The Hawk: Part Three Page 9

  On the last day of January, Eric loitered inside the train station. Stanford was due any moment, causing Eric to step toward the platform, but he avoided the puddles. A chilly rain had been falling all morning, and only once the whistle was heard would Eric venture onto the platform to wait.

  Stanford was staying with them for the rest of the week, then he would head back east on Monday, but he wasn’t going directly to New York. Laurie had been dropped off first, in Minnesota. He would visit with Seth, then Laurie and Stanford would travel back east together. Seth had made small gains at the Caffey-Miller Institute, or at least enough to warrant Laurie’s sojourn. Laurie had admitted to Lynne he would prefer to accompany Stanford, but that after the baby was born, Laurie would brave the journey, alone if necessary, although he hinted that now Stanford was nearly as excited as he was for the big event. Lynne had written it was only getting bigger, and Eric smiled, thinking of what she’d said, right before he left to collect Stanford. That she had grown into one of those enormous pregnant women, and what would Stanford say when he saw her? Eric had laughed, kissing her cheek, caressing a rather large bulge that had slowed Lynne’s steps, and altered their manners of intimacy. But Eric had never felt closer to his wife, in part that there was more to her now, and the couple’s burgeoning faith. They went to weekly catechism classes, although the more Eric learned about Catholicism, the more questions he asked the assistant priest. Father Jeremy Markham was five years older than Eric, and was easier to talk to than Father Riley. Currently Eric’s biggest query centered on accepting papal infallibility. Lynne wasn’t as bothered as Eric by that notion, but then she had far more to consider, what with the baby due in six weeks. Eric hadn’t changed his mind about becoming Catholic, but he wasn’t sure how good of a Catholic he would eventually be.

  He hadn’t said anything about that decision to Stanford, only noting that he was just now getting back into painting, and that the portraits of Lynne had taken a new direction. Eric had completed two since coming home, but the current work in progress was more in line with the previous canvases; Eric had needed to paint his wife just as she appeared, which was lush and bountiful. That was what he’d told her, making her giggle. But she liked the other two pictures, which were very different from anything Eric had painted before. Neither was sure what Stanford might think, but Eric had needed to paint from his heart, which was altering similarly to Lynne’s frame. Eric had never felt so in touch with color, and Lynne had told him that she didn’t necessarily want those two paintings to be sold, perhaps not even widely seen. Sam and Renee had viewed them, and both had wiped away tears, Renee more than Sam. Still, Samuel Ahern had been moved by Eric’s first pieces of 1962; Sam said they reminded him of that sunset, hanging on his wall. Sam had also asked Eric if there was any way to get them to Seth. If anyone would appreciate them, Seth Gordon would.

  Eric again stepped toward the platform, rain splashing against his overcoat. He had gained ten pounds, but still looked thin; wiry, Renee said, trying to hide the anxiety in her voice. Eric ate like a horse now, but weight didn’t seem to stick to him, although he felt fine. He tired a little more easily than before, but then he said that was Lynne’s fault; she napped daily, and instead of painting, Eric caught forty winks at the same time. Sam said all Eric needed was time; he had been in a battle with the elements, and those skirmishes weren’t easily forgotten. The two couples had wondered what Stanford would say about Eric’s appearance, but Eric hadn’t dwelled on it much. Most likely Stanford wouldn’t say anything aloud. By the time he visited after the baby was born, Eric would have regained the lost weight, and it would be filed away, like his healed foot, not worth Stanford’s further consideration.

  Just as Eric turned back for the safety of the station, a long whistle pierced the quiet. Eric stayed where he was, as others braved the cold weather, awaiting the arrival of loved ones. Eric smiled, wrapping his scarf more tightly around his neck. Lynne had recently knitted it for him, saying she didn’t need to make any more baby apparel. Eric grinned, thinking to when she mentioned this, one night after they had made love, snuggled closely in bed. He wasn’t painting as much as before also due to that pastime, which now took more time, what with Lynne’s impeded frame. Yet Eric coveted her large, curvy body, and he was glad Stanford had the room at the end of the hall. Eric and Lynne had found these new ways of lovemaking quite appealing, and hadn’t shied away from expressing their pleasures.

  As the train slowed into the station, Eric chuckled, then sighed briefly, wishing Laurie would be stepping off as well. Yet, Seth had requested his cousin’s presence, and Laurie couldn’t say no. As travelers emerged, Eric scanned for his charge, then he smiled widely, as Stanford stepped onto the platform. Stanford looked equally pleased, but he walked slowly, then stuck out his hand. “Eric, so good to see you.”

  Eric laughed, quickly shaking Stanford’s hand, then embracing that man. “Happy new year my friend!”

  Stanford hesitated for seconds, then succumbed to the hug. He even slapped Eric on the back. Then he pulled away, looking around. “Just you, huh? No big entourage to greet me?”

  “The big entourage is at home, getting bigger as we stand here chatting. Too cold for her, besides, she doesn’t fit that well in the back seat of the car anymore.”

  “I’d have taken the back seat. But you’re right, it’s a cold day. Suppose you get some of these even out west.”

  “A touch of winter, whether we need it or not,” Eric nodded, as Stanford grabbed his bag. Eric could have hefted it, but Stanford didn’t hesitate, collecting his case immediately.

  They made small talk while walking to the car, then Eric drove slowly through heavy rain. By the time they reached Eric’s road, the showers had tapered off, but Stanford was chatty, noting that Laurie was improving as a traveler, and that he had plans for late March. “I hope it’ll be all right, us coming that soon after Lynne delivers.”

  “I don’t think you have much choice in the matter,” Eric smiled.

  “No, I don’t. Dad wants to visit in May, so I suppose you’ll see one of us out again then too.”

  Eric nodded, wanting to ask about Stanford’s mother. Neither Stanford nor Laurie had mentioned her in recent letters. Instead Eric smiled, then pulled into his driveway. “Well, our door is always open. As long as you don’t mind a few tears and messy diapers, we’d love to see any and all of you.”

  Stanford rolled his eyes. “I’ll leave the diapers to Lynne.”

  “And me. I’m getting very good with the pins, you know.”

  Stanford had been opening the car door, but he stopped, staring at Eric. “You’ve changed a baby?”

  “A baby doll. So far it hasn’t made a peep.”

  Stanford gripped the door handle, then shook his head. “Sometimes Eric I don’t know if I’m supposed to believe anything you say.”

  Eric got out of the car, then shut his door. “Well then, I guess that’ll keep you on your toes. Hurry up, rain’s coming down again. Lynne’ll be wondering what happened to us.”

  Stanford stepped from the vehicle, retrieved his suitcase, then followed Eric through the gate, leaving the outside world behind.

  The world that Stanford Taylor found inside the Snyders’ home was altogether different from when he had seen them in August. Lynne was the most visible alteration, for she was one of those gigantic women who usually made Stanford step aside, as if the condition was contagious. But this time, Stanford held Lynne in his arms, albeit to the side, happy for the embrace. Eric had felt quite thin, about which Stanford wouldn’t speak, but Lynne was plump, and not only was it the baby. Her face was round and her fingers were swollen; she appeared wholly altered to Stanford, especially her recently trimmed hair; it just brushed her shoulders, but framed her face nicely, maybe that was why it appeared more round.

  As Stanford congratulated her on making it this far, she chuckled, patting the baby. “She never lets me forget for a minute. Sometimes I feel like….” She sighed
, then gazed lovingly at her husband. “A new woman, which I suppose I am. But all’s well, and in another six weeks everyone can hold her.”

  “Her, do you think it’s a girl?” Stanford sat in the large chair, then stood. “Is this your seat now?”

  Lynne nodded, but didn’t sit. “It’s the only chair I can easily get out of by myself. But right now my back hurts. Better for me to be on my feet. You sit, Eric’ll get you some coffee.”

  Stanford sat down, watching as Lynne placed her palms against her lower back. “Has it been hard recently?”

  She smiled. “Hard isn’t quite the word. I suppose no man….” She giggled. “That men couldn’t understand, but I’ve talked with a few mothers, and all my suspicions have been confirmed. I’m indeed pregnant, but it’s a temporary condition, or so they say.”

  He noted her light tone, missing her pauses. Then Eric stepped into the living room, coffee and snacks on a tray. “She’s a good fibber,” he said, placing the tray on a table near Stanford’s chair. “She still does all the cooking, well, the baking. I think it’d take twins to keep her out of the kitchen.”

  Stanford thought Lynne looked like twins might be the case, but he held his tongue, taking a plate with the largest slice of boysenberry pie. “Laurie told me not to tell him if you made this. I’ll have to be careful not to spill the beans.”

  “Those are the last berries from the freezer,” Lynne smiled. “Didn’t have as many, what with all the work on the house. It’ll be apple and pumpkin until summer.”

  “That’s if I let you have any time to bake, me or the baby.” Eric stood beside his wife, kissing her cheek. “Between parenthood and painting, who knows what shape this place’ll be in next time you visit, Stan.”

  Eric chuckled, and so did Lynne. Stanford froze, his fork with a generous helping of pie dangling in the air. Then he smiled, took the bite, careful to keep his hands from shaking. “Well, we’ll be happy to help of course.”

  Lynne began laughing, and Stanford wondered if she had noticed his altered demeanor. Had Eric overheard that nickname? Stanford looked at the couple, nuzzling against each other, as if he wasn’t there. Eric must have just slipped, or…. “Now, don’t think Laurie or I can’t wield a broom. Agatha makes us clean, believe it or not.”

  “Oh, it was just the mental picture of you and Laurie, divvying up the household chores. Actually, I can see you, making sure the place is spotless. But I’m sure those tasks don’t fall under any of your auspices.” Eric sat on the sofa, and Lynne followed. It took her a few moments to get comfortable, which Stanford saw, while trying to eat his pie. Both of them were so changed; she was bigger, while Eric looked to have dropped twenty pounds. But something else resonated, and Stanford couldn’t put his finger on it. Eric’s hair was longer, he did look rather rough, but maybe losing his father had affected him more deeply than Stanford would have guessed. Or that parenthood was looming, or those new paintings…. “So, tell me Eric. What have you been working on lately?”

  “Oh, you finish your pie. We have days to talk art. Actually, when you’re done, I’ll show you the work in progress. It’s more what you’re used to, we’ll start there.”

  Stanford quickly glanced at Eric. “And what does that mean?”

  Eric had a sly smile. “You eat your pie, then I’ll show you.”

  Stanford shook his head, then fought to finish the slice slowly. He observed how the Snyders still cuddled like he wasn’t present. Eric stroked the baby, talking in a quiet voice to what Stanford felt had definitely instigated this change, but while a child had added pounds to her mother, why was Eric so thin, and what was all this about a new style of painting? The last show had gone so well; did Eric feel he needed to again tweak his methods? Or maybe he was back to depicting hawks, although Stanford hoped not. Artists needed to move forward, yet Eric had made such massive strides, perhaps some slippage was expected. Stanford savored the final bite, feeling slightly sorry that Laurie was missing it. Then he grinned, setting his plate on the coffee table. “All right, I’m done. Now, about that work in progress….”

  “Yes, yes.” Eric stood, but Lynne remained seated. “You showed great restraint Stanford. I’m proud of you. It’s in the sunroom, shall we?”

  Stanford nodded, but he allowed Eric to lead the way. “Are you staying put?” Stanford asked Lynne.

  “Unless you wanna heft me off this couch, I’m not going anywhere.”

  Stanford chuckled, then shook his head. “My chivalry extends so far Lynne, but you look too relaxed to disturb.”

  “You’re very diplomatic, Mr. Taylor,” she giggled.

  Stanford smiled, then stepped toward the sunroom.

  At first, he gazed beyond the windows, noting spindly berry vines. The garden looked wet and gray, in part from the weather, but also due to how Eric seemed, underweight and ashen. Stanford ached to ask how Eric’s visit to the prison had gone, but he left those queries, as Eric turned the easel around. Suddenly Stanford couldn’t look anywhere but at the half-completed piece, which was a nude of Lynne, but not like the previous portraits of her, although it had nothing to do with her being unclothed. Eric’s brush strokes were much thicker, and while it was obvious she was quite pregnant, all of Lynne seemed wider, or more potent. Then Stanford grimaced. That wasn’t right either, but there was something about her, in addition to the baby, a force that Stanford could feel all through him, but had no manner in which to denote.

  “It’s stunning,” he said slowly, then he tutted himself, looking right at Eric. “This is very different. She seems….” He paused, then cleared his throat, aware that Lynne could easily hear him from where she sat in the living room. “She seems grander than before, but it’s not connected solely to the baby. Much of it yes, but….” Stanford stared at the colors, which weren’t the vibrant hues Eric had used when he first painted his wife nude, depicting her as a sumptuous field or a vast coral reef. These shades were winter-themed, but also alight with…. Optimism, which sprung from change, which of course meant the baby, but perhaps Eric’s late father also had something to do with it, or their home renovations or the garden’s alteration, or…. Gazing at the painting, Stanford noted Lynne’s soft smile, one hand resting on her large belly, her hair draped over her shoulder concealing her left breast. Yet the other was full, as if waiting for that child to appear. Stanford felt no awkwardness with this impressionistic interpretation, then he blushed, thinking to the painting of Lynne seated on the stool, her arms stretched wide, her smile so beatific. He studied her smile again, but this wasn’t the same. This grin, if he could call it that, was more knowledgeable, although not all-knowing. But then, she was fully aware of her situation. Before, had she even realized she was expecting a baby?

  “Is this going to be the new standard?” he asked Eric, who was standing a few feet away.

  “Do you mean the brushwork or….”

  “Well, yes.” Then Stanford gaped at Eric. “What else is there?”

  The shades would probably alter with the seasons, although these were similar to the colors Eric had used when first painting hawks. Not that Lynne appeared drab or tired, then Stanford wondered if he’d insulted Eric. “This’s wonderful, I don’t mean to criticize, it’s just not how you were painting before.”

  “No, it’s not. And no, I’m not sure if this will be the standard, as you put it.” Eric’s tone was light. “I just hadn’t painted Lynne’s actual portrait for a while, but so much time had elapsed….”

  Now Eric paused, but Stanford didn’t look at him. He hadn’t been with his father right to the end, but then, he must have picked up an awful cold to still be so underweight. He had to be okay, what with Lynne and Renee Ahern to keep an eye on him. Sam too would have insisted that Eric see a doctor. Or was something wrong with the painter? Stanford peered at Eric, his clothes baggy, his jaw sharp. “Are you all right?” he said softly.

  Eric nodded. “I was really sick at the end of the year. It’s just taking time, but there�
�s nothing to worry about Stan.”

  Now Stanford stared at Eric. Something burned in the painter’s gaze, but it was nothing Stanford could assess, for it wasn’t related to art, or to Lynne. Was it fatherhood, was it…. Stanford took a deep breath, then exhaled. Then he faced the sunroom doorway, where Lynne stood.

  Eric went to her, and she whispered something to him. He nodded, then stroked her face. “Stanford, would you like to see the first paintings of 1962?”

  “I don’t know. Do I?”

  Lynne giggled, then nodded. “It might be easier to explain this if you do.”

  Stanford gazed at them, then at the unfinished piece. “It’s not of hawks, is it?”

  Both Snyders laughed. “No,” Eric said. “No more hawks. But it’s not like what I painted before.”

  “Is it going to become the norm?” Stanford’s voice rose at the end.

  Eric shrugged. “Maybe. I’m an artist Stan, who knows what’ll happen next?”

  “Oh Jesus.” Stanford shook his head. “Where are they?”

  “In the studio.”

  “In the studio? Eric, what the hell?”

  Eric grinned slyly, then approached Stanford. “I needed to paint them out there, but I did it on nice days, well, relatively nice days. Don’t worry, the roof’s solid, it’ll just be a little chilly. Put on your coat Stan, let’s go for a walk.”

  Stanford wanted to protest, but Eric looked completely serious. Stanford gazed at Lynne, but her wry smile gave away nothing. Instead, the art dealer headed back to where his coat and wraps waited in the kitchen. Then he was getting back into them, thankful they were mostly dry. And within moments, he was stepping through the kitchen door, heading down the worn path that led to Eric’s studio.

  Chapter 49