As Laurie set empty plates into the sink, Stanford gazed around the kitchen; rare were the times they ate dinner in this room. Agatha was off that day and Laurie had brought home Chinese take-out, which itself was a treat, but Stanford wondered if Laurie had planned this evening for only the two of them. All week he’d been quiet, and while Stanford had wanted to press, his own engagements had taken precedence. They certainly wouldn’t speak about Seth around Agatha, or not to the depth that Stanford felt Laurie was building up to.
Stanford also wondered if this awkwardness was at all due to them not attending the Snyders’ church in a week; Eric’s latest letter assured Stanford that Jane was over her brief bout of colic, seems she had simply missed her Aunt Renee and Uncle Sam. Stanford hadn’t read between the lines, but had been surprised by his slight sense of envy, or maybe it was the knowledge that while he and Laurie were also considered Jane’s uncles, Sam and Renee were her godparents. Lynne sent snapshots of the baby to Laurie, which he had affixed to the refrigerator, much to Agatha’s joy. She thought Jane looked like her mother, but those blue eyes, Agatha asked, from where had Jane inherited them? From Sam Ahern, Laurie had laughed, making Stanford roll his eyes, then again note that twinge of…. It was envy, plain and simple, and it bothered Stanford, who had never felt overt affection toward his sisters’ children. Maybe he was getting soft in his middle age, or maybe it was related to his ailing mother, whom he visited once a week, but it was no different than seeing her at the family home except it was now easier on Stanford. She didn’t seem out of place, surrounded by other infirm elderly people, many with the same issues. Every time Stanford left the nursing home, he ached for the relative peace of the Snyder compound, as he’d begun to think of it since Eric first wrote that Jane had laid a siege on her unsuspecting parents.
Yet now those tantrums were a memory, although Eric wouldn’t be surprised if her temper flared occasionally. But she was calm and happy, awaiting her Uncle Stanford, and hoping for her Uncle Laurie, next month. Laurie was planning on making the journey, with a side trip to Minneapolis on the way back. Laurie had just returned from Minnesota, one reason for his subdued mood. The other was what he had yet to share with Stanford.
Laurie returned to the table, taking the seat beside Stanford. He gripped Laurie’s hand, glad that Agatha was gone, relishing the stillness, or just that without her presence, there was no pretense. For over a decade, since she had been in Stanford’s service, she had never witnessed any affection between the men, but now Stanford ached to be more open. The Snyders and the Aherns knew, and while Stanford wouldn’t be explicit around them, why was he still reticent about even holding Laurie’s hand? This was their apartment, it was 1962. A Catholic ran the country for God’s sake. Then Stanford laughed, squeezing Laurie’s fingers with force.
“What Stan?” Laurie smiled.
“I love you.”
Laurie chuckled, then kissed the back of Stanford’s hand. “I love you too. Nice to have it just us.”
“We never do this around her, I mean….” Stanford sighed, then cracked a smile. “If I held your hand when she was around, would you mind?”
Laurie gaped at Stanford, then shook his head. “Oh well sir, I just don’t know. What will Miss Agatha think?”
“Good God,” Stanford sighed, taking back his hand.
Now Laurie laughed. “Actually Stan, I dare you. Maybe she thinks after all this time we’re still virgins.”
Stanford rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ. I try to make an honest statement and….”
“There I go, screwing it up.” Laurie clasped his hands, setting them on the table. “No, you’re right. We’re grown men and….”
Stanford glared at him. “I’m not going to talk about this anymore.” He stood, but Laurie reached out for him. Stanford stared at Laurie, who motioned for Stanford to return to his seat.
“I didn’t mean to be flippant.” Laurie sighed. “You’re right. But that’s not what we really need to talk about.”
Stanford shook his head, slowly reaching for Laurie’s folded hands. He grasped them, then nodded. “How was he?”
Laurie took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “He’s better, and I can’t say he’s not, because he smiles and doesn’t talk about killing himself. But something’s not right. Or maybe I’m judging him too harshly. He’s not the man I knew, and maybe he can never be that person again. But whoever he is now isn’t correct either.”
Laurie stood, then leaned against the counter. “He’s forgotten whatever brought him there. Now maybe that’s the result of the shock therapy, which we knew was a possibility. But it’s also a handy excuse. Seth underwent serious mental treatment and has come out of it a different person. But there’s just something that doesn’t add up. Dr. Tasker thinks he’s much improved, and he is, but damnit Stan, it’s like his soul’s missing. Maybe Mom and Aunt Wilma were right. We lost him anyway and it’s all shock therapy’s fault.”
Stanford stood, then approached Laurie. “What are you saying; is he better or not?”
“He’s….” Laurie shrugged. “According to Dr. Tasker, he’s made impressive gains. He’s communicative, no longer harboring suicidal tendencies, he’s even expressed an interest in sculpting.”
“But?”
“But I talked to him for a long time and he can’t fool me. I remember when Aunt Wilma came home from the hospital with him. Mom says that’s impossible, I was just three, but I remember it Stan, because there was my, my….” Laurie fought tears. “My little brother. Finally I had a brother, I remember feeling that like it was yesterday. And just days ago I sat across from him and he wasn’t that man anymore. Even when he was so depressed and despondent, I knew who he was inside; he was still Seth, even if he was a million miles away. But now he’s not. And what scares me is that he knows it. He can’t lie to me, he never could. He sat across from me, pretending. He was faking it Stan, although to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure he realizes it. He thinks he’s okay because whatever took him to Korea got fried outta his head. That’s the real issue, something made him think he had to go over there, and whatever it was nearly destroyed him when he came back. And now it’s gone, or it’s temporarily forgotten. Or he’s hoping to God they burned it out of him because whatever it was was so painful, no way in hell could he have come home with it and stayed sane.”
Stanford wasn’t struck so much by Laurie’s words, but his plaintive tone. “Well,” Stanford started, but he wasn’t sure how to continue. If Laurie was right, and who was to argue that he wasn’t, all that Caffey-Miller had bought Seth was time. But maybe no facility could have done any better. “What happens now?”
“He’s gonna be there a while, intensive one-on-one therapy, which I think will be utterly useless. They’ll think they’ve cured him, because now he talks to them, interacts with others. Hell, if he does start sculpting, then they’ll really think all’s fine and good. Then they’ll send him home. Aunt Wilma and Mom and everybody else’ll be thrilled, for a while.” Laurie sighed heavily. “Then he’ll do or say something and we’ll be right back where we started. But Stan, this time, this time….”
“What?”
Laurie caressed Stanford’s face. “Then I just don’t know. Because everyone’s gonna think, well, if the best docs and shock therapy couldn’t cure him, what’s left? Mom and Aunt Wilma will throw a fit, saying all shock treatment did was ruin him, and they’ll lock him up, and he’ll be, he’ll be….” Laurie wiped the tears falling down Stanford’s cheeks. “We’ll be wishing he’d died with Larry and Josh in goddamned Korea, that’s what. Because if he has to be permanently institutionalized….”
Now Laurie wept, but Stanford gripped him, unable to hear anymore. It was easier seeing his mother at the facility, for she was even less of his mom, but now Stanford’s guard fell. Both men cried for those they loved over whom they were helpless, with no apparent cures in sight.
They agreed not to tell the Snyders or Aherns, for at this poin
t, this was solely Laurie’s supposition. He wouldn’t even mention it to his mother and aunt, when all Laurie had were gut feelings. But Stanford trusted those internal reactions, for he knew Laurie better than anyone. Laurie wasn’t religious, but there was something about him that Stanford had been attracted to, beyond his stunning looks and charismatic personality. Laurie possessed an innate ability to probe beyond what most people permitted to be seen, why he was such a good art dealer, managing some very fickle sculptors. Stanford wrote to Eric, wishing him and Lynne the best at their baptisms, which made Stanford furrow his brow as he scribbled those words. Then he permitted that perhaps some people had a need for faith, or that they could more easily discern what lay underneath. Eric Snyder certainly had that gift as a painter, and Lynne seemed equally talented in her own way.
By the time the letter reached the Snyders, Eric and Lynne were preparing for that special Sunday, although other than answering questions posed by Pastor Jagucki, there was little for them to do. Now that Jane was back to her good-humored self, parents weren’t doing more than catering to her needs, and for a mother and daughter, posing for the artist-in-residence. While contractors bustled about, Eric captured those women in the sunroom, and had the joy of including Renee in a few sittings. Eric thought Renee’s shorter tresses were beautiful, but something rested in her stoplight eyes, a small sorrow as well as a great joy. If Eric didn’t know any better, he thought perhaps she was pregnant, but he kept quiet, painting portraits of a mother, godmother, and Jane as objectively as possible.
On Saturday afternoon, while hammers and saws buzzed outside, Eric put the finishing touches on the canvas, his wife, daughter, and a godmother in the kitchen, making their own sort of hum. Sam would be around for dinner, Renee had said, but neither Snyder asked to his whereabouts. He was with the Canfields, Eric and Lynne assumed, where Fran was still on bed rest, the twins’ condition precarious. Eric didn’t inquire as to why Renee wasn’t with him, or why Sam spent so much time there, what with his large family, and Louie’s, available to assist. After Eric signed his name in the lower left corner of the portrait, he gazed at Renee’s shrouded eyes. The way he’d depicted them reminded him of how he’d portrayed Lynne when she first agreed to pose for him. That had been two years ago, then he’d left for months and…. Eric smiled, flexing his left ankle, hearing his daughter’s giggles. That sound was like magic, and not only because for a month it had slipped from his hearing. Eric couldn’t mourn that long sojourn, or what pain it had caused his wife, who now headed his way. “Are you finally done?” Lynne smiled.
“I am. But I wanna show it off when Sam gets here.” Eric met her in the living room, kissing her cheek. “So you march right back into the kitchen and….”
“Oh really?” Lynne chuckled, trying to look past him, but her attempts were in jest as she smirked, then turned back toward where their daughter now laughed loudly. Eric followed her, but wondered what the mood was like at the Canfields; eventually this confinement would end, and after time Fran would be back on her feet, although maybe then she would pine for days when she was assigned to bed, for once she had two more babies to raise…. Reaching the kitchen, Eric smiled, finding Jane in Renee’s arms, this household somewhat noisy but contained. When Eric and Lynne were ready to add to their family, it would be at their discretion. Eric hoped to fill all those upstairs rooms, well, all but Stanford and Laurie’s, but perhaps three or four children, if they were so blessed. Then Eric shrugged. Who was he to assume anything?
“So when’s that other half of yours due to arrive?” Eric sat beside Renee, who didn’t immediately hand over the baby. He knew that was due to his yet unwashed hands and that it took a lot to pry Jane away from her auntie.
Renee smiled, then kissed the baby’s chubby cheeks. “Anytime I think. I suppose I could call over there, see if he’s left yet.”
“Oh, no rush. I still need to clean up.”
“Yes you do,” Renee gently chided. “Why do you think I’m still holding her?”
Eric laughed loudly, then stood, blowing his daughter and her aunt several kisses. “All right, I get the hint. I’ll be back in a few.”
He stepped toward the open front door, hearing women’s cackles behind him. Eric walked around the house to the studio, where workers were packing for the day. They nodded and said their goodbyes and Eric smiled, happy for their cheerful natures. Last month had seemed somewhat dark, what with Jane’s colic and the Aherns’ absences, about which Eric pondered, when he had a moment. Had his daughter been affected by her godparents’ distance and if so, what might happen to Jane if Eric again disappeared?
He felt no immediate threat, and Stanford’s letter, received just that morning, hadn’t noted any more than good luck with the baptisms, which had made Eric chuckle, as if he could sense Stanford’s disdain within that man’s handwriting. Laurie had sent Lynne a lovely card with the same sentiments, but Laurie’s were sincere, tinged with the knowledge of what Sunday would mean to both Snyders. Laurie didn’t observe Jewish customs, but he appreciated the Snyders’ choice of faith, or that they had embraced faith. As Eric reached the studio, he wondered how such differing personalities could have fallen in love.
When Eric returned to the house, Sam was seated in the kitchen, looking tired but pleased to be holding his goddaughter. The men shared a brief hello, but dinner was nearly ready, and Sam said he was hungry. Small talk centered on Eric’s completed painting and on Sunday’s big event, for which Sam passed the Canfields’ regards as well as their apologies. Eric and Lynne smiled, letting it pass, but while Lynne began to speak about lunch here on Sunday, Eric studied Sam’s countenance and his affections toward Renee. Usually the couple wasn’t overly mushy, and it wasn’t that Sam was caressing her hand or face, but there was something new between them, akin to reconciliation. Last month, when the couples basically didn’t interact, had a fight occurred? Eric glanced at Sam, but didn’t stare, for Sam would meet Eric’s eyes with a questioning gaze, and Eric didn’t wish to set a pall over the meal. That all were sharing dinner together was a treat, as was Jane drowsy in her uncle’s arms. Ground had been lost in the struggle to keep Jane awake in the early evenings, but now that colic seemed to have faded, Eric wanted his daughter to recall those earlier weeks. “Don’t let her go to sleep Sam,” Eric smiled. “I wanna keep her up tonight.”
Lynne met Eric’s eyes. “You sure about that?”
He nodded, then sat back from the table. “I wanna sleep this evening,” he chuckled. “Here Sam, give her to me.”
Sam handed the sleepy infant to her father. Eric stood, jiggling her slightly, and she stirred, then looked around. Her eyes were as blue as the day she was born and Eric looked at Sam, meeting that man’s gaze. Then Eric felt a deep pain, balanced by a hard-won victory. Sam tried to look away, but couldn’t, nodding at Eric.
Lynne glanced at them, then spoke. “What’s up between you two?”
“What?” Sam said, taking his last bite of dinner.
“What what?” Renee looked at her husband.
“Sam just wants pie,” Eric said. “And to see the painting. C’mon Jane, let’s go show Uncle Sam you and the women you love most.”
Renee giggled, then stood from the table. Sam joined her and they headed to the sunroom. Lynne was the last to rise and she quizzically gazed at her husband. Eric kissed her, but said nothing as they walked to where the canvas waited.
After accolades and dessert were shared, the women took Jane up for a bath, in part to keep her alert. Eric cleared the plates with Sam’s assistance. Then Eric cleared his throat. “Shall we inspect the new storage building?”
“Sure.” Sam smiled, but it seemed forced. Eric nodded, then stepped to the bottom of the stairs. He hollered the men’s intentions and was told to take his time.
Eric led Sam through the kitchen, neither in a hurry. Sam remarked that the pie was quite filling, what with custard on the side. Eric agreed, not hearing any jealousy in Sam’s voice that Lyn
ne seemed to have mastered Sam’s recipe. The men reached the patio, but the furniture was covered in a fine layer of dust. Eric ran a finger through it, then smiled. “Last summer everything was a mess and here it is again. One of these days we’ll get it cleaned up.”
“Just a cycle of improvements. Although,” Sam grinned, “this place has seen plenty of them since you guys moved in.”
Eric nodded. Perhaps this property would always be in a state of renovation, although Eric did want sod laid before Jane was firmly on her feet, another sibling in the works. The storage building would be completed in another week; Eric hadn’t wanted it rushed, for it would house a part of his life that for many years had seemed all encompassing. His love for Lynne was the largest part, but he stored all those feelings within his heart, or lavished them upon her. Yet art had also completed him, and it was finally time to put those paintings where they belonged, which no longer was inside his house. He might continue to paint in the sunroom, but canvases required their own space because children needed those bedrooms. Eric smiled, then faced Sam. “Something happened last month. Is everything all right?”
Sam shot Eric a sharp gaze, then shook his head. Within seconds, he was nodding, shoving his hands into his pockets. But his smile warmed Eric’s heart. “We’re gonna adopt, been meaning to find time to tell you guys, but I’ve been so busy.”
Eric embraced Sam in a bear hug. “Oh my God, that’s wonderful! When?”
“Maybe before the end of the year, or early in ’63. We’ve been talking about it just over the last couple of weeks, seriously, I mean. It was hard to, well….” Sam hesitated, then cracked his knuckles. He looked right at Eric. “She wants to be a mother and I wanna be a dad, and between Jane and Fran’s kids, I suppose it hit us over the head like a sledgehammer.”
“Well, that’s fantastic. I wondered, I mean, there’s been something in Renee’s eyes.”
“Yeah, I saw it in the painting. How do you do that Eric?”
Sam’s tone asked more than how Eric had known Renee’s longing, for Eric had painted something else in those stoplight eyes, a sorrow that he couldn’t excise. Any other way wouldn’t have been the truth and Eric felt that was art’s most important purpose. He had shielded his wife, but that was to protect Lynne, which he’d done out of love. However, he couldn’t conceal the slight agony that Renee possessed, even if she and Sam were going to become parents. Something had been sacrificed to clear that hurdle, but Eric wouldn’t press Sam for details.
Eric stepped away from Sam, motioning to the building. “They’ll be done by next weekend. I’ll still use the studio to let paintings dry, but I can’t wait to get them outta the house. Well, some will go to the library for a few weeks,” he smiled. “But most of them will be out here and they’ll probably stay out here a long time. Stanford wants an autumn show, but I’m not quite ready to ship them east. When I do, they won’t be coming back for a while.”
“Why not?”
“A few European museums have asked to show them.” Eric smiled, a fact only between him, Lynne, and Stanford. “And actually, I’m thinking of sending many of the nudes over there. Lynne’s okay with it, and well….” Eric chuckled. “They’ll raise quite a furor here, but Lynne’s right. She’s not that woman anymore and they are beautiful paintings, if I do say so myself. Better to let them be exhibited than stuck back here, hidden from view.”
Sam coughed. “So then why build this thing?”
“Well, there’s some we don’t wanna share,” Eric smiled. “And of course all those with Jane. I won’t exhibit them past our town library. And future ones of her and Lynne and whoever else comes along.” Eric sighed. “And whatever else I feel like painting that needs to be kept out of the public eye.” He stared at Sam, then grinned. “Like the canvases in Minnesota, that sort of thing. If nothing else, we need space in the house, and it’s about time I ’fess up to who I really am, which is a painter, but first, a father.” Eric walked to where Sam stood, then put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I added onto the house in hopes that Lynne and I’d one day make a family. And we have and that’s been the biggest blessing. But I still need room for art, and for those New Yorkers, and maybe in the new year, another baby.”
Sam trembled. “Is Lynne, are you….”
“We’re not even thinking about it, especially after how June went. My goodness, for a while I thought my lovely little girl had turned into Godzilla.”
Sam nodded, then had a nervous laugh. “Yeah, you said she was pretty cranky.”
“She was, no doubt about it. I think she missed her godparents.”
Sam flinched, then cleared his throat. “Well the hospital was understaffed and Fran needed a hand and….”
“And I’m so glad you could be there for her. We really are Sam, and we’re praying for her and the babies and everyone over there. Lynne and I pray for them every day.”
“Well, they need it. She really wanted to be there on Sunday. Says she’s praying for you guys too.”
“And we need it, believe me.” Eric smiled, gently slapping Sam’s back. “I’m so happy for you and Renee, you’re gonna make wonderful parents.”
“Well, we’ll see.” Then Sam sighed. “Eric, can I ask you something?”
“I hope it’s not for fatherly advice.”
Sam cracked a smile, shaking his head. “How, I mean, how do you….” Sam stopped, then cleared his throat.
Eric nearly prodded Sam, for he knew what that man wanted to ask. Instead Eric gazed at the nearly completed outbuilding. “After next month’s exhibit, I’m gonna decide, with Lynne’s help, which paintings we should part with. And I mean really part with. I painted so many of her last summer and autumn till I left. All those are fair game, depending on what she thinks. The ones I did when I came back are different. Lynne hasn’t said much about them, but I don’t think she wants them sold, or even shown. Maybe a few, or maybe none. But as for the rest, I’ve done some of my best work in those canvases and other than the one of her on the stool, she said she didn’t care what I did with them. At the time, I wasn’t sure anyone else should see them, but now, well, things are always changing. I wanted a place to store the paintings, but maybe this building won’t actually house all that many, or not at one time. But there’s still so much I wanna paint, and not just Lynne and Jane.”
Eric paused, but didn’t look at Sam. “There’s the Canfields after the babies arrive and Fran’s feeling better.” He smiled. “And maybe some little Aherns running alongside Helene and Johnny, it’s Johnny right?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah. Helene and Johnny and….”
“And several older siblings who’ll be eager to meet whoever you and Renee bring into the family.”
Sam faced Eric. “You can paint them, her and our….” Sam tried to smile, then forced a weary grin. “But not….”
“I know Sam, I know.”
Stillness emerged, followed by a cool wind. Eric shivered, then looked into the dusky sky. “Best we get inside. I’m surprised Renee hasn’t come hunting for us.”
Quickly Sam turned for the house, leaving Eric several steps behind. But as Sam reached the patio, he stopped, allowing Eric to catch up. Sam gazed at Eric, who nodded emphatically. Nothing else needed to be shared.
Chapter 65
The Hawk: Part Four Page 4