the sculpture in the back yard…I’m just blown away. You need to take more pictures and start putting together a portfolio.”
Her eyebrows rise in shock and her eyes widen. “Seriously?”
I laugh at her reaction. “Yes, seriously. I may not be a photographer, but I am an artist. I have an artist’s eye and I know talent when I see it.”
“But what do I take pictures of?”
“Anything that inspires you. Make sure you have your camera with you at all times because you never know when inspiration can strike.”
She stares at the camera in my hands, a wide smile appearing across her lips. “Okay, I will,” she whispers. “Thank you, Grayson. To hear you say all that…It means everything to me because you see something in me that nobody ever has before, not even me.”
I tilt my head at her curiously. “You’re welcome, Lily.”
As she stretches across to take the Nikon from me, the sleeve on her left arm pulls back slightly, and that’s when I see an ugly, nasty purple bruise on her wrist. When I examine it closely, it looks as if someone’s left fingerprints where the discoloration lies.
Lily must see me staring, because she swiftly pulls her sleeve over the bruise.
I watch her bottom lip trembling now—from fear, embarrassment…I don’t know.
“What happened?” I demand.
“N-nothing…I just fell, that’s all,” she stammers. “I…I should go vacuum upstairs. Thank you again.”
Before I can ask her further about the bruise, she flies out of the room.
I sit in silence on the sofa to absorb everything that’s just happened. I eventually go back to my studio, but I can’t work. I pace mindlessly, then stop at one of the tables, gripping the counter tightly.
I saw it. She probably even forgot it was there.
Who did that to her?
I rush over to my stereo. Nothing classical today. I turn up Hendrix as loud as possible and start to pound clay, working so intensely that I don’t even notice when it turns dark outside.
Chapter Nine
Two days later, it’s December 24th, and I leave the house with a list of last minute errands as long as my arm.
My arm. Shit, I can’t believe I let Grayson see my bruise. I was so humiliated. Thank God I left so quickly. But what he said about taking more pictures and having talent…I can’t help but smile.
I wipe everything from my mind because I have a million other things to focus on
today.
My first stop is across the river in Catskill, to pick up the centerpiece for my mom’s Christmas table.
Walking into the flower shop I’m inundated with the most fragrant scents, ranging from freshly cut pine to bouquets of roses in every color.
Suddenly a pair of small arms envelops me from behind. “Hola, Miss Lily!”
I turn around and look down to see Esperanza Rojas’s soft brown eyes staring back at me.
“Esperanza, my goodness! What are you doing here?”
She beams back at me with pride. “Mami works here sometimes to help out our neighbor.”
“Querida, let go of Miss Lily,” a voice gently admonishes her
When I turn around, Mrs. Rojas is standing behind the counter, holding a poinsettia in her hands.
“My neighbor owns the store, so I always help her out during the holidays. Let me get your order for you from the back. It’s all ready to go.”
“It’s totally fine, Mrs. Rojas. Esperanza can keep me company.”
I turn my attention back to Esperanza, who’s now biting her lower lip with a worried look on her face.
I touch her shoulder. “What is it, sweetheart?”
She looks down at the floor before reverting her focus back to me. “Thank you for being nice to Mami. She told me about the party.”
My heart warms at her gratitude. “Of course. I like your mother very much. She’s a very nice lady.”
The little girl nods her vigorously. “Yes, she is. But she says your boyfriend wasn’t very nice. She said he was very mean to you.”
My heart rate starts to increase, pounding inside my chest.
Got to love how kids have zero filter.
I swallow and gently squeeze her shoulder to reassure her. “Esperanza, it’s okay. He was just very stressed and said some things he shouldn’t have. I’m really fine. It was nothing.”
Her brown eyes narrow at me, roaming over my face as if she’s checking for any sign that I’m not being truthful. “Okay, miss. If you say so.”
At that moment, Mrs. Rojas appears from the back carrying my order, a small bouquet of red roses with a white candle sticking up in the center. “That’s lovely,” I exclaim.