Over the following week, Eric enjoyed several straight nights of sleep. He started painting a portrait of Agatha, her sister Belle, and Lynne, all standing in Agatha’s kitchen. He replied to the rest of the letters that had arrived during his absence, then started answering those that had accumulated since the Snyders returned from New York. When Jane came down with a cold in mid-June, Eric’s sleep suffered, but that was solely related to placating a cranky toddler. Lynne and Eric took turns, but Eric preferred his wife to rest. She was over the bulk of morning sickness, but remained easily upset, although her tears rarely lasted for more than minutes. They joked that perhaps they were having a boy this time, yet Eric felt this baby was another daughter, and he kept that joy to himself.
He did chat more with Marek after church or when that man came for dinner. Eric and his pastor discussed general topics at St. Matthew’s, but at the Snyders’ home, once Lynne had taken Jane inside for the evening, the men’s conversation drifted from the present to the past. Eric relayed much of his childhood while Marek recounted his own youth, two very different courses, they noted. Yet just as Eric was honing his talent for art, Marek was being drawn into a religious life. By the time Eric had met Lynne, Marek was a pastor, aching to leave Soviet-led Poland.
Sometimes their discussions extended to those around them; Eric had yet to start the painting of Sam and his car, a phrase that always elicited a laugh from the pastor. Marek still endured harassment from Mrs. Harmon, although lately she’d been kinder to him, the reason for which Marek wasn’t certain. Perhaps summer calmed her mood, he smiled. Eric mentioned that his art dealer was coming in July and Marek inquired if Laurie Abrams was joining him. Eric gave pause when Marek included Laurie, then smiled, answering that indeed it would a twosome. Marek never asked why and Eric only added that Laurie preferred going west at this time of year rather than making a sojourn to Florida to visit his cousin. Seth had yet to return to New York, and neither Eric nor Lynne knew any more than what Laurie had been told, that Seth enjoyed life in Miami and had no idea when he’d go home to Brooklyn.
On the sixteenth, a Sunday, Eric and Lynne decided against going to St. Matthew’s. Jane still had the sniffles and Lynne was tired. Sam had asked them over for dinner and Eric even cancelled that date. When Jane fell asleep right after lunch, Lynne also laid down, leaving a husband and father with time on his hands. Eric wandered through the garden, vegetables growing well, but a little behind schedule. Eric weeded, then stood, brushing dirt from his knees. Then he gazed at the studio, the sun making glass panes sparkle like a siren. He smiled, heading that way.
The door wasn’t locked and Eric stepped inside, some completed canvases on easels, stacks of blank canvases along the walls. The large one waited in the back and Eric approached it, imagining the painting already displayed upon it. Sam would be leaning against the driver’s door, his arms probably crossed. Eric would leave the pose to Sam’s choosing, but he assumed Sam would set a shield over his chest, as if telling Eric that while this painting had been Sam’s idea, it was also a trade-off. Yet the Aherns hadn’t spoken to either Snyder about adopting a child. Renee visited often and held Jane at every opportunity. But that was as far as Renee could go. Eric didn’t mind, it was fantastic to have the Aherns back in his, Lynne, and Jane’s lives. If children were meant to follow, Eric knew they eventually would.
He studied the blank canvas, such a wide scope, but he did wish to depict the entire length of the Chevy. The only question Eric still pondered was how he would fashion Sam’s face, or more precisely, that man’s smile. Or lack of one; Eric wasn’t at all sure which expression Sam would proffer. Eric half expected a slight grimace, but then Sam would later be hounded by his relatives as to why he hadn’t projected a happier countenance. It would be the same when Eric painted Stanford, although no one would harass him if he didn’t grin. Well, Laurie would, and Eric chuckled. Laurie would wear the biggest smile he owned while Stanford would do little more than smirk.
Eric hadn’t mentioned to Marek that he was planning to sketch that duo in July; to say that would imply far more than was Eric’s right to bestow. Yet Marek seemed to comprehend the gist of the men’s relationship, why else would he have inquired if Laurie would be joining Stanford? Eric had been honest, that indeed Laurie would prefer to fly west rather than travel south. As far as Eric knew, Seth was doing well in Florida. But maybe Laurie was keeping the truth from the Snyders, or perhaps Seth was as good of a liar as Lynne.
That thought made Eric shudder, then he shrugged. Lynne had gone above and beyond the call when it came to keeping Eric’s secret. He rarely considered all the excuses she had once made on his behalf, and while those in town who mattered were aware, others remained with whom she might have to again stretch the truth. Yet Stanford had never called Eric on his previous absences, and as for the Canfields, it wasn’t like Lynne and Fran were constantly visiting one another. Still, it might be awkward, then Eric shook his head. This was all conjecture on his part. He’d had no physical inkling leading him to believe a departure was imminent. Yet why couldn’t he get it from his head?
At least he was sleeping better; he slept when Jane did, although not during the day. But he felt well rested, which was good because Lynne required slumber, which made Eric smile. If he went inside now, there was still plenty of time for Jane to nap while parents enjoyed some carnal pleasures. But Eric didn’t leave the studio, for Lynne had looked especially tired that morning. Better for her to get all forty of those winks, then perhaps that evening they could make love.
Eric turned to face her portrait, displayed on the other side of the room. That canvas was also large, but not as big as the one saved for Sam. Lynne was asleep on the chaise lounge, her breasts exposed, also concealed by her hair, which she hadn’t cut since their return. Her nipples peeked through brown strands, how she had fallen asleep after Eric had made love to her there in the sunroom a few weeks back before Jane fell ill, but right after Eric and his pastor had spoken about a woman still deeply entwined within Marek’s heart. Klaudia Lisowski might not even be alive, but if she was, Eric wished that somewhere on the European continent she had access to The Pastor and His Charge. He knew it was a fleeting hope; his paintings weren’t anywhere close to Poland. And in all likelihood, she was…. Eric closed his eyes, thinking back to how Marek had first spoken her name, like he was breathing life into a faded dream. She was probably deceased; most likely the Nazis had returned to Marek’s village, hauling everyone to a labor camp. She was the same age as Marek, or had been, and while they had known each other all their lives, only in that last year had more than friendship evolved. Marek had spoken plainly about her, yet his tone was measured, that of a man in his mid-thirties recalling what wasn’t more than an adolescence crush. Except that Eric had heard far more in Marek’s voice similarly to how Eric had deduced great loss in Marek’s otherwise cheery brown eyes.
How Marek Jagucki had maintained his sanity, Eric never questioned, for he had managed the same. Perhaps their situations had been wholly different, but the underlying horrors suffered either made or broke a person. Eric could stand there and admire his wife’s beauty, which he had placed one stroke at a time upon that canvas; how was that possible after all his father had done to him and to Eric’s mother? Equally, how could Marek seek the good in people, considering the appalling loss of his entire family?
Eric felt like painting, but not a picture of Lynne. He ached to create another impressionistic piece, about the only method he could employ to begin to make sense of such an abstract query. But the studio’s interior was warm and the women in his life had been sleeping for a good portion of the afternoon. Even if he started a painting, it would be the sort needing his undivided attention. And his attention was not merely focused upon art; he had so much on his mind that art was merely one way to start unraveling myriad questions in which most held no satisfactory answers.
Turning back to the painting of Lynne, Eric felt overtaken by passion, then h
e smiled at himself. Then his thoughts grew proprietary, how he’d felt about her when she had carried Jane. Yet his wife wasn’t that woman anymore, motherhood maturing her in a way that Eric noted within this recent portrait. She looked perfectly at ease without any upper clothing, but not because her hair hung loosely over her chest. This was a woman seasoned and unafraid of the future. She was similar to the figure Seth had carved, yet she wasn’t beseeching assistance. In this painting, Lynne was perfectly content, which was how Eric perceived her, regardless of her few bouts of weepiness. Those were strictly hormonal reactions to this particular pregnancy, and might not be at all related to whether or not she was carrying a boy. Eric studied his wife’s fulfilled smile, how relaxed she seemed, and yet how solitary was her pose. Solitary wasn’t right, he mused, for her left hand clutched her abdomen, denoting the baby. But she looked perfectly happy by herself. Eric remembered how often she had glanced at him and how he’d had to remind her to stay still. She had laughed as if having never posed for him at all, yet she always returned to this same comfortable mood.
However something about her face troubled Eric. He examined the hue of her eyes, which was correct, then he gazed at her nipples, a deep red wine color, which had surprised Eric as the months passed, how that part of her body had permanently altered. Before her nipples had been pink, then he smiled. She wasn’t that woman anymore.
But who was she, he then thought, again returning to the painting. She seemed far more wise than who she’d been when perched upon that stool, her arms outstretched, her breasts completely visible. She didn’t need to be so unabashed, although attire wasn’t required. Eric hadn’t chosen to portray her as vulnerable; even when caught in a moment’s sorrow, she acted as if she could withstand a firestorm. And that thought made Eric shake in his shoes.
Hearing Marek talk about what had happened to his family had chilled Eric; it was one thing for the painter to have discerned such an atrocity, but to have the words spoken regarding it was as odd as Eric discussing his past or turning into a bird of prey. Those events couldn’t be real, yet they were, and neither man had a corner on the market when it came to suffering. But what of the women that had been left behind? Lynne had always coped without her husband, yet most of those times had been brief. Still she lied for him time and again, then had managed to convince Renee, although Sam had needed proof. But now if Eric went away, there was Jane to consider and another child and…. As Eric glanced at her portrait, he understood why Lynne looked so contented. She knew that no matter what, her life and those whom she loved were under the care of someone far greater than she.
For a moment, Eric felt unnecessary. Then he sighed, relieved that even if he left, Lynne would be all right. He hated thinking about missing any part of this pregnancy, and perhaps he was wasting precious time mulling over the notion. But within his heart, he knew Lynne would find a way, like she always had before, of smoothing rough edges created by his absences. Granted, with their three closest friends aware, it was easier than previously. And Jane was too little to need verbal assurances, although Eric knew Lynne would provide those promises, probably more for Lynne’s heart than Jane’s need. It would be Eric to suffer most, going off to God knows where for whatever reason necessary. Then Eric sighed long and loud. The tables had indeed turned; no longer was Lynne the one left alone.
He gazed at her smile, not the same one she had sported when seated upon the stool. The mystery of this grin went far deeper, not completely connected to the baby inside her. It was bound up in her faith, which was a mere flicker when she was this far along with Jane. And it was related to an idea that Eric hadn’t realized when painting this portrait, but that now felt like a slap along his face. If the worst happened, Lynne would be all right. She would mourn him of course, but now her soul was bolstered by a force more powerful than Eric’s position as her husband. He inhaled that idea, then exhaled, trying to not grow resentful. How many years had she been reticent about posing for him, believing that their infertility was her problem, and all the weeks she spent living without him while Sam thought she was crazy? Then came another long period of solitude, followed by yet again weeks of seclusion, although she was never fully isolated. Each of those had fashioned within her a necessary strength, as well as highlighting a weakness only answered by faith. Those checks and balances were culminated in the image Eric had set onto canvas, like he’d never seen this woman before.
Before…. He ached at that word, but not for what his wife had suffered. Before now fell upon his shoulders as if even this moment was slipping from his grasp, turning into a time he would never get back. But that was the nature of time; it ticked away and best to relish the present. That was how Lynne always approached his homecomings; yes she had lamented his absence, but when he returned, all that pain was forgotten. They had only spoken about it in depth right before he went searching for his father. And then everything changed, which was so starkly pictured in this version of Eric’s wife. If he had painted her in their ancient past, he imagined those portraits would look nothing like the woman she was now.
Did she still need him? He shook his head, of course she did. But perhaps part of her heart had altered, especially with another baby on the way, taking space previously allotted for her husband. Or maybe Eric was being ridiculous. He stepped away from the painting, then gazed at the rest gathered, Lynne with Agatha and Belle. Lynne’s smile was fetching; she was pregnant, but they weren’t yet aware. Eric ached to pull her close, telling her how important she was to him. Then he glanced back at the semi-nude. That woman didn’t seem to need him at all.
He knew that wasn’t true, but why had he depicted her in such a way? He then knew why, but loathed to expend more thought toward such a notion. As he exited the studio, he stared at the house, his bedroom window open, the curtain fluttering against the screen. Lynne was awake, was probably waiting for him. Eric quickly walked along the path, not thinking about more than the woman upstairs.
The couple made love, then Eric collected Jane from her crib. The trio lounged together on the master bed until the telephone rang. Eric headed to the kitchen, picking up the receiver, but the caller had hung up. He lingered for a couple of minutes, but whoever had tried to call didn’t attempt it again.
When Eric returned upstairs, he found his wife and daughter in the nursery; Jane wore a fresh diaper and Lynne chatted to the baby, still lying on the changing table. Eric said nothing, only wishing to listen to voices which filled him with complete happiness. Then the phone rang again. He barely had time to catch Lynne’s gaze, then he ran downstairs, picking up the receiver. “Hello?” he said breathlessly.
“Eric? Oh I’m sorry, didn’t mean to make you rush.” Stanford spoke softly, then cleared his throat. “I tried a few minutes ago, was hoping to catch you.”
“I’d just missed it.” Eric gripped the receiver. “Is everything all right?”
The long pause made Eric grit his teeth. Then Stanford coughed. “Um, no. Laurie’s on a plane for Miami. We didn’t want to tell you until we knew exactly what was going on, and while we’re still not a hundred percent certain, Laurie insisted that I get in touch with you, and Lynne of course. As you can guess, he’s on his way to see Seth.”
Eric nodded, then closed his eyes. When he opened them, he wished Lynne was close, but he hadn’t heard her come downstairs. “What’s happened Stan?”
Stanford took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “He’s in a hospital down there, we’re not even sure if it’s a psychiatric hospital. To be perfectly honest, it’s been like pulling teeth to get anything out of those people, I swear to God.” Then Stanford coughed again. “Only last night did Laurie learn that Seth was admitted. He’s going down alone, but Wilma will probably join him in a few days. I think she wants Laurie to assess just what’s happened before making the trip.”
As Stanford finished speaking, Eric heard footsteps approaching. Lynne entered the kitchen toting Jane, but Eric couldn’t meet his wife’s gaze.
He stared at the tin on the counter, half of a sweet potato pie left from a couple of days ago. Suddenly Eric was starving; as soon as he got off the phone, he’d have a large slice, maybe Jane would share it with him. Then Eric began to tremble. He closed his eyes again, praying that Seth had only suffered broken bones. But Eric knew a far worse malady had gripped that man. If Seth had merely been physically injured, his family would have been notified immediately. But what ailed Seth had little to do with bodily trauma.
Lynne set her hand on Eric’s shoulder, which eased his shaking. Then she brought a chair to where he stood. Eric was hesitant to sit, but he did, still gripping the receiver. “Stanford, when will Laurie arrive in Miami?”
“Not until late tonight. He wasn’t able to get a direct flight, he’s got a layover in Charlotte, I think it’s Charlotte.” Stanford paused and Eric heard the shuffling of papers. Then Stanford coughed again. “Yes, he’s in North Carolina for a couple of hours. As soon as I know something concrete, I’ll be in touch.”
Eric nodded, then grasped Lynne’s hand, squeezing hard. “Stan, have him call me tonight. I’ll still be up, tell him to call collect once he knows anything.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I know he’ll have plenty of people to inform, but if he has time, I mean, he’ll be exhausted too. But if he can….”
“He will, that’s why I’m calling you now. He told me to tell you he was heading down there, I think so that you had a heads-up. But Eric, it might be very late and….”
“I’ve got three hours on you. It won’t be too late.”
“All right, if you’re certain, then I’ll tell him. I don’t think he was planning to talk to Rose or Wilma tonight. But I think he’ll be relieved to speak to you.”
Eric nodded again, then stood. Lynne was beside him and she put her arm around him. “All right, then I’ll wait to hear from him tonight. And Stan, please don’t hesitate to call us with any news, regardless of the hour.”
“Oh, well, certainly. Again, I do apologize for calling, I mean….”
Eric heard sniffles, but they weren’t from his daughter. Stanford again cleared his throat, then he sighed. “Eric, Laurie did want me to ask if you and Lynne, well, if you’d keep Seth in your prayers.”
“Oh of course. Do you think Laurie would mind if we shared this with Sam?”
“No, I don’t think he’d mind that.” Stanford again coughed, then returned to the line. “All right, well, Laurie will be speaking to you next. I have no idea how long he’ll be down there. At this point we’re just taking things moment by moment.”
“I see, okay. Well, again tell Laurie to call, no matter how late it is, unless he’s just too tired.” Eric gripped Lynne’s waist with his free hand, then stared at his daughter. Jane’s blue eyes were wide, like she comprehended the gravity of Stanford’s call.
Then Eric gazed at his wife; Lynne’s eyes were calm. She tickled the baby, bring Jane to a smile. As Jane began to giggle, Eric ended the call. He brought his family close, rousing Jane’s laughter. Eric whispered that he loved his wife, then that he’d be up late that night. Lynne said nothing while stroking his face, then nodding her head.
Chapter 115
The Hawk: Part Six Page 17