The Hawk: Part Four Read online

  On that same evening in Minneapolis, several men were gathered around the two paintings on permanent loan to the Caffey-Miller Institute. The artist’s name was unknown to nearly all the patients, although a few of the staff had inquired about Eric Snyder, learning that originally he was a nature artist who had stopped painting hawks a couple of years ago. His canvases still focused on natural settings, but more prevalent now were portraits, many of them displaying average families, well, families with several children. But to the men at Caffey-Miller, those details wouldn’t be believed, for the two paintings they saw daily were abstract and healing.

  To one man, seated on the floor, Eric’s canvases were a double-edged sword. Several times a day Seth stopped by where they were displayed, sometimes lingering for minutes, occasionally sitting where he was now, against the far wall, staring at pictures that had pierced his soul in places shock therapy hadn’t reached. Seth had to brush lengthy dark blonde hair from his blue eyes, or sometimes he gazed through that unruly mane, trying to hear what Eric was telling him. Seth knew why these paintings, some of the most captivating he had ever viewed, were at that mental hospital; they were for him, although he never said that aloud. The conception and the birth, how Seth coined them, were the essence of Eric’s creative soul, and that they were shut away in a Midwestern mental hospital always made Seth smile when he considered it. In Laurie’s last letter, Seth had learned that Eric’s paintings were destined for a European exhibition for perhaps up to a year. Seth wondered if the blue barn would be included, then he had winced, wishing to see it up close again. The days he had gone to the gallery and witnessed the truths in that painting had been some of his most peaceful times. The barn contained…. Seth had to stop thinking about the barn. He needed to concentrate on his own art so they would let him go home.

  But what he was forming wasn’t what he truly needed to sculpt; these projects were his way of informing Dr. Tasker that indeed shock therapy had worked. No longer did Seth feel like killing himself, which had given him enough breathing room to even consider sculpting. Currently several figures waited in the art lab, all based upon those with whom he lived. Those men seemed happy for their likenesses; Seth hadn’t tried to disguise anyone, and some of the emptiness had been alleviated by putting his hands to cool wet clay. Although it had been years since he had fashioned anything, after a few bungled attempts the relative ease of sculpting had returned, although the figures he produced were crude compared to his previous pieces. And while they impressed those upon whom they were based and pleased Dr. Tasker, they weren’t what Seth ached to create, although he couldn’t remember why he wanted to make those other items; what had they symbolized?

  When he got home, which looked to be in a month’s time, Seth would spend his initial days in the comfort of his family, which mainly meant his mother, older sisters, and Laurie. Yet, with Laurie, Seth would have to be careful. He sighed as a small ache stirred in his chest. Then he stood, shaking out his legs, which had been falling asleep. How long had he been sitting on the floor, gazing at Eric’s treasures? The conception had fascinated Seth, from the vivid hues to how they blended in a circular rainbow. But the birth was the sort of painting Seth would never tire of, the woman’s form ablaze with life via distinct swathes of the color spectrum, wide brushstrokes announcing a miracle exploding into the corporeal realm. It reminded Seth of the figurines he had made as a teenager, unaware of how talented he already was at such a young age. He was thirty-three now, that was practically half his life ago, but even then he’d been aware of humanity’s cry that was met with loving assistance. Or often it had been met with divine grace. Or sometimes it was answered in haste. Or occasionally it was acknowledged with concern. Or….

  Seth’s head ached, but if he asked for an aspirin, a nurse might inquire further. He didn’t want to raise any suspicions; Seth simply wanted to go home. There he would be smothered with familial love, then left to his clay, and that was what he wanted most. There were many things he needed to sculpt, years’ worth of work that had been trapped, but now teemed in his head, even if their meanings were cloaked. The ache subsided and he smiled, shaking out the last vestiges of sleep which tingled in his lower limbs. When he got home, all he had to do was get to work. And avoid Laurie. Again Seth winced, but he nodded to himself, not looking back at Eric’s paintings as he headed down the corridor. If he did those two things, everything would be fine.

  As Seth fell asleep, Eric left the Aherns’ house. It was well after nine thirty Pacific Time, midnight approaching in Minnesota, but while Renee fidgeted on the sofa, Sam in the chair across, time was an unknown element. Time had ceased to matter from the moment Sam’s older brother Ted had rushed into the library with the bad news. As Ted relayed what was in motion, Renee felt a toxic bubble in the pit of her stomach as a terrible nightmare came to fruition. But the worst didn’t rear its dreadful head until the Aherns reached the hospital, where Fran had just given birth to twins that were destined to die before the end of that day.

  Renee remembered reaching the lobby, where most of Louie’s family had gathered. Renee and Sam had raced to the elevator, enduring what seemed like an endless ride to the maternity ward, then were met by most of Sam’s clan, who were ashen-faced or in tears. Louie was standing beside a stern-looking doctor and immediately Renee knew the news wasn’t good. That was the last time Sam had touched her, gripping her hand so hard she wanted to cry. But the deeper pain came moments later, when Joan approached them, her red, damp face causing Sam to drop Renee’s hand as if she was a leper. Joan told them that the babies were very sick and that Fran was in equally dire straits.

  From that moment, Renee’s position had changed from that of Sam’s beloved spouse to a heinous witch, but he never spoke a cruel word to her, hadn’t hit her. All he had done was to shut her completely from his life, and now here she was, sitting on their couch in a house she had left partly of her own will, and because Sam basically threw her out. Which part had been larger, Renee wondered, as Sam kept glancing to the far wall.

  When her mother told her Sam was on the phone wanting to speak to her, Renee wondered if the break in their marriage he’d wanted years before was finally materializing. Back then he had spoken of an annulment, but divorce? She had considered such a black mark, for some Catholics actually went that far. It wasn’t prohibited, but so frowned upon that Renee wasn’t sure what she would do; move to another town, wear a scarlet D on her nurse’s uniform. She hadn’t said much to her mom, other than Sam was upset about his sister and work was miserable and that she had needed a break. But Renee’s mother had nearly suffered a stroke when Renee said Sam wanted an annulment, and that had been a decade ago. Renee’s mom wasn’t in the best of health, and speaking about a divorce might have killed Marie Nolan.

  Yet all Sam had wanted to tell her was that he, and Eric, were on their way over there. That he wanted to talk to her, but his voice hadn’t been frosty like it had been for the last few weeks. It was Sam’s icy tone that had made Renee pack a bag, then not complain when Sam said if she was that tired of him, he’d be glad to take her home. And that time, home meant where Marie and Eugene Nolan had raised many children who at one time or another slipped back under their roof when life grew hard. Yet, Renee hadn’t lived at home since Sam returned from Korea. Before packing a bag in June, Renee had never expected to think of her childhood residence as any more than where she had lived as a kid. Yet for the last week, Renee had coveted the coziness where she and eight brothers and sisters had dwelled in a fair amount of harmony, even if the place was four bedrooms with only one bathroom. The Aherns’ house was a spacious three bedrooms, one full bath plus a half, which always seemed bigger after Renee had visited her siblings who were crowding anywhere from five to eleven people in about the same size space. Ritchie’s house was bigger than Renee’s, but then he and Brenda had nine kids.

  Renee and Sam had none, but Renee didn’t ponder that, for here she was, back in her house, although she wasn�
�t sure if it was still her home. Sam looked like he’d lost weight, yet it had only been a week since she’d seen him, well, ten days. He had driven her to her parents’ a week ago last Monday, now it was Thursday. She had asked for a lengthy break from work for she had been taking double shifts since the middle of August, and her boss had given her three weeks off without argument. Maybe word had gotten around that the Aherns’ marriage was on the rocks, or just that Renee’s sister-in-law had lost twin sons and had nearly died. Hardly a moment went by that Renee wasn’t reminded of that horror, but looking at Sam’s somewhat contrite face, Renee didn’t concentrate on Fran or those boys, whose names seemed tattooed into Renee’s soul.

  “So….” Sam’s tone was shaky, then he sighed. “How’ve you been?”

  Renee wanted to shrug, say Terrible, then flee this place that didn’t seem friendly. Even if Sam had made the overture, how much of it was Eric’s doing? Then Renee blinked away tears, wondering if it was all Eric’s machinations, for there alone with her husband Renee didn’t feel particularly welcome. She felt like a poker chip having been hesitantly pushed into the middle of the table by a player holding a very dubious hand.

  Eugene Nolan was a habitual card player and over the last ten days, Renee had played more bridge, pinochle, hearts, and gin rummy than was probably good for a person. But Gene’s favorite game was poker, only for pennies, well, dimes and nickels too. Games started at a dollar a head, chips dispersed, cigarette butts piled high in metal ashtrays that had been synonymous with playing cards all through Renee’s childhood. Her father had a terrible cough, but still smoked a pack and a half a day, and Marie could go through a pack easily. Several of Renee’s siblings smoked, women as well as men, but Renee had gotten sick the one time she’d tried, when she was fourteen and feeling adult. By then she was adept at cards, so smoking was the next Nolan attribute to master. However, Renee had choked, then thrown up, another manner in which she was separate from her family. She didn’t smoke, didn’t have children. She had also been the only one to ever mention breaking up with her husband, although Ritchie and Brenda and Tommy and his wife all had some pretty feisty arguments. Knock-down drag-outs Renee would call them, but the women always forgave their men, wives used to dealing with boisterous husbands who occasionally flirted with stronger vices, but never succumbed to those temptations, or at least not to the point where their wives permanently booted them back to the Nolan family home.

  Ritchie and Tommy had predilections toward the typical Irish problem with booze, but they were hard working men who felt entitled to let off some steam with a few beers. Renee only drank whiskey for medicinal purposes, although over the last week and a half she’d wished for a few shots before saying goodnight to her parents. She felt in need of a drink now as Sam licked his lips, then looked back at the wall. Had he spilled something, she wondered, trying not to stare, forgetting that Sam had asked how she was.

  Instead Renee gazed at her husband, wondering why he’d called her, what was this about? It was Eric’s doing, she was certain, which was sweet in a way, that he’d felt compelled to step into the situation, which to Renee’s mind was hopeless. Maybe Sam had forgiven her in June, when she first said what had emerged in a moment of self-pity. Well, she had still felt that way, on and off, but of course now she regretted those words with every fiber of her being. Not only had they been misguided and selfish, but they had ended her marriage. As a nurse, Renee knew Simon and Andrew were in a better place. As an aunt, she lamented their brief lives. As Sam’s wife, she ached for their presence, for if they were among the living, Renee’s marriage would be too.

  Instead, it was teetering on the brink, even if Sam had called, even if she was sitting feet away from him. How long had it been since they had cuddled together; Renee didn’t even think about when they had last made love. Only that it had been ages since Sam had kissed her, caressed her face, run his fingers through her hair. He’d said he liked it short, it emphasized her gorgeous eyes, his exact words. Renee shivered, his loving tone like he’d spoken those endearing sentiments instead of the brusque language that had been prevalent since Fran’s babies died.

  “Renee, are you okay?”

  “What?” She stared at him, hearing that same curt tenor which again sliced through her heart. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

  Sam sighed, then wrung his hands together. “I asked you a minute ago, well, five minutes ago.” He shook his head, then glanced at the paintings. Renee did too, wishing Eric or Lynne was there. If someone could mediate, perhaps, maybe, hopefully…. Then Renee grimaced. Probably not. What in the hell was she doing there, nothing of significance. At least if she was at home, she’d be keeping her dad busy, maybe he had smoked fewer cigarettes with her around. Then she chided herself. Her dad had smoked just as before, only mealtimes and mass curtailing his habit. But then maybe a pack and a half a day wasn’t that bad, she knew far worse addictions at work, and that wasn’t even of patients. Some of the doctors smoked two or three even, to cope with the demands. And certain nurses were always sneaking off to the break room, a few smoking in the stairwells. Renee was glad it had made her so ill years before. Otherwise she’d be just as hooked.

  But Renee’s life had taken a different turn, wrapped up in one man who she adored, and sometimes suffered through. But never had it felt torturous, well, not in a long time. Sam’s tenure in the army had taken a toll on Renee, but the last few weeks were far worse than when he was overseas, for he had been right in her day-to-day, but even further away than Korea. More like on Mars, for how she couldn’t reach him, or reach out for him. She needed him so much, and still, with less than a yard separating them, Renee felt that Sam was in another galaxy. President Kennedy wanted to send men to the moon, well, Renee could tell him how without all the fuss. Just say the most selfish thing to a sensitive man and who’d need rocket science?

  Sam was touchy; even before he went to Korea, he’d had his ways. But Renee had adored him; they never let each other’s quirky traits get in the way of loving each other. What had Eric said to him, it was something, Renee was certain. But Eric wasn’t there now, nor Lynne, nor anyone who might breach the awful silence that had caused Renee to pack a bag last week. That suitcase now rested in their guest room, where she would sleep as soon as Sam freed her from this inquisition. How was she; how was she? What kind of asinine question was that? “You wanna know how I am?” she blurted.

  “What?”

  “What’d you ask me Sam, how I was, if I was okay? Well, I’m not okay. I’m terrible. And I have no idea why I’m here. What’d Eric say to make you call my parents, huh? Must’ve held a gun to your head.” She sniffed, then stood. “It’s late and I’m tired. I’ll call Dad in the morning, he can come get me. It’s obvious we’re through, no need to beat around the bush.” She headed for the hallway, mumbling to herself. “How am I, for goodness sake!”

  Suddenly she was pulled back, facing her husband. Sam’s blue eyes were like a raging body of water and she tried to wrench away from the oncoming storm. “Let go of me,” she cried. “I just wanna….”

  His kiss was as tempestuous as his eyes, which Renee could no longer see, for hers were closed, lost in warm waves of devotion as Sam wrapped strong arms around her. Renee reciprocated those needy clutches, wondering if this was some final assault; Sam would fling her away in disgust, ordering her to leave as soon as it could be arranged. Yet, his kisses were of a rare sort, like those they had shared in late June and at other odd moments when their heady natures had turned sour. Then Sam pressed against her and Renee nearly stumbled, only his robust grasp keeping her upright. He backed away, panting hard, then stroked her face. “Please don’t leave me Renee. I love you and I need you and I’m….”

  She shook her head, then kissed him again, not wishing to hear a word he shouldn’t say. She was sorry, more sorry than Sam would ever know. Yet, he broke away from the kiss, putting his finger on her lips. “I am sorry honey, oh Renee, I am so damn sorry!”

 
She tried to refute him, but he wouldn’t permit it. Why was he being this contrite, so kind? It was her fault, not that the twins had died, but that the Aherns’ marriage had been lost alongside those babies. Renee didn’t think anything had changed; her marriage was still dead in the water, even if Sam was stroking her hips, then her waist, all the while keeping that one finger to her lips.

  “I love you, I can’t live without you. This isn’t your fault, none of it. And I mean that. Not one single part of this is your responsibility. It’s mine, Renee. It’s been mine for a long time, for not giving you what your beautiful open heart so desperately desired. I made you deny a part of yourself that was so wholesome and necessary all because I was afraid. Oh honey, please forgive me. Let me make this up to you Renee, please? I can’t live without you and God knows I’ve tried. But I’m a mess. I threw a glass against the wall tonight and I wanted to beat the crap out of Eric. I don’t wanna be that man again Renee and only with you does all that go away.”

  She nodded, then kissed his finger, which still forbid her speech. She was the only one who knew his secrets, not that he had harmed a single soul on purpose, but as a soldier he had done things no upright man should ever do. War should be illegal, Renee thought, as Sam began to weep, for it stirred in men abominable traits that otherwise would lie unprovoked. Men had the tendency for violence, she wouldn’t deny that, but unless it was triggered, most lived calm, productive lives. Sam had been that sort of man until he’d enlisted. And even now, he was still one of the most loving, compassionate people she had ever known. But the horrors he had witnessed and taken part in had altered him, and it had little to do with fathering children. That had been a fluke, for out of all the injuries Sam could have sustained, he was struck by one that outwardly denigrated his masculinity. Yet his masculinity wasn’t in any way compromised at that moment.

  “I need you,” she murmured. “I can’t live without you either.”

  He nodded, tears now falling down his face. Then he laid his wet cheek along hers, salty tears landing on Renee’s lips, then returning to Sam via her kisses. She wanted to apologize, but he wouldn’t let her, so instead she initiated the most thorough form of healing, even if they stood in their living room. But the curtains were drawn, it was only the two of them. As Renee shed her clothes, helping Sam from his, she didn’t worry about a broken glass or his anger at Eric. All to matter was that Sam was no longer furious with her. Renee maneuvered them onto the floor, then encouraged her husband to finalize their reconciliation. And as Sam completed that reunion, Renee wept joyful tears, calling his name, hearing hers crooned in that adoring voice that had seemed absent, but was indeed present. Again Sam was with her, he said he would never leave her. Renee inhaled that absolute, then prayed, asking God to give them both his peace.

  Chapter 74