The Hawk: Part Three Read online

  While the rain had stopped, the wind had picked up, but Eric took long strides, and by the time they reached the studio, Stanford’s teeth had stopped chattering. This cold was different than in New York, for there Stanford expected icy temperatures. And there he wore his heavy overcoat, thickest gloves, and a woolen scarf.

  He wished for those wraps now, for while the studio was dry, the chill was penetrating. He shivered, then wondered how Eric braved this weather, what with being so underweight. Stanford nearly complained, then thought better of it, as Eric approached two enormous canvases on easels, facing the wall. “Well, are you ready?” Eric asked.

  Stanford nodded, tapping his foot, but not in haste. Then he smiled. “Are you sure you want me to see them?”

  “I’m sure.” Eric smiled, turning the larger of the paintings toward them. Stanford blinked, then gasped, then shook his head. “Jesus Christ Eric, what’ve you done?”

  A circle of the brightest yellow caught Stanford’s eye, just to the lower left of the canvas’ center. From that shade spread orange, then pink, which led to a vibrant scarlet, one ring of color at a time. Beyond the red, deep violet was bordered on the far left by royal blue that edged that side of the painting. Along the very left side, the blue was similar to the kingfisher barn, but darker, and Stanford stepped to the painting, wondering how Eric had made the colors appear as if still wet. “When did you do this?” Stanford asked softly, unable to take his eyes from how the darker blue and purple blended together.

  “Early in the month. Go ahead, touch it.”

  Stanford didn’t look at Eric, but he hesitated. Then he gently brushed his fingers over the paint, finding that indeed the colors were set, perhaps a bit tacky, but that might be due to the weather. “Why haven’t you taken this inside yet?”

  “It needs to be out here for a while still.”

  Stanford gaped at Eric. “What are you talking about?”

  Eric grinned, then turned the other canvas to face them. “You tell me Stan.”

  Stanford ached to view the second picture, but first he needed to complete taking in the first one. On the right, as peach blended into red, instead of purple, a line of emerald met the scarlet, looking Christmassy, although quickly that green turned to teal, then to turquoise. Yet, the colors weren’t merely swathes of paint as if laid on by a child. Stanford felt something far deeper, then he glanced at the second canvas. He blinked several times, wondering if what he saw was factual. It was Lynne, he knew it was Eric’s wife. It was also a seated figure with the most dazzling array of hues spilling from her body.

  These paintings were the most abstract that Eric had ever revealed to Stanford, which made the dealer wonder if Eric had created, then destroyed, similar works. Stanford nearly asked, then stopped himself, trying to imagine what an audience would make of these. Then he considered Seth; how would he view these paintings? Stanford peered closely at one, then the other, wondering if Eric had done these in haste, or had he labored over them? Stanford had many questions for his client, who beamed from ear to ear. “Well?” Eric said.

  “Well indeed. I don’t know where to begin.” Then Stanford sighed. “Actually, first I want to know how long they took to paint.”

  Eric laughed. “That’s an odd question.”

  “Well, you’re so prolific, I was just curious if these fall into that vein.”

  Eric rubbed his upper arms, his breath appearing in clouds. “Not that long. Lynne posed for the second one, but it wasn’t exactly warm that day.”

  “And the first?”

  Eric smiled. “What do you see Stanford?”

  Stanford nearly blushed; in the first painting, it looked like Eric had painted a baby right after conception. But he knew that wasn’t the artist’s intention, or not directly. “I can’t tell you, to be honest. Well, I could tell you, but you’d make me go as crimson as that.” He pointed to the brilliant red.

  Eric laughed out loud. “I didn’t think there was any way to embarrass you Stanford Taylor.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Eric approached Stanford, then motioned to the canvas. “When I started that one, I was thinking about our baby. I was also thinking about….” Eric paused, then smiled at Stanford. “Lynne and I are in the process of adopting the Catholic faith. I’m not so sure about some parts, but most of it strikes a deep chord. My wife’s expecting our first child in a manner of weeks. You could say I was inspired by a miracle.”

  Stanford nearly gasped again, but he maintained his composure. “You’re going to become Catholics?”

  Eric chuckled. “Indeed we are, or Lynne will. I just don’t think I cop to the pope being infallible. Maybe I won’t tell them I think that’s a load of….”

  Stanford trembled, then again stared at that vibrant sun; that’s what it was, an exploding sun, or if Eric was speaking the truth, an immaculate conception. Stanford possessed no spiritual notions, neither did Laurie. Nor had Eric, until now. “Is this something you’ve been thinking about, becoming Catholic, I mean?”

  “Not until I came home. I wasn’t with my father when he died. He fell into a coma, and I knew the end was near. Then I got sick, I was so sick.” Eric faced the paintings. “Lynne’s been thinking about it for several months, but I was hesitant.” Eric smiled at Stanford. “Maybe a part of me still is, well, about the pope. He’s just a man, like you and me, and we’re certainly not perfect.” Eric chuckled, then grew quiet. Then he stared at the paintings again. “Stanford, I nearly died, I was that ill. Renee wanted me to be in the hospital, but…” He sighed. “Lynne took care of me. I’ll do the same for her in six weeks, but first, she had to wait it out, wait for me to….”

  “To what? Eric, what the hell’s going on?” Stanford wanted to shake this man. Why in the world were artists so damned strange? And what was all this about Eric and Lynne becoming Catholic? Then Stanford considered that when Eric missed the exhibit in early 1960, he had been very sick. Was this a similar illness, or only in response to his father’s death? Stanford wanted to ask, but instead he wagged his finger at Eric’s back, then as Eric turned around, Stanford nearly hit him with that still pointed finger.

  Eric smiled. “I know, I’ll drive you nuts one day. I can’t explain it any better than to say I had a religious conversion.” Then Eric chuckled. “Goodness, that does sound a little touched. But Stan, that’s what happened.” Eric motioned to the center of the first painting. “That happened inside my wife, and now it’s occurring within me. Actually, it happened to Lynne twice. And if I ever do accept papal perfection, well, that’s probably how it’ll happen.” Eric then gazed at the second painting. “I’m here because of her. All she is is what you see, the most beautiful soul, two of them. Stanford, we never could conceive before, we tried for years. Lynne always thought it was her problem, but it wasn’t. And now she’s so full of life, of love, of all this color, I couldn’t not paint this piece. The one in the house, that’s just to note how she’s changed on the outside, and believe me, she has.” Eric laughed, then gazed at Stanford. “But what no one can see is what’s happened to her soul, even I can’t fully depict that. This’s the best I can do, but it’s also what needs to be seen, maybe not by everybody. Only you and the Aherns have seen it, besides Lynne. And God, I suppose.”

  As Eric chuckled again, Stanford shook his head. Too many thoughts were clamoring for inspection, the biggest was that again Eric had been so ill. Why hadn’t Lynne put him into the hospital, even Renee Ahern had thought it was best. Then Stanford shuddered. He had never considered Lynne as a fanatic, not that he thought the Aherns were, or not outwardly. They were Catholics, no way for them to shed their dogmas without renouncing their beliefs. But Lynne was, or had been, a health-care professional. If her husband was that close to dying, how in the world had she not driven him to the hospital herself?

  “Stanford, don’t blame Lynne. And don’t be angry with Renee or Sam either. What happened to me needed to occur, otherwise I wouldn’t have painted these, or
the one in the house. I don’t know if I’ll ever make anything like these again, maybe I’ll go right back to my usual style. But I’m not the same man as in August, or in October, like Lynne isn’t the same woman. We’ll never be those people again, but I’m not afraid of that, no one’s static. Sometimes the changes don’t appear as positive, you’re probably thinking that right now. Maybe Laurie is too, even if Seth asked to see him. Lynne and I are praying for Seth, but Stan, if he doesn’t improve, that doesn’t mean the worst has befallen him.”

  A long silence emerged as Stanford battled a previously unknown urge to slap Eric Snyder. Stanford had never experienced any sort of violent capacity, yet if he swung his arm sharply, Eric would go down like a feather. Then Stanford wanted to vomit. He quickly stepped away, then fled through the studio door. He took several deep breaths, wishing to expel that newfound propensity, but still it flowed through him.

  He expected Eric to come after him, but Stanford remained alone outside. A fine mist now fell, the wind blasting along his face. He looked toward the house, seeing Lynne standing at the sunroom’s French doors. She didn’t wave, staring at him. Then she turned around. And then she was gone.

  Stanford wondered if he returned to the studio, would those paintings be as he just saw them, or was that entire exchange a hallucination? He nearly did just that, then he heard Lynne’s voice. “Stanford, it’s Laurie for you.”

  The rain increased, as Stanford sprinted toward the house. He didn’t know if Eric was right behind him, he only wanted to hear whatever Laurie needed to tell him. Stanford wasn’t sure what he would say to Laurie; that the Snyders, both of them, had lost their minds, or that the Aherns had finally succeeded in bending them to a religious calling. Or just that Eric had painted…. Shaking off the rain, Stanford stepped into the house, not speaking to Lynne as he passed by her, heading to the phone.

  After talking with Laurie, Stanford excused himself to his room. Lynne wondered if that was due to what Laurie had said, or what Eric had shown Stanford. She waited in the sunroom, as Eric took his time outside, both of them having given Stanford as much privacy as possible. Now Lynne tapped her foot, but not over Stanford’s clipped words that he needed a rest. She wanted to know what Eric had said, for at least that could be discerned with minimal effort.

  Finally he walked up the path, although the rain had ceased after Stanford stepped inside. Lynne saw her husband’s smile, then he waved to her. She threw up her hands, but Eric didn’t hasten his pace, all the while grinning widely.

  She shook her head, then stepped back, as he entered the house. He closed the doors, then motioned toward the living room.

  “He’s off the phone, said he wanted a rest,” Lynne began. “What in the world did you say to him?”

  “Did he say anything other than he needed a rest?”

  “No, he didn’t. Are one of you gonna enlighten me?”

  Eric chuckled, then led his wife to the kitchen. “I told him that we’ll be Catholics soon enough, that I nearly died, and that….”

  Lynne gasped. “You said all that? Well, goodness. Did you also tell him about….” She made swooping gestures with her arms.

  Eric fought a belly laugh, but lost. “Oh my God, that would’ve sent him over the edge. Although, maybe that wouldn’t have been any harder to hear than everything else.”

  “Eric, honestly, why’d you say all that?”

  He stroked her face, then patted the baby. “Because it’s true. I told him we couldn’t have a child, yet here you are, big as a house.” He smiled, his tone gentle. “I said that we’re praying for Seth, and hopefully he’ll be all right, but if not….”

  Lynne gaped at her husband, then set her hand over her heart. “Oh Eric, did you really?”

  “Well, it’s the truth too. I know he doesn’t have a religious thought in his head, but then, neither did I, or not formally religious. But even if I don’t buy all that stuff about the pope, I know what matters.” He kissed her, then chuckled. “You know, I probably won’t paint anything more like what I just showed him. I don’t think it can be rationally explained, and while I suppose I wouldn’t mind telling Stanford and Laurie about, well….” Eric made the same swooping gestures that Lynne had enacted. “I guess if I can turn into a hawk, God can exist.”

  Lynne rolled her eyes. “Shhh, he might hear you!”

  “So what? Then he really can think I’ve gone off the deep end, bless his heart.”

  Lynne touched Eric’s forehead. “Maybe that’s the fever talking.”

  Now he set his hand between her breasts. “Or it’s my soul spouting off. Either way, this’s who I am, and I can’t go back. He’ll either accept it or….”

  Loud thumps along the stairs made both Snyders flinch. Stanford cleared his throat, then entered the kitchen. He started to speak, then stopped. Lynne shivered; had he heard them? “Can I get you something Stanford, tea, water….”

  He shook his head, then sat at the table. Lynne sat on his left, and Eric sat across from him. Stanford didn’t meet their gazes, but Lynne had never seen him so vulnerable. His button-up shirt had been undone to the middle button, a white undershirt plainly visible. He put his head in his hands, but stayed quiet, although he seemed to tremble. Lynne reached for his left hand, which had fallen to the table. Stanford gripped her, then looked at Eric. “Seth tried to kill himself again.”

  Lynne released a small cry, while Eric shook his head back and forth. “Oh my God no.”

  Stanford nodded, then glanced at Lynne. Tears edged the corners of his eyes. “Laurie got there, and the doctors wouldn’t let him see Seth, were giving him the runaround. Finally he cornered one of them, it seems it happened right before Laurie reached the hospital. By the time he got there, Seth was out of danger, well, immediate danger.” Stanford paused. “Perhaps the details aren’t important. What matters is that they want to administer some rather intense treatments or….”

  “Or what?” Eric asked, gripping Lynne’s left hand.

  “Or they don’t think he’s going to respond to therapy. He’s been there over three weeks, which doesn’t seem like an inordinate amount of time, but he’s been unwell for months, and while I’m not saying that he doesn’t need electroshock therapy, it just seems….”

  Lynne stood, feeling ill. Quickly she walked to the bathroom, closing the door most of the way. She splashed water on her face, then heard Eric approach. “Honey, are you all right?”

  He stepped inside, then stood next to her. “Lynne, oh Lynne….”

  She started to cry as Eric embraced her. “He needs, oh Eric, no, not now, the baby’s so close.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered. “It’s gonna be okay honey, I am not leaving you.”

  Lynne trembled as she wept, gripping her husband as if he might fly away that minute. Then she pulled away, tracing around his eyes. “He needs you. I can’t stand in the way of….”

  Eric smiled, then shook his head. “You need me, and I need you, and Seth needs….” He kissed her forehead. “He needs something beyond a hawk.” Eric kept his voice low, but grasped her hand, placing it over his heart. “Lynne, I’m not going anywhere, I promised you that months ago, and I’m reiterating that pledge right now. I’m asking you to trust me, please.” He stared into her eyes. “Do you trust me?”

  She nodded. “Of course I do.”

  “All right, then don’t worry.” Eric looked back, toward the kitchen. “And don’t worry about….” He motioned to where Stanford still sat. Lynne hadn’t heard him get up from the kitchen, and she hoped he couldn’t hear their conversation. To her surprise, she did believe that Eric wouldn’t leave, or at least not until after their baby was born. And she felt no anxiety over Seth. If the doctors at Caffey-Miller thought he would benefit from electro-shock therapy, perhaps that was what he needed.

  Eric kissed her, then exited the bathroom. Lynne heard him speaking to Stanford, then Stanford asked if Lynne was all right. She smiled, again splashing her face w
ith water. The nausea had passed, but she needed to urinate. She closed the door, hoping that when she emerged, Stanford might have gone back upstairs. She needed to speak to Eric alone, or if nothing else, she needed him close to her. Stanford’s presence would hinder either of those wishes.

  Lynne came out, finding Stanford had returned to his room. Eric remained in the kitchen, and while they didn’t talk, his embrace was all the comfort necessary. Then she grew sleepy, and Eric escorted her to their bedroom. She fell asleep with Eric beside her, but she woke to an empty bed.

  She found her husband and Stanford in the sunroom, a break in the clouds brightening the garden. She cleared her throat, and Eric came her way. “Feeling better?” he asked.

  She nodded, then joined them. Stanford smiled, then coughed. “Lynne, I apologize for bringing all that up earlier.”

  “No, it’s best that the truth be told.” She bit her tongue, then continued. “Have you spoken to Laurie again?”

  “Actually yes, and I’ve told Eric to let me know the charges. Laurie had discussed the situation with his mom and aunt, and they were both adamantly against that sort of treatment. Then he had a long talk with the senior physician in charge of Seth’s care. Sam Ahern was right, in that Caffey-Miller has a special unit for veterans, and while that’ll be where Seth will stay, Dr. Tasker believes that Seth’s problems aren’t simply from the war. Now, Laurie understands that. Even before Korea, Seth was, well, sometimes easily disturbed. Whatever happened over there has greatly exacerbated the problem, or problems. Laurie informed Dr. Tasker that Seth’s family is strongly opposed to electro-shock therapy, and Dr. Tasker took that on board. It sounds like for now they’ll continue with more conventional treatments, but if Seth doesn’t show improvement, they may have to, well, implement more drastic measures.”

  Lynne nodded, then sighed, leaning against Eric. “How did Laurie sound?”

  “Defeated.” Stanford shrugged. “But at least he’s bought Seth more time, or maybe it’s just so that the family can accept the inevitable.” Stanford stared at the unfinished painting. “Either he’s going to have it, or he’ll end up….”

  “Dead.” Lynne spoke with finality. “You can say that, you know.”

  “It seems rather ominous.” Then Stanford sighed. “Laurie loves him so much, it would be a crushing blow to them all.”

  “It would be an incredible waste. Seth’s a brilliant artist, in addition to all he means to Laurie’s family. And to you.” Eric nodded at Stanford. “But doctors’ best treatments and our prayers can only go so far. Seth has to want to get better. Only he can determine that part of it.”

  Stanford gazed at Eric. “And what about God, where does he fall in all of this?”

  Lynne stared first at Stanford, then at Eric, who smiled. “Well, God already knows what’ll happen. And I’m sure that no matter what, he has Seth’s best interests at heart.”

  Stanford rolled his eyes. “Seth’s best interests. Now Eric, that’s a very curious statement. What do you think God has in store for Seth?”

  “I have no idea. I hope it’s that Seth will work through all of this and return to sculpting. But the actual outcome is well beyond my grasp. All I can do is….”

  “Pray, correct?” Stanford said flatly.

  “Yes, that’s about it.”

  “That’s about it?” Stanford peered at Eric. “And what else is there?”

  “Nothing at this juncture, unless you know of something I could do.”

  Lynne bit her tongue, wondering if Stanford noted the playfulness of Eric’s voice.

  “Well, actually Eric, there is something. It’s unorthodox, but hell, that’s all you’re about these days.”

  Lynne took a sharp breath, for Stanford’s tone now teased, and not gently. She looked at Eric, who hadn’t blinked.

  “Tell me Stan. Short of going to Minnesota, I’d do anything.”

  “Would you send him your paintings, the ones in the studio? I know they haven’t completely set yet, and while I don’t want them ruined, there’s something about them, something that might speak to him.” Stanford shook his head, then threw up his hands. “Good God, listen to me. Next thing we know, I’ll be on a plane for Lourdes.”

  Eric laughed, then grasped Lynne’s hands within his own. He kissed her knuckles, then released them, squeezing Stanford’s shoulder. “I think sending the paintings is a fine idea. In fact, depending on how he responds to them, maybe the hospital would like to keep them. Lynne, what do you think about that?”

  She nodded emphatically. “Oh yes, I completely agree.” Eric could send as many canvases as he wanted, just as long as he was here for the next two months. Then she sighed inwardly. He would be near her for as long as was necessary, even if she thought it was inadequate. He’d lived through that fever, he had come back to her every time he’d flown away. She didn’t care about the paintings; they were beautiful, but meant more to Eric than anything Lynne took from them.

  As the men chatted about transporting the paintings east, Lynne stepped into the living room, warming herself by the fire. Then she stared at the cherry orchard in bloom, which Eric had framed and hung across the room. She approached that small painting, which softened her heart every time she saw it. Lynne set her fingers on her chest, right over an opal pendant, her other hand upon the baby. If the paintings eased Seth, that would be wonderful. If he needed another form of healing…. As the baby kicked, Lynne took a deep breath. Eric had promised; that pledge would suffice.

  Chapter 50