The Hawk: Part One Page 7

  The Aherns were taken aback at the Snyders’ gift, but didn’t complain, until Sam learned that an exhibit of Eric’s work was planned at a New York gallery in early February. When Sam discovered what other paintings in the series might fetch, he blanched, and demanded that Eric take back the Christmas present. Eric laughed as Sam trumpeted his objections over dinner at the Snyders’ in mid-January. “Sam, that picture belongs to you and Renee, nothing you can do about it now.”

  “But Eric….” Then Sam gazed at Lynne. “Can’t you talk some sense into your husband?”

  “Hardly.” Lynne sipped her coffee, an empty dessert plate in front of her. She had served cookies, but Sam had brought custard, as she hadn’t quite mastered his recipe. She smiled at Sam, then at her husband, then to Renee, who giggled. “Sam, he’s an artiste. What can I do to try to reason with such a bohemian?”

  “Indeed,” Renee said. “But will you still be the working wife of a non-conformist after the exhibit?”

  “Probably.” Lynne smiled again, but this time it was forced. “Who knows how the show will go.”

  Eric gripped her hand, but his fingers were cold. She held her smile, but kept her gaze from their guests. “Besides, what would I do all day, other than try to match this custard recipe? Sam, I don’t think you included all the ingredients. Mine never comes out this well.”

  The Aherns chuckled and Eric did too. Lynne wanted to join them, but Eric’s grasp was still cool, and her stomach ached. The last few days he hadn’t seemed well; they had nearly cancelled this dinner. But that morning he had felt better, and Lynne would continue the façade. She wasn’t sure he would be here when the show took place, not that he’d be in New York. He would be…. She stood, then collected their plates. Renee assisted, as the men headed into the living room. Their chatter was lively, as Eric offered to show Sam his latest work, which was in that room, on the easel, facing the wall. It wasn’t of Lynne, but of her knitting. It was as close as she could come to posing for him.

  Renee gathered the last of the dishes as Lynne ran water in the sink, adding a squirt of soap. Plates from dinner needed to soak, then Lynne would wash everything after Renee and Sam had left. Eric would tend to the fire, then they would retire upstairs, for what might possibly be the last time until…. Lynne wondered for how much longer her husband could stay. She was grateful that she hadn’t needed to cancel this dinner. But if Renee wanted to reciprocate, Lynne would find an excuse, using the show, even if she was staying here.

  “I’ll wash, or you can,” Renee said, coming to Lynne’s side. “That way as soon as we go, you can hit the hay.”

  Her voice wasn’t suggestive, only offering assistance. Lynne smiled. “The plates need to soak, but thanks.”

  Renee didn’t step away, making Lynne uncomfortable. Lately the women hadn’t spoken about much more than Eric’s work, which was rather intriguing. It was also safe, having nothing to do with…. “Lynne, you should go with him next month. I know the weather won’t be great, but maybe you need to….”

  At the hospital, Lynne had maintained her quiet but peaceable nature. Renee was probably the only one to see through her attempts, for she wasn’t at all happy, even if her smile shone. Their colleagues knew that Eric had a big exhibit coming up, and while they weren’t as informed as the Aherns to just how important it was, within their small town, Eric Snyder was an artist of renown. The level of that fame was set to rise, but Lynne was more concerned with her husband, and perhaps she had hidden that anxiety from all but one perceptive nurse. Renee patted Lynne’s shoulder, then picked up the rubber gloves that rested near the sink. “You have some vacation time saved, right? How long will he be gone?”

  Lynne swallowed hard as Renee put on the gloves, then began scrubbing plates, stacking them in the empty sink. “Renee, it’s not that, I mean….”

  Renee stopped washing, then ran hot water into the other basin, covering the plates. “Do you have another pair of gloves? I don’t want you to burn your hands.”

  From the cupboard under the sink, Lynne pulled out an extra pair. She slipped them on, then swirled the water, bubbles dissipating, and steam rising. Even through the rubber, she could feel the heat, but it didn’t relieve her distress. She could still sense Eric’s cold grip; for how much longer would he be here?

  And for how long would he be away? He hadn’t given her a timetable, but estimated it might be longer than two weeks. Those six days of over three years ago had been miserable, but what would a fortnight feel like, their bed empty, the house so still, meals eaten alone, wondering where he was, and if he would return. Lynne picked up plates, one at a time, setting them in the drainer. Then she picked up a glass, but almost dropped it, as Eric and Sam entered the kitchen.

  Renee caught the tumbler, then steadied Lynne’s shaking hands. Their eyes met, Renee’s pale irises seeking only to comfort. Lynne nodded, then managed a weak smile, as the men’s jovial banter ceased. Eric stepped toward his wife, putting his arms around her, while Samuel stayed back. Renee removed her gloves, then chuckled. “All right, that’s all the washing up for me. Sam, would you get my coat?”

  “Uh, sure. Of course.” Sam left the kitchen as Renee patted Lynne’s arm. Then she smiled at Eric. “We’ll see ourselves out. Thank you both so much for dinner. Lynne, I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “Uh-huh,” Lynne mumbled, trembling in Eric’s arms.

  Two couples spent much of the remaining evening talking; the Snyders sat in the living room, as Eric painted and Lynne knitted. The Aherns lay in bed, wondering aloud about their friends. Sam thought Eric’s talent was a drain on his marriage. Renee wished Lynne would see another doctor.

  “But she saw Dr. Salters. What more’s there for her to do?”

  Renee sighed. “I don’t know. Eleanor Salters is probably the best doctor for women in this area. I just….” She snuggled against her husband. “She would make such a good mother, and it breaks my heart that she thinks it’s all her problem.”

  Renee said that quietly, not wishing to hurt Sam’s feelings. They had been married for a year before he went to Korea, and had tried for a baby all that time. Her sisters had become pregnant easily, his too, and among their families they were the only ones without children. No one expected it now, but before Sam had left, Renee had endured mild teasing from her mother and other female relatives. All that had stopped when Sam came home, alive but maimed.

  Maybe it had been her fault too, they would never know. But something within Renee doubted the Snyders’ troubles were solely related to Lynne. Yet, as far as Renee knew, Eric had checked out all right. She kissed Sam’s chest, then stroked his hairless scalp. What she would give to have this man’s baby, and she knew Lynne felt the same about her husband. Yet, maybe Eric didn’t mind so much. Paintings were his legacy, two of which hung in Renee’s living room, although they were being shipped east, along with the rest, for the exhibit. For an entire month, Renee wouldn’t be able to admire that stunning sunset, or the vivid barn and the mischievous mice, although at times Renee saw fear in their eyes. Some of those mice were scared to death.

  Renee wasn’t an art lover, but she knew talent when she saw it, and Eric’s paintings had changed over the last year. Those she and Sam owned were nothing like what Eric used to paint, and not only in the brighter shades. That blue barn did match Sam’s eyes, but the strokes were so defined, as if Renee’s vision was improved while gazing at it. Sam had said the same, as had their relatives who’d visited over Christmas. Some of them inquired about buying one of Eric’s pieces, but when Sam had revealed their probable cost, those ideas went right out the window. Renee’s mother said that if the couple fell on hard times, all they would have to do is sell one of the pictures. A nest egg a few times over would result.

  But even considering the blank wall space made Renee shiver. For several weeks, her living room would be devoid of the warmth those paintings provided, and the kingfisher barn would be missed the most. Renee was attached to that pictur
e, even though the mice were frightened, or she thought they were. She pulled away from Sam, then got out of bed, looking for her robe. “Where’re you going?” her husband asked. “Renee?”

  “I’ll be right back.” She slipped on her dressing gown, then headed from the room.

  Sam found her standing in front of that piece of art. “Honey, what? It’s late and cold and….”

  “Sam, do these mice look….” She paused, then faced him. “How do they look to you?”

  “Huh?” He stood beside her, squinting. “They look like mice. Renee, come back to bed.”

  “I think they’re scared, or at least the bigger ones are. The babies look like they don’t know any better, but this one….” Renee shivered, barely tracing the larger mouse. It was the mother, Renee felt, for how it stared upward, keeping watch over those smaller. The other full-grown mouse also wore a fearful gaze, but it was further away. Renee assumed it was the papa mouse, calling for his family from the edge of the barn.

  Did they make it, she wondered. Where did Eric find this barn, for there were no such structures nearby. And how had he so clearly depicted the mice, especially their features? The Snyders were avid hikers, despite Eric’s mangled foot, but this landscape wasn’t local, probably more than half a day’s drive south. She peered at the mice, then shivered. Sam put his arm around her, but still she trembled. “Honey, those mice are being watched by a predator.”

  “Renee, my goodness! That’s….”

  “A hawk or falcon, I’d bet. The little ones have no idea, but the momma here, she knows. And he’s waiting for them to get inside the barn.” She pointed to the father mouse. Then Renee gazed at the sky, finding that small hawk in the right corner, but no other birds were depicted.

  “He’s very good,” Sam said, kissing his wife’s head. “Now let’s go back to bed.”

  Renee nodded, but she wanted to ask Eric about this painting, and would do it before it was taken from their home. Tomorrow was Sunday, and while Renee and Sam had mass in the morning, perhaps they could stop in afterwards, if Eric and Lynne were home.

  After church, Sam said he was tired, and wanted to nap. Renee had smiled, then said she would do some reading. Sam fell asleep not long after they ate lunch, and Renee did their dishes, then left him a note, that she had errands to run. She didn’t expect him to see the note; Sam might sleep for two hours, which would be more than enough time for Renee to question Eric about that painting.

  She drove straight to the Snyders’, parking outside the tall wooden wall that surrounded the property. They lived on the town’s outskirts, approaching the forest, near many upscale older homes. But Lynne and Eric’s house had been in poor shape when they bought the lot, which had been chosen mostly for the studio. Renee knew that story, and that the couple liked their privacy. And perhaps, it would help with Eric’s impending fame. After studying that picture last night, Renee was certain Lynne wouldn’t be her co-worker for much longer.

  Renee knocked on the gate, but only out of courtesy. She slipped inside the property, which was quiet. Tightening her scarf, Renee then headed to the kitchen door, knocking with force; if Lynne and Eric were enjoying a private moment, she didn’t wish to intrude.

  No one answered, but Eric’s car had been parked in the driveway adjacent to the front gate. Renee peered through a kitchen window; the lights were on, the remnants of lunch littering the counter. Renee knocked again, but no one answered.

  She inhaled, frosty air chilling her insides. She thrust hands into her pockets, then turned around. Maybe she should have called first, but she had wanted to leave Sam to his nap, not make noise by chatting on the phone. She shook her head, reaching the gate, which would lead her out of this idyllic residence, beautiful even in winter. Trees were bare, vines too, but in spring an explosion of green would flourish alongside yellow daffodils and red tulips, other rich hues flooding the landscape. Birds and squirrels would chatter, but that wasn’t what Eric had painted. He had captured a different vista, and those mice…. Had Lynne found a mouse, perhaps in their house, of which Eric had to dispose? But Lynne had never mentioned it to Renee, and they talked about everything to do with their domestic chores. It would have made for a funny anecdote and….

  A scream rippled through the frigid air, making Renee shudder. It came from the back of the house, and didn’t sound like any animal Renee had ever heard. It didn’t sound human either, although it was more like that of a man, or woman, than a creature. Another shriek prickled the hairs on Renee’s neck, making her flesh crawl. “Lynne, Eric?” she hollered. “Are you all right?”

  Another howl emerged, sounding more animalistic, but Renee didn’t flee through the gate, although her instincts told her to do just that. Instead she ran toward the house, her heart pounding. She passed the kitchen, turning the corner, where patio furniture would take up most of the graveled space from late spring, throughout summer, and into early autumn. For the last several weeks it was an open area right off the living room, where through French doors the couple came and went. Renee had spent many afternoons and evenings sitting at that table, sipping juice or wine, but all she saw was the gravel which separated the house from the rest of the grounds. Then another hideous cry from deep in a creature’s gut made Renee cover her ears. As she did so, the French doors flew open, one clanging hard against the side of the house, breaking one of the glass panes. Renee dropped her hands to her sides as a large, bird-like figure streaked from the living room, growing smaller as it raced over the gravel, onto the grass, into the garden. Lynne chased after it, calling for it to stop, to come back, to….

  “Eric, please, for God’s sake!” Lynne rushed down the worn path, staring not straight ahead, but into the sky. Renee glanced that way too, seeing what appeared like a very large bird dart into the air.

  But it wasn’t a bird, or not like any Renee had ever seen. It was more the size of a dog, and it had limbs, although as it flapped furiously, those arms turned into wings as the legs changed into…. Renee shook her head. They had been legs, one of them badly damaged, and those of a human. Now they were definitely those of a bird, but how was that possible? The creature flapped, attempting to gain altitude, but it was still too big to fly properly. It swooped past Renee, making her squat to the ground, covering her head with her hands, as the shrieking continued, alongside Lynne’s hoarse voice, repeating her husband’s name.

  Renee steadied herself with her hands, the gravel digging into her palms. She stared up, trying to find whatever it was, wondering why wasn’t Eric out there, protecting them? Then Renee stood, hearing Lynne’s deep sobs from what sounded like behind the studio. Renee called out, not wishing to scare Lynne further, also hoping that Eric would hear them, and come to their aid.

  But Eric Snyder didn’t appear. After a minute, Renee took cautious steps to the studio. Lynne still wept, mumbling for her husband, as Renee reached her, near a thicket that bordered where the tended garden ended. The rest of the property led into the forest, but Renee had never been back here, not wishing to peer into Eric’s workspace, all his equipment easily seen through the uncovered windows. Renee looked behind her to the open French doors and broken glass, but there was no sign of anyone else. “Lynne,” she said softly, “it’s me, Renee.”

  Lynne looked up, and Renee’s heart lurched in her chest. Lynne hadn’t been hurt, but she wore only a robe, and nothing on her feet. Renee knelt beside her, wrapping her scarf, which Lynne had knitted, around the shivering woman. “Honey, what in the world happened? Where’s Eric? My God, are you hurt, did someone….”

  Renee’s head took over, as she inspected Lynne’s partly exposed upper body. There were no obvious injuries, but had Lynne been raped, and if so, by what? Renee had seen that, well, she had no idea what it was, a huge bird-like creature, although it had shrunken before her eyes, then flown away. Or she hoped it had finally taken flight. She gazed again at the sky, saw and heard nothing. Then she looked at Lynne, who shook her head, but didn’t speak. Re
nee stroked her friend’s damp cheek. “Lynne, let’s get you inside.”

  “No, I need to wait here, he might come back, he might….”

  “Who?” Renee looked around, but didn’t see anyone. “Lynne, where’s Eric, what in the hell happened?”

  One loud squawk punctured Renee’s ears, as Lynne scrambled to her feet. Then she ran toward the house, calling Eric’s name, as Renee stood, sprinting after her.

  Chapter 8