As Luke woke, his first thought was he didn’t have to go to school that morning. Then he smiled at what smelled like turkey roasting. Then he frowned; Mr. Doe didn’t seem to like anything connected with poultry. Good thing there would be a lot of other food for him to eat.
Ten minutes later Luke was dressed, seated at the table, having breakfast as his parents bustled about the kitchen, Walt with a cup of coffee in his hand while Luke’s mother stirred something in a big bowl. Baked beans, Luke assumed; would Mr. Doe eat those? He wanted to ask, but his folks wouldn’t know any more than Luke did. “Can I go see if Mr. Doe’s awake?” Luke asked, his mouth half-full.
Walt turned around, sipped from his cup, then gazed at the clock. “Pretty early still. You let him sleep as long as he can.”
Luke nodded. Sleep seemed to work wonders for their guest, although Mr. Doe still couldn’t speak, nor did he know who he was. His arm was better, in that the nasty smell from the wound was gone, and while Mr. Doe couldn’t move his arm up or down, he could bend his wrist. Walt had decided against calling the doctor, what Luke had overheard his parents speak about last night. Luke understood their hesitation; while they knew he hadn’t shot Mr. Doe, they weren’t so sure about Hiram. Luke thought they were being kind to Hiram, but then Luke had been there, and nobody had been around. If Hiram had shot Mr. Doe, it had been after they split up from Mr. McKinney’s barn. But Hiram would have had to go back for the gun and…. Luke looked up, seeing both of his parents staring at him. “What?” Luke said.
“Go see if he’s awake. Until he can make some noise, we’ll have to check on him. And if you wake him up, well then we’ll see how he’s doing.”
Walt’s tone had been flat and Luke stood, not asking questions. Leaving the house, he was grateful for something to do. He didn’t like considering last Friday, but didn’t think those memories would fade for a long time.
As Luke headed down the steps, Walt took a deep breath. He exhaled, finished his coffee, setting the cup on the table. Then he embraced his wife. “Not sure what we’re gonna do next,” he whispered. “Kids aren’t gonna keep this quiet much longer.”
Dora nodded, gripping Walt tightly. “Thank goodness he was sleeping when Susie brought the pie.” Dora released her husband, then glanced at the counter where that pie waited. “You never said if Callie asked you….”
Walt smiled, then caressed her cheek. “He didn’t say nothing. Gave me a look, that was about it.” Walt sighed. “If he knew who he was, at least we’d have some idea of what do to with him. I checked him out pretty well last night, no bumps on his head. Other than that shoulder, he looked okay, a little jaundiced still….” There was something strange about the man’s skin beyond that yellow tint. It felt soft in places, prickly in others. Walt had noticed it when he gave the man the sponge bath, but last night, inspecting that shoulder, the light had been poor. Today, Walt would be home, and he’d give that man a proper once-over, maybe another bath, depending on how the shoulder looked. But there was still the issue of what to do with him. It was as though the man had been abandoned at the lake, no clothes, no possessions, and no memory. Walt had never met someone with amnesia, although a few fellows in Korea had acted like they’d lost all their wits. That was from shell-shock, but what had happened to the man in the Richardsons’ shed?
“Daddy, Daddy!” Luke’s voice was soft but urgent, his footsteps making the most noise as he entered the house. “Mr. Doe’s awake, sitting on the bed!”
Walt ran from the kitchen, sprinted down the front steps, then raced around the house. Reaching the shed, he found the man gripping the side of what constituted a bed with his left hand. His right arm was strapped to his side, but it appeared he was trying to grasp the blankets with his right hand. The men stared at each other; Mr. Doe wore some of Walt’s old clothes, although the shirt and trousers were much too big on him. Walt knelt beside him, then steadied the man’s trembling right hand. “What’n the world are you doing?” Walt said gently. “Need to take a leak?”
Mr. Doe nodded.
“Luke, bring me that jug.” Walt motioned to floor near the foot of the bed. “Musta put it too far for you to reach. Here.” Walt handed the jug to the man. “Luke, go tell your mother to make up a plate for Mr. Doe. Just some toast for now.”
“Yes sir.”
Once Luke was gone, Walt helped the man relieve himself. Walt gazed at the urine; it was still streaked with red, but was mostly yellow. “Looks better than yesterday,” Walt said, getting to his feet, putting the jug on the ground. “Gonna hafta figure out some way of communicating until I trust you’re not gonna fall on your backside sitting up.” Gazing around the shed, Walt saw a small wrench. He brought it to the man. “Ain’t too heavy, but if you rap on the seat here….” Walt placed an old metal chair next to the bed. “Here, you try.”
Mr. Doe gave the chair a couple of whaps. The noise resounded within the shed. Walt wondered if Luke and Dora had heard it. “I’ll be right back,” he told the man.
Walt got as far as the porch when Luke met him. “What was that noise?” Luke said.
“How Mr. Doe’s gonna ask for something when he needs it.” Walt explained, and Luke smiled. “Toast about ready?”
“Oh, lemme go see.” Luke stepped back into the house as Walt waited. The morning was cool but pretty, a golden sky to the east with pink rising around it. By now Walt would be inside the garage, a helmet over his head protecting him from sparks but shielding him from all else. Rare were the times he enjoyed the sunrise or the sunset. He inhaled deeply, giving thanks for this view and for the woman who stepped onto the porch, a plate of toast in her hand.
“Here,” Dora said. “You think he wants any coffee?”
“Doubt it, but I’ll ask.” Walt smiled at her, then pointed to the horizon. “Pretty, ain’t it?”
She gazed up, then gripped her upper limbs. “Yeah, it is.”
Her tone was melancholy and Walt joined her on the porch. “Dora, what?”
She met his eyes, tears falling from hers. “Go on before it gets cold. I’ll send Luke out in a minute, see if he wants some coffee.”
Dora stepped back into the house, wiping her face as she did so. Walt didn’t worry that her sorrow was connected to the baby. Another notion weighed heavily, but he didn’t share her feelings. Gripping the plate, he didn’t look at the sunrise again, taking swift steps toward the man in the shed.
From the living room French doors Lynne gazed at a similar sunrise, although it was less pink, more orange-yellow. Her heart ached, although she tried not to think about where Eric might be. Yet her dreams had been full of various moments from their past; when they met, finding this house, watching him paint hawk after hawk. Then her dreams had become awash in color as he created her portraits, from those of her using blue yarn to depicting her as a lush field and coral reef. Finally the dreams had appeared in sepia with faint flashes of brightness; the silk scarves at Christmas after his awful illness, the daffodils when Jane was born, a gold glittering chain that still displayed that cherished opal, tucked safely under her nightgown, further obscured by her robe. When she’d stirred that morning, Lynne had noticed a deep chill, although she was covered by blankets. Her prayers seemed to be falling on deaf ears, although she didn’t feel she was alone. God was requesting her faith, but unlike Christmas two years ago, Lynne was having a difficult time giving that trust. She shivered, then placed her hands on the glass panes. “Where are you?” she whispered, tears building in her eyes. She blinked them away, shaking her head at herself. “Why aren’t you home yet?”
Taking a deep breath, she placed her hands on the baby, who moved about slowly. Lynne gazed at her belly, the robe tied off above it. Would Eric be here when…. Lynne sighed, then wiped her face. As she turned around, Laurie was coming downstairs, Jane in his arms. Lynne smiled, then approached them. “I didn’t hear her.”
“She was just babbling.” Laurie kissed Jane’s cheek, making her laugh. “Happy Thanksgivi
ng,” he said.
“The same to you.” Lynne sighed, feeling little joy, although she was glad for Laurie’s company, and that Jane seemed in a good humor. Lynne turned back to the French doors, wishing to see Eric walking toward the house, or perhaps he was a bird swooping past. She would run from this room, waiting at the edge of the scrub, which now went well past the studio. But something within her knew a different day loomed ahead. “I need to start the pies,” she said absently. “Then we can head over to….”
She didn’t want to be here on this day, easily recalling the warm camaraderie of last year’s gathering, spent only with Eric, Jane, and their pastor. How simple yet complete that had seemed, but now Lynne ached for others. She faced Laurie, wondering how he felt, far away from his loved ones. “I’m sorry, I know this isn’t easy for you either.”
“But I know where Stan is.” Laurie sighed, then gripped her hand. “How long will pies take?”
“A couple of hours.” She patted his hand, then caressed Jane’s face. “I was thinking about making a sweet potato instead of pumpkin. And maybe a peach or….”
Yesterday she had baked an apple pie, hoping somehow that would usher in Eric’s return. Now she wanted to flee this house, and if pies made the journey, so be it. Then she sighed. “Sorry I’m so moody.” She gave a wan smile. “Let’s get some breakfast and….”
Laurie gripped her hand again, then cleared his throat. “No one expects you to do more than you can. Hell, right now, we’re all about at the breaking point. But I meant what I told Paul yesterday.” Laurie flashed a quick grin. “God is listening to us and I know he’s with Eric, wherever he is. He’ll come home Lynne, I know he will.”
“Yeah?”
Laurie nodded. “He gave me back my brother. Maybe Seth’s halfway around the world, but he’s whole, he’s healed. God wouldn’t give him back to my family and keep Eric from you.”
The conviction in Laurie’s voice was sincere and while Lynne wanted to cling to it, something held her back. This crisis of faith felt isolating and Lynne closed her eyes, trying to rekindle that flame. Then another memory came to mind. “Laurie, would you start a fire?”
“Sure.” He smiled, then glanced at Jane. “You want her?”
Lynne giggled. “Actually, take her to the kitchen. I’ll start breakfast, but if you could build a fire….” She gazed at the dark hearth, then at her daughter. “I know we won’t be here that long, but it’d make the living room warmer and….”
“Whatever makes the pregnant woman happy,” Laurie chuckled, heading to the kitchen.
Lynne followed, smiling at his accommodating tone. She then prayed for more faith, tracing the opal pendant under her nightgown.
Sam called as Lynne put a sweet potato pie in the oven. Laurie spoke to Sam, confirming they would come over once the second pie was done, the contents of which Laurie declined to say. Sam chuckled at the mystery, noting that the turkey was roasting, and there was no change on another front.
Laurie wanted to note a similar story, but it would embarrass Sam if Laurie mentioned Stan. Instead Laurie asked if Renee had gone to the hospital, to which Sam said yes, but he expected her back any time. Paul had accompanied her, not that Ritchie had taken a turn for the worse, but Paul had asked, and neither Sam nor Renee had the heart to tell him no. Laurie was touched by that child’s interest, then he closed the call as Jane needed attention. While Lynne prepared the second pie, Laurie entertained Jane, but he couldn’t get his mind from all that was happening, most of which Stan was ignorant of.
Taking Jane into the living room, Laurie set her near some toys, then he added wood to the fire. Lynne had been right, for even though they would be leaving relatively soon, the house felt homier with the pops and sparks, which seem to echo as if calling out to loved ones far away. Laurie did feel that Eric would be home, although when was elusive within his mind. Yet, that point didn’t worry Laurie, for as he’d said to Lynne, God had given Seth back to their family. That he was in Israel and not Brooklyn was simply a matter of logistics. Laurie imagined Seth had called his mother already, and while it wasn’t the same as if Seth was sharing that meal with the Gordon clan, it was the first time in how many years that Seth was in his right mind. So much tragedy had filled the last week, but Laurie clung to that blessing. Laurie had written a brief note to Seth yesterday, would mail it tomorrow. Laurie wanted to write something far more encompassing to Stanford, but for now he had to give Stan space. Maybe he wouldn’t try to reach out until Eric returned. Only then might Stan be willing to consider….
Jane’s laughter caught Laurie’s attention. He stared at her, she sounded like her father. Laurie walked to where she sat, surrounded by blocks and books and dolls. Kneeling beside her, he stroked her head. “He’ll come home, I know he will. I wish I could tell you and your mother when though.”
The toddler gazed at Laurie, her eyes wide, and so much like Sam’s that Laurie chuckled. “You don’t look a thing like him, but my God, you sound like him. Maybe you’ve got that same magic right here.” Laurie gently touched Jane’s right arm. “I always wondered how he did it, but I never imagined….” Now Laurie shivered. He sat beside Jane, taking her in his arms. “He’ll come home honey, I promise you that, but….”
Eric’s message in the sand pit flashed before Laurie’s eyes, which now sported tears in the corners. He shook his head; had Eric known the true meaning of those words, a weight that now bore down on Laurie’s shoulders as if Seth was again in the throes of depression. But it wasn’t fair, Laurie wanted to shout, not for Lynne or the girl in Laurie’s grasp or for…. Or for the man on the other side of the country, yet Laurie wasn’t thinking of Eric. If Stan ever accepted this, a steep price would have to be paid.
Laurie tried to reconcile these feelings, which tumbled inside his chest like sharp rocks. Was this due to his renewed belief in God butting against his previously secular self or was this…. He had felt so torn when Seth told him about Eric; maybe indelible truths were what philosophers spent their lives analyzing, but Laurie had never asked to deduce the world’s mysteries. He was an art dealer far from home, but as he looked up, finding Lynne’s tender gaze upon him, another identity was discovered, that of one initiated in a most exclusive club where the improbable was indeed most possible.
He knew Lynne wouldn’t join them on the floor, but she did pull up a chair, seating herself, then setting her hands on the baby. Her smile was a mix of emotions, similar to those within Laurie. She gazed at the fire, then caressed Jane’s head. “What’re you thinking about?” she asked.
“Oh my God, way too much.” He chuckled, trying to concentrate on all that was tangible. For some reason this was his reality, which made him laugh out loud. “I’m an art dealer, not some….” He almost said family man, but that might have hurt Lynne’s feelings. “What the hell am I doing here?”
Lynne smiled, but didn’t meet Laurie’s gaze. She continued to stare at the fire, taking deep breaths. Then she spoke. “One night when he was gone in 1960, I went upstairs, he was storing all his paintings in one room. There was one of a fire and Laurie, I swear to you it put off heat.” She stared at Laurie, nodding her head. “Renee and Sam noticed the same about it, maybe it’s just us,” she giggled. Then she patted the baby. “The last week has been so hard, and so long. My goodness, I feel like December’s never gonna get here. Maybe we’ll still be waiting for him, and maybe you’ll still be here, but that’s, well, it’s….”
“God’s will?” Laurie said, raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah,” she smiled, but she sighed afterwards. “It’s funny, because sometimes I feel like I could wait forever for him, but lately I just feel like every day is forever. And sometimes I consider how maybe we’ll never know. Maybe he won’t come back and we’d have no idea if he was….” She paused, but didn’t cry. Then she stared at Laurie. “He’s real, I know that, but maybe he was only for this.”
She pointed to Jane, then glanced at the baby, giving another
resigned sigh. Laurie trembled, then went to his knees, moving toward her. “Lynne, as God as my witness, I know he’ll be back.”
Laurie knew that like he knew his name, although Eric’s physical condition wasn’t certain. “I wasn’t gonna tell you this, but right before I left Miami, Eric came to see me at Uncle Mickey’s.” Laurie explained the circumstances of that encounter, then he paused. That message was so cryptic, was it right to share it with this woman? Laurie stroked Lynne’s face, then placed his hand on the baby. Then he sighed. “He left me a message in a sand pit, and basically it was a warning. I’ve been assuming it was about me and Stan but now….”
Lynne placed her hands atop Laurie’s. “Do you really think he’ll come back?”
“I swear to you Lynne, I know he’s gonna come home.”
As Laurie spoke, a dam burst within Lynne as if a river of fear poured from her eyes. Jane looked up and as Laurie tried to comfort one bawling woman, he set a hand upon an inquisitive child. Yet, Jane didn’t join in her mother’s tears. She stood, then leaned against Laurie like a pillar of support while Lynne continued to wail. Laurie crooned it was okay as flames popped in the background, the fire’s warmth a healing balm Laurie wished to send eastward for two men. He began to recite Psalm 100, how he remembered his dad used to say it, snatches of verse murmured in between bites taken from his mother and aunt’s cakes. Laurie chuckled while he spoke, like his father stood beside him, acting as a prompt. As Lynne calmed, Jane left Laurie’s side, stopping in front of her mother. Laurie watched as the Snyder women made eye contact. Then Lynne nodded, first at her daughter, then at Laurie. The fire crackled then hissed. “Shall I add more wood,” Laurie said softly.
Lynne shook her head. “No, it can die out now. I just needed….” Her voice trembled, then she took a deep breath, exhaling as she picked up Jane, placing her on what remained of her lap. “Thank you Laurie, so much.”
He smiled, then patted her leg. “I think I will call Stan before we go. He probably won’t be home, but….”
“You could try him at Michael’s,” Lynne said, clearing her throat afterwards.
“Indeed I could. Maybe that’s what I’ll do.” Slowly Laurie stood from the floor. “But first I have to call my mother. I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t.” He laughed, then squeezed Lynne’s shoulders. “Should I check the pie first?”
“I’ll be in there in a minute. Give her my best.”
“Will do.” Laurie kissed the top of Lynne’s head, then went into the kitchen, where the fragrance of sweet potatoes made his stomach rumble. He wouldn’t say more than Happy Thanksgiving to his mom, but when he saw her next perhaps he would relate some of that morning’s revelations. The Abrams weren’t overtly religious, but faith wove deeply through their family, connected by good food and better memories, he smiled, as Lynne checked the pie, a delicious scent wafting into the room.
Chapter 166
The Hawk: Part Nine Page 9