 
The Hawk Volume 1

By Anna Scott Graham

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2020 by Anna Scott Graham

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this eBook. It is the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, copied, and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this novel, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

This is a work of fiction. Names and characters, incidents and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

For my husband. And for my Father.
Chapter 1

Lynne Snyder had never wanted to be an artist's model, simply a painter's wife. In the evenings she sat in the living room, her knitting in hand. Depending on the season, she might occupy herself for a few hours, or just moments. Eric would work in the studio as long as there was daylight and Lynne remained in the house, not wishing to distract him.

Being married to an artist wasn't a small task, especially since over the last three years, Eric's paintings had found a larger audience. Bird lovers still made up the bulk, but a wider range of collectors now sought out Eric Snyder's talents. Lynne was proud of her husband, and grateful for the additional income. They had finally finished the upper floor of the house, where she had a proper craft room for her yarn. But she preferred knitting downstairs for the light was better. And from the first floor, she had a direct view of her husband's studio and how the light shone into it. From one glance, Lynne could tell when Eric's time with paint and canvas was ending. She would tuck away her projects, stand from her chair, smooth down her skirt or slacks, then smile. The rest of the night was for them alone.

Gazing out the large picture window, Lynne noted that Eric probably had another ten or fifteen minutes left to paint. That didn't include cleaning up, but for that she would join him; he appreciated her presence, wishing aloud that she would spend more time in his studio. Yet, Lynne preferred him to expend all his energy in solitude. The couple had married in 1952 and for the last seven years he had not lost any affection for her, even when in the middle of an engaging piece. If Lynne approached him, he would lose focus, which was gratifying to her, also slightly troubling. Didn't most artists shun all else until a painting or sculpture was finished? But then, Lynne sighed, peering from the window, Eric wasn't like anyone she knew.

She set down blue yarn, which she was turning into a baby blanket for one of her co-workers. Staring out of the huge glass pane, she could almost see him, standing in front of the canvas, studying the emerging image. He was fascinated by fowl, occasionally mixing it up with other natural features. They often hiked in their part of Oregon, and he sketched during those excursions, but only to use the woods as backgrounds for the main emphasis, which were usually hawks, sometimes falcons. His color palate was drab, browns and grays and flat greens, but recently he had begun adding vibrant blues and yellows, crimson as well. Lynne loved the new hues, having grown bored with the predictable shades. But these fresh colors also scared her, although she had kept her anxieties hidden. It would do no good to worry Eric with what at that moment were unsubstantiated niggles.

Lynne stared at the back garden, full of blooming flowers, trees leafy and tall. Halfway to the studio a fountain bubbled, a bird bath three feet from Eric's workspace. Dense forest bordered their property, which was now tame compared to when they had bought the twenty acres, mostly for the privacy, and for the studio, which at the time had been in better shape than the house. For the first two years, Eric had concentrated on making their home livable, painting in his spare time. Lynne was the breadwinner, although Eric's last exhibit had been an unexpected success; all the paintings had been sold and for more than the couple had imagined. Eric's dealer hadn't been as shocked as his clients, but then Eric and Lynne hadn't dreamed that one day Eric's art would support them. Yet Lynne would continue working. There was little else for her to do.

Using her hand, she shielded her eyes as the last rays of sun glinted on the studio's windowpanes. While the windows in the house were mostly solid pieces of glass, the studio was a mish-mash of architecture, more like a greenhouse than a painter's studio. Eric believed it had originally been a hothouse, then was converted, and he had loved it as soon as the realtor presented it to them. It had cleaned out Eric's savings, or what college hadn't depleted, and Lynne had used the last of her inheritance, but through careful budgeting and the sales of paintings, the couple had paid off the mortgage last year. Then Eric had used extra money to complete the upstairs, which now made the home roomy, what with it just the two of them. All of their parents, except Eric's father, were dead, and both had been only children. Eric and Lynne lived on their property unbothered, although now when visitors arrived, an actual guest room was available, with a private bath. Eric had put that in especially for his dealer, Stanford Taylor, who had waived some of his commissions just so that when he spent the night he wasn't required to use the house bathroom.

But that was due to Stanford's fussy nature, not that Eric and Lynne were untidy. Lynne chuckled to herself, thinking of that man's recent stay, and how pleased he had been with his own quarters all the way on the other end of the second floor. Two other rooms, and the house bathroom, separated the master bedroom from the guest room; one was Lynne's craft room, the other was where Eric stored his paintings. Eric had considered adding one more room, using it either as an office, if one day he was famous enough to require such a luxury, or as a.... Lynne grimaced; that notion wouldn't come to pass. Better to concern herself with those in her view, which now included her husband as the final bit of sun slipped behind the horizon. The studio's windowpanes no longer caught the light and Eric would be setting his brushes to soak by the time she reached the outbuilding.

She walked slowly. He might say he wanted her there, but he had his ways when closing his work. He painted daily, regardless of holidays, the weather, or his health. The only time he broke that rule was if Lynne was sick; then he was the nurse, he would joke, caring for her as unfailingly as she tended patients at the hospital. Three years ago she had picked up the flu and he had spent a week looking after her, ignoring the studio. He also used that time to correspond with those who appreciated his art, and he did a little drawing. Otherwise he was at his wife's bedside, reading to her if she didn't need to be fed or required other care. Lynne had felt miserable, mostly from taking Eric from his craft. Her bout with flu was the result of ministering to the sick, nothing she could do to prevent it. Fortunately Eric hadn't caught it and once she was better he went back to work as if the interruption hadn't occurred. But a few months later.... Lynne shivered, passing the gurgling fountain, then approaching the bird bath. Eric was humming, which lessened the pain of that memory. He hummed when he was happy and she shoved aside the unpleasantness as he added words to the tune, none of it making sense. Then he laughed, which roused Lynne's smile. By the time she reached the studio door, she had forgotten all about....

"Where've you been?" He tapped his right foot as she stepped inside. "The sun went down hours ago."

His smile was a beacon, his gray eyes wide with joy. He spread his arms wide, his smock removed. An old t-shirt and paint-spattered dungarees were his usual attire. Lynne walked carefully amid the shambles on the floor, which was littered with balled-up sketch paper, broken brushes, tattered bits of canvas, empty paint tubes, and crushed paper cups. Their house was clean, but this workspace was the haunt of a dedicated and sometimes irrational man.

Stanford had told Lynne that all artists, be they painters, sculptors, even writers, were touched. He warned her that the more famous Eric became, and it was only a matter of time, Stanford had assured her, the more messy and affected would be his mannerisms. But Lynne had taken Stanford's admonitions with a grain of salt because the studio, while not pristine, wasn't the most precarious area of Eric's existence. Lynne often wished to tell Stanford it was this edifice which kept Eric sane. The couple's bedroom was his other sanctuary, not that they were inclined to odd sexual practices. Yet, Eric harbored a secret that no one but Lynne had witnessed. And if someone was to learn of it, a chaotic artist's studio would be the least of Lynne's problems.

That evening nothing bothered the relatively young painter; Eric was thirty, Lynne a year his junior. He didn't watch where he walked, even as he thumped his left foot awkwardly across the floor. Despite that affliction, Eric approached his wife with enthusiasm. His embrace was forceful, but not vicious, and Lynne melted into his frame, which was marginally larger than hers. He wasn't stocky, standing at six foot two, but she was lofty at five foot ten. Both were slender; they kept fit by slow hikes and intensive gardening, and neither had large appetites. Lynne spent most of her days on her feet, as did her husband. The only time they grew lazy was in the mornings when she didn't have to work; they would lay in bed, making love or recovering from that passion until hunger or other urges forced them to move. His coloring was fair while her complexion was ruddy, her cheeks and arms coated in dark freckles, matching her brown eyes. Her long dark hair was usually braided, then swept into her regulation nurse's cap, but at home she wore it down at Eric's insistence. His blonde hair was in need of a trim, falling into his eyes and just curling along the nape of his neck. Rarely did Lynne consider what coloring their children would have inherited. Lynne had never become pregnant, not for all the intimacy the couple shared.

Instead she stroked Eric's face, then kissed his mouth, which led to him gripping her back, his torso pressed tightly against hers. They had never made love in the studio, no clear place on the floor, and the walls were mostly glass. Within their bedroom Lynne was fairly uninhibited, but nudity in the back garden wasn't a consideration.

She began to giggle, wanting him very much, but they would wait until he had finished cleaning up. Their nearest neighbor was far away, but even as the wife of an artist, Lynne still followed typical moral standards, which might be slipping for some as the 1950s came to a close. Part of her fortitude was her nurse's training, in that while bodies were all the same, hygiene and modesty were important elements in the fight against disease. No telling the grime and muck the outdoors could offer unless one was appropriately attired. Besides, Lynne like to tell her bohemian spouse, one never knew if a guest might knock on the front gate, be it Stanford or their best friends, Samuel and Renee, or one of Eric's growing legion of fans. How could they live down being discovered in a state of indiscretion, even if it was on their own property within his studio?

Eric teased her about that, but never to the point of humiliation, nor did he try to wear her down by brute force. He would release her, but only after she was fully aware of his desires, and that he understood hers. Then quickly they would make sure each brush was soaking, every rag collected. They would return to their house, locking the French doors behind them, only out of habit. Both had been reared in urban settings and some traits were hard to erase. As Lynne went upstairs, Eric would bolt the front door, then set the grate in front of the fireplace if coals remained warm. Usually Lynne let the fire burn down as the sun set; once Eric was done working for the day, unless they hadn't yet eaten supper, the rest of the night would be spent in their bed.

That evening was one such example of their usual nocturnal habits; Eric checked the doors, then placed the grate in front of dying embers. Then he headed upstairs, finding his wife in their room, long hair spilling over her bare shoulders, concealing her breasts. Eric stripped his clothing, then slowly approached her side of their bed, pulling back the comforter, revealing the rest of her naked body. Without delay, Eric joined her in that bed and within minutes their passions had been spent. The rest of the night would be one languid session after another until the need for sleep was overwhelming. Only then would Eric and Lynne relinquish themselves to slumber, but as they slept, they remained wrapped against the other. Lynne usually woke held within her husband's arms, or lying against his back, her limbs entwined with his. That they were still childless meant one of them was sterile and Lynne assumed it was her fault. Eric thought it was his and blamed it on his.... Then Lynne would set a finger to his lips, wishing to keep that oddity from their minds.

But as her husband slept, Lynne was powerless against an urge that Eric had battled since he was a young boy. Only when made one with his wife was Eric Snyder immune from that inexplicable desire, which at times ripped apart his soul.

And in rare moments, it separated him from his wife. But on this night, Eric concentrated on fulfilling Lynne's desires, even if, like a faint memory, the ache burned within his bones, spreading across every inch of his skin.
Chapter 2

"Nurse Snyder, are you busy?"

Lynne smiled at Renee, who always referred to Lynne by that title when both wore starched dresses and ridiculously rigid white caps. Renee thought they looked like nuns, albeit in much shorter skirts, and of course the uniforms didn't chafe their necks. But while doctors roamed the hospital's hallways in serviceable white jackets, they didn't have to wear hats. Renee loathed hats, but she loved nursing, and she was fond of Lynne. "Nurse Snyder, please," Renee giggled as Lynne stepped behind the nurses' station.

Lynne took a deep breath, then smiled. "Yes, Nurse Ahern?"

"Are you and Mr. Snyder busy for dinner on Friday?"

Lynne shrugged. "Depends on if he finishes what he's been working on all week. And what you're cooking," she added with a grin.

"I won't be cooking, let's get that straight." As Renee stood, only the top of her cap reached Lynne's shoulder. "Sam's got a new chicken recipe he's dying to try and...."

Lynne and Renee were fast friends in part from their similarities, although not in looks. Renee was short, plump, and red-haired, and the only physical link was the many freckles that graced her face and arms. But their husbands didn't have regular jobs and both women loved their profession. Renee was often kept busy in the maternity ward, which didn't bother her, even though she and Sam weren't able to have a baby. Sam had been wounded in Korea and while the women didn't speak of it openly, Lynne knew it was sheer luck that Samuel Ahern had come home alive, much less walking. Renee chalked that up to their Catholic faith, while many nieces and nephews made up for offspring the couple wasn't able to produce. Renee and Sam had decided not to adopt children, too much for Sam to cope with. Renee laughed that she was enough of a firecracker and her good humor was a plus in the labor ward. When she assisted the new mothers, Lynne felt a gaping hole on their floor, but better for Renee to fill in. Lynne was never asked, the head nurses aware that while Nurse Ahern didn't lament her predicament, Nurse Snyder was more sensitive.

At work it was the only subject over which Lynne brooded. None of her colleagues had any inkling about Eric, other than he was a painter, and quite good at it too. Some had attended his recent exhibit in Eugene, and a few of those women had later commented to Lynne that while they loved Eric's work, the canvases had been too costly for them to consider. Lynne had smiled graciously, for she kept a low profile within the hospital, unlike Renee, who chatted at length, steering just clear of being a gossip. Many of the nurses were Catholic and they were a tight bunch. Renee was the only one without children, but it was never an issue. It wasn't like she and Sam had a choice in the matter.

Neither did Lynne and Eric, but they hadn't exhibited any obvious reason why a baby wasn't conceived. It had nothing to do with Eric's mangled left foot, only that some couples didn't have children, similar to how some men hadn't come home from the war, and those who did weren't always in the best of shape. But Renee often spoke of how blessed she was that Sam was mostly fine, all she would say about his injury. When the subject did arise, Renee kept the more intimate notions under wraps; Lynne had no idea if the couple could even make love. Samuel had suffered debilitating damage and his existence was indeed most precious. Some men carried great sorrows that no one could see. Lynne was married to such a man and if they never had a baby, at least Eric loved her, was a good husband, and had art to fulfill his non-marital passions.

And he got along well with Sam Ahern, although they too were mismatched in frame. Sam was barely Lynne's height, and he was portly, although Renee said it was because he did all the cooking. He was balding, but had twinkling blue eyes that seemed to radiate the knowledge that his life was a treasure, mostly due to the woman he had wed. That was the feeling Lynne always got from Samuel Ahern; he was a better man for having married Renee.

Or perhaps she noted it in that manner because Eric often said that about her. Lynne felt that was erroneous; he couldn't help it, he had no control over it, he.... She smiled, then squeezed Renee's shoulder. "I'll check with Eric, but Friday should be fine. What can we bring?"

"How about some of that delicious pie you made last time?"

Lynne fought a giggle; she had just harvested boysenberries from their garden and Renee had begged to keep the leftovers for her and Sam. Several quarts of frozen berries sat in the bottom of Lynne's deep freezer and while they were Eric's favorite fruit, a few could be spared. "I'll bring a pie if Sam makes vanilla custard again."

"It's a deal." Renee smiled, then stretched. "All right, back to work. Otherwise a doctor'll think we're loafing."

Lynne nodded, then gazed at the corridor. Several physicians were going in and out of patients' rooms and it didn't behoove nurses even as capable as herself and Renee to stand idle. The women strode around the open end of the station, then headed down different sections of the hallway, waiting for their names to be called.

That evening during supper, Lynne broached Renee's invitation. Eric nodded, wiped his mouth with a napkin, then sat back. "Sounds good. I should be done by then." Then he smiled. "She wants us to bring dessert, doesn't she?"

"Yes, but I said Sam had to make that custard. I should get the recipe from him, it's really the best accompaniment for boysenberry pie."

"Well, good luck. That man holds onto recipes like they're state secrets." Eric stood, then picked up his empty plate. "Are you done?" he asked his wife.

"Oh yeah, thanks." Eric had cooked, just Swiss steak and egg noodles. Their meals weren't as elaborate as the Aherns', although Lynne did enjoy a fancy sweet now and again. They had planted the boysenberry vines, the only flora added to the sprawling array of trees and flowers. Eric maintained a large vegetable garden, which Lynne tended when she wasn't working. Eric didn't paint all day, waiting until the best light to step into the studio. Early in the mornings, he poked around the backyard, weeding or harvesting. He preferred being outdoors, why he hadn't altered the studio, needing that much natural light. Stanford wondered how Eric didn't roast in the summers or freeze in the winters. Lynne knew why, but never set the record straight. Stanford wouldn't have believed her anyway.

While Lynne blamed herself for the couple's childless state, other issues within their marriage rested on Eric's shoulders. He took off at a moment's notice, but not in the middle of completing a painting, or when Lynne occasionally fell ill. Yet she couldn't put a schedule on his absences, which didn't conform to her monthly cycles or to the seasons or holidays or any other time frame. Just that every few months Eric fled their home, usually for no more than three or four days. Three years back, after she had recovered from the flu, he had shown signs of needing to leave, but he'd waited until Lynne was healthy. Then he had departed, not returning for nearly a week. They didn't speak much about it, other than his copious apologies for the length of his sojourn. She wondered if he had been away those extra days because he had needed to leave sooner and had resisted because of her questionable health. He didn't know, but hadn't wanted to dwell on it. A few months later he again left their home, that time for just two days. Lynne recalled those outings with clarity, his longest, then shortest, absences to date.

Normally he was gone for three days. If it stretched into four, she didn't worry, the memory of that week's departure still in both of their minds. And he always came home so contrite, as if he had control over these episodes. She did speak to that, telling him he had no way to stop what occurred, he never had. She'd married him fully aware of this issue, had never expected it to change, or to end. Change was rife within their home, but Lynne didn't think it would ever cease.

When her period arrived, she consoled herself that it was for the best. How could they raise a child with his frequent absences? She never worried a baby might be compromised, that was more than she could fathom. Only that it would be so difficult to explain why Daddy came and went so suddenly. And if the reason for his departures was noted.... Lynne shivered as Eric stepped behind her, gently squeezing her shoulders. "You all right?" he asked.

She nodded, blinking away tears. Near the end of that day's shift, Renee had been called to the labor ward. There always seemed to be a shortage of nurses to tend to mothers and new babies, and Lynne didn't understand why. It was the most pleasant part of the hospital, even she understood that. Rare were the awful cases of an infant or maternal death; modern medicine had eliminated many previous mishaps, not that new techniques could do anything for Lynne's husband. Not even a psychiatrist could ease Eric's woes. During her career, Lynne expected to witness great strides in health care; she'd already seen amazing advances, like the recent polio vaccine trials. Yet not every malady had a remedy waiting to be discovered.

"Honey, what is it?" Eric spoke softly, still caressing her shoulders. "Lynne?"

She had been christened Caroline, after her mother, but her father had always called her Lynne, and she preferred her nickname. Caroline was stuffy, not that her mother had been snooty, just that Lynne liked the simplicity of her father's pet name for her. And she loved how it slipped from Eric's tongue, which now teased her earlobe, as he murmured Lynne in a seductive tone.

She closed her eyes, not thinking about her deceased parents or Renee and Samuel. Eric moved his hands from her shoulders to her chest, and Lynne only wished to revel in this pleasure, which had calmed her fears after Eric told her about.... She inwardly pushed that away as a moan escaped her lips. He didn't stop touching her, but now called her name in a more forceful voice.

Within minutes she stood as he stepped back, giving her enough room to slip from her chair. Then she was in his grasp, mouths engaged, arms clutching the other. He was grabby, which she appreciated, then he was removing her clothing, which she didn't fight. While she wouldn't make love with him in the studio, sex in their living room, even if the curtains weren't drawn, was permitted.

The difference, she realized, as they went to the floor, was that the lights were low and that it was dark out, no one would come knocking now. Lynne pondered the warmth of his skin, the tenderness of his kisses, the feel of him atop her. Then he was one with her, and nothing else mattered.

Until he spoke. "It's happening, I can feel it."

He wasn't talking about lovemaking. It was what invariably occurred a few times a year, fueling his art, but driving him.... "Oh Eric, not now."

He nodded, still laying directly on her, stretching out his limbs as if their bodies could become one frame. But he was longer-limbed than she was, he was different in so many ways. "Lynne, I don't know about dinner on Friday. I might not...."

She kissed him, not wishing to make an excuse. But if it was necessary, perhaps she could claim he was coming down with a cold, the painting wasn't ready, or that they had scheduled another activity for that evening. For the last few years Lynne had managed to keep this from Renee, but might one day something slip? "Eric, please, can't you delay it until...."

He nodded, but his eyes were cloudy. Then Lynne's filled with tears, recalling when he had waited too long; when he finally returned, he hadn't been well. This was why Lynne didn't rue her infertility; he was so unpredictable and there was nothing either could do to change it. Polio and cancer might one day be wiped from Earth, but what Eric suffered from had no explanation or cure. Then he cried out, but not in bliss. Lynne tried to soothe him, but his tremors were overwhelming. He moved away from her, then as quickly as his bad foot allowed, he fled the room, leaving his clothing right where it had been discarded.
Chapter 3

Two days later Lynne told Renee that Eric wasn't feeling well and that while she would be happy to make a pie, Samuel shouldn't count on them for dinner. Lynne had waited until Wednesday to break the news; Eric was still gone and even if he returned by the end of the week, he would be in no shape to see anyone for several days. And by waiting until Wednesday, it appeared that she had given her husband's alleged illness time to heal, which of course it wouldn't. But Renee wouldn't be able to argue vociferously, especially with Lynne dangling pie as compensation.

Renee sighed, as this wasn't the first time the Snyders had excused themselves from an invitation. Renee then smiled, telling Lynne to give Eric her best and that if she wanted to bring the pie to work on Friday, that would be fine. Then Renee shook her head. "I'll just come over and get it. You bring it here, I won't have any to take home to Sam. Heck, I may not even get a piece myself."

Lynne bristled, then smiled. "I'll drop it off on Friday after work. I was gonna make it that afternoon anyway."

Then Lynne shivered inwardly as Renee raised an eyebrow. "I'm not gonna make you drive to our house if Eric's not well."

"It's just a cold and he doesn't wanna give it to you guys." Lynne smiled as she spoke, but felt Renee's intense gaze all over her.

Renee's unnerving gray eyes were nearly white, like the shell of an egg. Her auburn eyelashes framed those strange irises like a stop sign, her eyebrows adding weight to her stare, making Lynne want to run right out of the nurses' station, down the hallway to the stairwell. Gripping the handrail, Lynne would sprint to the back entrance where she could.... Then Lynne shook her head. Renee wasn't necessarily fast, but Lynne took the bus to work, and would be caught while waiting. Then Renee would never let her be until everything was revealed.

To Lynne's surprise, Renee nodded, gently patting Lynne's shoulder. "Bring the pie over when it's ready. If I'm not home, Sam'll gladly take it off your hands."

"I'll do that," Lynne stammered, trying to maintain her composure. "Thanks Renee."

"It's no trouble, Nurse Snyder." Renee's tone was light, but underneath questions lurked. Lynne nodded, then left to check on a new patient.

On Friday, Lynne woke alone, dressing quickly for work. She didn't bother eating anything, would get some coffee at the hospital. She had an early shift, which would give her plenty of time that afternoon to make the pie, then wait for Eric. It had been four days since he had left, he should be back at any time. If he arrived while she was out, he would bathe, then fall right into bed. If she was home, he would take a bath, make love to her, then go to sleep. Lynne hoped he would be there snoring when she returned. She had promised the Aherns that pie, and the sooner Eric was unconscious, the better.

Renee arrived a few hours later, but the ward was busy, and they didn't have a chance to speak until after lunch. Renee didn't say much, other than mentioning the pie. And that Samuel would have a surprise for Lynne. Then Renee giggled. "He's making custard for you to take home. Said that would get Eric to feeling like his old self."

Lynne chuckled, but it was forced. "That's sweet of him."

"He was gonna make custard for us to have with pie, so he just doubled the recipe. Not that he'll give it to you," Renee grinned. Then she looked somber. She started to speak, then gazed at the floor. When she looked up, Lynne thought she saw tears in those pale gray eyes.

"If you ever need to talk, about anything." Renee bit her lower lip, then wore a faint smile. "I know it's not easy, but maybe if you could speak about it."

Lynne inhaled deeply, but felt dizzy. She grasped the side of the counter, then leaned against the corner of the reception desk that served as a safety net for all the nurses. Doctors rarely intruded behind that desk; they wordlessly demanded the women to step outside that comfort zone, as if to associate with females was a weakness. But daily the nurses supported one another, in and out of the facility. Usually Lynne depended upon her husband, but Eric was gone again, and for a moment she wished Renee knew the truth. That he had fled right after they had made love troubled Lynne, that had never happened. Yet how to explain to Renee that Eric.... Lynne cleared her throat, then smiled. "I suppose you're the only one who understands."

She would make it about her inability to have a child, although that had nothing to do with Eric's absences. Renee nodded immediately, then she sighed. "And they think we're moody once a month." She nodded to a group of doctors who kept right on walking down the hall. "Is he all right?"

Lynne had no idea, but she nodded. "It's been a hard week. He's still trying to finish that painting." Then she nearly burst into tears. Eric never left while in the middle of a project. Something was terribly wrong.

But there was nothing she could do other than wait. Then, when he returned, for Lynne never assumed the worst, perhaps they could discuss it. They hadn't spoken about it for three years, not in depth. When he had been gone almost a week, she had been wracked with worry. After he had slept, they spent the evening curled up on the sofa, a crackling fire acting as a buffer as she asked why had he been gone so long, why did he feel so compelled, why did it still occur? Not that he had any answers, but she'd needed to inquire, if only to get it off her chest. And that he did need to talk about it, even if it was so painful. When he came home this time, she would again press, albeit gently, and only after he had recovered. Once he had recovered....

"Lynne, why don't you leave early? And don't worry about the pie. Just go home and...." Renee stood on her tiptoes, whispering into Lynne's ear. The language was clean but the sentiment wasn't. Lynne blushed as a chill ran through her. What Renee thought the couple should do wasn't possible because Eric wasn't at home.

Yet Lynne nodded, then kissed Renee's cheek. Lynne gathered her things, informed the head nurse, and was at the bus stop before anyone could ask her to return.

To her great relief, Eric's snores resounded as she walked through their front door. The kitchen looked as she had left it that morning, which meant he hadn't eaten before falling asleep. That too was relatively new; the last few times he had come home, he hadn't been hungry. Lynne didn't pursue that thought, nor did she think about making pie. She walked into the living room, the last place she had seen him, but no hint to their activities remained. His drones were steady and loud. He had been asleep a few hours.

She hoped he had been unconscious for several; maybe he came back right as she had left. She hesitated about going upstairs. She didn't want to wake him, but would love to change out of her uniform. Instead she remained downstairs, but took off her shoes, putting on slippers that waited at the end of the sofa.

Then she sat on the couch, removing her cap. Usually she took it off on the bus, but her mind had been a jumble. Pulling out the bobby pins, she placed the cap to her left, upside down, setting the pins within it. Then she removed the pins from her hair, also putting them in the cap. She shook out her hair, a weight still clinging to her shoulders. She tried ignoring it, but it did no good.

Her dress unzipped in the back, but if she tried to merely loosen it, the whole zipper would fall. Underneath she wore a brassiere, a half-slip, and white nylons. She gazed at her white shoes, usually comfortable. But that afternoon, she ached to be in her robe, the slippers offering some relief. As soon as Eric woke, depending on if he had bathed, she would be naked, for he was so needy upon his returns. She didn't have to work until Monday, which was fortuitous; all weekend they would do no more than eat, sleep, and make love. Then once she left for the bus, Eric would possibly go to the studio to finish that painting. Or would he? Lynne sighed, flexing her toes. He had never left with a piece incomplete. This time the urge had overwhelmed him; was that due to their intimacy, or was he taking on another aspect of the.... She stared at the ceiling; the snoring had abruptly stopped. Then she heard plodding footsteps, which sounded like they were going from the couple's bed to their bathroom. Gripping the sofa cushion, Lynne took several deep breaths. She released the cushion, then went to her feet, heading to the stairs.

As she reached the landing, he was stepping from their bedroom. He was nude, and badly bruised from his shoulders to his feet. She began to cry as he called her name, his voice scratchy and weak. Then she was in his arms, keeping them both upright. Eric hadn't even bathed, and he smelled like paint. She pulled away, still weeping, but her eyes were clear enough to make out colors in his hair, along his limbs, and now on the front of her uniform. "Honey, what happened?"

He inhaled, then stroked her face. "When I came back, I realized I hadn't finished the painting. The next thing I knew I was in the studio, a brush in my hand. It's done, or at least it's finished. Oh Lynne, oh my God honey, I am so sorry!"

He touched the splotches on her dress, but she wasn't worried about those, or that their sheets were probably dappled in paint. Only that he was home mattered. The rest would be fixed later.

But she was still a nurse; as she met his gaze, nodding her head, she then inspected his injuries. There were always bruises, but this time cuts along his legs had left trails of blood. "You need a bath, then I'll tend to these." Her tone was similar to how she spoke to patients. Perhaps her training had been more for what this man required than being a lifelong career. "Let me fill the tub and...."

"First, I need you." Now his voice was husky and direct. "Lynne, please, I need...."

He didn't kiss her, which was also something that had emerged during the last year. He had eaten something, she was certain, but she didn't ask as he reached around to the back of her dress, bringing down the zipper. She let the uniform fall from her shoulders while he unhooked her bra. Then tenderly he caressed her face in his hands. "I love you. Please, let me show you." His tone was still passionate, also plaintive. He sought absolution over his own well-being, or maybe her mercy was a part of his healing. Perhaps tending to his inner wounds was more important than bandaging the cuts on his legs.

He released her face, allowing her to step back, then out of her dress. She still wore her slip and stockings, but the bra fell to the floor as she grasped his hand. By the time they reached the bedroom, he was assisting her in removing those last items. Then they tumbled into bed, the scent of oil-based paint mingling with nature, hedged with the hint of fowl.

Hours later, Lynne sat on the bathroom floor next to the tub in which her husband was still soaking. This was his second bath, Epsom salts having been added to this one. His first was just to remove the grime and what paint they could peel off. She would apply ointment and gauze once he was out and dried off. His bruises were more worrisome than the superficial cuts, which had initially looked worse than they were. But he hadn't spoken and she hadn't asked, yet. She would, in good time, if only because his contusions were more prevalent than she had ever seen.

While he soaked in the first bath, Lynne had called the Aherns, telling Sam that Eric had suffered a small relapse, and that she wouldn't be able to make the pie. Sam had told her not to worry about it, that Eric's needs took precedence. Then Lynne had stripped their bedding, taking it to the garbage can outside. No use in saving those sheets, in part that she didn't want to use them again. It would have taken several washings, with bleach, to remove stains left by the paint and his wounded legs. But it was the bird smell that ultimately doomed them to the trash. Lynne wondered if any of that had permeated their mattress.

Now clean linens waited for them, as well as a thick mattress pad. If the bed still smelled unpleasant, she would have Eric flip the mattress, but not until he was stronger. As he sighed, then shivered, Lynne stood. "Is it cold, do you wanna get out?"

He nodded, then stood. She glanced at his injuries, the bruising perhaps lessened. He still looked as though he'd been in a fight; he had never returned this battered. She gave him a towel, moving toward the door. He stepped from the tub, his legs shaky. She came his way and he nodded, using her for support. Once he was dry, he handed her the towel, then looked back at the tub. "I forgot to pull the plug."

"I'll get it later. Let's get you bandaged up."

Her tone was light, for now that he was clean, she could better assess his wounds. And he no longer smelled like.... Never had the scent of fowl been so strong. She had half-expected to find feathers in the sheets, another reason to have balled them into one large bundle, hauling them to the trash. But there had been no remnants, for which she was grateful. The day that happened....

They reached their bed and he lay down. She had left the comforter pulled back, the pillows plumped, as if inviting him to rest. He scooted into the middle of the bed and she sat on his side, her first aid kit on his table. She dressed the front of him where necessary, then he rolled to the left, and she treated those wounds. He made no sound, his pain threshold still very high. Right after he returned he didn't seem to feel anything, at least not physically. He was exhausted, that was plain, but not in agony.

Or he felt no bodily trauma. As he lay on his back, his face was distorted, he looked near tears. Lynne blinked away hers as she closed the first aid kit, setting it on the floor. "What do you need?" she asked.

"I, I don't know." He spoke softly, then sighed. "I'm sorry, I am so...."

She lay next to him, dressed in casual clothes, what she had put on after they made love and he was ready to bathe. It was late; she wanted to shed these items, slip into her nightgown, then cuddle beside him. But she had to clean out the bathtub and while he didn't seem hungry, Lynne was starving. The upstairs needed to be swept, the downstairs too; she had no idea what he had tracked in when he arrived. But for that moment, she gazed at the man she loved more than anyone else, wondering for how much longer could he live this way.

It wasn't merely the bruises or cuts. It was the weariness and the guilt. And, she loathed admitting, that smell, which seeped from the mattress cover through the sheets, hitting her nose every time she inhaled. She closed her eyes, not wanting to concede what she had seen in the past, both as he left, then came home. The alteration was unreal, but not a fallacy. Her husband had literally changed before her eyes, but still he turned back into the man she adored and would remain married to until.... "Are you hungry honey?"

"No," he said, his voice a whisper. "But I'm sure you are. Go get something to eat. I'll probably fall asleep and...."

She kissed him, only on his lips. It would take a day, perhaps two, until she would kiss him more intimately. If he wasn't hungry, that meant he had recently eaten, and it wouldn't be anything she would wish to taste. She stood, then picked up the first aid kit. "I'll make a sandwich. I won't be long."

"Take your time. I'll be sleeping soon."

She nodded, then smiled. His eyes were already closed, his body sated and bandaged. But what about his mind, she wondered, putting the kit in their closet, then pulling the plug in their tub. Her stomach rumbled as the water drained, but Lynne didn't leave until it was empty and she had cleaned it out. By the time she exited their bedroom, Eric was fast asleep.

She ate a sandwich, drinking a small glass of milk. Then she swept the living room where he had first entered the house. Bits of canvas were among what she collected, which confirmed that he had gone into the studio as soon as he'd landed. Well, he had landed, then altered, then perhaps he had called for her, waiting for her to come running. But once realizing he was alone, his first thought wasn't to bathe or rest. It was to paint, and Lynne shook her head. He was her husband, then a painter, but trumping those roles was what he couldn't shut out, run from, or fight. Was it inborn, the result of his miserable childhood, or was it....

It was nothing he could ever change and she sighed, dumping what she had swept into the trash. She looked around the house; nothing else seemed out of place. She could sweep the upstairs tomorrow, perhaps bake the pie then too. But all of that would wait because Eric was home, and his needs took precedence. He was bruised, but a human being, all she could ask for.
Chapter 4

When Eric stirred, he noticed the need to urinate, and that he was alone. And that the room smelled differently; had Lynne used new laundry soap, or something in the bathroom, or.... He struggled to sit up, then inhaled deeply. Then he cringed, remorse bubbling in his guts. Pulling back the bedding, he gazed at his legs, several pieces of gauze taped along his shins. He recalled her tending to those wounds, which had occurred during a fight with another.... Why had they been fighting? Usually Eric didn't get involved with other.... He sighed. It had been over food, for he hadn't wanted to come home on an empty stomach. He had only wanted to land, return to normal, then.... Making love to Lynne would have occurred first, but she hadn't been home. And as soon as he'd realized that, he remembered the painting. He hadn't even finished that painting before....

He stood, his legs still wobbly. Walking to the bathroom, he sat on the toilet, emptying his bladder, taking deep breaths. Those four days had been some of the roughest in a long time, in part from the awkward transition, which he had never before experienced. Usually he knew when it would happen a few days before it did, the feeling of flight blurring the edges of real life, the scent of the wild strong in his nostrils, his vision improving. Then his limbs would start to twitch, as if reminding him there was no way to halt this alteration. He was completely helpless during the transition, and that it had begun right after making love with his wife had haunted him the entire time he was conscious, even if soaring through the air provided exhilarating freedom, the feel of nature so deeply entwined within his soul, the focus drawn away from human experience. If not for how he had left Lynne and the painting, Eric would have reveled in those four days. Instead he had encountered a deep sorrow that had never previously intruded. It interfered with how he reacted with other birds, as if they sensed his depression. That had led to the fight with the falcon. Eric hunted only to satisfy his appetite, and he had been hungry, but the falcon had been following him. Eric had ignored it until both had spied the collection of mice, scurrying back and forth from an old barn to stacks of aged hay. Eric had perched in a nearby walnut tree, observing the mice, also the falcon, which had chosen an oak not twenty feet away. Eric was larger and his instincts were sharp. The falcon would use his beak to attack, but Eric only relied upon his claws, which would grasp a mouse, then slice its throat. Eric preferred to end their suffering quickly, no need to be brutal.

But the falcon hunted as most birds did, without thought to their prey. As the falcon dove for the kill, Eric did too; several mice would mean plenty for both birds, but the falcon was greedy, or just didn't like Eric. Instead of scooping up dinner, the falcon aimed for Eric, scratching his lower body. Eric reared up, then mercilessly ripped a hole right through the bird's back. The falcon spun to the ground, crying in pain, but Eric heard only the rustle of mice into the barn. The falcon flapped furiously on the ground, then limped away while Eric caught his breath, returning to the tree, his heart pounding. He didn't notice his wounds, scanning the area for any possible food. All other animals had taken cover and Eric hadn't stayed for long, as night was falling. He flew away, staying relatively low to the ground, until a small squirrel scampered across the dirt. It was no match for a hawk, and Eric pounced, gobbling within minutes all but the fur and tail. He didn't like squirrel, preferred mice, when he had to eat. He had then rested in a tree, considering the remaining distance to his house. Then he thought about his wife. He was exhausted, but Lynne was waiting. He was aware of the time, in that it had been four days. He pressed on, not stopping for more than sips of water, until light broke and his home was in sight.

Now again he was a man, which seemed ludicrous when compared to his recent existence. He stood from the toilet, flushed it, then stared into the mirror. His eyes were human, although his vision was still sharp. He backed up, gazing at the objects behind him in the reflection; to the left was the tub, to the right was the door. And standing in the doorway was his wife, a trembling smile on her beautiful face.

He turned to her, wondering why she stood there, why did she love him, why had she stayed? He had never wanted to fall in love, never wished to burden anyone with this, but she had seen him change and hadn't run away screaming. He couldn't recall what she had initially done, other than softly call his name as he had flown away from her, hoping to God that when he returned, she would be gone. But she had waited for him, and when he stood again as a man, she embraced him, whispering his name and that she loved him. They had been young, perhaps that had enabled her to stay, thinking he would change, thinking.... He stroked her face, which was damp from tears. Then he gazed at her eyes, which were red. He concentrated; blood vessels were large, she had wept for some time, but not that recently. Still, her cheeks were streaked, or maybe these were the remnants, for she cried every time he came home, hopefully due to relief. Did she cry when he left, Eric wondered, tenderly caressing her face, wishing he could present her with immutable proof that this was the last time and that he would never hurt her again.

"I love you," he mumbled, profoundly ashamed of himself. Even if he had no recourse to stop the transformations, why had he subjected her to this life? Why had he kept seeing her, marrying her even, aware of what he could not change. Why had this woman penetrated his shell, why, why....

She nodded, her eyes refilling with tears. She blinked, the liquid splashing down her face, and he caught those tears, rubbing them between his fingers that weren't claws but digits like every other human being. Yet hours ago these hands had mangled a squirrel, had injured a falcon. They had gripped tree branches, or were tucked up as his arms waved through the breeze, but not as limbs. Wings had spread far from his torso, covered in feathers. Just one day ago he had been a hawk. Now he was a husband, not a very good one, he felt, for how hard his beloved was sobbing.

Yet she remained close to him and didn't bother wiping her face, snot collecting at the base of her nose. He removed that with the back of his hand, then set his palms along her warm, wet cheeks. He wanted to kiss her deeply, but would wait until he had eaten a meal, maybe two. Brushing his teeth wouldn't mask the taste of his last victuals, but why was he like this, why had this happened to him?

"I love you Eric, I'm just so glad you're home." Lynne's voice was weak, but her tone relayed relief.

"Why?" he said, wondering not only about her feelings, but curious as to what drove them. What in her makeup permitted this atrocity, for he was erroneous. He was....

She gripped him, stopping that train of thought. Eric had no way to battle her love, passed through that embrace, or the words she slipped into his ears, gentle and soothing, also brutally truthful. He nodded, for she never lied, except to protect him. She was honest, even if it hurt her. And it did; at times loving him was scary, wearying, and dangerous. Yet, she was always here for him, or within hours she came home. Eric wanted to smile; sometimes it was Lynne returning to him. She always did, even if his arrivals were far more uncertain.

They parted, for she needed to blow her nose, and he couldn't stand for much longer. As she pulled sheets from the toilet paper roll, he stumbled back into their bedroom, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Within a minute, she joined him, grasping his hand, but not with undue force. Sometimes his bones ached for days after returning, especially his bad left foot.

"It's okay," he said. "My hands don't hurt."

She nodded. "Have you been awake long?"

"Have you?" He stared at her, then stroked her face. "When did you wake up?"

"A few hours ago. You were sound asleep."

He wanted to speak to that, but what was there to say? He sighed, then kissed her cheek. "I love you." The words seemed insignificant, but were all he had.

"I love you too. How do you feel?"

He knew she meant his physical bearing, but he longed to be truthful, exposing his heart instead. Yet perhaps that weight would suffocate her. Eric wore a wan smile. "I've been better."

She nodded, then sighed. "When you feel like eating something, let me know."

"Sure." He wasn't hungry, but perhaps by nightfall. Then he winced. Nightfall was a term for when he was a hawk. There was no consideration to hours or minutes, simply the variances of dawn, daylight, twilight, then nightfall. At that moment, while his form was human, his thought processes remained in flux. His sight was keen; his sense of smell was too. "I think I'll need to flip the mattress."

The room smelled of paint, but more was the aroma of hawk. He wondered if she noticed it too, but maybe not, for she had made love to him with that odor in his nostrils. But then, she had made love to him while he was still unclean, also spattered in paint. She hadn't flinched, not that he'd been aware, then he shuddered. Perhaps she had hidden her disdain, allowing him to take her with that layer of fowl still on his skin. Eric stood abruptly, then stared at his body. It was that of a man, but only hours ago, he'd been a creature. And he had lain against his wife with the remnants of whatever he had been still lingering.

Yet, when he returned to life as a man, all he wanted was her, for he needed her. Days of flying, nights spent hunting, then a break taken as he slept, but through all that Lynne was foremost in Eric's consciousness. He had no choice when it came to turning into a bird, equally he could never eliminate his wife from his considerations. And when he was once again a man, all those musings coalesced into the most vigorous physical longings, which she always accepted, seeming just as needy of him. Was she? He faced her, his cheeks red with shame. Hers were dry, her eyes becoming clear. "Eric, are you all right?"

He knelt in front of her, putting his face in her lap, shaking so hard he wasn't sure if he could stop. The tremors weren't like those he experienced as the transformation began, these were purely human, and from the deepest mortification. How could he impose himself upon her like that, and why had she let him? A few times, after he had finished a particularly emotional painting, he had sought her out, requiring a sexual release that seemed to complete the art. In those moments, and they had been few, she had always acquiesced, not caring if he got paint on her. But that was an artistic action, resulting from creative powers. What he did to her when he came home stemmed from his basest need, like he still was a beast of nature. How in God's name did she let him....

"Don't," she said stiffly, but not moving from where he still knelt. "I love you Eric. Please just let that be."

He glanced up, finding anger on her face. "How can you?"

She shook her head, then stroked his. "I love you, why can't you understand that?"

"How the hell am I supposed to comprehend any of this?" He wanted to move away from her, to no longer sully her. But she had wrapped her arms around his back, caressing his skin, and he needed those touches, he needed her. Did she feel that way too, could she love him as she said?

To Eric, Lynne's most remarkable trait was how she could read his thoughts. Maybe that was tied into her endless patience, or her constant forgiveness. But those were actions of the heart and Eric wouldn't question that muscle's enigmatic power. Yet, how she understood his mind had little to do with her soul, or that's what he assumed. It was bound to another mystery that rested within her, more associated with rational processes, although nothing about Eric Snyder was normal. He traced around her lovely eyes, then ran his fingers through a few hairs along her temples. She held him right against her beautiful, warm body, and he began to shake again. She did love him, which washed over him in healing waves. But why did she love him this much?

Lynne bent over him, stretching her hands as far as she could along his back. She was gentle where the gauze remained, but her fingers were sensuous, and he moaned, aware of her desires. It wasn't merely him needing her when he came home, for she had never refused him. "Eric," she whispered, but she said nothing more than his name. Yet in how sensuously his name wafted into the room, he could only nod, accepting her bountiful grace, for he had no other word to describe it. Eric wasn't a Christian, but at times he grasped the salvation accepted by those who believed. Yet in his case, it wasn't a deity bestowing redemption. Lynne leaned back, taking her hands from his skin. He looked up as she undid the buttons of her blouse. He nodded, traces of hawk still coursing through his blood. As she lay on the bed, he removed her skirt, taking the next step in the healing process.

Eric woke to his wife in his arms. He kissed her head, then smiled as she nuzzled against his chest. He closed his eyes, only for a moment, then took a deep breath, his heightened sense of smell the last to linger. To his great relief, he couldn't detect fowl, not on himself or in their bed. He wanted to ask if she could smell it, but didn't wish to....

"You slept some," she said. "I love lying in your arms while you sleep."

"I did nod off." He smiled, gripping her. "Why do you like being near me when I sleep?"

She tried to meet his gaze, but he avoided her eyes. He still wasn't certain why she loved him, but this too was the final trace of his recent absence. In a few days they would be back to all of their usual activities; she would tend the sick, he would paint, cook, and wait for her to return. He allowed a small smile. Lynne went away far more often, but for shorter spaces of time.

"Eric, I wanna talk about what happened. When you're ready," she added. "This time was...."

"Different, I know." He sighed. "I don't know why though. I didn't even feel it until...." Until it couldn't be stopped. He stroked her head, then wound her hair around his fingers. They were just fingers now; he sensed no notion they had been anything else. Was that how she had asked him to touch her with these hands, begging him to lay them along her skin; was that part of being made back into a man?

"Eric, I just want us to talk about it. I know there's nothing we can do, but I want...."

She stopped speaking right as he was about to lay a finger over her lips. It wasn't the request, but the agony in her voice. Asking him to discuss this was as painful as the conversation would be.

"Lynne, soon. Tomorrow or Sunday maybe. Can you wait till then?"

She nodded, but he sighed, for she had no other response. She always gave in to him, no matter what he requested of her. Or what he demanded, and he shivered. Then he sat up, positioning her the same. "Honey, I'm sorry. Ask whatever you want. I'll give you the best answers I have."

"It can wait till you're ready."

He shook his head. "No, because I ask things of you and you never refuse me."

She kissed him, then set her palm in the center of his hairless chest. "I love you. I don't wanna make this more difficult."

He wanted to laugh, for she was the only easy part of his life, except for the guilt stirred from loving her. Then he ached deep in his guts. It wasn't merely guilt, but a hollow, cold pain. He set his hand to her lower belly. They no longer talked about a baby, yet it wasn't her fault, it never had been. He wasn't normal and perhaps that made their infertility less agonizing, but it never lessened how much he wanted a child with her, even if his oddness would be a detriment to fatherhood. Not long before the falcon had started following him, Eric had witnessed two hawks in free-fall. That mating dance, as Eric like to think of it, was one of the most beautiful manners of reproduction, and over the years, he had witnessed it several times, usually between the same pairings of birds. Not all hawks were monogamous, but some gravitated to the same partners, and Eric would fly on, happy for that particular couple. Within a year, the female would lay eggs, both parents caring for their offspring. If Eric could have fathered a child, he would, despite his abnormality.

He touched her torso for only another second. Then he put that hand over hers, which remained on his chest. "Ask me Lynne. Ask whatever you wanna know."

But she choked instead, too many questions, and the worst wasn't why he had changed, but why after all this time, they still couldn't conceive. Perhaps he could read her mind as well as she read his. Eric pulled the blanket over them as she warbled half-formed sentences strangled between deep sobs. Her words had nothing to do with him changing into a bird, then reverting to his human form. She repeated one phrase that ripped into him more deeply than the falcon had: Why can't I have your baby?
Chapter 5

A month had passed, during which time Eric and Lynne didn't speak about their infertility or his recent absence. They did share a meal with the Aherns, then another, for the first had gone badly, which hadn't surprised Eric or his wife. Renee and Samuel had been flustered, perhaps due to their own childlessness, or just that they hadn't expected the Snyders to arrive. The second meal, two weeks after the first, had been more light-hearted as Sam finally gave Lynne the custard recipe while Renee gently pestered Eric to sell them a painting. Not that Eric didn't want to part with one, in fact, he'd repeatedly asked them to choose one at no cost. But the Aherns wouldn't dream of letting Eric give them a painting for free. Having attended his last exhibit, they knew the prices he commanded, which were above their means. But Eric insisted that if Sam was willing to part with the custard recipe, then compensation was due. It would be in the form of Eric's latest creation, and he wouldn't take any less than ten dollars in the transaction.

That his canvases fetched well over ten times that amount wasn't noted. Eric had been busy since returning home, but the painting he wanted to bestow upon the Aherns wasn't that recent. It was from his last series, before he left, although not the final painting of that bunch. That painting, which he had completed moments after returning to human form, had been destroyed, and Eric hadn't even permitted Lynne to see it. Stanford hadn't been told, for Eric didn't keep all his pieces, but this one had been excised for personal, not aesthetic, reasons. The one he had finished right before that depicted three hawks staring into the sun, which set over an open field, the sky bathed in warm yellows, oranges, and pinks. It was now a theme Eric was pouring all his energy into, introducing more vibrant hues to his usually drab palate. He had considered giving that painting to Lynne, but it was too close to the one he had burnt to ash. She had seemed pleased that it was going to Renee and Samuel; better to give such a canvas to friends than to sell it, or keep it at the house.

Lynne had certain ideas about Eric's paintings; perhaps an artist's wife was prone to such musings. Eric didn't associate with other painters; he kept to himself, the rare visits with the Aherns or with Stanford the extent of his socializing. Lynne wasn't an outgoing type, one of the reasons they had been drawn to the other. Her ideas about art, however, weren't far from the typical supportive role; she loved everything he did, although she preferred bright colors. He was incorporating those in part due to her, and to get away from the ubiquitous hawks that touched all he created. In the painting for the Aherns, Eric had focused more on the horizon than on the birds, but fowl were present, he couldn't excise them. And they remained in the new paintings, as if making up for all that Eric and Lynne wouldn't say.

But the birds were smaller in size, fewer in number. Sometimes all he included was a tiny outline of a hawk in the upper right corner, while the rest of the canvas evoked the images from his recent trip. He had painted the mice scuttling from the haystacks to the barn; he had depicted trees from a bird's view, soaring over their branches. He had illustrated vast acreages ripe for harvest, but the shades weren't merely browns and rusts, golds and grays. The barn was a bright kingfisher blue, the mice were deep burnt orange. From behind emerald trees peered crimson squirrels, their bushy tails flecked in peach. These paintings were a distinct change from Eric's previous work, drying in the spare room, for the storage room was bursting to the seams. Eric needed to call Stanford, perhaps arrange another exhibit, and not necessarily in their small town. The dealer would balk, not wishing to flood the market, but Eric had more completed canvases than he could catalogue. Maybe he would give, or very cheaply sell, another painting to the Aherns. Perhaps the barn scene, for the blue was similar to the color of Sam's eyes. Eric pondered that, walking back to the house, his day's work done as dusk fell across the garden.

Since he had come home, Lynne hadn't joined him at the end of his work days. Part of it was due to cooler weather. Mostly it was that they had tacitly agreed to not speak of his last absence, or about a baby. Not that they didn't try; lovemaking occurred as frequently as before, perhaps more so. As Eric stepped through the French doors, Lynne was waiting in front of the fireplace, her smile saucy. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

"Only for you," he smiled as his stomach rumbled. He approached her, then pulled her toward him. She reciprocated his embrace, then seemed to melt into his skin. Eric closed his eyes, not seeing colors. He noted this woman's warmth and her unstated but underlying questions. They might not have spoken about his last disappearance, but still it lingered.

Instead of talking, they went to their room and made love. Then they came back downstairs and ate a simple dinner in front of the fire, which Eric had rebuilt while Lynne fixed sandwiches. They drank hot cider, otherwise their meal was a cold one, but the room was toasty, and both still showed the effects of intimacy. Lynne was especially flushed, her ruddy cheeks as if on fire. Eric finished his dinner, then set his palm on her face. She wasn't feverish, but so warm, and he knew why. Questions were burning inside her and soon would need to be released.

He took their plates to the kitchen, then sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, patting his lap. She joined him and they rested as crackles and pops made the only sound. Her breathing was smooth, but her heart raced, which he could tell from setting his hand on her chest. "Ask me," he said softly.

She shook her head, then burrowed into him. But soon, she moved back. "Will it be like that from now on?"

"I don't know. The one before that...." He sighed. Then he had sensed the impending change, but the lag-time was only a few hours. Now there seemed to be no warning at all. "I wish I knew more, I wish...."

She nodded, then gazed at the fire. "Why do you eat right before you return?"

To that query, he had a response. "Because I'm starving and all I want is to get home, then...." He smiled. "Make love to you. And I can't do that on an empty stomach."

"You used to do it," she said quietly.

"Well, I'm not as young as I used to be."

She smiled, then her eyes were clouded with tears. "Do you think, oh Eric, you're not gonna...."

"Die soon? I dunno, I hope not." He sighed. "Honey, I have no idea how this affects me except for...."

"That's not your fault Eric."

"How can it not be?"

They stared at each other. They had first made love not long after they had started dating, which had seemed quite improper, but their feelings were so intense. And what she knew about him seemed to broker intercourse far sooner than what typical principles would have permitted. He had used condoms back then, but as soon as they married, birth control wasn't necessary. Within two years, they came to the horrible conclusion that perhaps it never had been. Lynne's cycles were regular, both were healthy, yet, Lynne never conceived. After she began working with Renee, Lynne finally spoke about it, she hadn't even seen a doctor. Renee had been the one to urge Lynne to address the situation, but Lynne hadn't wished to reveal this to any of the men with whom they worked. Renee knew of a woman physician who practiced at another hospital in town. Lynne had undergone a full physical, but no defects had been noted. Lynne told one fib to Dr. Salters, that Eric had been seen by his regular physician, and that he had checked out normally. Dr. Salters had no answer for Lynne, other than sometimes infertility carried no explanation. Lynne was satisfied with that diagnosis, for it was much like how Eric suffered. And for all he endured, their troubles must be her fault. She never once assumed it was him.

While Eric refuted her beliefs, Lynne didn't budge, in part that it was an ingrained concept that women must be more responsible for such maladies. If men could father children well into old age, how could they be blamed for the absence of conception? Only in a case like Samuel Ahern, where obvious trauma had occurred, would a man not be able to impregnate his wife. Eric considered that school of thought both outdated and sexist. In nature, often it was the male who had to woo a partner, and in the case of hawks, the female bird was larger than the male. But Lynne wouldn't be convinced otherwise and while most times she was accepting of their fate, occasionally it made her cry. And when it did, she blamed herself for not having moved on. After all these years, wasn't there a point when the truth must be faced?

Eric wanted to state some of this aloud, but the fire required his attention. Lynne released him, then sat on the sofa as he added more wood. Eric joined her, both watching the rising flames. Enraptured by the colors, Eric decided that soon, perhaps tomorrow even, he would paint such a scene. But first he cradled his wife. "Lynne, maybe I should see a doctor, at least about...."

"No. Goodness only knows what they'd find."

"Maybe they could tell us if I was sterile."

She shirked back, shaking her head. "Don't even say that."

"It's possible, probable actually. Or maybe I have...."

"Eric, stop." She scooted to the other end of the sofa, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm more concerned with how you left last time. What if next time you're at the store or we're having dinner with Renee and Samuel?"

"Well then I suppose on my behalf you'll have to make one hell of an excuse."

He smiled and she smirked. Then she uncrossed her arms, cracking her knuckles. "Can you tell me if it felt differently this time, were you searching for something?"

Now her tone was soft, edged with concern. Eric motioned for her to rejoin him and she did. Then he put his arm around her. "Nothing obvious, although...." At the time, he thought it had been a fluke or perhaps new inspiration for his work. He didn't disallow what seeing through a hawk's eyes brought to his paintings. Better to use those experiences for something worthwhile than discard them. Then he grimaced. Before the falcon had started trailing him, perhaps in the first day of his journey, there had been a distinct purpose to that sojourn. Then he had lost the sensation, overwhelmed with the marvel of flight while observing the patterns of the natural world, all the while missing his wife. Eric stroked her face, then kissed her, which led to several minutes lost to all else. As they broke away, he inhaled sharply. "Oh God Lynne, I'd nearly forgotten."

"What? Eric, what is it?"

The pain within his chest was as sharp as the falcon's claw along his.... It had pierced his lower torso, not far from where spindly legs grew. But the scars which remained existed on his human legs. Eric's heart felt to be similarly marked, then he grasped Lynne's shoulder. "I was trying to find my...."

He paused, hard to even conjure that image.

"Who Eric, who?"

"My dad," he said hoarsely. "I was on a journey to find my father."

The next day they walked hand in hand through the garden, warmly dressed as the autumn breeze was tinged with winter's chill. Or perhaps the iciness was due to who Eric had been searching for, in the guise of a hawk. Maybe that was safe, for to even think about his father stirred unpleasant memories, all of them making Eric's blood run cold. He hadn't seen his father in over two decades, but then, his father had spent all of that time in prison.

Eric never knew from whom he had inherited his artistic talent. It wasn't from his mother; Emma Snyder had possessed no creative notions, had barely been literate. Howard Snyder had never shown any propensity toward the social graces, in fact, he had been a brutish drunkard. Eric carried vivid recollections of how his parents interacted, with rare displays of affection. More often the scenes were steeped in violence from the time Eric could remember.

He always assumed his gift with paint was an aberration, or maybe it compensated for his deformed left foot and one strange habit. He hadn't taken to drawing until after his father was gone, to pass the long stretches that a boy from his background endured. His mother worked full time, even before Howard had left, and after that, Emma expended all her energy into providing her only child with some sort of future. Eric was intelligent, later teaching his mother how to read. He was also blessed with artistic inclinations, but those had evolved at a price, for by the time Eric's doodles impressed his teachers, he was having a hard time regularly attending school.

Now those years seemed far away, even if Eric could picture their ramshackle house, his small room, his mother. She hadn't been a pretty woman, but sturdy, and her smile, when it shone, warmed his heart in such a way that when he met Lynne, finding the same lift in her joy, Eric wondered if perhaps he might indeed be blessed. He had loved his mother deeply and her death, when he was just starting college, had taken a huge toll. He missed several weeks of school, although some of that time was spent flying through the air, attempting to set aside the feeling of abandonment. Two years later, just as he was starting to run out of enthusiasm for his studies, he met Lynne at a diner. Her grin, partially blocked by a long knitted scarf, revived him, then sent him on a journey that lasted for days. He observed her from above, unable to fathom why she had smiled at him, until he saw she was a nursing student. It was her calling to help the sick, he decided. Then he found it was more than the career she had chosen.

He gripped her hand, then pulled her close. She wore a handmade scarf, also a hat and mittens. But her scent was warm and healing, helping him back then to set aside his mother's death. Now it enabled him to consider his father's existence. Howard had committed terrible crimes, which Eric felt had somehow played a part in his transformations. He shut that aside, grasping Lynne against him. "He's still alive," he mumbled. "But maybe something's wrong with him."

Then he shook his head. "I have no idea where he is and I'm sure he has no idea where I am. Maybe I shouldn't have Stanford arrange another exhibit, not that my father would ever think that I might've turned out all right." Eric sighed, then kissed Lynne's cheek. "Honey, I was trying to find him, for what reason God only knows." He spoke with disgust. "Maybe I should try to locate him, maybe that would put all of this to rest."

"Maybe," Lynne said.

He held her hands, giving momentary squeezes. She gripped back as if using code. She was telling him that he could inquire to his father's whereabouts, but that would have little recourse on other aspects of Eric's life. And she was right, he knew that. But did he want to know more?

He wasn't sure, and Lynne understood that too. Then she led him into the studio. It wasn't much warmer in there, although the windows were snug and no wind leaked through. They stood in front of a blank canvas, but finished paintings leaned against every available surface. The colors were bold as if beseeching the painter to act upon his inner urgings. Usually those were related to Lynne, but something else was brewing within Eric.

"What will you paint next?" she asked.

"Maybe last night's fire." Then he shook his head. "I have no idea. What should I paint?"

She pointed to the most recent canvases, awash in warm summery shades. A tiny hawk dotted the upper right corner of each, with the artist's name scrawled in the lower left corner, as if correlating who Eric truly was. He had never noticed that before, had Lynne? He asked and she smiled. "You've been doing that for a long time."

Then she picked up a brush, lying on a table. It was caked with dried paint, the dark hue hard to discern. She picked at the paint, then set the brush back down. "Eric, what if you painted...."

He shook his head, turning away from her, staring at their garden. The fountain didn't bubble and the bird bath was overflowing from recent rains. All the vegetables had been picked, the last fruit harvested. For the next few months Eric would come out here, but the temperatures would be nippy, the skies sullen. Lynne wouldn't join him until spring, and then only on nice days. And by then, he would have again taken leave of her, of this studio, and these canvases. Stanford would have probably arranged an exhibit by then, but not for these paintings. Eric was far past the pictures that Stanford would sell, as if those images were like Eric's memories, a part of him, but long forgotten.

Lynne's footsteps were loud as rubbish crackled under her shoes. Eric looked down, the floor littered with trash. He needed to clear out this place and not merely of paintings. Debris was everywhere, why was he so untidy in this one space? Maybe to conceal what he wasn't ready to face.

Eric looked at his wife; had she said those words? "What do you think I should paint Lynne?"

How many ghosts lingered, for both of them? He faced his demons, even if the hawk was merely a splash against the canvas. Maybe he needed to paint her holding a baby, him at her side. Perhaps a war scene on behalf of Sam Ahern and others, or a cadre of nurses for Lynne and Renee, or....

"Would you model for me?" he said quietly. He wasn't sure how he might paint her, but if she could take him turning into a hawk, how hard would it be for her to pose, although with winter approaching, this might not be the best time to ask.

She stepped to his side, putting her hand on his right arm from where his talent emerged. Then she shook her head, a few tears falling along her cheeks. It wasn't winter that discouraged her or the baby they couldn't make. It was that no matter how Eric painted his wife, or anyone else, it wouldn't be the subject most in need of exorcism.
Chapter 6

By Thanksgiving, Eric had spoken to Stanford about an exhibit in spring, but the dealer hadn't shown much enthusiasm. In mid-December, a rather blustery day kept Eric inside the house for much of the morning. Every time he stepped out, an angry blast of wind forced him back in. He had started a pot of soup for that night's meal and was sipping the last of the morning coffee when a knock startled him. Eric rushed to the front door, then laughed as a tall disheveled man shook a rainstorm from his overcoat. "Well good morning Stanford," Eric smiled, letting the dealer into the kitchen. "To what do I owe this interruption?"

When not worried about when he might next turn into a hawk, Eric was generally good-natured. That he and Lynne hadn't recently spoken about babies was also a part of his sunny mood, despite the worsening weather. And he loved seeing the usually unruffled Stanford Taylor on the back foot, not only for his unexpected appearance, but the chaos of his bearing. Stanford removed his hat, shaking off water, then tried to smooth his thinning brown hair while attempting to clean his spotted glasses. Finally the dealer gave up. "Hello Eric," he grumbled. "Can I please have a towel?"

Twenty minutes later the men were seated in the cozy living room, a fire crackling, the scent of soup wafting, freshly brewed mugs of coffee in their hands. Small talk had explained Stanford's trip; he was on his way back to New York after having met with another West Coast artist. Now perhaps Stanford might possibly take a peek at what Eric wanted to exhibit. But the rain poured, and while the canvases Eric wished to sell were just upstairs in the overcrowded storage room, what Stanford truly wanted to investigate were Eric's recent paintings, warranting if a new exhibit was necessary. If Eric's latest pieces didn't catch Stanford's eye, what use was there in gathering his previous work? The last show had gone well, Stanford would admit, but it had only been months ago, in a nearby city. Eric Snyder did have talent, but better to mete that artistic gift at a rate that would entice buyers, not make them shrug.

"Let me show you what I have upstairs." Even if the day had been sunny, Eric wouldn't have let Stanford into the studio. Only Lynne knew what Eric was currently painting, and it wasn't close to what Stanford had sold in spring. Those had been mostly birds, well-detailed of course, but what his small audience expected. The newest pieces were of skies, from dawn breaking to nightfall, terms he could use in conjunction with landscapes. Eric didn't ponder that these vistas were from his time as a hawk. Everything he painted, in one way or another, was bound to that aspect of his existence.

Stanford sipped his coffee, then set the cup on the coffee table. "Eric, I'm just not sure about another show so soon. Granted, one party does contact me often to learn if I have anything new to sell, but...."

Eric smiled; his artwork had garnered a small but devoted following of bird lovers. Yet, the paintings he had done over summer, and since his last transformation, were on another level, as well as moving away from birds. He was giving the blue barn painting to the Aherns for Christmas, and it was that painting he most wanted Stanford to see. Stanford would be hard-pressed to nix an exhibit, plus he would be peeved that Eric was giving it away. Eric would ask Sam and Renee if it could be included in the show, along with the three hawks at sunset. But other pieces would be available in a similar vein.

"Just have a look Stanford. Then I'll be happy with whatever you decide." Eric finished his coffee, then stood. If Stanford was going to drop in without warning, Eric would get his way.

The dealer huffed, then followed Eric up the stairs, passing by Lynne's craft room, which housed the overspill of Eric's latest paintings. Instead, Eric opened the storage room, turned on the light, then stepped inside. Canvases were safely stored, filling every crevice of space. As Stanford wiped his glasses, Eric waited for the gasp. When it came, Eric closed his eyes, relief and pleasure flooding him. He knew it was good work, but Eric wouldn't deny the thrill of an expert eye offering confirmation.

These paintings were of nature, but not merely of birds. And they were done in vibrant colors, but the detail of Eric's brushwork was the same, if not more pronounced. The kingfisher barn took center stage, set upon an easel that Eric used when working in the studio was just too difficult. He had painted the fire scene right in the living room, although Lynne had insisted upon several old sheets first laid over the carpet. Then Eric had brought in the necessary supplies, painting in part from memory of the night he and Lynne had spoken while sitting in front of a similar blaze, also from that moment as flames rose and sparks crackled. That painting was in the craft room and Eric nearly went to retrieve it. Lynne said it was so lifelike that she expected it to radiate heat.

But that piece would wait, for first came these transitory paintings, which were still full of fowl and other animals, but the meaning was deeper; no longer was Eric attempting to paint hawks and predatory birds. He was searching for the correlation between himself and nature, but not between an artist and his father. Or not yet, Eric sighed inwardly. Yet, that was coming, if not through his work, then in another few months when the ache began in his guts, moving to his limbs, until he could no longer restrain it. He didn't dwell on that, however, as Stanford began to emit more than gasps. Then the men stared at each other. Stanford's gray eyes were wide, his face illuminated with a bliss that Eric rarely saw on other men. Eric had witnessed this sort of exhilaration on his wife, but that was of carnal pleasure. Yet, ecstasy could be achieved in other manners; Eric often felt it as colors and images coalesced upon canvas. Stanford was experiencing it while standing among Eric's paintings.

But Stanford Taylor wasn't a brash sort, nor was he inclined to gushing adoration. He had hinted that Eric's next show should be another local exhibit for one of Stanford's youngest, but most exciting, artists. Stanford was practical, with a sharp eye for talent, as well behooved a third generation art dealer. There was no Mrs. Taylor, and perhaps the family's genius for discovering and nurturing painters would die with him. Eric had a few ideas about his dealer's private life; Stanford wasn't married, but he was certainly infatuated with the paintings in that room. Eric wanted to laugh, wondering how his most recent canvases, just a few feet down the hall, would affect the New Yorker. If Stanford saw those, Eric might have to call for an ambulance.

Eric didn't speak, would let Stanford begin the discussion. But from how closely Stanford stood near the kingfisher barn, gazing at the mice, his right hand almost tracing the brushstrokes, Eric knew it was just a matter of calmly walking back downstairs, then sitting on the sofa, quietly conferring to when the most convenient date would be for Eric to travel east. This next exhibition would take place in New York, Eric felt, and the sooner it occurred the better. Eric could see that in Stanford's fixated gaze, then Eric stifled a chuckle. Stanford Taylor would hit the roof when Eric told him that painting had already been claimed.

But over two dozen canvases waited, paintings that Eric had been unable to contain since returning, plus those done in summer as he was switching from birds to landscapes. He still wanted to paint his wife's image, and was getting closer to that goal, only in that Lynne hadn't complained about the easel in the house on her covered living room carpet. He wanted to paint her seated on their sofa, or in her chair knitting. He ached to immortalize her merciful smile and soft hands in the gentlest of hues. He dreamed of capturing her nude, wishing she was that uninhibited, or maybe just willing to let him fully explore the depth of his passions for her, his need of her. But first he wanted her to condone a simple portrait; maybe he would plant a bug that Renee wanted a picture of the artist's wife....

But that wouldn't be until after Christmas, when Renee and Samuel were the owners of another Eric Snyder piece. Eric laughed, as Stanford still hadn't moved away from the blue barn. "That one's already taken, but as you can see, there're more from where that came from."

Stanford whirled to face Eric. "Who?" He trembled, then inhaled deeply, regaining his composure. "Is it for Lynne?"

Eric chuckled, putting his hands in his pockets. "Good friends of ours. For Christmas," he added definitively. "But the rest are all yours. I'm stepping away from strictly birds as you might have guessed and...."

Stanford pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket, then wiped his brow. Then he quickly glanced at the rest of the paintings Eric had carefully assembled. Some were slightly obscured by others, but all that Eric had in mind for the next exhibit were represented. And the showing that would follow was waiting in the other room, and several more canvases were in the studio.... Eric had never been so prolific, but his vision had altered since that last flight, and his heart had too.

All he wanted was to put that ache to rest. And he wanted to paint his wife's portrait, then Eric sighed. Before he could paint Lynne, even in casual poses, another journey would ensue. But that might not be a brief trip. Recently Eric had dreamed of his father, but not the man he recalled from childhood. This man was old and infirm and didn't scare Eric in the least.

But he had shaken Eric, in that the next trip would last longer than days. It might take Eric a few weeks to locate his dad, then he scoffed, like that was even possible. Then Eric's guts churned. He closed his eyes, wishing Lynne was there, not that he was going to transform in front of his dealer. Only that when it did happen, a husband and wife would be separated for longer than ever before. Eric shivered, then cleared his throat, as Stanford coughed. Then they looked at each other again. Now Stanford nodded, then smiled. "Are you sure you're giving that one away?"

Eric nodded, inhaling deeply, his stomach calming. "Yes, but I imagine they'd let it be shown. They have another one, which can go in the exhibit, as long as they're agreeable."

Stanford nodded coolly, then shook his head. "Is it like these, I mean...." He sighed, then smiled. "You're a bastard, you know that?"

"I am?"

Stanford again mopped his forehead. "These are some of the most...." The dealer considered his words, then laughed. "Eric, these are fantastic. God, that doesn't even begin to convey it. These are...." He glanced around the room again, then returned to the blue barn. He studied it for several seconds, then looked at the painter. "How in the hell did you do all these?"

Eric chuckled. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

The dealer tapped his foot. "I mean, these are just...." Stanford stared at the artist. "Is something wrong with you?"

Eric shook his head. "No, why?"

Stanford approached Eric, eyeing him up and down, lingering on Eric's bad foot. "Just that I've only seen this sort of advancement a few times and usually after it happens you artists up and die on us. My father's warned me about this." Stanford permitted a small smile. "You find your stride, paint a few more years, then kick the bucket. Are you sure you're all right?"

Eric nodded, then grinned. "I'm married to a nurse. You think Lynne would let me die on her?"

"Hmmm, well, I suppose not." Slowly Stanford made his way between the paintings, grazing a few with his fingertips. Each time Eric felt his soul was being touched, but not like how Lynne affected him, only that Stanford now understood. And that Eric and Lynne's lives were set to change, but not in how his departures altered them. This was about money, fame, and expectations. Once these paintings were shown, Eric Snyder would catapult from a slightly admired painter of fowl to an acclaimed nature artist. And this was only the beginning.

Once the artist could depict his wife.... Eric smiled. "So, perhaps an exhibit in spring?" His tone was casual. "Or do you think that would be too soon?"

Stanford shook his head. "Tomorrow wouldn't be soon enough." He huffed, then grinned. "How about in January? Well, February. I can get something arranged by February."

Eric nodded, then he shivered. "February should be fine, although...." By then, Eric might be feeling that ache. Yet, he didn't need to be at the showing; Eric might not be in any shape to travel to New York.

"Although what? Are you all right, or is...." Stanford smiled. "How's Lynne?"

"She's fine. It's just that...."

"Eric, I don't mean to pry. It's just that February would be the soonest I could arrange an exhibit, and believe me, after seeing all this, I want these paintings shown as quickly as possible. I don't think I need to tell you how this will...." Stanford cleared his throat. "This changes the game." He motioned to all he could see. "You had a niche market before, but these go beyond bird lovers. This one, God, are you sure you won't sell it?"

Stanford pointed to the blue barn as Eric nodded. "It's already taken. And yes, I understand the ramifications of these paintings."

Eric's tone was somber, which caught Stanford's attention. "Is there a problem?"

"I may not be able to attend the exhibit."

"Why not?"

Stepping toward his dealer, Eric glanced at the blue barn, then at the mice. Then he looked at Stanford. "I just might not be able to get to New York. But I want these to be seen. I've been busy, and yes, things are changing. If the weather wasn't so awful...." Eric smiled. "But what's coming is more in this style. You can see those in spring, summer perhaps." By summer perhaps Lynne would be amenable to posing in the studio. And maybe by then, he would have information, which might lead to peace. Again his guts churned, but he didn't even blink. "What I'm doing now is...."

"Oh God, don't tell me, it'll drive me nuts. This one's already making me crazy." Stanford eyed the barn. "Do they realize you've just set them up for life in this one painting?"

Eric laughed. "Are you saying Lynne won't have work much longer?"

"Only if she gets bored. I mean it Eric. These are...." Again Stanford paused. "I loathe hazarding a guess, because that reduces it to dollars and cents. But Eric...." Stanford smiled, then shook his head. "My grandfather represented some outstanding painters, my father too. But none of them, not a single one, had your acuity of vision. I look at these and it's like I can see better." He took off his glasses, then pressed his face close to the canvas. "I'm blind without my specs, even at this distance. But it's not my eyes I'm seeing with, it's my...." He stepped back, donned his glasses, then again peered at the canvas. "It's much deeper than that. And damn you, it's like you can see perfectly." He stared at Eric. "What, you have better than 20/20 vision?"

"Something like that," Eric smiled.

"Well, you must." Stanford chuckled, then cleared his throat again. "I'll see how soon I can make the arrangements. Perhaps late January, but more likely February, and I'd like you to be there."

"If I can, I most certainly will."

"Well then, that's the best I can hope for."

Eric nodded, leading him from the room. Then Eric pointed to the far end of the hall. "Are you spending the night?"

Stanford shook his head. "I'm catching this evening's train. But I'd appreciate a ride to the station."

"Of course. Will you stay for an early supper?"

Stanford nodded. "Smells too good to say no. Will Lynne be home soon?"

"She will," Eric smiled. "And I'm sure she'll be happy to see you."

"Or happy to see me leave."

Eric laughed. "Not after she hears what you have to say."

Stanford did spend the night, as Lynne wouldn't hear of him trying to make his way back east through the storm. In the morning, Eric drove them both to town, dropping off his dealer at the train station, then taking Lynne to the hospital. Eric pulled into the visitor's lot, then turned off the engine. The morning was clear but cold and Lynne stared at him. "Am I walking the rest of the way?"

He smiled, then caressed her face. They had stayed up late chatting with Stanford, who hadn't hesitated in telling Lynne what he thought of Eric's work. But the couple hadn't had time to speak alone, and Eric had plenty to tell her. "He knows I may not attend the exhibit."

Lynne's smile slipped away. "And what'd he say?"

Eric grasped her gloved hand. "Well, he was surprised, but accepted it. What else was there for him to do?"

She nodded slowly, then sighed. "Maybe it'll be a brief trip, perhaps you'll be back by then."

He decided to tell her the truth, which might now be more readily digested, what with Stanford noting how Lynne might not need to work once Eric's new paintings had been displayed. "I may be gone longer than usual. I didn't wanna give him false hope."

Her eyes filled with tears, which she wiped away. "I see. How did he take it?"

"He wasn't happy, but...." Eric gripped her hands, then used his against her face, which was damp and so soft that he longed to take her back home, slip into their bed, and never leave. "Honey, I just don't know and...."

She nodded, then sniffled, reaching into her purse for a handkerchief. She blew her nose, then stared out of her window. "There's a break in the rain, I better head in."

"Lynne...."

She opened the car door, but as she tried to step out, he grabbed her arm. She turned to face him, barely containing the flood waiting to be shed.

He started to speak, but she set a finger to his lips, shaking her head. Then she stroked his cheek. "I'll see you tonight," she stammered. "Have a good day."

Eric released her and she exited the car, closing the door, but not with force. She walked quickly, the wind and her steps rustling her long coat. She approached the building, entering through a side door. Eric didn't leave the parking lot for several minutes, gazing at where she had slipped from his view.
Chapter 7

The Aherns were taken aback at the Snyders' gift, but didn't complain until Sam learned 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 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 him, then at her husband, then to Renee, who giggled. "Sam, he's an artiste. How can I 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 charade. 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 while 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 filled the sink. After Renee and Sam left, Eric would tend to the fire, then Lynne and her husband would retire upstairs for what might possibly be the last time until.... Lynne wondered for how much longer could Eric 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."

"The plates need to soak, but thanks," Lynne smiled.

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. Their colleagues knew that Eric had a big exhibit approaching, 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 put on rubber gloves that rested near the sink. "You have some vacation time saved, right? How long will he be gone?"

Lynne swallowed hard. "Renee, it's not that, I mean...."

Renee stopped washing, then ran hot water into the other basin. "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. 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 remain?

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, meals eaten alone, wondering where he was and if he would return. Lynne rinsed plates, 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. "That's all the washing up for me. Sam, would you get my coat?"

"Uh, sure." 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."

"Of course," 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," Sam sighed. "What more's there for her to do?"

"I don't know. Eleanor Salters is probably the best doctor for women in this area. I just...." Renee 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 married couple 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, 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 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 picture, 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 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? Despite Eric's mangled foot, the Snyders were avid hikers, 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 cheek. "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. 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; 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 hadn't wanted to stir Sam from his nap by talking 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 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? Attempting to gain altitude, the creature flapped, but it was still too big to fly properly. It swooped past Renee, making her squat to the ground. She covered 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. Renee 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'n 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

The French doors were closed, but cold air seeped through the broken pane. The women sat in the kitchen, although Renee could still feel that breeze, or perhaps the chill was due to the story Lynne had told, trying to explain the creature, her inappropriate attire, and Eric's continued absence. Then Renee shivered. Lynne was weepy, but in a stoic manner like this had happened before. And still Eric did not walk into the kitchen, or call through the French doors. Renee had checked the upstairs, even going into the rooms where Eric's paintings were kept. She had barely noticed the artwork, only finding that no one was hiding among the throngs of canvases.

"Here Lynne, drink this." It was tea as the Snyders kept no hard liquor. Wine was as strong as they preferred and for a few moments Renee had considered calling Sam, waking him up, then telling him to bring over their best whiskey. But she had driven the car and that for no reason other than her own death would Sam trek across town in winter. Well, if Lynne was dead, Samuel might walk that far, but other than somber tears, Lynne was physically unharmed. Eric was missing, but Lynne was okay.

Yet, Lynne didn't act like she didn't know where Eric was; she spoke as if he would return, however she wasn't sure when. But probably, she seemed to convey through mutterings that to Renee made little practical sense. Eric had fled, Lynne repeated; he had to go, but why then, at that moment, which Renee had discerned was of the intimate kind. Lynne now wore proper attire, but when Renee helped her walk to the house, avoiding the glass-strew gravel, all that covered Lynne was her robe. She was completely naked underneath.

Renee wondered if she had been posing for her husband, but if that was the case, where in the world was Eric? And what had that, that, that.... It was the oddest animal Renee had ever seen, the size of a human and for brief moments walking on two feet, one of them damaged. She blotted out that deformed left foot, then closed her eyes, trying to recreate those initial seconds, barely five or ten of them, as the creature became a blur of movement on the ground. Then it had swooped into the air, transforming as each second ticked past from what appeared as slightly human into a....

A large bird, its arms outstretched, except that birds had wings, but this being had arms, which had then changed into wings and.... Renee shook her head. "Lynne, what was that thing?"

Lynne swallowed some tea, cracked her knuckles, then looked at Renee. But she didn't meet Renee's gaze. "That was my...."

The smile spread quickly, turning into a cackle that rolled into a belly laugh as if Lynne was losing her mind. She grew quiet, wiping her face as tears trickled down her cheeks. Then she grasped Renee's hands, her lower lip trembling, her hands shaking too. "It was Eric. That creature was my husband."

Renee heard each word like no other sound existed. But noise crackled through the kitchen, from the hum of the refrigerator to the ticking clock to the swirling wind, a breeze that emanated from the French doors. Renee stared at Lynne, who appeared sober, yet, to say something so strange, Lynne must have been drinking. "What'd you say?" Renee asked. "Did you say that was Eric?"

Lynne nodded, closing her eyes. Then she opened them and Renee was struck by how easily she could see through this woman, her colleague, her friend. Perhaps her best friend, or maybe only a bond affirmed due to their careers and infertility. But if nothing else, Renee knew that Lynne wasn't lying; she truly believed whatever that thing was, it was also Eric Snyder.

Renee stroked Lynne's cheek, then clasped her hand. "Honey, just tell me where's Eric. Did he leave, did you have a fight, what?"

"Yes, he left, but we weren't fighting. We were...." She paused, then started crying again. "We were making love. Oh God Renee, it's never happened like that, I mean, he's never changed like that and then I didn't know what to do! He's never even transformed inside the house. He was like a caged animal, but he knew who he was, and he was trying to get out of our bedroom, but the window was too small and even if he'd jumped...."

Releasing Lynne's hand, Renee stood from the chair, then backed away, bumping into the counter. "Lynne, are you trying to tell me that was Eric?"

Lynne nodded. "We've never told anyone, oh Renee, you're the first to see it happen."

Renee gazed around the room, trying to collect her bearings. Due to her faith, she believed in miracles. Christ had come back from the dead, but before that he had been a man, and that was about as far as Renee would permit her assumptions on humans altering form, or beating death. But this wasn't like that; the strangest creature she'd ever seen had bolted from the Snyder house, morphing into some kind of bird. And Lynne was claiming that it was actually Eric, which made Renee even more curious. What in God's name had Eric done to his wife?

Cautiously Renee approached Lynne, setting her hand to Lynne's brow. Lynne wasn't feverish, but she sighed as Renee touched her. "I know you think I'm crazy, but Renee, I swear I'm telling you the truth."

Lynne's tone was earnest, frightened, and weary. Those sentiments made Renee tremble. Then she leaned over, kissing Lynne's messy hair. As she did so, she inhaled. The scent of sex was prevalent, which didn't make Renee blush. She was a nurse and a wife, and knew that the Snyders were devoted to each other. Or that Lynne was certainly loyal to Eric in proffering such a delusional tale.

As Renee exhaled, then inhaled again, another scent filled her nostrils, but it wasn't connected to intimacy. It was tinged with something slightly unpleasant, related to.... Renee flinched, then jumped back, gripping herself while gaping at Lynne, who wiped her eyes and cheeks with a napkin. The smell was poultry, or something akin to chickens. It was more pungent though, nearly rank. It reminded Renee of when her mother had taken the family to a small farm when Renee was little, wild turkeys chasing each other in the yard. Renee's older brother Tommy had mentioned it was Thanksgiving dinner on the run, which had puzzled Renee until her eldest brother Ritchie said that the gobbling feathered beasts were what their mother roasted every November. After that it had taken Renee years to eat turkey at Thanksgiving, and she still wasn't fond of it.

Renee hadn't inspected the Snyders' bed other than to note it was empty and that no blood stained the sheet. Lynne hadn't been sexually harmed, or at least not so badly that she had bled, but now Renee shivered for what else she might find on those linens, if she was bold enough to take a second look. But that was madness; men, or women for that matter, didn't turn into.... She shook her head, then took another breath. Intercourse lingered, then she wanted to gag. She still detected bird, but not how those turkeys had smelled. This was less domestic, more from nature. This was....

Lynne nodded, meeting her gaze, and Renee couldn't look away quickly enough. "He turned into hawk, he's been doing it since he was a child. Not that he means to, he can't help it. I know it sounds, oh God Renee, it does sound crazy, but it's the truth. We don't know why or how, but every few months Eric becomes a...."

"Don't, just stop." Renee took another breath but now it hurt for every time she inhaled there it was, the ripe and unmistakable aroma of fowl. Yet, that wasn't possible, it was impossible, it was....

"We never wanted anyone to know, but something's happening, something's wrong. Not that he could control it before, but he used to sense before it happened. The last time he changed, we'd just made love, but it was, he was, well, done. He used to know days ahead of time, he could feel it in his bones, in his gut too. But now, oh goodness, now...."

The whole kitchen stank of bird and Renee had to leave. She gazed at the door; her car was just outside the property wall, and what time was it? Samuel would be waking soon, finding her note, wondering what errands she needed to attend to on a Sunday afternoon. She glanced at the clock, still ticking loudly; it was after two. All she needed to do was go home and not tell Sam. She wouldn't breathe a word of this to anyone, but would look for another job, for she would not be able to work with this woman anymore. This woman was trying to drive Renee crazy and....

Lynne wept softly now, her face in her hands. Renee stared at her, then she inhaled, but only noted sorrow and loneliness. It was the same at the hospital when a bereaved family member was trying to accept the worst news, or what to Renee was even more trying, a new mother attempting to understand why her baby had died. Few nurses could offer the proper solace to such a lost soul, and to the fathers as well, but the mothers were more delicate, for they had carried that child for nine long months with nothing to show except the most crushed heart. Renee was often called in to comfort such women, for she seemed able to provide a solid shoulder, and if they were Catholic, her words were even more fitting. Sometimes she even reached the Protestant mothers; to Renee, their belief in Christ was bond enough, and even those few without faith could weep in her arms as utter confusion slipped from their mangled cries.

She didn't know if her childless state rendered her more empathetic, or was it Sam's return from the war? Rare were the times they were intimate, but when it did happen, she gave thanks for those moments, not attempting to comprehend why God had removed that specter of his blessing from their lives. It was the same with those mothers grieving the cruelest of losses. As Lynne continued to cry, Renee wondered if there was any possible way that what Lynne asserted could be true. Her sobs were from the recesses of her soul, separated from the one she loved without any recourse or explanation.

Slowly Renee approached Lynne, who bawled like those women, unburdening her heart to someone who might understand. Then Lynne began to mumble her husband's name and Renee wasn't sure if she could take any more. Torturous were these cries for the agony Eric had suffered, for the silence the couple had endured. And for the pain inflicted upon Renee. Lynne looked at her, her face contorted, her eyes teary and red. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "We never wanted anyone to know."

The acceptance began as Lynne's labored words ended. Renee was struck by a force so alien, then suddenly it was all she knew. It wasn't how she had accepted Christ as her savior, for that had been gently placed into her heart one loving seed at a time from the day of her infant baptism. This was perhaps how those who had no knowledge of God found themselves upon an immediate conversion. Renee knew men and women who had been struck as if by lightning. Then their hearts were altered, their sins pardoned, their lives made anew, even if old habits clung. Their souls now belonged to Christ and Renee blinked away tears. Then they poured down her cheeks as the horrible but factual realization was permanently stitched into her heart. That creature, menacing and violent, then airborne, had at one time been Lynne's beloved husband.

The women moved into the living room. Lynne stared at the French doors while Renee built a fire. Then the kitchen phone rang. It was Sam and Lynne's voice trembled. She handed the receiver to Renee, who cleared her throat. "Hi honey. Did you sleep well?"

Sam inquired about her errands, then chuckled that yes, he had only now stirred. Renee kept her voice light, but it felt awkward, and lying to her husband wasn't easy either. She told him she'd be home in another half hour, but if it was going to be longer, she would call him. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but that might have hurt Lynne, and Sam would have thought it odd, for they weren't mushy in front of others. Yet Renee ached for his warm arms around her, his words in her ears, his presence. According to Lynne, Eric might not be back for weeks.

He was usually gone for around four days. The previous time had been late last summer, when Lynne had to cancel the dinner invite. Renee remembered it perfectly, then she sighed. When they had next shared a meal, Eric had been furtive, the mood disturbed. They had gotten together again shortly after that and feelings were no longer strained. Renee shivered, trying to reconcile that usually jovial man with what she had seen only hours ago. Except for that mangled foot, it hadn't looked at all like Lynne's husband; it had appeared like a huge....

Not a hawk as Lynne said, but certainly a bird. Renee tried to imagine how Eric had.... She stopped, unable to harness a name to that animal. Maybe this was how non-believers considered those with faith, as if they had given into madness. Then Renee giggled.

Lynne looked her way as Renee shook her head. "You must think Sam and I are nuts to believe in God. At least Eric's real."

Then Renee flushed a deep crimson. But Lynne smiled. "I don't think your faith's as absurd as my husband changing into a hawk."

Renee nodded, then tried to hide her chuckle. It spilled and within seconds both women were laughing, sharing a tight embrace. Then Lynne pulled away, wiping her eyes. "Renee, thank you for believing me."

Then Lynne sighed. "Or maybe I shouldn't wish this on you. But at least I don't have to carry it alone anymore." She stared at the floor, then toward the living room. "I'll put some cardboard over that broken windowpane, then call a repairman. If it was summer, I'd just sweep up the glass and wait for Eric to come home. Too cold to wait for him now."

Renee came to her side, gripping her hand. "Sam could fix it. He's pretty handy outside the kitchen as well as in it."

Lynne shook her head. "What would I tell him? I'll just call someone in the morning."

"Why don't you come home with me tonight? I'll tell Sam that Eric got called away, something to do with the exhibit." Then Renee bit her tongue. What about that show?

"Thanks, but he might come back, I wouldn't wanna miss him." Then Lynne sighed. "Who am I kidding? He thought he'd be gone for weeks this time. He won't be home for ages."

"Why so long?" Now that she accepted this still bizarre notion, Renee was curious. "What does he do when he's...."

"He just flies around, there's never been a purpose, or one that we understood. But now...." Lynne stepped into the living room, staring at the open pane. "He thinks it has to do with his father."

"Is he still alive?" Renee asked, following Lynne into the room. "I thought all of your parents were dead."

"He's the only one left. He's...." Lynne moved to the French door, setting her fingers along the glistening shards. Then she turned around, facing Renee. "He's in prison for murder."

"Oh good lord! Who, I mean...." Then Renee shook her head. "I'm sorry, it's none of my business. Lynne, I'm sorry, I'm...."

Lynne swayed and Renee ran to her, keeping her upright. Then Renee led the sobbing woman to the sofa, where all of Eric's miserable childhood was explained.

Renee stayed until Lynne was calm. During that time, Renee called Sam, telling him she would be another half hour. Then she called him again, right before she left, that she was indeed heading home. That was after forty more minutes had elapsed, but that was spent trying to fix the broken French door, then cleaning up the glass. Lynne assured Renee that she would be fine, that this wasn't the first time, although Renee realized that it was a first time, of sorts. It was the first time Eric had been so aggrieved, the first time someone had seen him transform, and the first time Lynne had been able to speak of such a catastrophe. Renee wasn't sure how else to describe that afternoon's event, a supernatural calamity, yet not in any Godly manner. And it was life-altering, for Renee's world had inadvertently changed, perhaps Lynne and Eric's too. For better or worse, their secret was out.

Renee drove home, then sat in the car, letting the engine run. The heater was blasting, for she was still cold, but it wasn't due to the hole in Lynne's back door. It was the knowledge of an unnatural incident, and one that she couldn't share with her husband. No way would Samuel understand something like this.

He had seen plenty of mayhem in Korea, but that was man against man. This was.... Renee wasn't sure how to classify what this was, then relate it to human beings. Yet, she had laughed with Eric, hugged him, had wanted to ask him a question. Those mice, of what had they been afraid? Now she knew, although she did wonder were those mice terrified of a hawk, or a man turning into one.

Probably the former, she permitted. Lynne said that Eric never changed out in the wild. Only there, near her, and that afternoon was the closest the couple had ever been to each other as the process began. Renee hadn't inquired as to that, then she shut her eyes, wondering who had been more damaged. Lynne's demeanor, behind Eric's studio, had been similar to some of the rape victims Renee had helped treat. But what about the soul of a man unable to halt a transformation that began while sharing the most tender aspect of love?

Loud tapping took Renee from her thoughts. Sam smiled, gazing at her through the car window. "Honey, you okay?"

She smiled, but felt sick inside. Never before had she kept anything from her husband. Yet this was beyond him, it had nearly been more than she could accept. Quickly she asked God to strengthen her and to keep Samuel free from this.... She still wasn't sure how to qualify it other than as a surreal disaster for all involved. "Hi honey," she said, rolling down the window.

"Hi Renee. So, you gonna stay out here all night?" He smiled, rubbing his upper arms. "Kinda cold, you know."

She nodded, looking at him with new eyes. He had suffered greatly during combat and not merely from debilitating physical injuries. On some nights Sam woke screaming; did Eric experience a similar level of turmoil when he changed or.... She rolled up the window, turned off the engine, then got out of the car. Then she gripped her husband, trying not to cry.

"C'mon, it's freezing out here." Sam whispered that, then kissed her cheek. "Renee, you okay?"

She nodded, again praying for strength. If she could maintain her composure a few more seconds, Sam wouldn't question her again. As she pulled away, she gently pinched his cheek. "Fine honey, I'm just fine."

He nodded, then rolled his eyes. "You spend an afternoon with Lynne and Eric and I gotta wonder. What, you trying to convert them?"

His tone was light, a joke between them. If they could make Catholics out of the Snyders, maybe world peace might be possible, or that Sam's beloved and beleaguered Boston Red Sox would win the World Series. For a second Renee shivered; why had God done that to a little boy? Eric had been eight years old the first time it happened, but Renee blocked that, prayed, then grinned. "I was learning how to make boysenberry pie," she lied right through her teeth.

He gaped at her, then peered into the car. "And you didn't bring any home?"

"It, uh, well...."

He tapped his foot. "Well?"

"Let's just say it came out badly."

"How badly?"

"Very badly."

"Renee, how do you mess up a pie?" Then he laughed, bringing her back into his grasp. He kissed her brow, then led her to the house. "Good grief, only my wife couldn't be able to bake a pie. So, did Eric get the spoils?"

"He, uh, wasn't feeling well. Lynne said she'd take care of it."

Sam nodded, reaching their front door. He opened it, then ushered them inside. He kissed his wife, then sniffed. "Well pardon me, but you don't smell like boysenberries. You smell like wood smoke and...."

She took off her coat, then stared at him. "And what Sam?"

"Chicken. Or something like chicken, turkey maybe. Was Eric roasting a turkey while you women ruined a pie?"

Samuel chuckled as Renee nodded. She bit her lip, then wiped her eyes as he headed into their kitchen, speaking of dinner, lamenting there was no dessert to accompany it.
Chapter 9

For two weeks, Lynne managed to keep Eric's absence to herself. It didn't help much that Renee knew because they couldn't speak about it at work, and now Lynne felt the weight of Renee's guilt. Renee didn't like lying to her husband, but Lynne had told her to tell Samuel the truth. Renee had scoffed at that idea, but it didn't ease Lynne's mind. And when she went home to a quiet, cold house, the despair was even worse. After the initial few days, which Lynne had weathered many times before, each morning and evening seemed endless. She took extra shifts, but invariably she was home alone. When Stanford called and Lynne was there to answer it, she nearly blurted that her husband had abandoned her. It was the truth, but also a lie, and Lynne attempted to bridge that gap as best she could. "Well Stanford, as soon as he gets back, I'll tell him to call you. Yes, I know the show is just ten days from now. But he told you he might not be there and...."

And the worst part was how uncertain she felt. Had he been injured, or what if that long stretch made it impossible for him to revert into a human being? Lynne pushed away those thoughts, staring at the telephone, wishing she could contact Eric, send some kind of message. Did he ever ask passing birds to fly to their property, but even if he had, in the middle of winter Lynne wasn't outside to receive those missives. She stared at the repaired French door, rain falling hard just beyond it. She had married him knowing he wasn't like other men, she had accepted so much in loving Eric Snyder; she did love him, missing him at night, in the morning, even at work because she knew he wouldn't be home when she stepped from the bus. Initially she had continued taking public transportation, not wanting to arouse suspicion. Now she went home with Renee, who dropped her off at the house instead of Lynne trudging along their road in downpours. Before, Eric would have collected her from work or waited at the bus stop. Before was a word Lynne tried to avoid. She wasn't at all sure about the future.

She knew few things for certain. The show would go ahead whether or not the artist was in attendance. Lynne wouldn't travel in Eric's stead, but she had monitored the paintings as they were carefully packed, then put into a truck. Renee had done the same when the Aherns' two pictures were removed, and she lamented their absence. And, she said half-jokingly, she hoped the art dealer wouldn't sell them by mistake. Lynne trusted Stanford and felt badly about lying to him. She felt worse when Sam Ahern stopped by, telling him once again that no, Eric wasn't around. Or that he was busy in the studio, which was empty, cold, and as forlorn as Lynne herself.

That afternoon she pondered previously unconsidered notions. If Eric didn't come home, she had power of attorney, and was his designated beneficiary. But those chilly details were about all she knew. Stanford was expecting record sales, not that he often talked to her about money, but without Eric to run interference, Stanford's joy spilled over onto the artist's wife. Lynne had listened with half of her attention, trying to balance her husband's possible fame and fortune alongside her isolation. Or was it his probable notoriety, should he not return. Then she shook her head, stepping to the French doors, pressing her palms against the glass. When Renee learned the truth, Lynne had traced the poky shards, momentarily contemplating suicide. Not that telling Renee had been particularly difficult; it had been harder on Renee than on Lynne. But the thought of life without the man she loved had turned Lynne's stomach. Money didn't matter, celebrity was useless. At night she crawled into their bed shivering, and woke again just as chilled. He wasn't there to talk to, he wasn't there to hold. He wasn't there, which now bothered her more than what he was at that moment, a hawk. But she had never realized that before. She hated that word, because before implied an afterwards, and Lynne wasn't convinced afterwards was waiting for either of them.

Rain pelted the ground and inside the studio the noise would be deafening. A few times in summer they had stood under those glass panes surrounded by a thunderous roar that had nothing to do with thunder itself. Eric loved it, Lynne tolerated it. If she stepped out there now, not only would she be soaked within a minute, but the studio would be freezing, and he wouldn't be next to her. Could she live without him if these two and a half weeks lingered into four weeks, a couple of months, a few years.... How long did Lynne have without Eric beside her?

She hadn't sliced open her wrists in front of Renee mainly because Renee would have stopped the bleeding. Lynne wouldn't do it now; smashing glass during a storm would make an utter mess, and there was still the exhibit to consider. She wanted Eric's transitory paintings to receive their due. Hordes of canvases still waited, but if he never came back, what would she do with them? What would they mean if he was.... Not necessarily dead, although if he was dead, she would never learn of it. But if he never came home as a man; Lynne hadn't cried for him since right after the paintings were collected. Had she wept for his work as well as for him? Finished canvases were right above her head, but they held no importance if he wasn't there to add to them.

All that remained of Eric Snyder were those paintings, and Lynne sighed. If she killed herself, no children would be harmed by their departures, most of their parents were dead. That left Renee and Sam, maybe Stanford too. The Snyders had a very small circle, but the love they had shared was so encompassing, who needed more people? Lynne stepped from the doors, heading into the kitchen. She made a cup of tea, then sat at the table, flooded with a previously unknown relief. It was just the two of them for a reason. Perhaps children would have been the biggest mistake of all.

Ten days later, Samuel Ahern considered driving over to the Snyders', but once again, he stayed at home stewing. Eric had been gone for nearly a month and while Lynne's initial excuses had eased Sam's mind, now he was tired of her lies. And those of his wife; Sam felt that Renee knew where Eric was, but for some reason she wouldn't tell him.

Standing in his living room, Sam Ahern stared at a blank wall. He had grown so used to reveling in those paintings that he still wasn't accustomed to their absences, and he wasn't used to Eric being away either. Lynne seemed fine, then he grimaced. She had lost weight, looked haggard, and her voice always seemed right on the verge of tears. He had seen her yesterday at the market. Before Eric left, it was the men to meet up for groceries, not that they had planned it, but maybe it bolstered them in a store crowded with women. They would head up and down the aisles together, checking their lists, but Sam was a better cook than Eric, or maybe Sam just like to eat more than a slender but fairly healthy painter. Or at least Eric had always seemed in good shape.

Sam carried extra pounds, but before Korea he had been slim, well, stocky but not pudgy as he'd been since 1953. For the last seven years, Sam knew he should lose a few pounds, but Renee never complained, and she wasn't exactly skinny. They liked to eat and he enjoyed cooking, and if he wasn't helping out at the Veterans Hospital, Sam was home, waiting for Renee to return. Sam and Eric were a lot alike, in that their wives held steady jobs while the men farted around, or Sam putzed about. Eric had a gift and Sam ached for that blue barn and the scared mice; those mice were frightened, but Sam hadn't wanted to see it. It had reminded him of combat; had Eric understood that when he gave them that painting?

Eric had said it was about the kingfisher barn, a structure the same color as Sam's eyes. Not that Eric had thought about that when he painted it, but that as the painting developed, the blue became the focal point, or it was to the artist. To the recipient, the barn was life-like. If Sam stared at it long enough, he could see inside it, tools and hay and horses. It was a barn for a tall gelding, a gentle mare, perhaps some ponies for children. The blue evoked a family farm, coziness, home. But the mice meant something else.

Those mice were soldiers, some brave, some unaware, some terrified. Sam had encountered all those types of GIs during a service to his country that had left him maimed and.... He shook his head. He and Renee had been married a full year before he left and she hadn't gotten pregnant then. During his first months at basic training, he had waited for her to write, telling him she was finally expecting a baby. Right before being shipped overseas, he had gone home for a weekend, and Renee had been in the middle of her cycle. Then in Korea he waited for her to write with good news, but letters came with nothing special being shared. After two months, he accepted it. Once his tour was over, they would be sure to make an Ahern.

Few things were worse than being an infertile Catholic. Most of Sam's siblings, and all of Renee's, had kids. Sam had expected to add to those broods, wanting Renee's amazing eyes on their daughters, his blue irises for their sons. They would have had as many as God wanted them to, until it became apparent that God hadn't wished any offspring for them at all. Sam had grown used to infrequent and spontaneous erections, but his orgasms were always dry, utterly worthless in trying to conceive a baby. Making love with his wife whenever it happened to occur was a blessing, but he still wasn't comfortable with being a childless Catholic. And since possessing Eric's barn painting, the fear of warfare had again clouded Sam's dreams. Then Eric Snyder went missing.

Eric wasn't painting in his studio, not in this nasty weather. He wasn't hiking in it either. He wasn't napping or reading or anything of the sort. He was missing and now that Sam had the proof.... That morning Stanford Taylor had called the Ahern residence. He wanted to know if Sam had heard from Eric, because Stanford had grown weary of pestering Lynne, and the show was scheduled to open that night. Sam lied as best he could, because the last he had been told, Eric had taken a sudden trip to New York to be present for that first evening. Renee had mentioned this two days ago, when Sam had again badgered her. Not that he liked nagging his wife, but since she had spent that long afternoon at the Snyders', Eric hadn't been seen or heard from by anyone.

Sometimes people slipped away without any last goodbyes. How many soldiers had Sam watched get blown to bits, but those deaths hadn't been vanishing acts. Yet to their families, it was how those men had faded from.... They went to heaven, even if they weren't believers. Sam never said that to anyone, not even to Renee, but he couldn't imagine anything else. Any man on a battlefield had earned the right to rest in Mary's arms, Jesus' healing shadow erasing the physical ills and emotional wounds. Not even the Nazis escaped Sam's clemency; they hadn't known any better, well, the leaders had. Maybe Hitler was in hell, members of the SS too. The rest were safe. They had to be for what they had suffered.

But where was Eric? He hadn't gone to Korea due to his bad foot. Against Renee's objections, Sam had enlisted, for he had been too young to fight in World War II and patriotism ran deeply within his family. He had assumed that upon his return parenthood would fall upon him and Renee like it had the rest of their brothers and sisters, sometimes like a plague. Her brother Ritchie had nine kids, Tommy had eight. Sam's oldest sister Fran was pregnant with her seventh, but she had married late, and was already forty-three. Sam didn't keep track of all the nieces and nephews but Renee did, and they attended baptisms and first communions whenever possible. He was a godfather to a few, but not to any born after he came back. Yet Sam hadn't pulled away from those to whom he was godfather; when he wasn't counseling other vets or cooking for his wife, he visited with or wrote letters to those nieces and nephews who called him Uncle Sam, always with a giggle afterwards. The bonds he shared with them were stronger than with the rest, just like the relationships Sam still had with those from his platoon, and with another man who understood life without children. But for some strange reason, even here in America, one had disappeared on Sam's watch.

Sam stepped into the kitchen, wondering if Eric was dead. And if so, was he in Mary's arms? Then Sam shook his head. Eric wasn't dead; Lynne wouldn't be so stoic and Renee so furtive. But Sam didn't think they knew where he was, just like Stanford Taylor had no idea. When Sam had hung up the phone, he felt miserable for lying to that man, then he wanted to wring Renee's neck. He also wanted to wring Lynne's, but that wouldn't give him answers. And it would have made for more explanations. Then Sam smiled. Killing in war was permissible, but not outside such conflict.

He stared at the clock; in half an hour he would collect Renee from work. There was no time to run over to the Snyders to check on Eric, not that it would have done Sam any good. But now Sam had leverage. It didn't make him feel much better; he would have to confront his wife, whom he adored. Rare were the times Sam was angry with Renee, life was too short for such nonsense. Besides, God wouldn't appreciate it, and Sam wanted to stay on the right side whenever possible. But Eric was out there somewhere, like those with whom Sam had laughed, bickered, wept, and prayed. Some had slipped from his grasp, and even when he saw them again, it wouldn't be as he had seen them before. Sam didn't fear death, not after Korea, but he liked life, even if it was complicated and unpredictable. It was also wickedly funny, warm and tender, and sometimes it was spent making love with a woman that now Sam would have to nag. He would nag Renee about this until she told him the truth.

He didn't ask her in the car because she was tearful, although the pounding rain had concealed it from the women with whom she stood under the hospital's awning. Or maybe she hadn't needed to hide it from them. Sometimes a nurse's job was exacting, no way to keep out the less stellar parts.

After they were home, Sam poured her a shot of whiskey, which she downed as quickly as any military man Sam had known. Some in Renee's family were drinkers; her brother Ritchie liked to whoop it up at family parties, Tommy did too. Renee used whiskey medicinally, but occasionally it covered more than colds. She didn't ask for a second shot and Sam didn't pour her one.

They curled up on the sofa. Sam glanced at those empty spots on the wall across, then he cleared his throat. "Honey, I wanna ask you something."

She nodded, snuggling against his chest. "Whatdya wanna ask me?"

Her voice was soft and he smiled. She was in the mood, not that he would get much out of it, then he grimaced. He took great pleasure from her bliss and even a little of his own satisfaction. But that would happen later, unless he made her so mad that she didn't want to.... "Renee, where's Eric?"

"What?" she said in a dreamy voice.

Sam winced. She wanted him to make love to her, which might stir something for him as well. It had been a while, a long while, now that he thought about it. Not that thinking about it would do any good, although not thinking about it wasn't exactly helpful. Then Sam sighed. "Renee, where's Eric Snyder?"

"What?" Now her tone was that of surprise. She sat up, her eyes like stop signs. "He's...."

"Don't tell me he's in New York for the show's opening. His dealer called here today, wanting to know if I knew where he was."

Having spilled the whole kettle of fish, Sam felt better, yet Renee's face registered more than her little white lie. Sam smiled at her momentary shock, but her eyes remained like warning flags. She stared at him, and for a moment Sam wished he hadn't said anything. Then she blinked, her pupils shrinking, her mind spinning. Sam knew that from how long he'd loved her; he could read her the same way he peered inside that kingfisher barn. How had Eric painted that structure so accurately, allowing Sam to depict its contents? Maybe in the same way he'd fashioned those mice, the fear of death powerful in their haunted little eyes.

Death didn't translate in Renee's gaze, but anxiety did, and now it made Sam's stomach roll. "Renee, what'n the hell's going on?"

"Sam, don't ask me, all right?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Renee, he's not in New York, so where the hell is he?"

"Did you tell him that, the dealer I mean?"

"No, I didn't. I lied to him just like you've been lying to me."

Sam's voice was pained. Harassing Renee meant admitting that she had withheld facts, and he preferred that even less. Or maybe nagging her was worse, he wasn't sure. Either way, his heart ached and his guts churned. Then Sam felt dizzy. If Eric wasn't in New York and he wasn't at home....

"Just tell me Renee. I don't care what it is, just tell me what happened to him." This was how parents, wives, and siblings felt when the knock landed on their doors and in their souls when a man Sam had once stood beside no longer stood beside him. Sam had cradled a number of dead men, closing their eyes at times, feeling their lungs give out, their wounds too hideous to overcome. Was he trying to channel Mary, was he hoping to give Catholic comfort? One of his best friends had been a Baptist, and had always accused Sam of sneaking in any little Catholic ritual as if Sam was converting the dead. When Josh was hit by sniper fire, Sam had risked his own life to pull him to safety, but safety was relative because Josh had a dozen holes in him, life pouring out while Sam said The Lord's Prayer. Josh was still alert, trying to smile, as Sam cried out for a miracle. But none occurred that day. Afterwards, Sam didn't attempt to get close to anyone. Anyone could disappear at any moment.

Befriending Eric and Lynne had been different. This wasn't Korea and Sam couldn't live in isolation. He hadn't pulled away from Renee, his family, or even his godchildren. "Where is he," Sam repeated. "Just tell me, okay?"

She shook her head. "You wouldn't believe me if I did, so what's the point?"

"Whatdya mean I won't believe you?"

"Sam, he's...." Renee sighed. "Oh good grief, I don't know where he is. Neither does Lynne, okay? We don't know and...."

"Did he leave her?" Please don't say he left her, Sam plead inwardly. "Renee, what's going on?"

"I can't tell you any more than I really don't know where he is."

"You can't or you won't?"

She rolled her eyes, making Sam shiver. "I can't because if I did tell you, you'd think I'd lost my mind."

"But you could tell me, is that what you're saying?"

"What I could tell you is beside the point because the point is I don't know where he is!"

"But you do know something, correct?"

Renee got off the sofa, shaking her head. "Sam please, just drop this because I...."

He joined her, grabbing her upper arms. "Renee, just tell me!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"Sam, it's, it's...."

"It's what? He's what Renee, tell me right now!"

For several seconds both breathed hard, this being their most vociferous argument in a long time. Sam couldn't recall their last fight, or what it had been about. Probably something far less important, for his heart pounded, he still felt sick inside. Eric was another of his brothers, not by war or faith but what they couldn't give their wives, by Eric's unnatural absence, by.... "Renee, for God's sake, tell me." Sam crossed himself. "Forgive me Father, but honey...." He started to shake just like he had when Josh stopped smiling, then quit breathing. No matter how many times Sam had witnessed death, it never became less traumatic, always demanding some part of his soul. "Where is Eric, Renee?"

"He's out there, flying around somewhere, who knows where? He's a hawk Sam, does that make you happy? He turned into a bird, I swear to God, and he's out looking for his father." She said it quickly, and a little hysterically. Shaking off her husband's grasp, she stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. Then she smirked. "Now, you tell me you believe me, okay? You tell me: All right Renee, that's all I wanted to know, the truth. The truth," she huffed, tapping her foot. "The truth is that Eric Snyder turns into a bird. He does, I watched it happen. He turns into a hawk, flies away, then comes home and turns back into Lynne's husband, the very same man who painted those pictures."

Renee motioned to the blank wall. Then her lip trembled.

Sam couldn't move, but he did glance at where she pointed. Her words bounced inside his brain, not making sense. Then he swallowed, his throat dry. He needed a drink, a shot of whiskey perhaps. Two maybe, several possibly. Sam wasn't sure how many, but after a couple, he would probably figure out just how many more drinks were necessary.
Chapter 10

February was a short month, but to Lynne, it mattered not. The exhibit was an enormous success and would run until the middle of March, but she had told Stanford not to expect Eric to make an appearance. He had caught a terrible cold and had nearly been admitted into the hospital. She had sounded appropriately concerned and when Stanford spoke to the Aherns, assuring them their paintings would be returned, he heard the same news. Sam also seemed worried, which at first had alarmed Stanford, but Renee's practical nature calmed the dealer, who hung up with only one question; when would Eric feel up to painting again?

Lynne and Renee had concocted that falsehood together, then Renee told her husband the gist. Sam had barely said two words to her at the time, although they were now on speaking terms, but it had taken several days after their discussion. He called it that discussion, she deemed it a fight, for she had implored him to drop it and he hadn't, turning it into a battle of wills that ultimately wasn't won by either of them.

Yet they were talking to each other again, and they had even made love, but that was before she made him lie to that New Yorker, how Sam sometimes referred to Stanford. Renee wasn't sure if that was because Stanford reminded Sam of one of his platoon mates, or it was easier to consider the art dealer if his profession was eliminated from the equation. Renee wasn't going to ask; she was just glad to be chatting with her husband on a nearly semi-regular basis.

They talked about her work and his putzing around, as he always called it. They spoke about the horrendous weather, sleet freezing into ice, making the roads treacherous. They noted how spring would be welcome and how good was it that February was only twenty-eight days. Then they would pause; that year it was twenty-nine, and then the conversation would fall apart. Sam gruffly cleared his throat as Renee quietly coughed, both sneaking furtive glances at the other. Renee didn't become teary, neither did her husband, but sorrow enveloped them, which made Renee sniffle while Samuel reached for his rosary beads. Then Renee found hers, but they went into separate rooms to pray for the unnamed spirit that hovered no matter what they did, said, or thought.

After Renee prayed for Eric, she prayed for Lynne. Then if Renee was still pensive, she added needy family members, usually her older brothers, Sam's pregnant sister, or a slew of youngsters with broken arms or ear aches. Then Renee would be reminded of Eric and Lynne, and she would start the process over, for by then she had lost count of Hail Mary's and Our Fathers, even for whom they were being said. And as she restarted the prayer, instead of the previous soul, it became for the Snyders, both of them, and Eric's father, wherever he might be.

Sam's prayers were more scattered and the only relative he noted was Fran. She was six weeks away from her due date and at forty-three she had mentioned this might be her last baby. Sam had chuckled, thinking of their recent conversation, wondering how her husband would take the news. Fran and Louie were an affectionate duo, a lot like Sam and Renee, without the hindrances. Their kids were some of Samuel's favorites; he was godfather to the eldest two, and wrote to Sally and Will every other month or so. Sam focused his prayers on Fran's family, which was so much easier to consider than....

Then Sam would stop praying because he couldn't concentrate, nor could he bring himself to utter holy words for.... Not even for Lynne; this was her fault, filling Renee's head with a load of hogwash. He had other words for Lynne Snyder, none of them nice, but he kept those to himself, not wishing to offend God or fuel another discussion with Renee. Or to create another long, miserable silence which had nearly broken his heart. The week they had barely communicated reminded him of combat, when to even breathe too loudly could get a man killed. He had ached for verbal exchanges, for he craved chit-chat, due to all those relatives, he had joked, once the platoon could mumble a few words. Everyone had teased Sam the most, not letting him manage a phrase until he cried uncle. Then he'd jabbered, releasing pent-up fear as well as amazement that yet again he'd lived to see another day.

Praying during those stretches was all that had kept him sane, but he couldn't do that now because to pray about something so.... It was absolute nonsense, this profane idea of which Lynne had convinced Renee, but worse for it implied an otherworldly conviction and not pointed toward heaven. Even if Sam thought that non-believers made it that far, he was not about to allow that Eric Snyder turned into a.... Sam would shake himself, seeking divine clemency for even considering the garbage that Renee had told him.

He couldn't face Lynne, in part that he might do her bodily harm. A few times he had wanted to slap Renee, but then she had hit him once ages ago and.... Now Renee didn't infer what she thought, or not aloud to her husband. After a week of festering anger, Sam had gone to mass alone, aching for his wife at his side, but having no idea how to breach that separation. He took communion, felt a little better, then returned to find Renee getting ready for work, filling in for another nurse. He asked if she wanted to use the car and she had sheepishly nodded. Then he took a deep breath, stepping toward her, stroking her cheek. Her tears were like fire against the back of his hand and if she hadn't needed to leave, Sam would have made love to her right there and then. He did rectify that desire the next day, other passions explored as well. They had started to talk again, slowly and painfully, but it worked itself out. Then she told him about Eric being unwell, almost on his deathbed. It was just another story, but Sam had agreed to go along with it for it was possible. It certainly wasn't the bullshit she had previously spouted.

Sam didn't swear much; he'd had the cleanest mouth in his platoon. Yet lately his thoughts were full of the crude verbiage that had permeated even fellow Catholics' language. Sometimes he'd even caught the chaplain using blue words, then seeking forgiveness. That had always made Sam laugh, but now the phrases in his head provoked a heartsickness that threatened to reopen the rift between him and Renee. That was the last thing he'd wanted, why he had agreed to lie if Stanford called. When that occurred, Sam had closed his eyes, pretending he was an actor. The story slipped from his mouth, leaving a strange bitterness, but no lingering agony. Then it was as if Sam had never met Eric and Lynne Snyder, they didn't exist. And until he stepped into his living room, his eyes catching the open wall space, Sam was as before, relatively settled in his childless, post-war existence.

Then carefully erected barriers tumbled like dominoes as Sam considered the barn, those mice, and what turned his stomach, the hawks. He hadn't given that painting much thought until Renee had spouted her.... As he stood in the living room, again foul words filled his head, yet, the image was as clear as what cluttered the kingfisher barn, horses and tack and hay bales, cobwebs and pitchforks and.... Three elegant hawks stared into a startling sunset, their backs to the audience, focusing solely on the blinding light. Sam hadn't been able to look at the sunset for long, as if it reflected behind his eyelids; how had Eric done that?

Sam Ahern wasn't superstitious, but some of his faith's mysteries did lend themselves to curious considerations. A God in three parts, a virgin birth, the partaking of bread and wine as if devouring Christ's flesh.... How odd were those when juxtaposed against a man allegedly changing into a.... The paintings had been gone for less time than Eric had been missing, but Sam had no trouble picturing those hawks, brown and rust and gray, keeping their knowledgeable eyes from his. Those hawks knew exactly where Eric was, Sam suddenly realized, but they wouldn't tell anyone.

He didn't think art lovers in New York would get it out of them; they only wished that painting, and one other, were for sale. Sam had no idea what Eric's masterpieces were fetching, as Stanford hadn't spoken of such crass details. But Sam guessed that after the dealer's commission, Lynne Snyder would never have to work again.

But what was that worth if Eric was missing? Sam placed his palm against the wall. It was cool and blank, not telling him shit. He winced, then grinned. The wall had no idea, only those statuesque birds knew, their beaks tightly zipped. They were holding Eric prisoner, in one way or another, and had probably scared the crap out of those mice. What had those mice truly feared?

What was more terrifying, a hawk or a man shaped as a bird, or changing into or from such a creature? Sam laid his other palm to the wall, still cool to the touch, and still not telling him jack shit. The goddamn fucking wall was as helpful as.... Sam grimaced, hearing Josh's voice as though that man stood right behind him. Josh might have been a foot-washing Baptist, but he swore like a sailor, yet in his last moments, he was as stilled as those birds, as the mice, as.... Eric, whether he was man or beast.

Sam blinked away tears, fearful for his soul, for Eric's, for Renee's. Thinking of Lynne, Sam grew angry, then he softened, wondering how did she cope being alone for such long stretches? She didn't work all the time, he rarely ran into her at the store. Did she see his car, then drive away, not wishing to further antagonize him? She knew he was.... Annoyed or irritated weren't even close. He was furious at what she had said to his wife about his friend. Eric was Sam's friend, so how could Lynne spread such malicious bullshit?

Why would she say those things, for what goddamned reason? Then Sam flinched, tearing his hands from the wall as if it burned like fire. He stared at his palms, which weren't red, but the ache was real, like the throbbing of his heart. He flopped onto the sofa, still looking at his palms, then back to the wall, which appeared unchanged. Was he growing use to those blank spaces, had Lynne adjusted to life without....

How could she justify those statements, as well as the lies she forced the Aherns to give Stanford Taylor? How could she go to work and tend to patients; wasn't this some violation of the Hippocratic Oath? If her superiors found out, maybe they would accuse her of murder. Perhaps she had killed Eric, then somehow convinced Renee to lie for her and....

And on and on went the possibilities, if one chose to eschew the facts, which according to Renee were that Eric had turned into a hawk, then flown off looking for his dad. Now there was a murderer, what Renee had noted when trying to convince Sam that she wasn't crazy, although she had warned him. Don't ask me, she had said, there was no point. But he had pleaded and she had spoken her mind, which didn't seem solid, but what the hell? Maybe men could turn into birds. Sam had killed men, and he'd witnessed others do the very same, men who off the field were jovial and witty. Some were married, some were fathers. All were somebody's son or brother or cousin or nephew, and all were killers. That Eric's father was locked up was ironic. Just do your carnage in combat and all is forgiven.

Sam sighed, then set his hands on his face. Nothing burned, and he shook his head. Then he glanced at the clock; a little past noon. Renee wouldn't need to be picked up until four, as she wasn't getting a ride with Lynne that day. Lynne was off, Renee had said quietly, asking Sam to do the honors. He had nearly told her to take their car, then didn't, wanting a few extra moments with her. Not that the drive hadn't been fraught with tension; it seemed most of their interaction was now coated in unspoken weariness. It wouldn't be rectified until Eric returned, then Sam sighed again. It wouldn't be erased until he knew where Eric was and why Lynne had fabricated such a cockamamie story.

He smiled, no swear word necessary. Then he stood from the couch, looking for his keys and wallet. He grabbed his coat, hat, gloves, and scarf, the last three all hand-made by Lynne. He put them on, feeling slightly tarnished. Braving a chilly downpour, he ran to the car, then started the engine. Pulling out of the driveway, he headed for the outskirts of town.
Chapter 11

When Lynne answered her front door, she couldn't have been more shocked; Samuel Ahern stood in the rain, wearing accessories she had given him two years ago for Christmas. Then she blinked. Sam looked as befuddled as she felt. "Uh...." Lynne didn't know what to say. "Um...."

"Can I come in?" His voice was tentative, then he coughed. "It's sorta wet out here."

"Oh my goodness, yes of course, I'm sorry." Lynne stepped back, allowing Sam enough room to shake himself, water dripping as he fumbled with the scarf, hat, and gloves. Lynne offered to take them and he handed them over, albeit slowly. She placed them over a chair at the kitchen table, then stared at him. Then she looked at the floor, puddles forming where he stood.

She had been reading, a fire roaring in the living room. She could hear it from where they faced each other, it sounded warm and healing. She wanted to ask Sam to join her in there, but he was still dripping on the tile and looked very uncomfortable as if this was as far as he could go. She knew he thought she was.... The words were many, the sentiment singular. She was a lying, heinous witch who had made her husband disappear. Lynne sighed; the last person she imagined in her house on that day was Sam Ahern.

Not that Eric would show up; she wasn't able to think of him until nighttime, when she went to bed alone, missing him more than she thought was right for a person. Did he miss her that much, had he ever felt that lonely, abandoned.... Tears welled in her eyes, but she brushed them aside, then tried to smile, unsure if it had worked. "How are you Sam?"

Her tone was a pale imitation of cheeriness and she gripped her hands together so hard the knuckles hurt. She had fond memories of this man here, in this very kitchen. Lynne was a better cook than Renee, and often Sam had asked for her assistance when he was making dinner at the Snyders'. Sometimes that had happened, long ago. Sam and Renee used to come over, bags of groceries in their arms. Eric would be finishing a painting or working in the garden while Lynne made a boysenberry pie....

"I, uh, well, um, I, uh...." Sam didn't seem any more at ease than she felt, which was a relief, for he had come to see her, not the other way around. Lynne nodded, trying to express that she too had no idea what to say, although this meeting wasn't her idea. Every few seconds she peeked at Sam, but he still dripped water on the floor and seemed as lost as when he had first arrived.

"Would you like some coffee?" If he said yes, it would give Lynne something to do. If he declined, she would take it as his way to note that his feelings hadn't changed, for he was still so disgusted by her that to partake of even coffee was verboten. "I was just reading in the living room. It's warmer in there than in here and...."

"Coffee would be fine, thank you very much."

She nodded, but wanted to bawl. Maybe when Eric did come back, if he came back, Sam might one day forgive her. She poured him a mug, leaving it black, then pointed to the sugar bowl on the table. Sam reached out to take the mug, being very careful to not touch Lynne's fingers. She turned around, not wishing for him to see tears now falling as handily as the water that had trickled from his coat. "If you want, you can set your jacket over a chair," she warbled, stepping to the sink. She turned on the faucet, hoping that running water would mask her sniffles.

Sam had a long sigh, then set his mug on the table. "Lynne, I came here today to...."

She ached for a tissue, but wouldn't blow her nose in the dishtowel. Only in front of Eric would she have been so crude, and then she would have immediately thrown the towel into the hamper. Eric would have teased her for a few moments, but around Sam, with how he felt.... Finally she couldn't stand it, snot teetering from the edge of her left nostril. She wasn't wearing an apron, so she used the hem of her blouse, bending forward to not over-stretch the fabric. Then she let out a painful wail, reached for the dishcloth anyway, and had a momentary breakdown.

"Oh my God Lynne, are you okay?" Sam came to her side, still in his coat, as she wept and wept. She began to have troubling breathing, but Sam rubbed her shoulders, telling her it would be all right, to just inhale, then exhale. Once she was doing those things with regularity, he told her to blow her nose. But he took the dishtowel from her hands, replacing it with a real handkerchief. Lynne hesitated, then blew hard, then again and again until the linen was soaked. She balled it up, dabbed at her eyes, then took a deep breath. This man wasn't her husband, but he was an honorable person, even if he hated her guts.

Honorable people did the right thing, even if it turned their stomachs. They buried the dead long after decomposition had set in, they stood alone for a just cause in the face of great harm. And they let others use their handkerchiefs even if they believed those persons were criminally insane. Lynne had always thought Sam was a decent man, but she had never previously recognized the depth of his nobility. It ran through all he was, perhaps it was related to his faith, the war, or not being able to father a child.

Maybe men like Sam Ahern still existed in this crazy, modern world. 1960 had begun rather auspiciously, what with the exhibit planned, Renee and Sam in love with their newest painting, plenty of boysenberries still in the freezer. But the threat of Eric's impending departure had set a small cloud over the start of January, and it quickly grew into a tempest of epic proportions. The storm kept increasing, what with how Eric had left, Renee as a witness, Sam as a.... He was a collaborator, but so unwilling, and he still didn't believe a thing Renee had told him. But then there was no proof, and even if there was, the idea was so far-fetched sometimes Lynne was surprised Renee had accepted it.

Who in their right mind would take Lynne's story as fact? It was a physical impossibility, of course it was, an aberration, blasphemy, a nonsensical load of.... "Thank you Sam," she mumbled as he stepped away.

"You're welcome Lynne." Then he sighed again, but it gave her a moment to unravel the handkerchief, searching for a section that wasn't soggy from tears or snot. There were none, but he had taken the dishcloth, so she used a less sodden spot in the center. Her fingers were mucky, her face hurt, her nose still ran, but at least another human being had made her feel not quite as alone as she had half an hour before.

Before: she detested that word. Before this man wouldn't have given a second thought to lending her his hankie, but Lynne could sense his curiosity of whether or not she would return it. He wasn't sure that he wanted it back, was inwardly debating that right now. "Do you want it back or can I wash it, then give it to Renee at work?"

"Just give it to Renee, thanks."

"Sure, uh-huh, of course." Of course Renee would act as the go-between, because now Renee was the only link between Lynne and Sam. Not even Eric would broker a reconciliation, or if he did, it would take years. In years, Eric might convince Sam and Sam might then come back to Lynne and say.... Not that he was sorry, only a nod, relaying she hadn't actually been a vicious pathological liar.

Perhaps in years they might be able to put this behind them, but then that depended upon Eric. Maybe it would take him years to return, maybe.... "So Sam, I, uh...." Why was he here anyways? "Would you like to, I mean, can I take your coat or...."

"Oh, uh, I'll just set it here." He took off the overcoat, draping it on a chair. Then he picked up his cup, taking a long swig, making him cough. "Forgot to stir in the sugar," he barked.

Lynne wished they could move into the living room where she could sit on the sofa and he could have the recliner. But maybe he preferred the kitchen's stilted atmosphere, puddles where he had stood, rain beating against the windows, the sense of comfort limited as long as neither tried to recall past suppers, lunches, even the occasional Saturday breakfast. The Snyders and Aherns never met for Sunday brunch; Sam and Renee were at mass before Lynne and Eric rolled out of bed.

Then Lynne nearly lost her breath; where was her husband? It had been over a month now, the exhibit a huge success according to Stanford, who had gotten over his initial snit at Eric's snub. Now Stanford couldn't wait to speak to the reclusive genius, or that's what he would be called soon enough. One more show, Stanford had mentioned, and Eric would be a household name in homes that considered fine art a necessity. Every painting available had sold on the first night and how many offers had he refused for the Aherns' pieces. Too many, Stanford had said, a smile ringing in his voice. Perhaps Eric's absence had amplified his presence, what Stanford alluded to the last time Lynne had spoken to him, a few days ago. On Eric's behalf, Stanford had made the usual excuse; exhaustion due to overwork, but that was the occasional occupational hazard of great painters. They burned themselves out, but Stanford promised the most interested parties that another show would be arranged as soon as Mr. Snyder was up to it, perhaps in the fall. Not that Stanford had seen the pictures, but Eric had implied another series existed, and lag-time was necessary, no need to flood the market. Yet now there was a market, hungry and affluent. The usual patrons had bought canvases, but not as many as they would have liked, for these pictures bypassed the bird lovers for those with a wider vision. Stanford had admired that barn painting to the point of wanting to dissect it, he had told Lynne. It was as if he could see inside that outbuilding, which he thought was owned by a farmer who took great pride in order, which Lynne thought described Stanford to a tee. Renee thought it was for pigs and a few stray chickens, then she had clamped a hand over her mouth, embarrassed by again bringing up poultry. Every time the women spoke at work, Renee mentioned chicken or turkey, but now Lynne smiled when Renee committed that faux pas.

What did Sam think was in that barn? Lynne wanted to ask, but that seemed intrusive, yet every painting became an individual's own landscape as colors and shapes penetrated the brain, no two observers seeing the same image. Lynne thought the barn was devoid of animals, instead housing ancient tractors and plows, perhaps from over one hundred years ago. The mice scurried from piece to piece like it was their own private playground. It was maintained by the grandson of the original owner, but now that grandchild was an old man. He had hand-painted that blue barn as his father had done and as his father had before him. Before.... Lynne smiled, then took a deep breath. "Sam, what do you think's in that blue barn?"

"Uh, what?"

"In your painting. I think it's old tractors, that sort of thing. What do you think's in it?"

"Uh, well...." He sipped his coffee, then offered the smallest hint of a smile. "Horses. And some ponies."

"What kind of horses?"

"Uh, a gelding, a brood mare, two or three ponies, you know, for kids."

Lynne nodded, but was floored at the innocuous manner that Sam described himself, Renee, and their fantasy offspring. Did he realize it or was she seeing her own life in Sam's description.

"Oh my God," he gasped, almost spilling his coffee as he clumsily thumped the mug onto the table. Then he pulled out a chair, sitting with a plop. He shook his head, nearly putting his hands over his face. Lynne sat across from him, wanting to reach for his hands. She needed to touch some part of this tender man who rightly was trying to keep his distance, but the distance was shrinking, for which Lynne was grateful, although the cost to Sam was brutal.

"Good lord, I can't believe I said that, a gelding!" He looked at Lynne, then rolled his eyes. "I was just thinking about this, well, a while back, never gave it a second thought. That's me and Renee and...."

"It's Eric and me too." Lynne spoke softly, but for the first time since he left, she wasn't sad in saying his name.

Sam gripped his mug, but didn't drink from it. "Do you like horses?"

"I've never been around them. Have you?"

"No, but Renee was, a long time ago, I think." He looked puzzled, sipped the coffee, then set down the cup. "Lynne, I came over here today because...."

He sighed, but it didn't sound as lost or depressed as previously. "Because I need to ask you, I need to hear it from you. I need...." He finished what remained in his mug, then grasped it with both hands. "I know what Renee thinks, I mean, she believes it, she does." He tried for another sip, then shook his head.

"Do you want more?"

He stared right at her. "I want...proof." Again he thumped the cup on the table. Lynne almost flinched, but she remained still.

Then he stood, careful not to step into the puddles which remained behind him. He leaned against the counter, gripping the Formica. "Maybe that's impossible, I mean, I wanna dispute what Renee said, I want that with all my heart. That just cannot be true."

"I know," Lynne sighed. "I didn't wanna believe it either. Sometimes I still don't."

Yet, how to discount what she had witnessed countless times, both Eric becoming a hawk, then his return to humanity. It was ugly and painful, yet so beautiful, especially when he came home. He hated changing into a bird, yet he loved turning back into a man, her husband. But he suffered each time, how could he not? And she ached too, for his pain and for.... How insane it was, yet immutable. He did change from a man into a bird, then back again. And hopefully he would do it again soon. Lynne wasn't sure she could take much more of his absence, or of Sam's suspicions.

He didn't believe her, but at least he had made the effort, not quite like making the peace, perhaps that was impossible. But he had accepted a cup of her coffee, let her use his handkerchief, and was still in her home. If Eric returned, maybe Sam would be here to witness it, from the hawk's arrival in the backyard to how it began the transformation, that first piercing cry as a small bird somehow grew into....

"Maybe I should go." Sam sighed again, then shook his head. "I don't why I bothered. This's bullshit and...."

Lynne cringed from his doubt and his language. "Of course. Thanks for taking the time to...."

She hadn't moved, but he now knelt in front of her, how had he been so swift? Then he grasped her hands. She made a soft cry, for his were warm and masculine, also gentle. She didn't consider that these hands had held a gun or other spoils of war. All she knew was a man close, one who felt great animosity toward her, but from just his touch that seemed false. Maybe he didn't hate her, maybe he might forgive her, maybe....

"Why? Can you just tell me why?"

"Why what?" Lynne's mouth trembled.

"Why you'd tell her that, or convince her of that. I know she says she saw it, but for God's sake Lynne, why would you allow her to think such...."

"Why would I make up something like this Sam? Why in the world would I do something so...."

Harmful, cruel, crazy. Why would Eric change unless he had no other choice? Why had neither couple conceived children, why had another war taken place? Why, why, why.... Lynne shook her head, then wore a small smile. "Sam, thank you for coming today, it broke up my afternoon. I don't work again until Friday and...."

"My God Lynne, haven't you heard a thing I've said?"

"Sam, haven't you been listening to me?" She squeezed his hands, then closed her eyes. This man wasn't her spouse, but merely the reminder of her husband had revived a part of her heart that had started to wither. If Eric could, he would return. She inhaled that notion, letting it linger in her chest. Her heart absorbed it, further healing those shriveled tissues. Unless he was dead, Eric would move heaven and earth to come home. And if he was dead, he would never again suffer that awful, traumatic alteration that she hoped would happen. It hurt him, but she would give thanks for that pain for after the pain came.... "Sam, again, thanks for coming by. Tell Renee I'll return the hankie the next time I see her."

She released Sam's hands, but he didn't move away. He stared at her until she met his gaze. His eyes were the color of that barn, and within those kingfisher irises flickered small wonder. Then a glint of consideration glowed, followed by a glimmer of possibility. Then he blinked and the light was doused. Once again disbelief teemed in dull blue eyes.

Sam stood, then sighed. He reached for his jacket, put it on, but didn't bother with the rest. "They're too damp to wear. You can give them to Renee along with the handkerchief."

Lynne nodded, breathing as quietly as she could. "Drive safely Sam."

"Uh-huh," he said, not looking at her. He dug keys from his jacket pocket, then stalked to the door. He opened it and didn't say goodbye. The door was closed with a distinct slam, rain and wind blowing into the kitchen behind him.
Chapter 12

Lynne didn't bring Sam's hankie, or his hat, scarf, and gloves, into work. It would have aroused questions, which she already was facing. No one knew the exact timing of Eric's departure, but by the end of February, enough weeks had passed that his absence was noticeable. Lynne had run out of excuses, and decided to let rumors swirl. If people thought her marriage was in trouble, they were only pondering the tip of the iceberg.

Perhaps it was the truth; her marriage was in serious jeopardy, in that there wasn't much of it with only one partner present. As March began, Lynne drove home from work, Renee in the seat beside her. They had the same shifts for the next few weeks and Lynne would ferry them to work, then home, then back to work, then home, then.... What was her life about if it was only to be spent shuttling a good friend, although their closeness had started to abate. There was nothing for them to discuss other than work, for Renee wouldn't talk about Sam and Lynne had nothing to say about Eric. They rambled about trivial details, but the essence of their previous conversations had centered on silly stories and tender moments that the woman could share without betraying their husbands. Now all of that was avoided, leaving a gaping hole that Lynne had never noticed with Renee.

Not that she disliked her; she loved her as if Renee was her older sister. When the silences grew overwhelming, Renee talked about her family, but those people were only ghosts, like Lynne's husband. Then stillness returned to the car's interior. Lynne would reach the Aherns' house, Renee would give a half-smile, then step from the vehicle. Sometimes, if the weather wasn't terrible, Lynne would see Sam waiting in the open front door. Usually she caught him peering through the blinds; he was probably relieved that Lynne hadn't made his wife vanish into thin air.

Lynne was nearly to Renee's street, stopped at a light, when she remembered Sam's outerwear. "Oh jeez, I forgot again," she exclaimed.

"Forgot what?" Renee said softly.

"Sam's stuff. I keep meaning to stop at the house before dropping you off. At this rate he'll never get it back."

Maybe he would prefer to not have those items returned, Lynne thought, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. She stared at the light, then at Renee. "What?" Lynne said.

"He misses that hat. And the scarf too. He could care less about the hankie, he's got dozens, but every now and then he mentions that hat, and the gloves, all of it."

But he doesn't ask you to collect them, Lynne thought to herself. "Why does he miss them?" she said, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Says they were the softest and warmest he's ever owned. I asked because he keeps going on about it and he, well, he...."

"He what?" Lynne peeked at the light, still red. Then she gazed at Renee. "He what?"

"He doesn't wanna believe it, but I'll catch him staring at where the paintings should go, he misses them. And he misses Eric, and while I know he thinks we're crazy, I think he's starting to wonder about the possibility of it. I mean, Eric's been gone for...." Renee bit her lip, then gazed at the light. "It's green."

Lynne stared too, then drove ahead. "He's been gone for so long I'm starting to forget what he looks like."

She reached Renee's street, parking in front of the house. The Aherns' car wasn't in the driveway, but Lynne didn't kill her engine. "Well, maybe tomorrow I'll remember to stop at home first. Weather's still gonna be cool for another month."

"You wanna come inside?" Renee asked.

"No, Sam'll probably show up and...."

Renee gripped Lynne's hand. "I did forget what he sounded like while he was gone. I felt so awful because here we were married, and while pictures of him were everywhere, his voice had just slipped from my head. He doesn't sound like his brothers, his voice is deeper, and the way he talks is just, well, different. When he got home, all I could do was visit him at the VA hospital, he was in a wheelchair still, but I'd sit across from him, hold his hands, and listen to him speak. He had a lot to say, not about his injury, but other things, and the sound of his voice, oh Lynne...."

Both women wiped tears from their cheeks. "Sorry, didn't mean to upset you." Renee reached into her purse, then retrieved two tissues. She gave one to Lynne and both blew their noses.

Lynne inhaled, then smiled. "No, I needed to hear that. I have to...." She sighed. "I have to keep hoping. It's just that sometimes I can't imagine him being home, did you feel that way?"

"Yes I did. Friends of our family were getting killed and every time Mom or one of my siblings mentioned someone, not that they wanted to hurt me, but we couldn't hide from it, or I couldn't. I didn't care that he couldn't, you know." She wore a strange smile. "That didn't matter to me at all. He thought it mattered, but I could've cared less. He was home, he was alive. I still feel that way, although lately...." She sighed. "Lately I wanna slap him again."

"Again?"

Renee giggled. "When he came home, he told me if I wanted to seek an annulment, he wouldn't argue. I have no idea what my parents would've done, or even if it was possible, I mean, we'd been married for nearly two years by then, but he didn't want to impose his...limitations on me." She clucked. "I got so mad I hit him right there in the hospital. Then I stormed out, didn't go back for two days. Oh, I was so cross with that man!"

Renee's eyes glowed nearly white and Lynne chuckled. "What happened after two days?"

"Well, I'd told my mother what he'd said, and while she was upset that he'd mentioned a separation, she calmed me down. Then the morning I did go back, well, I went back because, because...."

Renee dabbed at her eyes. "I woke up and couldn't hear his voice in my head. I mean it Lynne, if I could've done more than slapped him, I wanted to beat the, well, the snot outta him. And I could've too, he was partially paralyzed then, I mean...."

Lynne had never asked, nor had Renee revealed, the extent of Sam's initial injuries. "How long did it take him to walk again?"

"Months. You look at him now, you'd never know how bad he'd been. But I truly didn't care if he spent the rest of his life in a chair, that we wouldn't have a baby, none of that mattered, because he'd come home." Renee smiled, then grasped Lynne's hands. "I had no idea how much alike we all are, you and me, Samuel and Eric. Who'd have guessed?" She squeezed Lynne's hands with force. "Last night I prayed for you, for you both. I pray for you every night, sometimes more than once a day, if I'm home. I don't know what's gonna happen Lynne, but Sam came back to me. As the months went by, I'd been wondering, I mean, he had to be there a year and after I realized I wasn't pregnant, well, time dragged. At six months, I thought, okay, halfway done. He was only there eight, no, nine months." She shook her head. "Time goes so quickly, well, it does now, or it did. Since Eric's been gone, I feel like I'm back, waiting for Sam. But he did come home Lynne. And maybe we can't have a child, but he's fine, he really is. And," she grinned, "he does want his scarf, hat, and gloves back. Just bring them into work tomorrow and...."

Lynne nodded. "I'll leave them in the car, hopefully we won't forget them."

"I'll tell him tonight, he won't let me forget."

Lynne smiled. "I'm glad, I mean, that he wants them back."

"He does." Renee patted Lynne's cheek. "He wants to believe us, believe it or not, but unless he sees it happen...."

A vehicle honked from behind them as Sam pulled into the driveway. Renee got out of Lynne's car, waved to her husband, then glanced back to Lynne. "Remember, I'm praying for you, both of you. See you tomorrow."

Lynne wore a weak smile as Renee met her husband on their driveway. Sam didn't look in Lynne's direction, but he did wave at her. Lynne waved back, then took a deep breath, putting the car into gear, then heading away from their street.

The next morning Lynne woke late and in her haste to leave, she forgot about Sam's outerwear. Renee giggled on their drive to work, that Sam had been looking forward to having those items returned. "Now he'll have to wait another day."

"Oh no. They're sitting in a bag on the sofa, I should've put them in the kitchen. We're making a stop on the way home Renee. Then I won't have to worry about them anymore."

Or look at them, Lynne thought. But she appreciated Sam's enthusiasm for their return. It was a topic she and Renee discussed when they met during a lull at work, then again as Lynne made the detour on the way home. She parked in the outer driveway, the day sunny but cool. "I'll be right back," she said, getting out of the car.

"I'll be right here," Renee smiled.

Lynne shut her door, then walked to the front of the property. The only improvement left was to make the garage flush with the wall so that Eric could just pull right into the garage without having to park outside the wall. Lynne let herself in the gate, then paused. It wouldn't merely be for Eric, but for her too. For over six weeks she had lived alone, discovering slight alterations she would like made to their home. Perhaps she should write them down, then give Eric a list when he came back. Not if, she decided. Sam had returned to Renee and Eric wouldn't leave Lynne in a lurch.

She unlocked the kitchen door, but didn't close it behind her for the house wasn't any warmer than the outside temperature. Spring was still weeks away, although daffodils were starting to poke through the ground. They would bloom first, then the tulips, but not until April; would she still be living alone then?

The bag waited on the couch right where she had left it last night. She tutted herself, then smiled, her eyes drawn to something shining just past the patio. The new windowpane often caught her attention, for the glass was clearer than the rest, although unless you knew to look for it, it went unnoticed. Now that the days were longer and brighter, Lynne always saw it, or she saw better through that one pane. Approaching the French door, she stared at the patio through that new sheet of glass. She touched it, warm from where the sun hit it. She didn't think about what she had considered weeks before when it was broken and dangerous. She kept her eyes on the gravel, something beckoning her to take a closer look.

Had shards of glass landed that far from the door? She hadn't been outside without shoes since Eric left, but in another month, they would be walking back and forth, or she would. But she wanted to think it would be them together. She opened the door, stepped outside, walking slowly to where gravel still glittered in the late afternoon sun. She squatted, gingerly running her hands along the small stones. She smiled; it was only how the light reflected upon the jagged edges. Then she looked up, hearing Renee calling for her.

"Be right there," Lynne hollered. She stood, then took a long look at the garden. In another month, everything would be in bloom, and then she spotted it, the first daffodil of the season, bright yellow on the outside and aching to be admired. Lynne obliged as Renee's voice came closer. Lynne smiled. "I'm in the garden, come see."

Renee turned the corner, walking quickly. "What is it?"

"The first daff of the year." Lynne reached it, then again squatted. It was just open enough to discern an orange center and this type was her favorite. As Renee came closer, Lynne cupped the flower in her left hand, maintaining her balance with her right. She inhaled deeply, the scent of earth and new growth a heady mixture. And another smell, something vaguely....

"Oh my God Lynne, look up!"

As Renee spoke, Lynne released the flower, staring into the sky. A shriek, loud and menacing, made her blood run cold. She immediately stood, her legs wobbly, but she sprinted to the back of the garden where the hawk had touched down. "Eric, oh my God, Eric!"

Renee was right on Lynne's heels, but Lynne didn't care. Her only thought was to the bird she had nearly missed, but Renee had been watching. Thank goodness for that, or Lynne would have still been gazing at the daffodil. She permitted those thoughts as she passed the studio, again calling for her husband. But the thicket was still, the only noise being Renee's steps, which then halted right behind Lynne. "Eric? Where are you?"

"Was it him? It looked like him, I mean, it didn't look like a normal bird or...." Renee's voice was a rushed whispered. "Maybe I should go, maybe he's scared, maybe...."

"Shhh!" Lynne's heart pounded, then she gripped Renee's hand. "I might need you to help me get him inside. But stay right here until I call for you." Lynne inhaled, then she fought tears. She could smell him; the odor as he altered was pungent and nothing she had ever noted before. Before.... Suddenly that word wasn't the bane of her existence. But where was he? "Eric, I'm here, just past the studio. Renee's here too, but it's all right, she saw you change, she knows. She knows Eric and she cares."

Lynne waited a moment, hearing vague mumbles from the thicket. "Eric, honey, I love you, I've been waiting." Lynne stood as close to the brush as she could get without damaging her uniform. Not that she cared about it, but the brambles were dense. Even if she wore trousers, she would still be scratched up, yet, he was in there, she could hear him. The sounds were muted, however, in part from the forest. And that he knew they weren't alone.

"Eric? Oh goodness. I'm dressed for work, I can't get in there." She shook her head, then looked back at Renee. "Go inside and start a bath," Lynne called. "And close the kitchen door, I left it open."

Renee nodded, then fled for the house. Lynne took a deep breath, then planted one foot into the thicket. "Eric, it's just us now. Renee went to fill the tub. I'll send her home, well, she can drive our car home. Eric, please, where are you?"

The crunch of branches made her jump, then she stepped back as something moved toward her. "Eric, honey? I'm right here, I'm right...."

As Eric emerged, Lynne gasped. She had seen him in various states of alteration and the speed of those transformations had always astounded her. But never before had he been gone for so long. His face was as she remembered, but his hair was littered with feathers. Then she struggled to stay on her feet as his were still claws, although as he made his way out of the undergrowth, his legs started to lengthen. He wasn't to his full height and his chest was molting as more feathers were ripped away by shrubs and low trees. She started to approach him, but he waved her off, shaking his head. "Go back...." he mumbled in raspy squawk. "Go away!"

She nodded, tears falling down her face. He didn't want her to witness the final stages, but what more was there for him to accomplish, unless he wasn't sure he could finish the conversion. The last thing Lynne saw was Eric stumbling to the ground, his hands nearly completed, although still speckled by quills. As she ran toward the house, he moaned, the sickly sound resonating like a bird's screech as a man fought for control.
Chapter 13

It took twenty agonizing minutes before Lynne spotted her husband. Eric was wholly human, but very weak, as he grasped the bird bath, trying to stay on his feet. She had sent Renee home, but the tub was filled, and Renee said she would wait for Lynne to call her. Now Lynne ached to assist her husband, but she feared again being sent away. As he continued gripping the bird bath, Lynne inhaled, then stepped from the house. He glanced at her, then nodded. She raced down the path, but slowed as she approached. Then with hesitant steps she stood beside him. She stroked his face, then nodded as breath reentered her lungs. His skin was warm despite the breeze and it was his flesh. "Are you all right?" she said quietly.

"I, I dunno. Help me into the house."

She hoisted his thin frame as he put one arm around her. The stench was overwhelming, of bird, an unclean man, and of dead animals. She didn't question him further as he limped, then stopped, then took aching steps. When they reached the patio, he stopped again, then went to his knees. He vomited, but Lynne didn't gaze at what he'd expelled. She knelt beside him. "What do you need?"

"Water, here."

She stood, then ran into the house, taking a small plastic tub from under the sink. She filled it halfway, then took it to where he waited. Lynne set it in front of him; Eric submerged his whole face, then quickly pulled back. Lynne shivered, his bird-like tendencies entrenched. Then he set just his mouth into the tub and she heard slurping sounds. He drank for over a minute, then moved back, sitting on his haunches. She squatted, but left room between them. He didn't look as bruised as last time, but he was much thinner, and his coloring was as if he had jaundice. She so wanted to caress his face, then speak to him, but perhaps too much stimulation would aggravate him. He needed to wash, then to sleep. Even if he wanted to make love to her, Lynne wouldn't. He was her husband, but in his mind's recesses he was also a hawk and she simply didn't trust him.

She wasn't alarmed by her reaction, for many times Eric had been hesitant when returning, no matter how great was his carnal need. She had always overlooked his anxiety, aware of a deeper longer, and that it wasn't only he who desired sex. But this time it had taken him ages to change and that he had thrown up whatever he'd recently consumed was new. For some reason his body hadn't been able to digest it, or maybe it had been so close to his arrival, he hadn't wanted to keep it within him.

All that time, Eric had been staring at her, his eyes trying to convey thoughts, but she couldn't read him. That also was different, which made Lynne shiver. Previously, once he was a man again, he was her husband too. This time, he was still.... She wasn't sure who he was. And he wasn't either as he inhaled, then cracked his neck. He gazed at her as if wanting the answer, but she shook her head. Then she nodded, stretching out her arms.

Immediately he was in her grasp, then he was sobbing, but his cries weren't solely of a person. They were bird-like squawks, which pierced her ears and her heart. The couple remained on the patio until he had dislodged some of the pain. But as they entered the house, discomfort remained; Eric's steps were like those of an old man. Lynne half-carried him up the steps, then deposited him in the now luke-warm water. He didn't complain and she sat on the floor next to the tub, holding his hand as the scent of fowl inundated the air.

He bathed twice more, then collapsed into bed. He was asleep before Lynne could ask if he was hungry or thirsty. During his third bath, she caught him again setting his face into the water, sipping, then gulping. She hadn't put Epsom salts into it, mostly because he wasn't badly injured. That he might try to drink from it had been an afterthought, but she filed it with other post-transformation facts. Yet those had been for relatively brief episodes compared with this. Once she was certain he was unconscious, she closed their bedroom door, then went downstairs and called the Aherns. Renee answered and they spoke briefly. Renee had an early shift and she and Sam would drop off the Snyders' car on Renee's way to work. Renee said Sam would keep the key and Lynne noted that she had an extra. Lynne would go to work tomorrow, but if it was possible, she would rearrange her schedule, using some vacation time. Usually Eric was fine after a day, but this time she had no idea how long he would need her care.

Lynne started some canned soup, sweeping the living room as it simmered. She put the bag of Sam's stuff in the kitchen, turned off the flame, then got out some crackers. She ate slowly, trying to absorb what had occurred that afternoon; her husband was home, although he wasn't yet completely Eric. Renee had seen him arrive and Eric knew that Renee was in on their secret. Did he wonder about Samuel? What else might Eric be pondering, and from what vantage point? He hadn't spoken during his baths, other than muttering her name. After he had told her to go away, the only words he'd uttered were Lynne, then requesting water. All was said in a half-squawk like his vocal chords were damaged. Or were they permanently altered?

She looked around the kitchen; night had fallen while Eric was in the tub. All the lights were on, but Lynne felt cold. How would her bed seem with her husband beside her? He was her husband, mostly. Maybe it would take several days for Eric to recover, then Lynne shook her head. Nothing was certain now, not that it had been earlier that day, or yesterday or last week. She had been aching for his return and now he was home, but something had changed, not only Eric. Lynne wanted to speak to him, but that too might be time in coming. For a moment, she considered sleeping in the guest room, but if he woke and found himself alone, maybe that would impede his convalescence. Hospitals were for the most infirm, but once a patient was discharged, they seemed to thrive through the routine of normal life. Lynne shrugged. What was normal about Eric now?

Only his outward appearance looked like the man she had married. What was inside his head? Would he paint again, would he regain his voice? She finished her dinner, putting leftover soup into the refrigerator, which was bare as were the cupboards. She needed to get to the store, for he was as thin as she had ever seen him, and when he did feel like eating, it would need to be nutritious and filling.

She then checked that all the doors were locked. It wasn't that late, but Lynne was weary, and didn't want to be downstairs; he might need her, not for lovemaking, but to reach the bathroom or just to be reassured he had made it home. Lynne reached the landing, hearing his deep snores. It sounded like her husband, but the smell that permeated the upper level was clearly that of nature. Maybe she would sleep in the guest room; perhaps she couldn't actually share their bed yet.

She stepped into their room, but Eric didn't stir. Lynne gathered nightclothes and left the door wide open, in part to air it out and that he might realize why she had left. She padded to the far end of the hall, then turned on the light. The guest room was small, but she was glad for the peace, and that it didn't stink of bird. She used the toilet, then undressed, leaving her clothes in the bathroom. Getting into bed, she shivered, for the sheets were crisp and cool.

She fell asleep quickly, but woke from the sound of a mangled cry. Running the length of the hall, she reached her bedroom, but didn't turn on the light. "Eric, it's all right honey, I'm right here."

"Lynne?" His voice was weak, but it sounded more human than before. "Lynne, where are you?"

"Do you want the light on?"

"Yes, please."

He was calmer now, so she did as he asked. She squinted, then stared at him. He lay under the blankets, shivering. Lynne got in on her side, breathing through her mouth, but hawk was in every air particle she inhaled. "Eric, are you all right?"

"Why weren't you here, where were you?"

"I was in the guest room. I didn't wanna bother you."

He nuzzled against her and she closed her eyes, trying to accept his warmth and his need. But the scent was so strong, it made her sick. "Eric, I can't, honey, please...."

He pulled away, then touched her face. "Lynne, what? What's wrong?"

His tone was uncertain and mostly sounded like the man he had been. She felt nauseous, her heart torn. There he was after weeks of being away. But it wasn't completely him yet, that odor so rank. How could he not notice, or perhaps he had been a hawk for so long, it was all he knew.

She held his hands, stroking his fingers, taking deep breaths through her mouth. But the stench lingered down her throat. She tried to balance it with his presence, wishing for more strength. If she could channel Renee, she would ask that woman to pray for Lynne to maintain her composure. Or to not throw up in front of her husband.

Then he jerked away, but his movements were halted. He tried to sit up, but couldn't, flinging himself back on the bed. "Go, please, before you get sick. I can smell it now, I'm sorry, oh Lynne, I'm so sorry...."

She began to cry, then reached for his head. He moved from her hand, curling into a ball on his side of the bed. "Go now Lynne, before you...."

Suddenly Lynne knew another scent and it was far stronger than her husband. It was the hospital right after the cleaning women had mopped, also of the small chapel off the main lobby. Candle wax was prevalent alongside something Lynne couldn't describe, but it wasn't offensive. It was mysterious, which made her smile, for this entire night had been shrouded in confusion except for the glorious miracle of Eric's return. Lynne inhaled again, this time with her nose. Two distinct odors, and one unknown, eased her stomach, bringing her great peace. Then she smiled. "Eric, it's gone. I don't know where it went, but the smell's gone. Oh honey, I love you, it was just so strong, but now...." Her inhalations were deep and in none of them could she detect that invasive aroma. "Eric, baby, please let me hold you."

Slowly he turned her way. His face was disheveled and damp and he took a deep breath. "Where'd it go?"

"I don't know and I don't care." She scooted toward him, her lips trembling, her hands as well. "All that matters is that you're here and I love you and...." She placed her face alongside his, their tears mingling. She didn't kiss him, nor did he try to kiss her, but their arms were wrapped around the other, hands grabby, then tender. He wasn't hard, but she wasn't surprised, for it was enough to be close to one so loved and missed. Words were mumbled, their names coupled with grateful musings. Lynne lay on her back as Eric stretched his frame along hers. Then his sobs erupted, his whole body in spasms. He bawled like a child while Lynne held on, not letting him go.

She woke first, calling into work sick. Then she wondered if the car had been returned. The morning was overcast and in just her robe and slippers, she didn't want to step outside. Lynne wasn't hungry, although a cup of coffee would be appreciated. But she wasn't sure if Eric was up to that scent, sometimes he was off coffee for a day or two. Their lives were restarting in many ways, and instead she made herself some tea.

As it brewed, she stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening to his snores. He had never broken down so thoroughly, perhaps he would sleep for much of the day. She still didn't know any details, other than yesterday a miracle had happened, two of them. Eric's full transformation back into her husband was one. The other was....

She sniffed; no trace of bird could be detected. Where had it gone and how? If she could call Renee at work, Lynne would ask if her friend had been handling rosary beads sometime late last night. Lynne hadn't noticed the time, but she had been quite asleep when Eric stirred, that anguished screech stuck in her brain. He was still in flux, but no longer was that odor present. Lynne smiled, mostly at herself. Then she tapped her foot. If Eric could alter so drastically, why weren't other phenomena applicable?

Returning to the kitchen, Lynne brought her tea to the table, where she sat with a languid sigh. Only once during his breakdown had Eric grown hard, but it hadn't lasted long. He had been so weak as he fell asleep that Lynne had put the blanket over him and he hadn't seemed to move all night. Then she took a quick breath. He was home, he had actually made it home. No longer was she alone, he was just upstairs. If some part of him remained out of her reach, what did it matter? Sam had come back to Renee and Eric had found his way here, where his wife had been waiting.

Lynne didn't think about her infertility, she didn't consider if Eric might paint again. The biggest gift was where he slept, right over her head. She traced the top of her mug with her forefinger, then tried a taste. The tea was hot but pleasant, and she drank half of it, trying to find the best way to celebrate this blessing. Then she smiled at herself; Renee and Sam would tease that her inner need for a savior was showing.

Then she winced; how would Sam react? She glanced at the counter, his outerwear and that handkerchief waiting for him. She had no idea what Renee had told him, other than Eric had come home. What had Sam permitted her to say, what had Renee been forced to omit? And once Eric was ready for visitors, what would he tell Samuel Ahern? Lynne sighed, finished her tea, then put the cup in the sink. She still wanted coffee, but the tea was a start.

She returned to their bedroom, but Eric didn't budge. Gathering clean clothes, she left for the guest room, taking a leisurely bath in the tub only used by Stanford Taylor. She would call him soon, maybe that day, perhaps tomorrow. Then she would let Eric handle the rest. He had never asked her to run interference for him, but over six weeks had passed, and Stanford would want an account for Eric's absence. Lynne washed her hair, which took extra time, then she rinsed off, pulling the plug. She stood, splashing the last of the water into the drain. She dried herself, dressed, wrapping a small towel around her damp tresses. She didn't notice the smell of bird anywhere.

Walking toward her room, she heard Eric stirring. She met him at the door, then led him to their bathroom. He was still unsteady and she waited for him. He leaned on her as they reached the bed, then he stopped. "I love you so much." He stroked her face, then smiled at her concealed hair. "You didn't bathe in here?"

"I didn't wanna wake you. How do you feel?"

"Like I could sleep for another full day, then a week. But it's a start." He nuzzled her brow, then kissed her forehead. "How are you?"

Her smile was slow, for there wasn't one answer to that question. She was thrilled for his return, but still worried about him. She was curious about how that stench had vanished and what the aroma was that she still couldn't name. She was tired, needed coffee and some breakfast, but mostly she was.... "I'm fine now Eric. You're home, that's all that matters."

"Are you really okay?"

"Are you?"

He chuckled softly, then sat on the edge of the bed. "I don't know. I'm here and I'm human again, so I guess it worked. But...." He inhaled, then looked around the room. "What're those smells?"

She giggled, sitting next to him. "Disinfectant, candle wax, then I'm stumped."

He breathed deeply, snuggling beside her. "Yeah those two, but what's the last one?"

"Probably something to do with the Catholic Church is my guess, incense maybe, but I'll need to talk to Renee about it."

He nodded, but didn't question her. Then he sighed. "I wasn't sure, when I came back, I mean, I saw her in the garden. But you said she was there when I left, so she knows."

"She does and it's okay. Honey, she understands as best as this can be comprehended."

Lynne's heart raced as Eric cuddled against her. "And Sam?" he asked.

"Well...." Lynne smiled. "Sam knows, but doesn't believe it. He's pretty angry with me and...."

Eric pulled away, touching her face. "Angry with you, why?"

"He thinks I'm nuts and that I've made Renee crazy too. But it's okay because you're home and one of these days...."

She had to kiss him, just to feel his lips against hers. The static shock didn't matter, nor did his stale breath, but it wasn't reminiscent of anything except how he always tasted after a long night's sleep. The kiss became more intimate and soon Lynne couldn't help herself, putting Eric's hand on her breast. His touch was gentle, stoking her desires and his. As he pulled away from her mouth, he panted. "Oh Lynne...."

She didn't think about Sam or Renee, or how long Eric had been away; it was almost like he had never left, for he was helping to remove her clothing, just like he sometimes did when the mood struck. Now he was hard and she was eager; they left her hair in the towel, but as the last piece of her apparel was thrown to the floor, both were beyond desperate. Then an urgent love was made. Lynne laughed at herself and her husband. "It's never happened that fast before."

Eric remained atop her. "After last night, I wasn't so sure I'd be able to love you again."

"You just needed to sleep." And to release different emotions, she thought, running her hands along his back.

He nodded, putting all his weight on her. Lynne felt that plop, but he wasn't heavy. In a few weeks, he would fill out, and she would too. "I love you Eric, my God, I love you so much."

"I love you too. You've lost weight."

"I'm not the only one."

He sighed. "There's so much to tell you, but first you need to know I am so, so...."

She kissed him again, which led to another round of intimacy. This time it lasted longer and it made her cry. He pulled out, wanting to comfort her, but she shook her head. Eric returned to where he had been, for he was still hard enough to do so. But he didn't attempt to entice her, wiping the tears from her face.

Lynne closed her eyes, trying to imprint this moment into her deepest memories. How precious was this action, this man, their love? He meant everything, but was it increased due to how precarious he was? "Eric, did you find him, did you...."

He sighed, then moved away from her. This time Lynne didn't ask for his return, but she snuggled against his chest, ignoring his protruding ribs. "If you don't wanna talk about it, I understand," she whispered.

"I didn't locate him, but I don't think he's far."

She nodded, then kissed his skin. "Don't take this the wrong way, but why'd you come back, I mean, I'm so glad you did." She sat up, grasping his face in her hands. "I need you here with me. I know I can't always have that, but six weeks was too long. You can't take that sort of...."

"I know, that's why I came home. I could feel it, my body was starting to fight being a hawk. Which was good, but also scary." He put his hands on hers, then kissed her. Then Lynne returned to lying against him. "I was so damned close! But finally I flew home. I couldn't get you out of my head and it was cold and I was tired of being a hawk. Four days is fine. Six weeks is...."

Dangerous, Lynne nearly said.

"Too long," Eric continued. "My body was starting to fight it, or maybe it was starting to feel too comfortable. Sometimes I woke and I'd forgotten I was a man. It would take me a few hours to remember where I was going. Then I'd realize it, but thank God I was still on my way home." He stared at her. "Lynne, no matter what, you were all I considered, even if I was out of my human mind. Because as soon as I was back in it, there you were, on the horizon. I was flying home to you whether I was aware of you or not." He paused, then looked at his hands. "When I was changing, oh Jesus, it'd never felt that way before, like my bones might not form. As soon as I saw you, oh honey, I didn't want you to see me like that because I wasn't sure if I was gonna be a man again. I really didn't know."

She nodded, then tenderly clasped his hands. "If you change again...."

"If I do, hopefully it won't be for that long. I don't know if I could take it and not just physically."

"I don't know if I could either." Her voice was soft, she didn't want him to feel guilty.

"Lynne, I can't promise you anything, not anymore." He moved away from her, then looked around their room. Then he faced her. "He's out there, God, I knew it was him, don't ask me how, but I did. And I know where he is, I mean...." Eric slammed his fist onto the bed. "I know where as a hawk, but don't ask me to find it on a map. Shit!"

"It's okay honey, we'll find him, I promise."

He shook his head. "You don't understand. I know where he is, but only by sense of smell, the markers of trees, it's all by instinct. And I, I'm...." He inhaled, then bit his lip.

"You're going back out there, aren't you?"

For a moment, Lynne thought she smelled hawk. But instead it was that unknown yet soothing aroma. It eased her racing heart, but didn't halt Eric's response. "Yeah honey, one of these days." He leaned her way, kissing her. Then he pulled back. "For better or worse, he's my father. I have to find him."
Chapter 14

While Lynne spoke to Renee on a daily basis, the Aherns didn't visit the Snyders until the following week. Part of that was due to Eric, but most of it was for Sam. By the time Sam and Renee arrived at the Snyders' house, Eric felt completely human again, although his vision and sense of smell were still acute. He had put on a few pounds, his appetite voracious. And he had spoken to Stanford Taylor, who had refrained from pressing for answers to where Eric had been. Stanford was still riding a post-exhibit wave of elation, promising a visit to the Snyders that spring.

Sam Ahern had taken Eric's return deeply, spending much time on his knees when Renee was at work, or in quiet contemplation in the kitchen when she was home. Renee had told him what she had seen, not that he had wanted to know all that, but he had patiently listened to his wife, then decided to make sure Eric was well-fed. Sam didn't trust that Lynne would be in a correct frame of mind to cook what would best serve her husband and Renee ferried various dishes to the Snyders. Eric ate whatever Lynne put in front of him, what Sam learned second hand from Renee. And that Eric couldn't wait to see Sam to personally thank him for all Sam did while Eric was away.

But it took days for Sam to feel able to travel across town. Renee had a day off work, but Lynne was on shift, and Sam had been relieved for the timing. He did want to see Eric, but not with Lynne there, at least not that first time. Renee had told Sam to go alone, but he needed his wife's presence, although he wasn't sure why, other than as a buffer. Sam had no idea what Eric might tell him and he was a little curious if all that Renee had said would be confirmed. Or maybe, as Sam still considered, the women had conspired against the men, in which case Sam wasn't sure what he might do.

Prayer had kept Sam sane, that and cooking. But he hadn't gone to the VA hospital, he hadn't visited with or written to his godchildren, although letters were waiting to be answered. The only other thing he had done was speak on the phone to his sister Fran, who was now recovering from the arrival of her seventh child, a daughter, born the day after Eric came back. The newborn, Helene, was in fine shape, Fran had laughed, but a mother was exhausted, although glad to be home. Helene's small cries had closed the conversation as Fran sent her love, but didn't ask when Sam and Renee would visit. None of the couple's siblings ever inquired about that, leaving Sam and Renee to make those moves in their own time.

It was the same with approaching the Snyders' house; Renee had seen Eric just a couple of days ago, spending two hours with him while Lynne ran errands. Sam hadn't asked if Eric couldn't be left alone, he didn't want to know those kinds of details. As Fran hadn't deluged her brother with facts about the new baby, other than she was healthy and not inclined to sleeping at night, Renee only told her husband the basics. Eric had come home. It hadn't been an easy transition. He was thin. He was also as well as could be expected.

It was that last sentence to bother Sam, for it left open too many doors, none of which he was eager to investigate. He had prayed over it extensively. Cooking for Eric had been a salve on Sam's troubled soul; it was like listening to other vets talk about all that still haunted them, or of what they could speak. Sam would nod, sigh, shrug, and chuckle whenever it was appropriate. Sometimes he grasped their hands, sometimes he kept his distance. Sometimes he said nothing at all, letting their words tumble, but not bruise him. Sam heard lots of stories, but didn't digest most of them. It wasn't for his benefit to absorb their tales, just to willingly pay attention in whatever degree was necessary. He had done the same when Renee spoke about Eric, but with Eric, Sam wasn't as good as shutting out what he didn't want to accept.

Parking outside the property's wall, Sam took a deep breath. The couple wasn't bringing meals this time, only themselves, or more rightly, Sam. Renee would keep herself occupied with a Reader's Digest, permitting the men to wander the garden, or check out the studio, or sit on the patio. Eric had retrieved the lawn furniture, with the women's help, Renee had said, after her last visit. He wasn't painting yet, she had also noted. The Aherns would take home empty dishes that had collected, a few meals having been placed in the deep freezer. Sam had done more cooking over the last week than Renee had ever noted. But Eric had looked better for it, she had said, and Sam had nodded, then wondered how poorly he had appeared upon his arrival. Then Sam had shaken his head, not wanting to consider anything so....

"Honey, you okay?" Renee gently patted Sam's leg. "You want me to go in first, see what's going on?"

Sam looked up, then turned off the engine. How long had it been idling, probably long enough that if Eric was in the garden, he knew they were there. The day was sunny, not quite warm, but probably the most pleasant day of the year. Spring was teasing and Sam was looking forward to its presence. He wanted to put the last several weeks where he filed Korea. It would only be retrieved when absolutely necessary and even then it would be a collection of dim memories that might haunt him at night, but didn't bother him during the day.

Renee cleared her throat, which was Sam's cue to do something. Shit or get off the pot had been the phrase of choice for all the members of Sam's platoon, Josh Bradley's voice ringing in Sam's head. Sam winced, then smiled, he couldn't help it. In Josh's loud southern accent, those words had never failed to stir a laugh, especially when he followed it up with: Well, that's what my grandma always said. Sam never bought that story, but then, how many of those days were filled with half-truths just to get everyone to the next day. Josh told the longest tales, always tinged with facts, so the guys never knew how much was real and how much was bull. But those yarns kept them loose when boredom was overwhelming, and years later, Josh was easing this day for Sam. Sam hadn't felt this nervous since his first day in battle, wondering just what he had done by enlisting in the United States Army.

What was he doing there, at the Snyders? Oh yes, Eric was home. Eric had made it out of.... That remained to be seen. But he had returned, like Sam, not all that worse for wear. Sam sighed; he would meet Fran's new baby in a few weeks at Helene's baptism. Fran hadn't said when that would be, she was just trying to find a moment to sleep, but it wasn't easy, what with a newborn and six other kids. Sam and Renee didn't live far from Fran and Louie, but Sam's mother and sisters and Louie's family would pick up the slack until Fran was back on her feet. Sam had done that for Eric, in a manner of speaking, making sure that man ate well. Not that Sam thought Lynne was as hopeless in the kitchen as Renee was, but....

Sam opened his door. He didn't still want to be here when Lynne came home. Renee got out too, but neither spoke as they closed their doors, then headed to the gate. Renee let them in, for she was now more familiar with this house, or at least more comfortable with it. Sam wasn't sure he would ever feel right when stepping through the gate, shutting it behind him, then staring at the house, the garden, even the studio. He had to squint to see it and in doing so he spotted Eric getting up from the ground, a trowel in his hand.

"Hey, good to see you," Eric called, waving the trowel, dirt falling from it.

Renee gripped Sam's hand. "Hi Eric. Been busy?"

"Just doing a little digging." Eric smiled, heading their way. "Hey Sam, how are you?"

Eric's steps weren't fast, but Sam hadn't been able to move from the moment Eric spoke. As Eric approached the couple, Sam wondered if he had somehow breached another dimension, or maybe he had forgotten how Josh Bradley walked, for Eric was morphing into Josh with every step. If Eric's voice turned southern, Sam would politely ask Renee to call for an ambulance, but not for the man heading toward the Aherns. Sam wondered what was real, this house, his wife, or the person just feet away who didn't look or sound like Josh, but had returned from.... Sam had begged God to somehow allow a miracle, for Josh was Sam's best friend. Josh was the only one who seemed able to keep it all in perspective. Shit or get off the pot Ahern, Josh had often said, regardless of the circumstance. One of the two Sam, one of the two.

"I, it's, I'm...." Sam couldn't speak, but words swirled in his head, his mouth, and in his heart. Eric was thin, even after a week of Ahern cooking, and he was.... Different, although his bad foot was hadn't changed, nor had his face, or hair. But his coloring wasn't right, he looked jaundiced. Fran had said Helene had a touch of it, otherwise she was fine. That new niece and Eric Snyder had gone through some pretty harrowing experiences lately, but as Sam could see, Eric was indeed all right.

Renee released her husband's hand, wordlessly walking toward the French doors. Sam realized she was gone as soon as a slight breeze wafted through his fingers. The chill was negligible, but telling. Then he stared at Eric. It was like looking at Josh when they had managed to make it out of another fight, sitting silently on their bunks, reflecting on the odds that somehow again they were back in camp, alive and well, or relatively okay. They were damn lucky bastards, Josh would then mutter, because not always did everyone return.

And that would be all he would speak of it. Then he would crack a joke or pester Sam to.... C'mon Ahern, you're not the only one who needs the john! Get your ass off that shithole before I come in after you!

"Thanks Sam, for all the grub." Eric's smile was wide. "I love Lynne, but hands down you're a better cook."

Sam didn't know what to say to Eric, but he had always managed a witty retort to Josh. Then Josh would grow more foul, always adding it was what his grandma said, which made the men laugh harder. What sorta grandma you got in those backwoods Bradley? others would holler, then Sam would finish his ablutions, but the mood was jovial, which was the best way to start the day when no one knew what might happen by dinnertime.

"You want some coffee Sam?" Eric gazed at the house, then to the trowel in his hand. "I could use a breather."

Sam nodded, but he still couldn't talk.

Eric gently slapped Sam's shoulder. "Probably a few cups left in the pot, or maybe Renee's making us a new one. At least she's good for coffee, huh?"

Sam nodded again, feeling like idiot. Eric set the trowel on the ground, carrying the conversation as they approached the house, where Sam could hear Renee talking to herself, then to Eric, as the men stepped through the open French doors.

When Lynne came home, Eric and Sam were seated at the patio table chuckling over mugs of coffee. The French doors remained open as the afternoon was warm and Renee hadn't wanted to close those doors. That's what she told Lynne while the women unloaded groceries. "Sam knew we'd still be here when you got home and I figured keeping the doors open would be a good way to...." Renee grasped Lynne's hand, then smiled. "You want some coffee?"

"Yeah, thanks." Lynne didn't try to discern what the men were saying, but she was pleased for their laughter, interspersed with moments of stillness. Maybe they were drinking their coffee or just looking at each other, both slotting away these moments for later. Lynne still caught Eric staring into space like he was trying to denote where his father might be. Or maybe in those minutes he was back in the air as a flying creature with no ties to anything human. He had never done that before, then she winced. Before occasionally troubled her. But their lives would never be that way again.

She hadn't told Renee that eventually Eric was going to search for his father. She hadn't said much to her friend about anything. Lynne inhaled as another round of chuckles emanated from the patio. At least out there the ice had been broken.

Perhaps that was enough for today. Lynne and Renee would be on the same shifts next week and maybe that was the best place to integrate this new facet of their.... Renee handed Lynne a cup of coffee, then Renee sat at the table. Lynne joined her while their husband again laughed, then quieted. "At least that sounds like normal," Lynne said softly.

"They've been out there nearly the whole time. I don't think Sam stepped into the house more than to ask if I needed help making the joe." Renee smiled, then smirked. "He thinks he's indispensable now when it comes to anything culinary. I won't get him off that cloud anytime soon."

Lynne nodded, sipping from her cup. "How was it when you two got here?"

"Oh awkward, as you can imagine. But Eric took the lead and well, who knows?" Renee shrugged. "How are you, I mean...."

Lynne shook her head. "I don't know. He's home and he's...fine, thank God." Then she smiled. "I need to ask you something and I don't want you to take it the wrong way."

"What?"

"That night, his first back, were you, uh...." All week Lynne had pondered that strange but inoffensive scent, for occasionally it still wafted, even Eric noticed it. "Did you pray for us that night?"

Renee stared at her, then nodded. "I've been praying for you guys ever since he...."

"No, I mean, that night." Lynne inhaled deeply. "That night he stank so badly that I fell asleep in the guest room. He woke a couple of hours later and he still smelled...." She grimaced, for while the odor had dissipated, the memory of it haunted her. "It was worse than he had ever smelled. Then suddenly it was gone and I mean gone. I don't know how, but he went from nearly making me sick to smelling of Lysol, candle wax, and...." She permitted a small grin. "Something neither of us has been able to figure out. I told him it was something Catholic, incense maybe, because the change was immediate, and since then, I haven't smelled bird anywhere."

Lynne chuckled at herself and it was buffered by the men's laughter. She expected Renee to chime in; instead Renee stood, sniffling as she walked to the sink where she gripped the counter, staring into the basins.

"Oh Renee I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...." Lynne stood, joining her at the counter. Renee's tears were soft, but she trembled. Lynne put her hands on Renee's shoulders, then Renee turned to Lynne, hugging her tightly.

"I'm sorry Renee, I didn't mean...."

"It's, it's okay. It wasn't me Lynne, it was...."

But Renee couldn't speak, sobbing profusely. Lynne nodded, not needing to hear more words. Enough was confirmed in how hard Renee shook and from Sam's honest chuckles, ringing from the garden.

Two couples walked hand in hand toward the front gate. The Aherns led the way, but they stopped, turning back to the Snyders as all reached the property wall. "Well, we'll have to get together again soon," Sam said to Eric. "Maybe next time someone can make a boysenberry pie."

Sam didn't look at Lynne as he finished speaking, but he did smile in her direction. Lynne nodded as Eric squeezed her hand. "Yeah, I'm about ready for pie." Eric's tone was light. "But only if you make that custard Sam."

"It's a deal." Sam looked toward the house. "Maybe next weekend at our place. I found a new recipe for pork chops, we'll give it a try."

"And maybe by then Stanford will have gotten your pictures back to you." Eric again gripped his wife's hand. "He swears he didn't sell them and I'm holding him to it."

"You and me both." Renee smiled, then tugged on her husband's arm. "All right, let's go. You gotta cook for me tonight."

"Oh, the dishes!" Lynne glanced back at the house. "I nearly forgot them. I'll be right back."

She was glad for an excuse and if she was lucky Renee would be on her heels, not making Lynne have to endure any more idle banter. She might ask Renee if they could make the dinner for the subsequent weekend, or perhaps at the end of March. Not for Eric, but for Sam and Lynne and the vast space that still separated them. Lynne wanted to know what Eric had told Samuel Ahern, then later she would ask Renee how Sam had taken it. But at least things with Renee were nearly normal. After both women had a good cry, they had gone upstairs, where Lynne showed Renee the next series Eric wanted to exhibit. Renee had been silenced by the array of canvases, all landscapes with only hints of birds. None were as impressive as that blue barn, but other aspects captivated, mostly due to how fine were the details, be they of trees and shrubs, fields awaiting harvest, sunrises and sunsets. Or Lynne's favorite, a collection of horses standing under a large oak tree either swatting flies with their tails or nuzzling their noses together, mares and their colts alongside stallions and their mates. Lynne had been reminded of the horses Sam had seen inside that blue barn; was he excited for that painting's return, or was he anxious, for the hawks would come back as well. Maybe they wouldn't be as hard to view, for they faced the sunset, not staring out from the canvas.

Lynne sighed, collecting the paper bag with one hand on the bottom. As she turned for the door, she stopped in her tracks. "Oh, I didn't expect you to...."

Sam cleared his throat. "Here, give that to me, it's not light, I suppose."

His tone was straightforward and quickly Lynne handed the bag to him. "Thank you, I mean, for being so kind. I mean, for all the cooking. Both of us really appreciated it."

He nodded, then inhaled. Lynne did too, thinking back to the last time they had stood alone in this kitchen. He had been furious, slamming the door on his way out. She couldn't read his mood now, but he had come for the dishes. It was a start, if nothing else.

But Sam didn't step away. He stared at her, the first time he had looked directly at her since that rainy, miserable day. He had his scarf and gloves back; Renee had returned those items on one of her trips, delivering supper. Now the weather was nearly spring-like and he wouldn't need them for months. Then Lynne sighed. Maybe Sam would pack them away for good, or give them to charity, the handkerchief too. She smiled weakly, then cleared her throat. "Again, thanks Sam. You're a much better cook than me, Eric, and Renee combined."

He nodded, then allowed a small grin. "Well, nobody makes a pie like you do." Then he coughed. "I hope we see you guys next weekend, if Eric's feeling up to it."

"Oh um, sure. Of course." She nodded, but wasn't certain if he meant it. "We don't have anything going on, well, Stanford might come see us, otherwise...."

"Well, if he's around, bring him along. If we don't have our paintings back by then, I can harass him in person. But do let me know so I can get enough chops."

"I will, uh-huh, you bet."

"Mmmhmm." Sam nodded, then tapped his foot. "Renee's probably wondering if I got lost, or if I'm trying to wheedle that pie recipe from you." He chuckled, making Lynne blink away tears.

"Probably," she said, wiping the corners of her eyes.

"Yup. So okay, next weekend, unless like I said, Eric's not up to it."

"Sure. Next weekend."

As Lynne answered, Sam headed to the kitchen door. Then he turned to face her. "He told me what happened, just so you know. Can't say I believe him anymore than I do you and Renee, suppose I'll just have to see it for myself, if it ever happens again." Sam glanced at the bag in his hands. "I'll let you and Renee sort out the details for supper. Just remember if Stanford's gonna be there...."

"I'll be sure to let you know."

Sam paused, then met her gaze. "Thanks. Thanks Lynne." He nodded, then headed through the doorway as Renee called his name.
Chapter 15

Stanford did attend supper that following weekend, raving about Sam's pork chops and Lynne's pie. By then the Aherns' paintings were back on their wall and Stanford had seen the rest of that series, which filled Lynne's craft room. Stanford had been awed by those canvases, but the Aherns' pieces had prepped him for a leap in Eric's work. He loved the horses, was silenced by the fire scene, which like Lynne thought, seemed to emanate heat. Stanford had also cursed at Eric; how was he supposed to squeeze in another exhibit this year?

The dealer said nothing about that over pork chops, then boysenberry pie, but he did gaze at his slice, then at Lynne. One of the paintings hadn't been a part of new series; it was of Lynne's knitting, although not of her doing the knitting. Eric had smiled, noting that he was hoping to start painting his wife amid her pastimes, but not at work, even though she remained a nurse. Stanford wondered why that was; Eric's earnings could now provide for the couple, unless perhaps.... Stanford shook his head; his father had always told him to steer clear of an artist's private life. Shared meals were acceptable, but that was as far as Stanford went. And it worked both ways; Stanford didn't want clients peering over his shoulder. Besides, what were a few pork chops, and boysenberries, between friends?

And maybe, if the Aherns ever fell on hard times, they would kindly seek him out to put their paintings on the market. Stanford had to decline very generous offers, especially for the blue barn, the details of which he had mentioned during supper. Eric had laughed, Lynne had smiled, but Samuel and his wife had nearly gone into shock. Then Sam had chuckled, thrilled that he owned artwork that others would practically kill for. One man in particular, Stanford revealed, would do nearly anything to add that barn to his Eric Snyder collection.

"It belongs in a museum if anything," Renee had scoffed, softly twanging her husband's ear. Then she had clucked, that those New York types didn't understand the simple joy of sharing Eric's work with others. They just wanted to buy it all up and....

Stanford had tuned out; while Renee might be a good nurse, she knew little about art collectors. She seemed an odd complement to Sam, sort of brassy, certainly opinionated. Her coloring was striking and Stanford couldn't escape her hypnotic eyes. Then he had stared at Samuel and for moments Stanford was fixated on that man's irises; they were the same shade as the barn Eric had painted.

During dessert Stanford had pondered that and how tightly entwined were these two couples. He chalked that up more to their childless households than to Lynne and Renee's profession. It certainly wasn't to do with the men's occupations; Sam didn't even have a regular job. His friendly demeanor reminded Stanford of.... Then the art dealer had excused himself. When he returned, he made noises that it was late and he needed to be on the train early the next morning. When dinner parties stoked personal memories, it was time for Stanford to leave.

He shook hands with both Aherns, but Lynne and Renee shared hugs and Eric and Sam almost did. Then Renee hugged Eric as Lynne and Sam awkwardly embraced. Stanford noted all those nuances, then he sighed when the Aherns kept what remained of the pie.

The ride back to the Snyders' was quiet; Stanford sat in the front with Eric, Lynne in the back seat. Stanford thanked them for including him; he had been perfectly willing to relax at Eric and Lynne's, but Lynne claimed that Sam would have been offended if the dealer hadn't accompanied. Plus there had been the pie, which Stanford had assumed the Snyders would bring home with them. If he'd known they were leaving it there, he would have eaten a second piece.

As it was, he was stuffed, for Samuel was a talented chef, how Stanford thought of him. To label him simply as a cook would have been an insult, which he shared with Eric and Lynne. "He puts my Agatha to shame."

"He really does enjoy it, but he's sneaky." Lynne laughed. "He gave me his custard recipe but I think he left out a key ingredient. Mine never tastes as good as his."

Stanford chuckled. "Write it down before I leave. I'll give it to Agatha and she'll figure it out."

"You've got a deal," Lynne smiled.

When they reached the house, Lynne headed to the gate first, allowing the men to chat. Stanford again thanked Eric for including him, mentioning he would send the Aherns a thank-you note both for the meal and for lending their paintings to the show. "I must say, they could make a mint off of them." Then he laughed out loud. "Actually, they should hold onto them. When Renee's ready to retire, they'll be worth...." He shook his head. "God only knows what that barn painting will go for."

"I doubt they'd ever sell, but I'll pass that along."

When they reached the house, lights shone in the kitchen where Lynne waited. "Anyone for coffee?" she asked.

"Oh not me." Stanford yawned, then chuckled. "All I want is some sleep. This country living wears me plumb out." He drawled the last words, making the couple giggle.

"Well, you know where your room is. Just don't try to sneak any paintings on your way. I know exactly how many are in there and...."

Stanford laughed, then he sighed. It felt good to be out of the city in this small enclave. The Aherns weren't exactly bumpkins and Eric and Lynne could speak on most subjects. Stanford wasn't a decade their senior and at times felt much closer to their ages than to forty, what he would turn next year. He looked that age, what with his thinning hair, glasses, and meticulous bearing, yet all of those were genetic. At least he wasn't bald like Samuel, or heavy-set. He would never marry, but that wasn't an issue either. Stanford didn't want a family, although he suspected both couples wished their quiet homes rang with the sound of children, especially the Aherns. Stanford had no quarrels with Catholics; he had no overt prejudices of which he was aware. In his business all that mattered was art, and art was one of the most subjective topics in the world.

As the couple made small talk, Stanford waited for a break in the conversation. He found their banter soothing, then it made him ache. Laurie rarely left the city, busy with his own artists, but they were sculptors. The dealers rarely crossed professional paths, but perhaps that made their home life less complicated. It was hard enough being homosexual, although New York was one of the easiest cities in which to live as honestly as the men could manage. Paris would have been good too, but both were too attached to their shared birthplace; no other metropolitan area was more exciting than New York. Stanford would spend his entire life based in that city, with sojourns here and there when necessary. Tomorrow night he would lay next to Laurie Abrams, telling him of Eric's genius and about the tastiest, although definitely non-kosher, meal he'd eaten in ages. Laurie would smile about the chops, but Stanford wouldn't say a thing to Agatha or she wouldn't agree to discern the missing ingredient in the custard recipe.

"Well Stanford, you look ready to fall over. Go get some shut-eye. When do you need to be at the station?"

Stanford smiled at Eric, who stood close to his wife. In moments like these, Stanford wished he could break that cardinal rule, but the lives of an art dealer and artist demanded separation. Yet, if Laurie was here, Stanford could ask Eric to take a walk, perhaps to the studio, while Laurie and Lynne chatted about.... "Need to be there at ten. Train leaves at eleven."

"Punctual as ever," Eric smiled. "I assume you'll share breakfast with us in the morning?"

"You assume correctly. Too bad there won't be any pie to eat."

"Pie?" Lynne stared at Stanford. "Don't tell me you would've had pie for breakfast?"

"I would've had another slice at the Aherns had I known you were leaving it there."

Lynne and Eric laughed and Stanford did too. He was well past Eric's absence of last month, especially since it didn't seem at all related to a break in Eric's marriage. Stanford had thought that perhaps Eric had a mistress, what artist didn't? But now it was moot for the show was over, already another in the works, perhaps for fall. Then, depending on how much Eric painted over summer, maybe another next spring. Stanford usually kept to his tried and true methods, but at times edicts were meant to be tweaked. Not that he would share his private life with the Snyders, but Eric's talent was exploding at a rate never before seen in Stanford's tenure. His father Michael had gone to the exhibit several times, mostly to see that blue barn, as had Laurie's cousin Seth. Everyone Stanford had talked to mentioned the structure and how they all seemed to see right into it. Had Eric painted contents, then covered them, giving the aura of items within that outbuilding? But if he had, why did everyone perceive something different? Stanford wanted to capitalize on Eric's gift while it was hot. Another show in autumn wouldn't be overkill. Best to get the most from him now, while he was so talented. And so damn prolific, Stanford smiled.

Yet that spring, Eric felt anything but inspired. He had cleaned out the studio, or had gotten a start, but as Lynne mentioned to Renee, it was more tidying than Eric had done in all the years they had lived there. Eric said that the place was a mess and he couldn't work in such conditions. But well after Stanford left, Eric was still clearing out bags of rubbish. By the end of March, the studio was spic and span.

By the middle of April, Eric and Lynne had spoken about other aspects of their life; he wanted her to quit working. They no longer required her income, which seemed as odd as Eric's pristine studio and his inability to paint. They discussed that perhaps he felt another transformation was imminent and he didn't want to start the next series, then be whisked away. He catalogued the paintings in the house, setting aside those he felt weren't strong enough to be shown. He gave one to the Aherns and another to Sam's sister Fran, who brought her youngest and oldest children for a long weekend spent with Sam and Renee. Lynne had worked while they visited, but Eric was asked over for Saturday breakfast, mostly because Fran was dying to meet the artist who had somehow brought her brother's blue eyes to life, then thank him for the picture. The only time Eric felt inspired was during that morning; he quickly sketched Fran, her eldest daughter Sally, and baby Helene, who spent most of the time in Renee's grasp if she wasn't at her mother's bosom. Eric didn't sketch Renee cuddling the baby, but he didn't set aside that image. It was too poignant to forget.

Then Eric had asked Fran if he could sketch her as Helene nursed. Fran blushed, but then laughed, that if Eric really wanted to, she would be honored. Feeling a rush within his right arm, he started quickly. Suddenly the whole scene emerged and he inhaled deeply, trying to draw that magic into the rest of his body. But when Helene pulled away from her mother, crying loudly, Eric was depleted. The sketch thoroughly impressed Fran and Sally and Eric signed it, then gave it to Sam's sister. She fell into tears, which Renee chalked up to hormones. But days later, Sam told Eric that Fran was beside herself, for Helene was going to be her and Louie's last child. To have such a gifted artist capture one of Fran's favorite parts of motherhood, Sam said, would make it easier on Fran as she and Louie fended off carnal desires. Then Sam had shrugged, wishing he and Renee had such problems. Eric nodded in full agreement.

Lynne knew of those sketches, not that she had seen the one of Helene nursing, only that of a mother and her oldest and youngest offspring. Lynne encouraged Eric to paint it, but he stewed instead and nearing the end of April, still not a single new painting had emerged.

Lynne spoke of this with Renee, but Eric felt awkward talking about it with Sam, and he didn't want to tell Stanford. With Sam, Eric spoke about baseball; Sam kept tabs on the Red Sox, but Eric didn't follow any particular team. The men also discussed why Lynne didn't want to quit work. But again, Eric trod lightly around that subject, for he knew her reasons, one being that she dreaded his next disappearance. At least if she had the hospital, she wouldn't go crazy during his absence. Yet if she was home, Eric might be able to entice her to sit for him. She hadn't acquiesced to his request, but she also understood the reason for his dry spell. But Eric wouldn't guilt her into posing for him.

One evening after the couple finished supper, Eric said he was going for a walk. Lynne kissed him and he left her giggly, making her lose several stitches of a baby sweater she was making for Helene. "Go on, you're horrible," she smiled, stroking his face.

"Pearl one, pearl two," he teased, heading out through the French doors.

He got as far as the gravel, then looked back, noting that one new glass pane. Lynne had never pointed it out, but Eric had seen it as soon as he was thinking straight. He had asked Renee about it, not wishing to bring up that time with Lynne. It was surprisingly easy to speak about those days with Renee and she explained what had happened. Now Eric wondered if he should replace the whole door; they had the money and he was tired of being reminded of a moment that while mostly forgotten was also as much of their lives as....

As the baby they couldn't have, as his impending departure. Not that his absence was around the corner, but often Eric woke to dreams of his father. They weren't nightmares; these were almost worse, for they were from before Eric had endured his dad's brutality. A crippled foot hadn't spurred Eric into immediately changing into a hawk, but maybe it had set later events into motion.

Eric's mother hadn't told the physician how it had happened; instead Emma had blamed herself. Eric never wondered why the doctor hadn't inquired further, but from as far back as Eric could remember, his foot was misshapen, and often sore. He wore a specially made shoe and while it had healed better than the doctor had imagined, it was still an obvious injury. It had kept Eric out of Korea, for which he'd been grateful, Lynne too. And as he aged, the ache had lessened, which he considered might be due to his transformations. Over the years, the bones had knitted back together, not completely, but at least Eric could hike, and standing for prolonged sessions had never bothered him.

For the last few nights, Eric had dreamed about his childhood, before that damage, but he wasn't sure how much were actual memories and what was fantasy. His father had been somewhat kind, unless he was drunk. When Howard Snyder drank, he turned into another being. Perhaps that was why Eric turned into a bird; his father had been a beast. Then Eric shook his head, taking a deep breath. He was ready to walk to the front gate when something glinted off the studio ceiling.

He stepped in that direction, wondering if Lynne was watching him. Then he smiled to himself. If she would just say yes, then he could paint until the end of time. He wanted to put her on canvas, whether she was knitting or rolling out pie dough or coming home from work. That was the other reason she wouldn't quit. If she did, Eric would never stop pestering her.

He entered the studio and was again surprised by how clean it was. Then he laughed out loud. It might take ages to grow accustomed to the bare floor and how sound now echoed off the walls, bouncing against the tile floor, then back onto glass like it was a church. It was his cathedral, but something was missing, and it had bound Eric's hands. Then he sighed. He couldn't blame this on Lynne or his dad. Sometimes artists had dry spells. Eric had, in college, after his mother had died. He wasn't sure he would pursue art until he met....

"Honey, I thought you were going for a walk."

He smiled, then saw Lynne standing in the doorway. "You know me, always drawn to the garden."

Lynne's smile was small. "Been a while since you've gone this way."

"C'mere you."

Her smile grew, then she was giggling in his arms as he tickled her. Then he kissed her. It lasted several minutes. "I need to put a bed in here. Summer's coming and it's clean now...."

"I don't think so, I don't care how famous you are." Lynne snuggled against him. "But maybe, maybe...."

He stroked her long brown hair, his other hand caressing her hip. Since his return, their affections had deepened and they were made manifest by this intimacy. Although, he smiled, making love to her in the studio was still ages away.

He dreamed of that too, perhaps that had been the impetus behind his cleaning frenzy. He told her that and she tapped his ear as Renee had done to Samuel. Then they laughed about that couple, and Stanford's few words concerning them. Eric hadn't been surprised by Stanford's observations, but the dealer only saw the exterior of the foursome's friendship. Then Eric sighed. "I'm starting to wonder if this fall's show is gonna be my last."

Lynne stepped back, then touched his right arm. "Can you explain it?"

"It's like why? Maybe you feel that way about quitting work, why should you? I'm just gonna go away again and...."

"If you really want me to quit, I will."

"I want to paint you, that's why I want you to quit." Saying the words made him feel less burdened. Then he turned away from her. "I'm sorry, just forget I said...."

"Eric, what about this?"

He turned to find her seated on a stool she sometimes sat on, if she felt like watching him work. Her hair hung loosely over her shoulders and as he stared at her, something shined overhead. He glanced up, sunlight glinting, what had caught his eye, bringing him out there.

"Oh Lynne, no, you don't need to...."

She put out her arms and he joined her. She wrapped him closely, then pecked along his t-shirt. He grew hard, but it wasn't only from her kisses. "Paint me, if you really can't think of anything else to paint. I think you should paint Fran and her girls first, but if you can't, then...."

He went to one knee, staring right into her eyes. "I haven't painted a portrait since college. Maybe it won't be any good."

"Somehow I doubt that," she smiled. "If you paint me in here, would you paint them next?"

"Can I paint you in the kitchen first?"

"In the kitchen?"

"Making a pie. I really wanna capture that."

She giggled, which turned into laughter. "Are you serious?"

"Oh yes, absolutely."

"Is that because I'll need to make a lot of pies while posing for you?"

He laughed. "Oh yeah, sure. That's the reason. If you have enough berries left in the freezer, of course."

Her lower lip trembled and he stroked it with his thumb. She put that digit into her mouth, eliciting a soft moan from her husband. Then she let him go. "Eric, if that'll make you happy, then of course you can paint me doing whatever you want."

He gripped her legs for support. "Are you sure about that?"

"Well, let's see how me making a pie comes out." Her voice was soft. "And then you paint Fran and her daughters. Then...."

"Oh my God, yes, whatever you want honey." Eric buried his face into her lap as she rubbed his back, focusing on his right shoulder. They didn't make love in the studio, but by the end of the evening, Lynne was standing in the kitchen rolling out a pie crust as Eric began outlining his next series.
Chapter 16

As May began, if Lynne was off work, she was posing for Eric either in the house or in the garden. If she was at the hospital, Eric was in the studio, painting with renewed vigor. The Aherns saw little of the Snyders, except for the women on the job. Eric used all available light and as days grew longer, he eschewed conventional errands, but did take time to eat meals with Lynne. Otherwise she did their shopping, unless he was begging her to pose for him.

The postures weren't more than her tasks around their home; she was reticent to shed more than her sweater. Eric also painted an Ahern family portrait, Fran and her daughters the first of many, he told Lynne to tell Renee and Sam. By the middle of May, Eric had plenty of daylight to work with and enough sketches of his wife to keep him busy all summer. One evening, the Aherns came over for dinner, the night warm, the conversation jovial. Eric broke with tradition, leading the couple to the studio as Lynne prepared dessert. Both Samuel and Renee were silenced by the gathering canvases, mostly of Eric's wife, but he had specifically asked for their opinion about the one of Fran, Sally, and Helene. Renee fought tears, nodding her approval. Sam approached the painting, not touching it, but getting as close as he could. Helene rested in her mother's grasp, Sally standing on Fran's other side. Fran's smile was focused on the baby, but she leaned against her eldest. Eric smiled, then embraced Renee, who trembled. But Sam remained in front of the canvas, shaking his head.

"Do you think she'll like it?" Eric said softly, gripping Renee, who had started to cry.

Sam nodded, then looked back at his friend. "Actually, I don't know what she'll think other than you're a genius and...." Sam returned to the painting, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "All the rest of my family'll want something like this, but I suppose I could tell them it's just for Frannie, she is the oldest."

"I'd be happy to paint any and all Aherns." Eric kissed Renee's forehead. "Your clan too. God knows I could use the practice. I'm still not sure about them."

He was telling the truth; it was one thing to paint a hawk, for Eric knew that creature inside and out. People were harder, for they weren't static like landscapes. While at times human nature was as primal as those of animals, it was littered with vice. Love too, for that was what Eric had depicted in Fran and her daughters. But the other elements remained.

Not that Eric wanted to delve into the darker aspects of humanity, but he couldn't ignore them. And until he had an opportunity to paint a variety of persons would he feel capable of expanding upon his next idea, which was Lynne in more intimate situations, although not quite as she thought he wanted to paint her. Then Eric smiled as Renee started to chuckle. Lynne stood in the doorway, staring at them. Eric caught her gaze, which was slightly reprimanding, but Sam was still lost in the image of his sister and nieces.

Lynne joined Sam, gently patting his shoulder. "He does pretty good work for a nature artist."

"Um, what?"

"Sam, you ready for pie?"

He stared at Eric's wife, then to the painter. Then he stepped back from the easel. "Yes, pie. Uh-huh, of course. Renee, you want some pie?"

"Yeah Sam, pie would be great. Lynne, you need any help?"

"Always," Lynne smiled.

Renee kissed her husband's cheek, then linked her arm through the crook of Lynne's elbow. "Don't be long or you won't get first dibs on pie."

Eric nodded as the women left the studio. For over a minute Sam didn't notice he and Eric were alone, then Sam gazed at Eric. Returning to Fran's smile, Sam then glanced at the doorway. "Uh, what'd I miss?"

"Pie, if we're not careful. C'mon or they'll be wagging their fingers at us."

Sam again stared at Eric, then back at his infant niece. Helene was much bigger now; Sam and Renee had just attended her baptism and the buzz had been about the painting Eric had given to Fran and Louie, as well as the sketch of Fran nursing Helene. Sam's older relatives thought it a shocking drawing, but most of those younger had been awed by Eric's talent and that he would expend it on a stranger. Yet, Eric had treated Fran as warmly as he did Sam and Renee, and had just offered to paint any of Sam's clan. Sam peered at his sister and her girls; they looked lifelike, not trapped on canvas. Sam could sense Helene's warmth, Sally's striking maturity for a young teenager, and Fran's weariness, but it was hedged in familial joy intensified by where she sat in her brother's kitchen while a gifted artist blithely captured the bookends of her children. The painting served as a mirror to an alternate life that Sam and Renee would never experience, but Eric and Lynne wouldn't either. Then Sam faced Eric. "How can you say you need the practice? This's...."

Eric shrugged. "You love to cook, but you often make the same things, saying you've found a new recipe. Maybe we just want it to be perfect, paintings for me, pork chops for you. Or chicken, my God Sam, you make the best chicken cacciatore I've ever had. Are you sure you're not part Italian?"

"Eric...."

"No, I mean it. Yeah, they're...." He smiled. "Good. I can paint people, but let me tell you, when I started painting Lynne, I wasn't so sure. Sunsets are easier, they're stationary. Faces and limbs aren't."

"But you don't just capture their faces and bodies. You get inside them, I mean...." Sam hesitated, then continued. "It's like I see how tired Frannie is, but her smile, she's also...." He didn't want to put words to it, for the pain was heavier than he could bear.

"What I saw in your sister does hurt, you're right. She'd love to...." Eric inhaled deeply. "It was Louie's decision, wasn't it?"

Sam nodded, but couldn't speak to the sentiment, not because he felt his sister and her husband were being bad Catholics by not continuing to have children until Fran simply couldn't bear any more. Fran hadn't been so blatant with him, but she had alluded to their youngest sister Joan, who mentioned it to another sibling, and it came back to Sam via one of his brothers-in-law; Louie and Fran were going to avoid having sex, or at least as long as Louie could hold out. And if he couldn't, the rumor was that he was going to buy rubbers, not where they lived of course. He'd drive out of town where no one would recognize him. Seven kids were enough, Louie Canfield had decided. If God sent him to purgatory, then it would be what Louie probably deserved.

But how would Eric know that? What kind of eyes did that man possess, sussing out such personal details. Then Sam shivered, thinking about the frightened mice and that ever-changing barn. Fran thought it was full of equipment, like Lynne did. Sally had said it was for cows and horses, pigs and goats, sheep and.... Sam had smiled, for Sally knew little about country life, yet Eric had managed to evoke a different response from every person who had seen it. Stanford had attested to that, which had made Sam proud to own that canvas, and again surprised that the art dealer hadn't sold it out from under them. Maybe Sam was still suspicious of that New Yorker, even if he'd raved over Sam's pork chops.

Then Sam stared at Eric. Sam did make the same meals, although the recipes weren't identical. But Renee never complained and it was hard to ruin chicken or a chop. Then Sam gazed at the paintings of Eric's wife. Lynne either knitted or made pie, or she squatted in the garden, attacking weeds or nurturing new plants. Her expressions were varied, as if Eric was experimenting on her, but not painfully. He was using her, but only as a model, for all of these facets of Lynne seemed.... Not as realistic as Fran, Sally, and Helene. These of Lynne had been for practice and Sam would bet the worth of his barn painting that Eric would never allow them to be shown publically. Not that they weren't good, but they were like the dishes that Sam served his wife before he invited others over for dinner. He always tried out a recipe on Renee first, even if he said otherwise.

"You'll never show these, will you?" Sam spoke softly although no one else was around.

"Probably not." Eric smiled. "Just like you won't give that entire custard recipe to Lynne."

Sam grimaced, then nodded. He always used real vanilla, but had written imitation vanilla on the card for Lynne. Now he wasn't sure why he had fudged it, what had he been trying to protect? What was Eric attempting to work out in these paintings of his wife that were good, but didn't come close to what he had conveyed in Fran's family portrait. Was it the missing children or....

"I use real vanilla," Sam blurted loudly, wondering if Lynne could hear him. Where was she anyway, or Renee? They had departed several minutes ago, leaving the men to talk, but Sam didn't want to say more, or know anything else. He wanted to beg Lynne's forgiveness, then sweep all of that, and what sat in this studio, to the side. He would eat some pie with custard that he had brought, then take his wife home and....

"We know. Stanford's cook told us. But he didn't tell her that your recipe's the best he's ever had." Then Eric laughed. "He might have mentioned Lynne's pie though. He was pretty irked that we left it with you two that night. Said he would've had a second piece if he'd known we weren't bringing it home."

Sam didn't pay attention to what Eric revealed in language, other than the couple knew he had deceived them, but didn't seem to care. Eric was still chuckling, then Renee hollered that the men had better hurry up, she was on her second piece and most of the custard was gone. Eric slapped Sam's shoulder, then motioned to the door. "Let's go. I don't want Renee on my case the rest of the night."

Sam nodded, then stepped to the doorway. He was out of the studio first and already to the bird bath as Eric closed the door, locking it behind him.

Stanford wasn't told about the pictures of Lynne, but he was warned that Eric would spend most of that summer painting family portraits of the Aherns, and of the Nolans, Renee's relatives. Stanford had coolly accepted the news, wondering if Lynne had nixed posing for her husband. He only asked if the exhibit in autumn would go ahead as scheduled. To his surprise, Eric backpedaled, saying he was too involved with his current series, that perhaps the next show would take place in the new year. Stanford did inquire about that, but didn't get much more from Eric than a polite but vague excuse, just as Stanford never got an honest answer about where Eric had been earlier in the year. Dealer and artist didn't speak again until mid-June, when Eric invited Stanford to see his new works, but Stanford couldn't get away from New York. Eric didn't press, telling Lynne that Stanford wasn't pleased, but that Eric didn't want to miss another exhibit. She asked what paintings he would show, as he also informed her all those he had done of her wouldn't be seen. He smiled, then shrugged. "Well, I'm not gonna put the Aherns and Nolans on display."

They spoke of this while sitting on the patio, sipping wine after dinner. Summer days were at their longest, but Eric had quit work early for Lynne had been home. They had spent the afternoon cataloguing the growing collection of Sam and Renee's relatives, whom had gladly acquiesced to Eric's request. He had visited some at their homes, the rest coming to Sam and Renee's, posing in their backyard as Eric rapidly sketched their likenesses. Resemblances were strong within both clans, although none had the depth of Sam's blue eyes or the radiance of Renee's stop-sign peepers. Eric was nearly finished with one of the last canvases, that of Sam's parents, Joe and Marjorie. Surreptitiously he had sketched them a few weeks back and the painting would be Sam and Renee's Christmas present to them.

Eric squeezed Lynne's hand, then drained his glass. She smiled at him and he closed his eyes; with the fading sun behind her, all of her beauty shone and he wanted to rush into the house, set up his easel, transferring this image from his brain to immortality. Then he chuckled. "I love you."

"I love you too. What are you thinking?" she giggled, drinking her wine.

"Just how gorgeous you are. And how you don't look a thing like an Ahern or a Nolan."

She shook her hair, hanging loose along her back and shoulders. "What do I look like?"

A vision, he wanted to tell her, as light sparkled around her brown tresses, blowing in the breeze. Then she met his gaze. "Eric, what?"

A slightly burning sensation rippled through his belly. He had noticed it a few days ago, but chalked it up to indigestion. But this was different, for it ached, then spread into his lower guts. It made him stand, then walk along the gravel. He stopped, that one odd windowpane catching his attention. Eric stepped behind his wife, tenderly gripping her shoulders. "I'm glad I told Stanford to cancel the exhibit."

She grasped his fingers. "You feel it, don't you?"

He sighed. "Thought I did a few days ago, but I didn't wanna accept it."

"But now you do." Lynne inhaled, then exhaled slowly. "At least this time you know it's coming."

He nodded, but wanted to tell her that he'd known it since he was in enough of his right mind to realize he was again a human being. Throughout spring, he had been waiting for a sign, hoping for one actually. He didn't want to again leave without any hint of it occurring, especially not when they were making love. He had wanted to tell his wife that, but to speak of it seemed cruel, as if courting disaster. He gazed toward the studio. "I might be busy for the next several days."

"Oh Eric, that soon?"

"I just don't wanna leave anything unfinished."

Again she squeezed his hands, then she released him. Then Lynne got up from her chair, standing beside him, stroking his face. "Can you tell when, I mean...."

"Not for sure. Maybe in another week or...."

She nodded, then kissed him. Her affection removed all of his anxieties, but he could feel hers. There was nothing he could do for her, other than to tell her he loved her. As he began to speak, she shook her head. "Let's go inside. I'm tired."

Her tone was weary, but not sad. Then she kissed him again, wrapping her arms around him, but not tightly. Eric gripped her, wondering if he would ever have control over his life. Lynne pulled away, then gathered their glasses. Setting a hand to shield her eyes, she stared at the last traces of sun. "I have to work the next four days. Will you finish by then?"

"The picture of Sam's folks certainly, unless something comes up."

Quickly she faced him. "Will it?"

"I don't think so. Honestly honey, I have no idea."

She nodded. "Renee asked if we wanted to spend the Fourth of July with them. I meant to tell you about it, just slipped my mind."

"I don't know. That's a few weeks away."

"It is. If I tell her no, she'll understand, but she might ask...." Lynne again gazed westward, but the sun was now set. "I have no idea what Sam might say."

"Neither do I." Eric took the glasses from her hands. "Honey, I...."

She clutched his fingers around the glasses, then met his gaze. To his surprise, her eyes were dry. "We can't do anything about it Eric. What will be, will be."

He nodded, then rubbed his cheek along hers. All the paintings he had done of her were stored in her craft room. Maybe he would let Stanford show some of them, not that Eric would allow them to be sold. But they were the basis for images that lingered in the back of Eric's mind, a series that while still not formed, was stirring within him as solidly as that painful burn. Then he winced. What he wanted to paint of Lynne would require her to bare herself, which perhaps would prove as agonizing as how she would weather his absence. His departure was looming; there was no manner in which he could stop it.
Chapter 17

Lynne drove herself and Renee to work and it was during the ride home when Lynne mentioned that they might not make the Fourth of July. Or that Eric wouldn't. Renee nodded, but didn't comment. She did grasp Lynne's hand when Lynne stopped at Renee's house. "If you need anything," Renee started, but she couldn't finish.

"He's been busy painting, wants to get all of those family pictures done, but he might not. He did finish the one of Sam's folks. It looks...."

"Wonderful, I'm sure." Renee choked that out, then stepped from the car. "Tell him that we, that I...."

"He'll be back, I have to believe that."

"Oh of course, of course he will." Renee smiled weakly, then closed the car door. She hurried to her porch, where Sam met her. She went right into his grasp and was being comforted as Lynne drove away.

For a few days, Eric worked non-stop, barely taking time to eat. How he could paint so quickly he wasn't sure, but others had worked with this much enthusiasm, Rembrandt for one, however Eric didn't equate his talent with that master. Yet, by the end of June, he had finished all of the Ahern-Nolan family portraits and had moved what he could into the house. He'd said to Lynne that with her still working, perhaps they could add on to the structure, fashioning more storage space, then he had hesitated, wondering what if he had another dry spell. But even so, they had the funds, and he spent a few days speaking to contractors, although now that summer was almost half over, plans were shelved until next year. The builder penciled in a start date for next April and while the addition would eliminate some garden space near the house, Eric was pleased with the plans. The living room would be expanded to include a sunroom, which could double as a studio in winter. The patio would be incorporated into a larger kitchen and two more rooms on the second floor would sit over those new parts of the house. Eric was also adding a house bathroom downstairs, sandwiched in between the kitchen and living room, just a toilet and sink, but it would save them from running upstairs. Another coat closet was being considered, but Eric would think about that over winter. He had told Lynne that he would definitely be home by the time winter set in.

Not that they had severe storms, but he didn't want to fly in the cold like earlier in the year. He also didn't want to fly alone as the rest of the animal kingdom would either be bedded down or having migrated. He wanted to find his father, then return, hopefully before Halloween.

Lynne said little about the new house plans, but she did speak to Eric's impending transformation. He hadn't suffered further symptoms and she wanted to spend the Fourth of July with Samuel and Renee. It was on Monday and she didn't have to work. If Eric felt up to it, she would make a pie and....

They spoke of this in the living room, seated together on the sofa. It had been a long week at work for Lynne, some nurses taking their vacations coinciding with the upcoming holiday. Lynne had filled in two shifts on the labor ward and while newborns were adorable, she never felt comfortable around their mothers, whether they were pros or just being initiated into a realm she would never join. Yet she had done her job, then come home, finding her husband in the studio painting happy families teeming with kids of all ages. How did he do that, Lynne had wondered.

She didn't ask, but smiled at him, also curious as to how his next absence would affect her. The weather wouldn't be so unpleasant, that would make it a little easier, and there was no show over which to worry. Stanford wouldn't call her and Renee and Sam.... At least Lynne wouldn't have to make excuses. If Sam had thought she was crazy, maybe he was right. Perhaps loving such a man was madness. Lynne leaned toward Eric. Then she curled into his lap, stretching her legs over the sofa. Eric stroked her hair with one hand, putting his other along her hip. She hadn't told him where she had worked this week, it wouldn't serve any purpose. Would searching for his father matter? Perhaps if Eric returned, then never altered again.... "I'm gonna miss you," she said softly. "I'll really miss this."

"I will too."

She looked at him. "Do you miss me? There's so much for you to do and see."

He bent over, kissing her tenderly at first, then with vigor. They only parted because breathing had become difficult, mostly for him. Then he sighed. "I hate sleeping alone, having to find food, but the worst part is...."

"Eric, I'm sorry, I didn't mean...."

He stroked her hair again. "The very worst is knowing you're here alone with no idea where I am. Funny, I never worry about you, but something could happen, a car accident or...." He smiled wryly. "I just assume you're at work or alone and that always...." He cleared his throat. "It always makes me wonder why the hell you're here when I get back. Who the hell did I marry Lynne, you must be a saint."

"I guess I just really love you." Her giggle was soft.

"I guess you must," he chuckled. "Why don't you call Renee tomorrow, tell her we'll bring a pie on Monday. I've been feeling fine, maybe it was just indigestion." He stretched his arms, then placed them around his wife. "No pain in my bones, I'm just not as young as I used to be."

He chuckled again, but while Lynne smiled, she also shivered, hoping he didn't feel it. What if decades from now this still happened to him? Hawks lived upwards of twenty years; might that limit Eric's life span? She had never considered that, but then his previous absences had been comparatively brief. What would lengthy changes do to him, besides making the transformations back into a human more difficult to achieve. And what if one day....

What if he was gone so long that he couldn't make a full recovery? Lynne had found that once a woman had delivered her third or fourth child, she was back on her feet within the second or third day after the birth unless it had been a cesarean or fraught with some other trouble. But like the new mothers, they remained in the hospital for several days, although for them, it was more like a vacation. They didn't have to cook or tend to more than a new baby. They received well-wishers and plenty of quiet, or it was a different sort of din, as one had said to Lynne two days ago. A newborn's wails were nothing like the racket made by a ten, eight, and six-year-old.

Lynne had never thought about that and she'd left the labor ward with a new perspective. Those experienced mothers enjoyed the hospital routine, chatting with women they knew, or perhaps not, but they shared a bond and gave practical advice to new moms who were often weary and in pain. Their babies lessened some of the discomfort, but childbirth wasn't easy, and Lynne had also been struck by a small relief never before realized. Perhaps Eric underwent extreme alterations, but Lynne never would.

"Honey, Lynne?" Eric leaned over her again, kissing her forehead. "Baby, you tired?"

She was, but that didn't account for her stillness. Maybe his life span wouldn't alter and they would grow old together, but it would only be the two of them. Yet, that wasn't so bad. Lynne wouldn't suffer through months of discomfort, then hours of agony, even if modern medicine intervened. And if Eric's sojourns returned to those of previous, then he would be back after mere days, which would seem like blips. And if one day Eric ceased to transform into a hawk, they could live like most other couples, except for their hushed domain. And Lynne could manage that. She had no choice in the matter.

Neither she nor Renee talked about adopting children; not every woman was meant to be a mother. They had married exceptional men who required all of their focus, when they weren't earning a living. Well, Lynne had married under those auspices. Renee and Sam had never expected to be childless, but who could assume anything anymore? Having grown up under the cloud of World War II, all four adults knew relative safety, especially when compared to what those overseas had suffered. Lynne had gone into nursing because it was a useful, honorable profession. She hadn't wanted to serve in Korea; she had wanted to care for patients and for her husband. And sometimes her husband needed more assistance than those in the hospital.

"What if when you come back, what if...." She didn't want to say it, much less think it, but what if he took even longer to recover, and what if he didn't fully make it? Then she shook her head. "Eric, you're right, I'm exhausted. Maybe we'll just spend the weekend here, Monday too. We'll get lots of sleep and...."

"Lynne, I've thought about that. And to be honest with you, I don't know and I probably won't until it happens, if it happens. But honey, I can tell you this. If the day ever comes that I'm a freak of nature, or a visible freak, I won't ask you to stay, I won't want you to...."

She sat up suddenly, then put both of her palms against his cheeks. "Eric, I will never leave you."

She recalled when he had stepped from the thicket, his skin yellow and in places covered in feathers. They had littered his hair, which she now tousled. He had barely been able to speak, and what he could say had been in ordering her to leave. She stared into his eyes, warm and full of love. Would he allow her to care for him if something awful happened?

Some of those experienced mothers didn't permit the nurses to fuss over them unless they had endured long labors. A few treated the staff as an afterthought; they had gone through the process many times and knew their bodies. Lynne didn't mind them telling her to check on someone else; their voices weren't harsh, only truthful. And sometimes, late in the day, they would let her ease them into bed or take their crying newborns back to the nursery so they could get valuable rest. Once they left the hospital, sleep would be at a premium.

Might Eric dismiss her, and not as tactfully as those moms? Maybe he would forget who she was, in such an addled state that he knew to come home, but that was all he recalled. Maybe his body would become human again, but his mind remaining that of a predatory creature; he turned into a wild animal, even if instinct had brought him back to their home. He'd said that at times he had forgotten he was a man, but always he was on a path to this house.

No matter if Eric did or did not transform, Lynne was bound to him. She kissed his lips, then parted hers, the exchange becoming more intimate. She understood his desires to add onto their home, he wanted to spend the spoils of his work and he wanted to paint her, but not making pies or gardening. Would she acquiesce to his wishes, well, perhaps within their home she would be more forthcoming despite the season. He was a prolific artist, painting with amazing speed when his mind and body were fully engaged with whatever fueled his talent. He had painted the Aherns and Nolans with as much care and swiftness as he had painted the hawks and other landscapes, and her. Eric painted his wife like she was an extension of his vista, but Lynne had seen the differences between the paintings of Sam and Renee's families and those Eric had done of her. Those of the artist's wife seemed like a veil remained, which no one could remove.

He had asked about exhibiting some of her portraits and she had agreed, for she was fully clothed and rarely looking at the artist. Her eyes were cast on a pie crust or toward flowers or on her knitting. Only in a few had she even tried to meet his gaze and it was those that he wanted to show, even if they too felt distant. Everyone had an opinion about what was inside that barn, but no one would dare guess what Lynne had been considering.

But she knew, and it was always the same; she ached to have some way to keep him there with her as her husband, as a man. Perhaps that was why Eric had deliberately made her appear hazy, although her form was never blurry. How he did that, with color and shadow, never failed to amaze her. His eyes were just as sharp now as when he'd been traversing the landscape. Yet, his improved vision translated not in seeing through the thicket or their house, but in dissecting people. And thank God he had gone easy on her. Everyone else was revealed in an Eric Snyder portrait, all but the artist's wife.

Only he knew her deepest fears, that he wouldn't return at all. Only he understood her greatest joy every time when he came home, then made love to her. As he prompted that gesture, Lynne smiled, then lay back on the sofa cushions as Eric unbuttoned her blouse. She had worn no bra after coming home from work, hoping to entice her husband. Within their property, at a private moment, Lynne could be very forward, and she didn't mind how he slipped her skirt from her hips, along her legs, then from her feet. Then he removed his shirt and jeans, setting them on the floor. He lay along her, only their underwear impeding further intimacy.

"I love you so much Lynne." He breathed that thought into her ear, making her shiver and moan. Then he kissed her neck, down to her breasts, fondling her hips. Their lower bodies ground against the other, building to a frenzy that would lead to the most beautiful and expressive manner of their affection. Lynne stroked his back as he began moving to her belly, his lips warm and soft and....

Her body went rigid, a tremendous fear rippling all through her. Eric noticed immediately, then moved toward her face. "Honey, what's wrong?"

"You're not gonna change now, are you? Eric, I couldn't take that again, I couldn't...." A transformation was close, both knew it. Even if his limbs were pain-free, that ache in his gut meant he had only days remaining as this man, whom she needed more than anything else in the world.

"Oh Lynne, baby, I love you, I, I.... Do you not want me to, I mean...."

She shook her head, then wished he had removed her panties when he took off her skirt. She tugged on his briefs, but he had become flaccid. Yet, it would only take a few minutes, once both were fully bared.

"Lynne, let's go upstairs. Honey, Lynne?"

"No Eric, here. Make love to me here. Not in our bed."

He nodded, but the moment had passed. Several minutes later he was sitting in the corner of the sofa while she wept in his arms. He told her that he loved her, but while she knew that was true, she also accepted that he had no control over when and how he would alter. But Lynne did not want it again happening in their bed as he made love to her.

They remained entwined, their hands slowly exploring the other. Eric grew hard and this time Lynne slipped off her underwear, then sat on his lap. "Here, now, can you?" she said.

He nodded, maneuvering out of his briefs. Rare were the times they made love on the couch. Lynne kept her eyes open when possible, but in reaching completion, she shut them tightly. Eric followed, gripping her back, calling her name through gritted teeth. As they calmed, he still held her close and she didn't move away from him.

When normal speech was possible, they joked that the sofa would need to be recovered. "Maybe I'll put it in the studio and we can get a new one. It'll be nice for next year with the sunroom and...."

Lynne kissed him. If he wanted to plan their new home or another exhibit, she wouldn't argue. But she didn't want to hear the details. She wanted to keep this man as close as she could until no longer could she do so.
Chapter 18

The couple spent much of that weekend making love, but only by Monday morning did they find themselves entwined within their bed. Afterwards Lynne breathed with ease, stroking Eric's skin, staring at his face. He knew what she was thinking, but neither said a word.

While he took a bath, she started coffee. When he came downstairs, she was assembling pie ingredients, not boysenberry but apple. Eric smiled, then stood behind her, putting his arms around her. She leaned against him and he nibbled on her ear. "Do you want to?" he chuckled.

"I need to make this pie," she smiled. "And bathe and...."

He nodded, but didn't release her. Then she turned around, finding his mouth, making clear her intentions. She was naked under her robe and while Eric ached from all their previous encounters, within minutes they were making love right there in the kitchen. He reveled in her joy and the freedom to delight themselves wherever and whenever they wanted. When they were through, he touched her damp face, kissing her tears. "Honey, what?"

She shook her head, then pressed it against his shoulder. He stroked her hair, wishing this day wasn't fraught with a cloud only they could see. The morning was bright and forecast to be hot. But a storm was approaching, one that Eric felt was all his fault.

They left the kitchen, heading back upstairs. In bed, he cradled her as she wept hard. Once she was calm, he gave her tissues, then asked if he could start her a bath. She nodded and Eric went to fill the tub. Minutes later she was immersed in bubbly water, which had made her laugh. He sat on the closed toilet seat, then moved to the floor where she often waited as he soaked away another existence. But this time, she was trying to acclimate herself, even before he disappeared.

He didn't speak as she played with the bubbles, softly blowing some into the room. Then she smoothed them along her skin, building a fine lather. He was aroused by her antics, but was so sore, and he smiled. "You are the most beautiful woman in the world."

"You don't have another time in you," she teased.

"No, I don't. But later, oh Lynne." He went to his knees, leaning against the edge of the tub. He kissed her, then dabbed bubbles on her cheeks. She giggled, putting some on his nose. Then she leaned his way and their kiss was long and soap-tinged. He pulled away first, then stood. "Shall I bring your coffee up here?"

She nodded. "I still need to wash my hair though."

"Okay. I won't pour it right away."

He left the room, then headed to the kitchen. As he took a mug from the cupboard, his right arm ached. He set down the cup, then stretched that arm over his head. Then he winced, not in pain, but from memory. He lifted his left arm in the same manner, then felt the ache in that limb too. Eric cracked his knuckles, then clasped his hands; a hot, searing burn ran from his fingers to his shoulders. He closed his eyes, then sighed.

When he entered their bedroom, Lynne's coffee in hand, she was dressing. Her hair was in a towel and she smiled at him. "Just in time. Then I really need to start that pie."

He set her mug on his dresser, then reached for the terrycloth around her hair, unwinding it, letting her long tresses fall over her shoulders and down her back. "I called the Aherns, well, I talked to Renee."

"Why?" Lynne said slowly.

"I asked if they minded if we ate over here." Eric stared at his wife. "I felt it in my arms, the right one first, then the left. I told her I didn't wanna be away from home."

Lynne nodded, then gazed at his right forearm. Then she traced her fingers over the entire limb. "When?"

"Soon, maybe even today. I told her that and that if they didn't wanna come, we'd understand."

"And she said?"

"She said she'd talk to Sam and get back to us." Eric took a long breath, then caressed his wife's face.

Lynne nuzzled against his palm, then pulled him close. "How much time do we have left?"

"I don't know but, oh Lynne...."

She had pressed herself all along him and even though he was sore, Eric didn't shy away from her desires. She ached too, yet time was short, and they tumbled into bed. By the time they were done, her coffee was cool.

They didn't hear from Renee until noon, that Sam wasn't feeling well, but Renee would come over whenever Eric and Lynne were ready for company. They agreed upon three and Eric hung up, a resigned look on his face. "I was really hoping it'd be both of them." He stepped to where Lynne crimped the last of the pie crust. "Not that I wanted him to, well, I guess I did." Eric pinched off a bit of excess dough, popping it in his mouth. "But at least you won't be alone."

Lynne didn't mind that Eric ate pie dough, nor was she surprised that Samuel wouldn't accompany Renee. She was taken aback at Eric's desire for Sam to be here. "Do you want him to see it happen?"

Eric gazed at her, then moved back. "I don't want him thinking you and Renee are crazy."

"Better for him to see you as a bird than that, huh?" She put the pie in the oven, set the timer, then leaned against the counter. "It doesn't matter what he believes. All that matters is that you, that you...." She swallowed hard, then joined him, grasping his hands. "You find your dad, then come home. That is all that matters anymore."

"You matter, they matter too." He shook his head. "What does my father have to do with my life now, he never cared about me. Why am I even thinking about trying to find him?"

She stroked his chest. "Because for some reason, you know he needs to see you. All that hawk instinct, I suppose. Maybe he's sick, maybe he's...." She sighed. "Maybe this isn't so much about you going to him at all. But he certainly can't come here. You're the one who has to travel."

"Okay, but why can't I do it like a normal human being?"

"Because if he saw you as a man, there might not be any way for him to...." She paused, having given this much thought all weekend. "To make amends. He can never escape what he did you and your mother, but mostly to you." She stroked his left hip, running her hand as far down that leg as she could reach. "We can't know what's in his head after all these years. Maybe even remorse, it's possible."

"Highly unlikely." Eric clasped her hand within his. "But I guess I'll find out soon enough. And I'll be home as soon as I can, you know that honey."

Lynne nodded. "I know Eric. I know."

At two thirty, Renee called, but it was hard to hear her, for she whispered. Lynne had answered and all she could make out was that Sam would drive Renee over there. Eric shrugged, then walked into the garden, but Lynne didn't follow him.

Forty minutes later, Renee came through the front gate, calling for her hosts. Eric saw her first and to his immense shock, Sam was several steps behind her. Renee carried a basket covered by a checkered tablecloth and she handed it to Eric as he met her just past the kitchen door. "Happy Fourth of July," she said, softly kissing Eric's cheek. "How do you feel?"

"Better for seeing you, the both of you," he said in Sam's hearing. Eric gripped the basket, laden with good-smelling dishes. Then he looked at Sam. "How're you?"

Sam rolled his eyes, then shrugged. "Happy Fourth Eric."

"Are you staying Sam?" Eric asked, keeping his voice even.

"Well...."

"Yes, he's staying. I threatened to leave him if he didn't come with me." Renee looked around. "Where's Lynne?"

"In the house. An apple pie's waiting."

"Custard's in the basket." Renee gazed back at Sam, who had stepped away. "You coming?"

Again he shrugged, shoving hands into his pockets. "Like I have a choice."

Eric led the way, Renee walking between the men as Sam lagged behind.

Twenty minutes later the foursome was seated around the patio table, but the conversation was stilted. Lynne tried to make eye contact with Sam, but he wouldn't meet her gaze for more than a second. Several times Eric stood, stretching his limbs, which now twitched with the familiar notion of imminent change. In a way, he was thankful for the warning, which he hadn't experienced in full since late last spring. But why today, he wondered, as Renee tried unsuccessfully to draw out her husband. The only purpose Eric considered was that Sam would see him change, not that Sam witnessing such an event would halt it. Maybe it would do more harm than good, but whatever happened was out of Eric's control. Then his fingers tingled and he closed his eyes. The sensation was strong; once that niggle traveled up his arms, he would have few moments left as a....

"Eric?"

Lynne's voice was soft, but it stopped the brief chatter Renee had managed to pull from Sam. Eric nodded, then smiled, reaching for Lynne's hand. As he gripped her, the tingle increased to a burn, spreading through his bones into the ligaments and muscles, then heading north to his forearm. It traveled into his elbow and upper arm, approaching his shoulder. Once it hit his shoulder....

The patio was silent as Eric managed swift glances to his wife and Renee. Lynne nodded, but Renee blinked away tears. Then Eric looked at Sam, who tried to gaze away but couldn't. The men stared at each other as Eric tried to speak, but that ability was now beyond him.

He stepped from his seat, the pain excruciating in every part of his body. He had never told Lynne that aspect, it would have been cruel. He quickly walked toward the thicket, seeing the bubbling fountain, then the bird bath, then his.... Colors sparkled against glass panes as Eric's vision improved, the physical pain lessening, but the emotional agony built as every human aspect diminished. Feathers sprouted, his limbs began to shrink, his organs changing in all the time it took to blink. Then he squawked as breaths were forced in and out of his altered lungs. He wanted to tell Lynne that he loved her, wanted to apologize to Renee and Sam for the poor timing. Eric's mind was still human, but his body was no longer that of a man.

Right before he spread his wings, he heard footsteps. He looked back, but not to his wife. Sam stretched out his arms like he wanted Eric to return. Then Sam dropped his limbs to his sides. "Come back," he cried. "Eric, please, don't do this!"

But what had occurred wouldn't be easily undone. Eric nodded, then launched himself into the air. He circled the property as he always did, taking one last glance at his home, finding Lynne comforting Renee. Then Lynne gazed up, staring straight into the sun. Eric swooped right over her head. Then he headed east, many miles to cover.

Sam remained in the garden for another half hour, watching the skies. Lynne and Renee had moved into the house and Sam found them in the kitchen, eating pie and custard. Lynne had been crying, Renee too, but Lynne's tears were fresh. Sam sat beside her, clasping his hands together, putting them on the table. "Well," he started, "I guess it wasn't bullshit."

Lynne nodded, then smiled. "He hasn't been able to sense it that keenly in...." She wiped her face with a napkin. "Not since last summer. Maybe it was late spring. That's how it happens, or how it usually happens." She sighed, then carefully placed her hand on Sam's. "I'm sorry though."

"Sorry for what?" Sam asked, grasping her hand.

"That it happened today. It would've been nice to have celebrated the holiday. But at least he's on his way. God only knows when he'll be back."

"He told you before winter set in," Renee croaked. She used her napkin to blow her nose, then dabbed at her eyes.

"Well, we'll see." Lynne's tone was stoic. "I hope he's back before then, but...."

Sam went to his feet, walked to the sink, gripping the counter. Then he stared at the kitchen door. "I stood in this room, dripping on your floor Lynne. I wanted you to tell me it was an elaborate lie, that you'd concocted the whole thing." Sam turned, looking at Eric's wife. "I wanted you to tell me anything, I didn't care what, but there wasn't anything else for you to tell me, was there? Nothing but the truth, but, but...." He trembled, then was supported by Renee, who had joined him. "But the truth is he actually turns into a goddamn...."

"Sam," Renee chided.

"No honey, he is damned, I mean...." Sam shook his head. "Not to hell or purgatory, but right here on Earth. Eric and Lynne both, because she doesn't know when he's coming back, or if he'll be all right, or what in the hell's gonna happen next. It's just like when I left you, you had no idea if I'd come home alive or how I'd be if I did." He faced his wife, stroking her still damp face. "I left you Renee because I thought fighting a war was more meaningful than loving you. Maybe we wouldn't have had kids, but now we can't and I, I'm...." His voice broke, but he continued. "I'm sorry honey, oh Renee, I am so, so sorry!"

Sam kissed her, then wrapped her close, but he glanced back at Lynne. "And I'm sorry for not believing you. I should've believed you, I should've...."

Lynne stood, then stepped their way. Tears streamed down her cheeks and they tumbled down Sam's face too. "How in the world were you supposed to believe that my husband turns into a hawk?"

Her tone wasn't facetious, but it wasn't somber, for it was an implausible tale until the proof had emerged in Sam's presence. Lynne had watched him run after her husband, calling Eric's name over and over as she often did. But Eric hadn't been able to stop, not for Samuel Ahern, not for Lynne. Eric couldn't halt the process for any of them, but as she had told him earlier that day, perhaps it wasn't for them at all.

Sam nodded, but Lynne wasn't sure he grasped the full meaning. Renee caught Lynne's gaze and her blinking stoplight eyes told Lynne that she understood. But then Lynne had explained to Renee all about Eric's childhood. Lynne didn't think Sam knew the whole story.

She wasn't in the frame of mind to reveal it now. She put her arm around Sam and he put one around her. The threesome remained huddled together as previously unfathomable facts began to settle in Sam's head.

After an early supper, Lynne showed them the finished family paintings, then walked them to the studio where only a few canvases of Lynne remained. But it felt good to be where Eric had spent so much of his time and energy, as if his spirit wafted above them. Lynne said little, but the Aherns mumbled to themselves. Then Renee approached her friend. "I can't see into you the way I can my family, Sam's too. Eric's done something different with these, like there's a shield around you."

Lynne nodded. "Believe me, I'm grateful for it. Hard enough posing for him knowing how he gets under the subject's skin." Not that Eric used that talent for harm, but he did possess an uncanny knowledge of those he painted, be they beast or man. And it seemed human beings were easier to read, or maybe it was the Aherns and Nolans, Lynne smiled.

She could smile because now she wasn't alone. She would sleep by herself that night, but others would bear this secret. The rest of all of their lives were bound by the odd but solid notion that one man could alter form, but it had nothing to do with religion or the lack of it. Eric's mother had been a churchgoer when Eric was a baby, but her faith had been beaten into submission by the man she had married. Then it was destroyed when that man.... Lynne shivered, then inhaled, wishing she could trap some part of Eric within her. But maybe in this studio he dwelled in all of them.

Sam cleared his throat, then joined her, but left a foot between them. "I can't tell a thing from these pictures other than how much he...." He stopped, then gripped her hand. "He adores you, but wonders how much more you can take."

"I can take whatever he can manage. I love him, I knew about this from almost the beginning."

"I do see one thing in these paintings." Renee's tone was soft. Then she looked at Lynne and Sam.

"What?" Sam asked.

Renee's mouth twitched, which made Lynne shiver. "Renee?" Lynne said.

Renee gazed back at a painting of Lynne sitting on the patio, her knitting resting in a heap on the table. Lynne was staring at the yarn, but her body was turned the other way. Renee kept her back to her husband and Lynne as she spoke. "You wanna heal him." Then Renee chuckled. "It's not why you went into nursing, I know that, but you can't forcibly stop him from changing either. And you can't...." She hesitated, then faced Lynne. "We can't have their babies and you can't paint, but you can be here, you'll never leave him. And he knows that, believe me, I see in every single one of these pictures all you wanna do and give to him and all he wants to do and give to you, I don't care if you're making pies or weeding or knitting. But he can't put that in your eyes or smile without betraying the secret and you can't fix him and...." She smiled, then chuckled, then began laughing hysterically. "And it's just crazy and I mean that. Why did this happen to us? We're good people, we haven't done anything wrong or bad or...." Renee looked all around the studio. "He should be here right now, showing off the most incredible pictures of the woman he loves. He loves you so much Lynne, oh dear Lord, it's everywhere, but cloaked. Somehow, some way, he's put a veil over these so all anyone else'll see is you doing these mundane tasks, like you don't have anything better to do. Maybe they might wonder why you're not posing with his child, or maybe they won't even think about it, just assuming that as the artist's wife you're handy around the house and very involved with your hobbies. Somehow he's pulled the wool over everyone's eyes, but maybe that's for the best. Better for them to think you don't have any more to do than bake and weed and knit than the truth."

Quiet rang out as Renee caught her breath, but she didn't add any more. Lynne blinked away tears, then stepped to Renee's side. They clutched the other's hands, staring at blue yarn on the patio table, and how in the painting, Lynne's gaze was held from Eric's view. Yet he had worked around her unwillingness to meet his eyes, bringing an even deeper meaning to the canvas.

Sam joined them, putting his hands on their shoulders. Then he began reciting The Lord's Prayer. Renee's voice blended with her husband's, but even though Lynne knew some of the words, she remained silent, examining herself as Eric had captured her, and all he had hidden. As the Aherns reached the end of the prayer, Lynne added an emphatic Amen. Then she took a deep breath, grasping Sam's hand on her shoulder. "Amen," she repeated as Renee brushed away tears pooling along Lynne's jaw.
Chapter 19

By late August, Stanford had stopped calling the Snyders. Lynne's vague excuses weren't comforting and Stanford was starting to think Lynne was telling him the truth. She didn't know where Eric was or when he would be back. She did say when, not if, and so had Samuel Ahern when Stanford called him. Stanford hadn't spoken to Renee, but suspected she would offer the same, her voice like her husband's and Lynne's; resigned but hopeful. What bothered Stanford the most was their shared resignation.

He had discussed it thoroughly with Laurie, who had told Stanford to visit Lynne Snyder. And if possible, to bring home some of the pie that Stanford hadn't stopped blathering about, or that Agatha, for all her culinary skills, couldn't imitate. Agatha said it was the boysenberries, available only out west. She used blackberries, but they weren't the same. Her tone was slightly huffy and the men had laughed about it after she went home, how no one had ever threatened Agatha's culinary prowess. What would she do about Sam Ahern's custard and those pork chops, Laurie had then chuckled, wishing he could visit the Aherns and Lynne Snyder, but only for the cuisine.

Stanford had sighed, uncertain of what to do. Obviously there was something wrong with Eric, but it probably wasn't that he was having an affair. Stanford hadn't detected any jealousy from Lynne, or indignation from Samuel. That man would have betrayed a sense of outrage, but Stanford only noted a trace of sorrow from him, and none from Lynne. Whatever troubled Eric was probably what had kept him away from the exhibit in February, and had postponed the show originally slated for October. Stanford hadn't broached with Lynne when another show might take place, but he was dying to see what Eric would have presented, then sold. Not the Ahern family portraits or Samuel's wife's clan, but the rest of the nature series and.... Some of the painter's wife. Not that Eric had spoken about that, but Stanford had a feeling Eric Snyder had been dabbling in more than family pictures. Then Stanford paused, thinking back to something Laurie had said in bed last night, that neither the Snyders nor Aherns had any children. Stanford assumed that with the Aherns it was related to Sam's war injury. But Eric and Lynne had been married for several years; perhaps Lynne was barren. She had remained employed because there wasn't anything else for her to do.

None of Eric's paintings included his wife, so she wasn't posing for him in her spare time. Instead she supported him in other ways, like lying for him.... Stanford stood in his office, staring out at New York. The skyline never failed to impress, he wasn't a blasé city dweller. He liked the view best from here, as if slightly detached from what the city meant to him as a man. In this room, it was about representing talented artists who deserved to be feted in the most metropolitan place on Earth. He was the gatekeeper for a host of painters, keeping them safe from those who wished to exploit them. Stanford never felt he used his artists; he was used by them to enlighten others. He smiled inwardly; how magnanimous of him.

Then he saw the city with clearer eyes which he used at home with Laurie or around their families. The men hadn't shied from mingling among their relatives as a couple. Not that Stanford and Laurie were openly expressive; they never held hands unless it was behind their closed bedroom door and Agatha had never witnessed undue affection shared between them. But as it was New York and that they represented artists, their unusual attraction to each other wasn't frowned upon by those who loved them best. Stanford's grandfather had been a homosexual, marrying for convenience and to have a family. When he died five years ago, he was attended not only by his wife, children, and grandchildren, but by the man who had lived with Carmichael and Elise Taylor as their servant. Stanford had never questioned his grandmother, but the stories had gotten around after Elise passed away three years ago. Elise hadn't minded sharing her husband with Edgar Proberst all those years. Edgar had been discreet in satisfying Carmichael's carnal desires, and was an excellent butler as well.

But after Elise died, Edgar disappeared, and it had taken Stanford several months to track him down, finally learning he had moved back to his native Ontario, Canada. Stanford had inquired about meeting with Edgar, but the invitation was declined, yet, when Edgar passed away last summer, several older Taylors, Stanford's father included, paid their respects. Stanford appreciated that gesture and he wasn't sure why, other than telling Laurie it meant their relationship was similarly acknowledged.

Stanford gazed at skyscrapers seen on a daily basis, but rarely did he consider who might be staring back at him. Then he thought about the blue barn; how had Eric.... Stanford sighed. Where was that painter?

It hadn't been hard finding Edgar Proberst; Stanford employed detectives for such inquiries, then he grimaced. He wouldn't send one after Eric. Yet, Eric's career was right on the cusp; an exhibit in October would have pushed that artist over the edge and.... Then Stanford shivered. Had Eric fled due to fear of fame or was there a far more damning skeleton than what Stanford and Laurie hid? How many years had Stanford visited his grandparents, welcomed warmly by Edgar, with no idea to that man's true position within the household. When he learned, Stanford had wanted to speak to Edgar, who had always treated him and Laurie with utmost respect. Yet, to breach such levels of class were verboten and what Stanford had wished to say was even less open to discussion. But the truth was implicit at every family function and holiday dinner when Stanford and Laurie entered a room side by side. Stanford accepted he was fortunate that his choice of lifestyle wasn't castigated, nor were the men shunned when among Laurie's relatives. Stanford stepped to the window, staring down. Was Eric there, in New York, doing God knows what behind Lynne's back? Was he recovering from an addiction, perhaps he was a drinker. Maybe he was in an institution or maybe....

Stanford turned toward his desk, glancing at the telephone. Another call to the Snyders wouldn't get him anywhere. Was it his business where Eric was? He was Lynne's husband, he was.... He was one of the most promising American artists any of the Taylors had represented, yet where the hell was he?

Taking a deep breath, Stanford walked to his desk, picking up the receiver. Then he set it back in the cradle. Grabbing his coat and hat, he left his office, informing his secretary that he would see her again tomorrow morning.

During the first weeks of Eric's absence, Lynne told anyone who asked that he was at an artist's retreat. In August, she said that he had stretched his initial visit into a lengthy sabbatical, and she was backed up in full by Sam and Renee. As September began, no one asked where Eric was, perhaps out of embarrassment for Lynne, or that Eric's departure was expected of such a brilliant artist. Even Stanford had stopped calling, but Lynne didn't think Stanford's curiosity had waned. He was biding his time, for he had too much invested in Eric to forget about him.

Lynne never forgot her husband; she spent many moments in the studio, studying the pictures of herself, which she hadn't moved into the house. She would need to, and soon, for the weather was becoming cooler, days growing shorter. But if she did that, she wouldn't have a reason to journey into this place where Eric seemed to linger, if only from the canvases that stared back at her with acuity. Perhaps Lynne hadn't looked at Eric when he painted her, but for some reason, his two-dimensional subject reached right into the living woman, who wondered just how her husband achieved his magic.

What tricks did he employee to allow her furtive, painted eyes to now dig deeply into Lynne's living flesh, how had he mastered such an elaborate technique? It was akin to the frightened mice, to the laughing Ahern and Nolan families, to the pensive or proud hawks; Eric had crawled into all of those psyches, then translated the most prevalent emotions. But what Lynne saw in herself was the most stunning representation of all, and Renee had been correct. Eric did love her, but felt wholly undeserving of her returned affections.

He hadn't painted her as a saint, but she was certainly long-suffering in how she never met his gaze, refusing to give him her true self. So he had painted around her fears, trying to put him within her there on the canvas. His absences were beyond his control and she had fully accepted that. But the child they couldn't create wasn't because of her, no matter what she thought. It was.... Lynne flinched, then gripped herself, standing within the only place she could imagine her husband. She didn't sleep in their bed anymore, preferring the sofa where they had made love over and over during that last weekend before he left. She had turned the cushions, but at night when slumber eluded, she could just detect the faintest hint of him, which sometimes made her cry. At other times she encountered incredible loneliness, finding herself drifting to sleep while mumbling his name. Two months without him made Lynne pine for all those previously short-lived absences. Four days would be no more than a matter of shallow breaths. But who knew if Eric would ever revert to such brief departures.

She also saw that in the paintings, how meticulously he had captured her hands gripping the rolling pin, crimping pie crust edges, or grasping weeds from the ground. The way he had depicted her fingers entwined with yarn and knitting needles made her ache. He had studied all of her movements in case he forgot them. What if he came home and couldn't transform completely? Would he live behind their walls, staring at these pictures, the only way he could recall the life they used to live?

She shook her head, then touched the canvas, dry under her fingers. Closing her eyes, she followed the brush strokes, imagining him beside her, guiding her hand as if teaching her how to knit, to bake, to garden. Where are you, she nearly said aloud, wishing with all of her heart that he was there, for if he was, she would let him make love to her in that studio, she would let him paint her portrait however he desired. He wanted to paint her nude, he wanted to.... She jerked back from the canvas, biting her lower lip, salty blood seeping onto her tongue. He wanted to make up for all he felt he had denied her and in these veiled paintings, he had done his very best.

Lynne stood back, then looked at the pictures with a more discerning eye. She wasn't a critic, especially not of her husband's work, but no one could miss his talent, or the tenor. He had told her Stanford knew nothing of these paintings; Stanford wasn't overly pleased by all the Ahern and Nolan portraits, and of course there was the nature series from when Eric came back last fall. Those pictures were nearly a year old, waiting in the house like secrets. But these paintings were the mysteries. What would Stanford make of them, Lynne wondered, not that she would be able to tell him where Eric was or allude to his return. But maybe if she showed the dealer these pictures, he would understand a little more of the artist. Or perhaps, Lynne shivered, more questions would be raised. She would seek Sam and Renee's counsel. Stanford had called them as well and Lynne didn't want them to be harassed all autumn.

Two weeks later, Stanford stood in Lynne's living room, along with Lawrence Abrams, whom he had introduced as his partner in crime. Laurie possessed an athlete's physique, his thick blonde hair and bright green eyes a strong contrast to Stanford, who was four years Laurie's senior. Laurie told Lynne that he had played several sports in high school, unlike Stanford, who had spent most of his time holed up in various city libraries reading about painters.

Samuel and Renee had joined the festivities, in part that Stanford requested those delicious pork chops and that Stanford wondered how much Sam knew about Eric. Not that Stanford would blurt what he had learned in front of the couple. But all that information sat right on the tip of Stanford's tongue and he longed to have it confirmed by the one person who was aware. Of course Lynne knew, Stanford had said to Laurie. No way in hell could Eric have kept it from her.

That Laurie was there had been a huge risk, but Stanford hadn't been able to keep him from making his own booking on the train, and Lynne had been delighted to hear that Stanford was bringing a guest. She lamented there was no extra space, but Laurie had offered to sleep on the sofa, which at first Lynne refused, offering her and Eric's room. But Laurie wouldn't displace Lynne from her own quarters and after the Aherns left for the evening, the men would say their polite good evening's in front of Lynne, then retire to separate beds. It was only for one night, Laurie had teased Stanford, well worth those pork chops and that boysenberry pie.

Laurie had instantly taken a liking to Renee, who still annoyed Stanford, what with her loud voice and how she hovered over Lynne. Sam was chattier than last time, which caught Stanford slightly off guard, as if Samuel was more comfortable in the Snyder home than his own. Perhaps he was feeling protective of Lynne, maybe he did know about Eric's.... Stanford sighed, then joined Laurie and Renee, who were laughing. Lynne had stepped into the kitchen to give Sam a hand and Stanford's stomach rumbled, making Renee giggle. "He's been cooking all day," she smiled, nodding to where Sam and Lynne spoke.

"Sounds like he's in his element," Laurie said. "My God, it smells like heaven."

"I'm a lucky woman," Renee said. "I can't cook to save my life."

"Well, the sooner we eat, the sooner Stanford's belly will quiet down." Laurie finished his drink, then motioned to the stairs. "I'll be right back."

As Laurie headed up the stairs, Stanford wanted to roll his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to make small talk with Renee. She seemed reticent too, glancing toward the kitchen as if waiting for her husband's call. Then she sighed. "So, do you work with Mr. Abrams often?"

"Lawrence and I represent different clients, but our paths do occasionally cross. Sometimes it's a very small city."

Renee nodded, then smiled. "I've never been to the East Coast, pretty much stayed local all my life. It must seem very provincial here."

"It's quaint, but charming. The weather's been spectacular for autumn."

"It's been cool at night." Then she grimaced, which Stanford didn't miss. "I hope winter doesn't come early."

"Well, it is just September. Several weeks of sun before the temperatures get ugly."

"From your lips to God's ears." Renee tried to smile, but she failed. Then she blinked and Stanford felt poked by her bright eyelashes. He stared at those pale irises; she wasn't an albino, not with that red hair, although her eyes were strange. Then her husband called for her and Renee slipped away, not excusing herself.

Stanford waited for Laurie to return, then they headed into the kitchen where Laurie refreshed his drink, noting that the whiskey was a good one. Sam smiled, taking responsibility for that beverage, then he announced dinner would be another ten minutes. Laurie laughed, offering his hands if it would speed the proceedings. Lynne said Laurie could take her place as she approached Stanford. "There's something I wanna show you, it won't take long."

Stanford nodded. "Wonderful. I have no desire to cook."

"Then be gone with you both," Laurie chuckled, donning one of Lynne's aprons. "Maybe there'll be something left when we're done."

Renee giggled, but Sam was too focused on the food. Lynne led Stanford from the kitchen to a chorus of Take your time.

The sun was just setting as they reached the patio, then Lynne gazed across the garden. "I froze a record number of berries this year. Looking forward to pie all winter and spring."

"It's beautiful out here." Stanford inhaled deeply. What he wanted to tell Lynne would take longer than a few minutes, but this had been her idea. "It's too bad...."

That slipped, making Stanford clear his throat. But Lynne smiled, then grasped his hand. "Actually, what I wanted to show you will take longer than ten minutes, but I need to do it before the light's gone. Have you ever been in Eric's studio?"

Her words didn't fit with her light tone, putting Stanford immediately on the back foot. "What? No, I, uh...."

Lynne tugged on his hand. "Hurry or it'll be too dark to see."

His steps were unsteady, but only Laurie had been drinking, well, Renee too, but Stanford hadn't even accepted a glass of wine. He had wanted to be fully in control when he confronted Lynne with what he knew. Now he wished for a drink as she took long strides past the bubbling fountain, reaching the bird bath, then the studio. Eric had never permitted Stanford access to this most private realm; was he dead? Stanford had trouble catching his breath while Lynne pulled a key from a pocket of her skirt. Then he shivered as she inserted the key into the lock, deliberately invading Eric's privacy. "Lynne, no, I've never been in here and...."

"I know, but he won't mind." Her tone remained upbeat, but that did nothing to assuage Stanford's racing heart. Lynne stepped inside, but the dealer hesitated. "Well, do you wanna see the last things he painted?"

"The last...." Stanford nodded, but felt like a voyeur. Stepping into the studio, he closed his eyes, then opened them as Lynne again grasped his hand.

She walked him to the back where easels stood. Stanford tried to look at the walls, the ceiling, even the floor, but his eyes were drawn to those canvases, all of which featured the woman still gripping his hand. Yet these pictures weren't like any Stanford had previously seen, in part due to the subject. And because for the first time, Stanford couldn't penetrate the model's soul.

Previously Eric's themes, be they hawks, mice, sunsets or barns, were transparent. But Lynne Snyder was an enigma, just like her husband, and Stanford was stunned at how this seemingly affable couple concealed such inner turmoil. Nothing about Lynne was obvious, other than her hobbies, and how much she was adored, which to Stanford was for the best. Eric's background would be rich fodder for the newspapers once it became public knowledge. And eventually it would unless Eric never returned and his work faded into obscurity. That would be the only way for Eric and Lynne to maintain their privacy.

Then Stanford trembled; was that why he had left her? The dealer stared at Lynne, then swallowed hard. "I know about his father, is that where he is?"

She nodded, then motioned to the canvases. "He told me he didn't want these displayed, mostly because he wasn't sure I'd want them shown. But I'll leave that up to you. If you'd like Lawrence to see them, that would be fine. Of course, I don't know when Eric will be back, so I suppose you're still looking at an exhibit next spring, but...."

"Lynne, why?" Then Stanford sighed. He knew why Eric had never spoken of his family; his mother was dead, his father in prison for murder. His father had also committed other grievous crimes and Stanford felt sick to his stomach. "Do they know, the Aherns, about his dad?"

"Renee does. I'm sure she's told Sam a little of it, but...." Lynne's voice cracked, but she took a deep breath, then continued. "He doesn't know that's why Eric's foot's damaged. Or if he does, he hasn't brought it up with me."

That had been what most turned Stanford's stomach and again it made him wish to be ill. He gazed around the studio; it looked like Eric had planned to return, but with cold nights, these canvases should be in the house. "Are you going to leave these out here much longer?"

"Actually, I was going to ask you and Lawrence to help me take them in tonight. I wanted to show you these Stanford, I wanted you to see what he...." She paused, then composed herself. "He is a great painter, maybe you're aware of it, but if not, I wanted you to know that when he comes back, he'll need time to recover. Then after he does...."

"He can have all the time he needs Lynne, my God, of course. And yes, Laurie and I'll help bring these inside."

Stanford realized the slip as soon as he said it. Lynne gazed at him, but said nothing. Then she nodded as Renee called their names. "Time to eat," Lynne said softly. "We can get to these after dinner. In fact, Sam and Renee can help."

"They've seen them, I take it?" Stanford spoke evenly, but sweat poured from him. How could he have been so careless, using Laurie instead of Lawrence?

"They saw them after he left. And they felt showing them to you was for the best." She hesitated for seconds, then smiled. "If Eric's angry, he shouldn't have...."

"Left them for a nosy dealer to find." Stanford chuckled, hoping she couldn't hear his pounding heart. "I'll tell him I badgered you mercilessly."

"He'll know we're both liars, but he won't argue about it. He'll probably thank you for being a nag. He wants to show these, it was me he wanted to protect."

Stanford wondered who was the biggest liar as he stared into Lynne's cloudy eyes. "Of course. He loves you very much."

"And I love him and these are just the tip of the iceberg, like the barn. Something's waiting when he returns Stanford, if you're willing to be patient with him and if...."

"Lynne, Mr. Taylor!" Renee hollered, then she stood at the studio doorway, but didn't step inside. "It's, uh, time. For dinner," she coughed.

Lynne nodded, then clasped Stanford's hand. "We're on our way. Tell Sam that after dinner Stanford and Lawrence will help us take all these into the house. Then we'll reward ourselves with pie."

"Oh, um, okay. Are you sure?" Renee stayed in the doorway.

"Uh-huh. Stanford, you ready to eat?"

He reacted at the sound of his name, but he had also flinched when Lynne spoke it and Laurie's together, although she deliberately said Lawrence. "Yes, I'm, um, starving." Suddenly he was and he gripped Lynne's hand. Then he eased the pressure, but she squeezed back, smiling at him.

"I'll tell Sam you're on your way. And about the, uh, after dinner task." Renee stepped from the doorway, then scurried along the path back toward the house.

Lynne led Stanford from the studio, but she didn't lock the door behind them. Hand in hand they walked through the garden, hearing mumbled voices growing louder as they reached the house. Stanford smiled at Laurie as Sam spoke to his wife, then gazed at Lynne. It was then that Stanford knew that while Sam had seen those paintings, he was unaware about Eric's father. But Renee knew, of that Stanford was completely certain.
Chapter 20

A cold snap hit in late September, heavy frost killing all the annual plants. Standing at the French doors, Lynne stared at the icy ground. She was glad Renee was driving that morning, also relieved that the paintings no longer waited in the studio. She could still recall Lawrence Abrams' amazement when he saw her portraits, and how closely he had stood to Stanford. Lynne had never imagined that Stanford was a homosexual, but then Stanford had never hinted to any part of his private life other than he preferred taking trains to flying. The intimate manner in which he had spoken of Lawrence rang in Lynne's head, in part for what it had revealed and in how it had been the first time Lynne ever saw Stanford's guard drop. Did Eric know, she wondered. Probably not, for if he had, he would have mentioned it in passing. Eric had few prejudices and Lynne smiled, gazing toward the glistening studio as the sun peeked out from a low cloud. Stanford's life had nothing on Eric's secret.

She had told Renee that the art dealer knew about Eric's father, but not that Mr. Abrams was aware, although Lynne expected that Lawrence knew all that Stanford did. What they knew were the legal aspects, which were public record. And they assumed why Eric's foot was damaged. Which was enough, what Renee had said, after Lynne mentioned it. To Lynne's surprise, Renee said it was more than what Sam knew. Renee had gently tried to introduce the topic, but Sam hadn't wanted to hear her, and she hadn't brought it up again. That puzzled Lynne, but perhaps Sam was still reeling from the truth about Eric, far more damning than Stanford Taylor's choice of lover.

A part of Lynne wished she could tell the art dealer that she didn't care with whom he lived, but Stanford would bristle if she even broached the subject. She wasn't sure when she might speak of it with Eric, not because she doubted his return, but that now it had been nearly three months since he left, almost double the length of his last absence. She vacillated about staying on at work; sometimes she wanted to hunker down behind their property walls, emerging only for necessities. She didn't want to miss Eric's return and she was tired of suspicious gazes. If she didn't love this house so much, she might be tempted to move when Eric came back. But no matter where they lived his presence was a precarious notion, growing more uncertain by the day. Lynne headed into the kitchen, her bagged lunch waiting on the counter, her coat and wraps draped over a chair. Renee was a good driver and Sam had just put new tires on their car. The women still traded the driving duties, but that day, Lynne didn't wish to pay attention to more than Renee's chatter. Or maybe Renee would focus on the roads and the trip would be in silence. Lynne usually detested the quiet, but sparkling frost-covered trees seemed to demand reverence. Eric had said he would be back before winter set in and for now Lynne would hold him to it.

October began with another hard frost, then icy rain fell, putting Sam behind the wheel for several days. Renee and Lynne's schedules were identical, for carpooling purposes they had requested. No one asked Lynne if her husband was still away, but rumors were hard to ignore within the hospital's close confines. Renee had drifted apart from her usual circle of Catholic co-workers, but Lynne didn't see her much on their floor as Renee had been moved to the labor ward. Sometimes Lynne was called in if several women were giving birth. Otherwise she remained with those suffering from a variety of illnesses, some related to the unusually early cold weather. Then an outbreak of flu pulled Renee back to their floor and for many days the nurses worked double shifts. Lynne and Renee managed to stay healthy, but Sam caught the flu, and for another week Lynne drove herself to work. Time sped by that month and suddenly it was Halloween, which meant little to Lynne; no children braved her road, where homes were tucked far away from the road. She worked in the labor ward that night, a few babies born during her shift.

She was off for the rest of the week, which was surprisingly mild after autumn's blustery beginning. During that time she visited the hairdresser, having her long tresses cut to her shoulders. She had told Renee she needed a change and while Eric liked her hair lengthy, better to do it now while he was still gone. While Renee worked, Sam visited Lynne at her house. They joked that maybe an illicit relationship between them would be the next grist for the rumor mill, but their smiles faded quickly. Then Sam cleared his throat. "I'm starting to wonder, I mean...." He sighed, then poured them more coffee. He didn't return to his seat, staring around the room. "It's been almost four months and...."

Lynne gripped her mug, warming her fingers. "I know. What I'm most worried about is how long it'll take him to recover."

She looked right at Sam as she spoke, hoping he understood her use of recover. What she meant was transform, but saying that word seemed in poor taste. Yet it was the truth, for Eric's last homecoming hadn't been easy and now.... She sipped her coffee, then motioned for Sam to sit down. He did and she reached for his hands, which he offered immediately. His grip gave her courage. "Sam, this time it might take him, well, longer." Then she shook her head. "Of course it will. He's never been away this long and now it'll be twice in a year and...." She inhaled, then stared at Sam. "If it's very difficult, I might need some help."

"How much vacation time do you have?"

"Plenty, but it's not that. I've already talked to Renee about this, well, the last time we worked together. When he comes home, I'm gonna quit. I'd do it now, but I need the distraction." She hated to say what else beat in her heart, what if he didn't come home at all? But Sam's slow nod indicated that he understood.

Then Lynne gave a small smile, squeezing Sam's hands. "But yes, I will need help, or he will. And I think he'd do better with you than Renee. He didn't want her to see him change, but then he wasn't fully aware that she knew. But even still, I think he'd feel more comfortable with your presence, if that's something you could do."

"Of course, oh Lynne, sure. I'd be...." He nodded again. "All you have to do is call."

"Thank you. I wish...." She released Sam's hands, then grabbed her cup, finishing her coffee. Then she set the mug on the table. "I wish there was some way I could know, be here for him. Before, well, even if I wasn't here, he changed easily and could take care of himself. But now I have no idea how he'll be and...."

"Shall I come over when you're at work?"

"Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that Sam."

"Yes you could."

Lynne gazed at him. Perhaps taking care of Eric wouldn't be much different than what Sam did at the VA hospital. "All right," she smiled again. "I'll take you up on that." Then she chuckled. "That'll really give the gossips something to digest. You here, while I'm not? What'll they say?"

"I have no idea, but I'm sure it won't take them long to figure out something."

Lynne nodded, thinking of a handful of nurses with overactive imaginations. "All right then. I go back on Friday. I know Renee's off a few of those days, but it might be better if it was just you here. Not that Eric has anything against Renee but...."

"I know she'll understand."

Lynne nodded. "Yeah, she will." Then Lynne rolled her eyes. "My God, this's ridiculous. But it's out of our hands. All we can do is wait."

"And pray," Sam smiled.

"I'll leave that to you and Renee." Lynne grinned, then stood. "More coffee?"

Sam shook his head. "Lynne, God hears all prayers, even those offered without faith."

Lynne had stepped to the counter, then she turned back. Sam still smiled and she chuckled. "Well, I'll think about it. I know he hears your prayers, not sure about those from a heathen like me."

She began to pour herself another cup of coffee, then she paused. Sam had been the one who prayed for them that night Eric came home, the stench of bird more than Lynne could take. She looked at Sam, but he wasn't gazing at her, just staring at the chair Eric would be using if he was there. Lynne didn't believe in God, but the Aherns' faith had worked a miracle that night, Sam's faith specifically. "Sam, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be disrespectful."

He glanced at Lynne, then smiled. "I took no offense."

She set her half-filled cup near the coffeepot, then pulled out the chair on his right. Lynne sat beside him, then clasped her hands in her lap. "You were praying for us that night he came back."

He nodded, but didn't speak.

"Sam, that night, I went to bed in the guest room. The smell of, well, it was too strong, and I just couldn't take it. After a few hours, I heard him calling for me, and at first I could still smell it. He'd taken two baths, but it was probably in the sheets. And the mattress and still on him and I was nearly sick. Then suddenly it was gone. All I could smell was disinfectant, candle wax and...."

Sam flinched and Lynne wondered if this was too much for him, both in revealing part of Eric's homecoming and that Sam had been the one awake in the middle of the night praying for Eric. And for Lynne; both of them had been covered in Sam's missives. Then he cleared his throat, nodding. "Renee and I stayed up late, then she went to bed, but I couldn't sleep. God only knows how many rosaries I said, I guess one of them worked."

"Or all of them," Lynne said softly, grasping Sam's hand.

"Maybe," he said, offering a strong grip.

Then Lynne snorted. "You know, maybe I should believe. My husband turns into a bird, why does the idea of a deity seem outrageous?"

Sam nodded. "When you put it that way, yeah. What's wrong with believing that a man died, then came back to life, all the while proclaiming he was savior of the whole world."

Sam's tone was light and they both chuckled. "Doesn't sound that odd to me." Lynne gave Sam another squeeze, then released his hand. "Thank you, for everything."

"Wish I could say it's my pleasure. But I tell the guys at the hospital the same damn thing."

Lynne nodded, then she gazed at him. "Both you and Renee work with the sick. Or the injured," she quickly added.

"Oh, some of them are pretty sick." He smiled. "In body and mind. But black humor's better than none."

She wanted to nod, but didn't. Rarely had she and Eric joked about his transformations and now, nearly four months later, she wasn't sure how she felt about the future. "Well yes," she said after a pause. "Sometimes black humor is all we have."

She stood, retrieving her cup, but no longer did the coffee appeal. Sam coughed, then stood, coming to her side. "Lynne, I'm sorry. I didn't mean...."

"No, I understand. Those men aren't any better off than Eric." Then she looked at Sam. "But at least they're human all the time. Maybe they'll always be shell-shocked or...." She almost said maimed, then caught herself. "But at least they don't change into hawks."

"No, but a part of them is back in Korea. A part of me is there too. It lessens as time passes, but we've all left pieces of our souls in that country. I imagine every soldier does."

"Will Eric, will he...." Be a whole man again, she wanted to say, but then that too might offend Sam. Lynne sighed, then stared out of the kitchen window. "All I know is I love him and no matter how he comes home, or what he turns back into, I will still love him." She met Sam's gaze. "I told him that before he left. He was saying that I didn't need to stay with him, what a load of nonsense."

Sam grasped Lynne's shoulder. "I know what he meant. When I realized what'd happened to me, I didn't want to burden Renee with that."

Lynne nearly smiled, recalling that Renee had slapped her husband when he brought that up, in the hospital no less. "But she loves you as much as I love him. You guys can't get rid of us."

Sam smirked. "Guess we can't. She slapped my face right in the hospital, she tell you about that?"

Lynne nodded and Sam chuckled. "No more secrets between us, I guess."

Then Lynne looked away. Sam didn't know everything about Eric's dad, but that had been his choice. "No secrets," she muttered.

Sam stepped back and Lynne again stared out of the window. Then Sam returned to his chair at the table. The silence was only broken when Sam cleared his throat. "Well, I should be going. Just call anytime, day or night, okay?"

"Uh-huh. I will." She gazed at him. "Thanks Sam, for everything."

He was on his feet, halfway to the kitchen door. "You're welcome Lynne." Then he opened the door, quietly closing it behind him.
Chapter 21

Four months after Eric left, John Kennedy was elected president of the United States. Like the Aherns, Lynne had voted for the young Massachusetts senator, and all were elated with his victory. The Electoral College results were decisive, but the popular vote had been won by the slimmest of margins, and for several days at work a Catholic president was all anyone could speak about. Those who had voted for Vice President Richard Nixon said little, but Kennedy supporters were vociferous, especially those Catholic. Renee temporarily gravitated back to that circle, but as Eric's absence lingered into the middle of the month, she returned to Lynne's side, speaking about Thanksgiving and that Sam was eager to try new recipes. Lynne would make boysenberry pie and the threesome would spend that holiday at her house. Sam was at the Snyders on the days Lynne worked, but on Monday the twenty-first, she gave her notice, which was accepted without comment. Her last day would be Friday, December second. But if she could find someone to take her shifts, she could vacate her position accordingly. Lynne's presence at work wasn't a hindrance, but now that the election was over, the gossip had drifted back to her missing husband. Lynne knew exactly what those loose tongues said about her and Eric; he had a mistress, perhaps a few of them. What did he need with his spouse and this little town?

On Thanksgiving morning, Lynne woke early, all the blankets having fallen to the floor. She still slept on the sofa and she peered out at another heavy frost covering the ground. Then she glanced at the clock over the fireplace; it was seven and she shivered, both from the cold and that the Aherns were coming in half an hour to start the turkey which waited in her refrigerator. Slowly she stood, shaking herself, then she gathered the bedding. She hauled it upstairs, plopping it on her bed, then used the toilet. She had bathed last night and quickly brushed her hair, then dressed. She gazed at the pile on her otherwise tidy bed, then shrugged. Renee was aware that Lynne hadn't slept in that bed since Eric's departure and Sam probably knew it too.

Coffee was brewing as Sam and Renee arrived and the conversation was chipper despite the frost and Eric's absence. Lynne felt that deeply, then smiled to herself, wondering if the main course had anything to do with it. She finally brought it up, causing a momentary silence, then laughter rang out, shared by all three. Lynne then noted that she had two days of work next week, but had found replacements for the rest of her shifts. Tuesday was her last day and she couldn't wait to be home.

Not that she knew what she would do, she said, as yummy smells filled the kitchen. The trio sat at the table, sipping coffee, the big tasks finished. The talk went from Lynne's free time to what a new president might achieve, a Catholic president, Renee drawled, then giggled. "Some of those doctors think it's gonna be the end of the world."

"Some of the nurses do too," Lynne smiled. "And patients and...." It was an odd thought, but then Lynne shrugged. It wasn't that strange compared to the man she had married, or the man with whom Stanford lived. Then she smiled; had Stanford and Laurie voted for Kennedy? Lately, when Lynne thought of Stanford Taylor, she lumped Lawrence Abrams alongside him, but she never thought of Lawrence other than as Laurie. He was a good match for the sometimes wooden art dealer, although Laurie was in the same profession, but he represented sculptors. Maybe that made the difference, or perhaps they were like Sam and Renee, for she was more social than her husband. Then Lynne gazed at Sam; maybe before the war he had been more like his good-humored wife. Then Lynne sighed. When Eric returned, how would he change?

She assumed he would eventually return to his normal human form; to think otherwise was defeatist. But emotionally, might he be permanently altered, and not simply from living as a hawk for months on end. He was hoping to find his father, a man who had.... Lynne blinked away tears, then stood, stepping to the sink. Eric had felt compelled to find him for reasons Lynne couldn't consider. She had tried, late at night, when sleep eluded, but those sorts of musings weren't conducive to peaceful rest. Yet Eric hadn't been able to flee from them; those ideas had driven him far from her. Something inside Eric had demanded resolution, if not for himself, then for a man who had....

"Lynne?" Sam gripped her shoulder, then cleared his throat. "You okay?"

She turned to see another who had voluntarily left his wife and family. But Sam's aims had been patriotic in nature, or maybe they were testosterone-driven. Something about mayhem, even under the guise of heroism, was tied to the male species, and there was nothing women could do to halt that dangerous allure. Lynne had no doubts to how Eric felt about her, but still he hadn't been able to stop from changing, then leaving. Renee hadn't kept Sam at home, but what sort of man had he been before Korea?

That question, and others, were too weighty to be aired. Lynne smiled, then wiped her face. "I'm so glad you're both here today, that we're together." Was it harder to celebrate here than if they had been at the Aherns, but there wasn't a choice about that either. After next Tuesday, Lynne would remain behind the walls of their property until Eric returned.

Sam nodded, then squeezed her hand. "I'm glad we're here too. Hopefully we'll be celebrating Christmas at our place."

"Hopefully." Lynne smiled, unable to fathom Eric gone that long. She inhaled, then returned to her seat at the table. Renee's face was damp, but she also smiled, then reached over, grasping Lynne's hand. Lynne nodded, wishing for many things. But at least she wasn't alone.

As Sam packed leftovers into the basket, Renee and Lynne warmed their fingers in front of the fire. Then Renee put on her gloves, her coat, hat, and scarf waiting on the sofa. "Call if you need anything. I don't go back till Saturday, so...."

Lynne nodded, then hugged her friend. After Sam dropped off Renee at the hospital, he would probably stop here, have some coffee with Lynne. Once Lynne was done with work permanently, that would be Sam's routine until.... Lynne released Renee, then watched as Renee donned her coat and wraps. Lynne walked her into the kitchen, where Sam was already dressed for the weather, which had turned bitterly cold as night fell. Lynne would keep the fire going until she grew tired, but that didn't happen until late. She liked falling asleep to the cracks and pops, dying flames easing her to slumber.

She hugged Sam, then went as far as the kitchen door, but Sam told her to stay inside. She left on the front light, locked that door, then checked the sink and counters. Sam had cleaned them and she smiled, then headed back into the living room.

She wouldn't have to cook for days, although Sam and Renee had taken the rest of the pie. It wasn't close to bedtime, but Lynne decided she was done for the night. She went upstairs, dressed for bed, lugging down blankets and the flannel sheet which she laid over the cushions. She made up the sofa and got under the covers, snug still in her robe. She wouldn't take that off until she had put the grate in front of the fire.

For an hour she read, but her eyelids weren't heavy. Her heart ached, for this was the first Thanksgiving she and Eric had been apart. He had never been away for a major holiday, which now that she thought about it was quite a blessing. If he wasn't home by Christmas.... She scoffed aloud at that notion, then sighed inwardly. It was coming on five months and she was getting worried. She had tried to shut that out, but something about his absence on that day had weakened her defenses. They had celebrated Thanksgiving with the Aherns before, but sometimes it was a day or two early, or late, if she and Renee were working. How had Eric always managed to be home for these random but special events? And why this time had he been gone so long?

She avoided the more grim possibilities, yet, as the fire died away, she couldn't stop her mind from edging in those directions. If he had been shot, or injured while battling another animal, would he have stayed as a hawk or transformed back into.... Lynne shook her head, tutting aloud. She sat up, then stood, taking off her robe, then gazing at the fire. She still had to put the grate in front of the coals, which burned a bright orange, reminding her of the painting Eric had made of the fire. It was up in the storage room, but the rest of the house wouldn't be this cozy. Lynne dawdled, feeling chilled in only her nightgown. She put on her robe, stepping into her slippers. Setting the grate in front of the fire, she then headed to the stairs. Both Sam and Renee had seen that canvas, agreeing with Lynne that it evoked genuine heat. Lynne smiled, wondering if even on that cold night might Eric's magic remain?

It took her several minutes to locate the painting, which she found by a strange but actual warmth emanating from under the sheet which concealed it. She set it on an empty easel, then stared at the vibrant colors, unable to deny that the canvas was indeed warm. Yet, the paint was solid, the brushstrokes intact. She traced over them, then was enveloped by a wave of sadness; she had watched him create this masterpiece, which wasn't an ordinary painting. Through her fingertips she could feel the heat, but it wasn't merely a temperature difference. Her husband waited in these flames and tears fell down her face as she could sense Eric's heart, beating within the layers of paint. What she would give to lay her hand on his chest and note that muscle right under his skin.

She removed her hand, then stared at it, not at all cold, although she should be, for she could see her breath. Was this house possessed, the property haunted, but she wasn't scared, only ensnared by the isolation. Then she inhaled, noting a hint of that unknown scent, mysterious and calming. It made her cry, but not from sorrow. She called her husband's name, wondering if wherever Eric was, could he smell that healing, optimistic aroma? Then she smiled. The Aherns were praying for her.

Maybe it was just Renee, but more likely it was Sam, and Lynne wiped her face, then chuckled. Taking one more look at the painting, she fought the urge to touch it, for her fingers were damp. Instead she placed her palm right over what looked to be the hottest part of the fire. Definite heat radiated from the canvas, making her giggle. She set that hand on her cheek, it was warm! Then she closed her eyes, meditating for seconds. She wasn't sure if that was a prayer, or merely a momentary silence. But it was enough to ease her throbbing heart, then send her from the room, back to the sofa, where she lay down, falling into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

On Friday Lynne cleaned house, then ate dinner with Sam and Renee, who happened to stop for a visit. Renee lamented having to work the next day, but Sam said she wouldn't miss much as the pie was at their house. Lynne laughed, noting she could make another, but she actually was hungry for a pumpkin pie. Sam said they could bake one together and Renee could have some when she was done with work. Lynne smiled, noting that Sam and Renee didn't have to spend all their free time at her house, but Renee laughed, adding she liked the restless nature stirred by all of their comings and goings. The gossips were now at a loss for what to make of Eric's absence and Sam's presence at the Snyder home.

Amid those exchanges, Lynne didn't speak about having inspected Eric's painting, but after the Aherns left, again she took the stairs, spending half an hour in front of that fire, which was just as warm as last night. Feeling rejuvenated, she headed downstairs, reading until her eyelids were droopy. Again she slept well, stirring to light snow dusting the garden.

She dressed, started a fire, then made coffee. Sam knocked on the kitchen door promptly at eight fifteen, but they took their mugs into the living room. The roads had been treacherous as snow rarely fell and few people thought to drive carefully. The forecast was for sun later, but Sam wasn't sure. Lynne knew his thoughts; winter had been threatening since September. It wasn't going to wait any longer.

Lynne stood, going to the French doors. The backyard sparkled as powdery snow wafted from the sky. Animals had probably sensed the early onset of winter, all safely tucked into burrows or having migrated to warmer climes. Eric had vowed to be home before now, but what was a man's promise against the elements? And what about all that he had learned, if anything; he had gone searching for a brutal, selfish criminal who also happened to be his father. Lynne gazed back at Sam. She had no idea what scarring battles he'd witnessed, or what his hands had wrought. Bloodshed was endemic to the human race and within the animal kingdom, but why? Lynne turned back to the French doors; so much beauty existed, there in her snow-covered garden, up in the storage room, and within families where children.... Lynne closed her eyes as a request formed in her mind. Please, she began, please bring him....

"Home," Sam said softly. "Amen."

Lynne whipped around, seeing Sam seated on the sofa, his hands clasped together. "Do you read minds?" she whispered, her voice cracking.

He nodded, then joined her. "Sometimes I even get it right." He smiled, then put his arm around her. Together they stared through the glass doors and Lynne wondered if she could will her husband's return. Maybe if she and Sam prayed hard enough.... Then she began to cry.

Sam held her as she wept, the only other sound that of a crackling fire. When she was calm, he gave her his hankie, and she blew her nose, then wiped her face. Then she gazed at it, was it the same one from earlier that year when he had thought she was an insane liar? Lynne smiled, then giggled. "You don't think I'm crazy anymore."

"Well, a little touched. But that's from being the wife of a talented artist, nothing you can do about it."

She nodded, then sighed. "I'll wash this and give it back to Renee."

"Just keep it. I've got plenty."

They glanced at each other, then to the garden. Then Lynne stepped to the fire, warming her back. "Eric just uses old paint rags. You're more refined Sam Ahern."

"I've mastered a few social graces. Maybe not as many as Stanford Taylor, but...."

Lynne smiled. Then she squinted, staring outside through that new glass pane. Had she seen something or were her eyes playing tricks. "Sam, look outside."

He turned as she rejoined him. "What?" he asked.

Lynne pressed her palms against the glass. Her heart began to skip beats as again a flicker caught her eye. "Oh my God," she cried, opening the door, ignoring the cold and the snow. She ran to the edge of the bare patio, shielding her eyes from the glare as sun peeked through clouds, reflecting on the glistening snow. "Eric? Eric!"

"Did you see him?" Sam asked, now standing beside her, staring into the sky.

The squawk answered Sam's question, but it was sickly noise, coming from the far end of the property. Both heard it, propelling them down the path. They were stopped by the thicket and Lynne breathed hard, again calling Eric's name. "Honey, Sam's here, it's just the two of us. Eric, are you all right?"

An eerie hush permeated the overgrowth, which even under the snow looked prickly and hazardous. Lynne softly tapped her foot, her heart pounding. "Eric, if you can't talk, that's all right. Just, oh honey, make some sound if you can."

Seconds passed, then Lynne stepped as close to the thicket as was possible. Suddenly a painful screech pierced the silence, making her shudder. "Eric? Oh baby...."

"Go back to the house Lynne." Sam's voice brooked no dissent. "Stay in the kitchen until I call for you."

"What?"

Sam stepped between her and the brush, from where rustling could now be detected. "Lynne, just do what I say please. Please?"

She tried to look past Sam, but was caught by his huge blue eyes. He pointed to the house, nodding frantically. "Please go, now. As soon as I get him inside, I'll call for you. Please Lynne, now!"

A long, sickening caw emerged from the thicket, making both Lynne and Sam peer into the overgrowth. Lynne swallowed bile that had been creeping up her throat. As it returned to her stomach, she nodded, taking heavy steps up the path. When she reached the stilled fountain, she turned back, but Sam had gone into the thicket. His voice was muffled, but she detected a unique tenderness as Sam muttered Eric's name.

She stayed in the kitchen, although it had been hard not to peer through the doorway as she heard Sam enter the living room, his breaths labored. She only noted one set of footsteps taking the stairs with care, but Sam hadn't asked for assistance. Nor did he ask for her after several minutes, but she did close the French doors, returning to the kitchen, aching for Sam's call.

She listened for other things, but the tub wasn't filled. The house didn't smell of bird, or not in the downstairs. Lynne made another pot of coffee; this day would be a long one. But she didn't call the hospital, mostly because if she did that now, Renee would fret. Better to wait until Lynne had something concrete to tell her.

When Sam came downstairs, Lynne waited for him in the kitchen doorway. He looked wary, but with an air of understanding. He led her into the corner of the living room, which Lynne realized was as far from her bedroom as possible. "How is he?" she said.

"He's not human yet, but he knows he's home. I don't want you to see him until he's...."

"Sam, he's my husband. I love him no matter...."

"Right now he's not that man."

His tone was definitive as when he had told her to go into the house and to stay in the kitchen. "Please Sam, it's been almost five months and...."

"And I don't know how long he's gonna be...compromised." He sighed. "Lynne, this isn't just my opinion. Eric doesn't want you seeing him like this."

"If he's not a man yet, how would you know?"

Tears formed in the corners of Sam's blue eyes. "Lynne, please. Go to my house, but drive carefully. You'll need to pick Renee up from work. Then she can drop you off at our house and...."

"So Renee can see him, but not me? I'm his wife Sam, I'm...."

"You're too close to him." Sam grasped her by the shoulders. "He needs objective carers, he needs...."

"Me," she cried, trying to shake off Sam's hold. "Please, I just wanna...."

"No Lynne, not now. He's not even...."

"What? He's not what Sam?"

Sam released her shoulders, then stroked her face. "I don't know, except that I have never seen a soul so tortured. But I do know the last thing he wants is for you to see him like this. If you love him, please do what I ask, what he wants. He doesn't wanna hurt you any more than he already has."

The agony in Sam's voice pierced Lynne's heart, as if Eric was speaking through this man. She gazed toward the stairs. Eric was up those steps, he was so close, but.... She nodded, her heart pained beyond anything previously experienced. Then she shut her eyes; Eric ached that badly too.

Whoever Eric was at that moment knew only anguish and her presence was a part of his torment. Again she nodded. "I need to get my coat and...."

"Stay here, I'll bring your things. And tonight I'll have Renee pack some of your clothes and...."

"Sam, I'm sleeping here tonight. This's my house and...."

A shrill but weak squawk interrupted. "Lynne, please, a few days. I'll be right back." Sam fled up the stairs. With each step, Lynne's heart took a beating, or maybe it was still reeling from that sound, which wasn't that of a man. What was it from, she wondered, and how long would the transformation take?
Chapter 22

On her last work day, Lynne was surprised by a cake and several cards, which wished her the best in.... Some sentiments read Happy Retirement, others said Bon Voyage, like she was leaving for an extended vacation. She was gracious, even to those who wore false smiles. A few doctors offered their congratulations, but she wasn't sure for what; did they know her husband had come home, although Lynne had yet to see him. Or were those physicians glad to be rid of a competent but mysterious nurse who, for the last five months, had filled their hospital with tantalizing drama. When Lynne left on a rather pleasant late November day, she felt some relief. At least she would never again have to face those people on a daily basis.

She drove straight to the Aherns', where she had been staying since Saturday. No one was home; both Sam and Renee were at the Snyders', but Renee was there for moral support. She had seen Eric briefly just yesterday and all she had told Lynne was that Eric was making slow progress. Sam had forbade her from sharing more details, but he had called that night, telling Lynne that as soon as he felt it was appropriate, he would let her come home.

The secrecy was for Lynne's benefit, which she understood on a basic level. As she unlocked the front door, using the Aherns' spare key, Lynne wondered for how long might she be sleeping in their guest room while Sam caught cat naps on her sofa or in a chair in the Snyder master bedroom. In March, it had taken Eric a day to alter, but that had been after just seven weeks. This was nearly five months and it had been three whole days since Eric had returned. From Sam's cautious tone last night, no real end to the transformation was in sight. Lynne wondered if something had happened; maybe it was from seeing his father. What if Eric never turned back into....

The phone rang and Lynne flinched. Then she picked up the receiver. "Ahern residence."

"Lynne, did you just get home?"

Renee's tone was hard to gauge, but it didn't sound morose. "Yeah, is everything all right?"

"Sam'll be over in a few minutes."

Lynne still couldn't discern Renee's mood, but due to the party line nothing could be stated aloud as none of them wanted Eric's return discerned until he was well. "I'm here. Tell him I'm...." She had a weak smile. "Waiting for him." She had no idea if anyone was listening, but now that she was through with work, let the gossips run wild. As long as Eric's presence was undetected, Lynne didn't care what anyone said.

Renee had a soft giggle. "I'll tell him. Did you have a good last day?"

As Lynne relayed the small send-off party, she heard Sam tell his wife that he loved her and would be back soon. Those words stuck fast in Lynne's heart, what she ached to tell Eric. But what, if anything, did he understand?

"Lynne, Sam's on his way. I'll be home later tonight, okay?"

"Sounds fine. I'll talk to you tonight. Bye-bye." Lynne hung up, then stared at the black telephone. She wasn't sure how many shared the Aherns' line, but it was a small town. Within hours those who cared to know would be aware that Renee was at the Snyders' while her husband and Mrs. Snyder were at the Aherns'. Lynne shook her head, then went into the guest room, ready to hang up her nurse's uniform for good.

When Sam opened the front door, the first thing he saw was the blue barn. He heard Lynne in the kitchen playing cards, probably Solitaire, he assumed. Quickly he gazed at the hawks, staring into the golden-pink sunset. Sam inhaled, then headed to where the slap of cards was the only noise.

Lynne was dressed casually, her brown hair loose, resting a couple of inches past her shoulders. At the time Sam hadn't given her new style much thought, but now he realized she had started a process with that haircut. It wasn't only work she had been preparing to quit, but perhaps another role as well.

"He's asleep," Sam said, sitting beside her, careful not to disturb her card game. "He hasn't wanted me to leave, but he knew I needed to talk to you, and he doesn't mind just Renee there if he's unconscious. She won't disturb him, although if he does need something, I guess he'll let her know."

"Is he, can he...." Lynne struggled, then lost the battle to stay composed. Sam hadn't seen her for more than a few moments in passing since Saturday morning. Lynne gripped his hands, then let go, needing to wipe her face. He didn't have a handkerchief to give to her, but she pulled one from the pocket of her slacks. She blew her nose, took some deep breaths, then bunched all the cards, regardless of how they were facing, into a pile, pushing them to the side of the table. Then she grasped Sam's hands again. "When can I see him?"

"I don't know. He's...." Sam had to keep Lynne in the dark; Eric wanted it that way and the men had agreed to spare Lynne when possible. Until Sam woke that morning, he hadn't been certain that Eric would change. The last two and a half days had seen little progress, but while much remained, now Eric had his voice back, although it was weak and at times squawky. But as for the rest of him.... "Eric can talk, he just started this morning. It's not completely clear, but...."

"Just this morning? Oh my God!" Lynne burst into tears and Sam pulled her close. Eric's few words had broken Sam's heart, for Eric only mumbled about his wife, asking if she was all right, then exacting Sam's solemn promise to not permit Lynne to see him until he was well. Or at least until his eyes were....

Eric's beady eyes unnerved Sam, but he had nodded, staring right at his friend, who was not yet a human being. "Lynne, it's okay. Oh Lynne, I'm so sorry."

She moved away, then stood from the table. She stepped to the sink, running the water, splashing it on her face. Sam joined her, giving her a clean dishtowel. She nodded, then wiped her face, blowing her nose. Then she sighed. "Is he a man yet?"

Sam inhaled, then exhaled. "It's coming, but very slowly."

"Can he walk, is he...."

Sam led them back to the table. Lynne sat with a plop while Sam was more steady, but his voice cracked as he spoke. "Until this morning I really wasn't sure because he hadn't actually talked and seemed very much still like a hawk." Sam had trouble with that word; saying it seemed to confirm the odd creature unable to move from the Snyders' bed. But it was Eric, Sam knew that without a doubt. It was similar to when Josh had died in Sam's arms, not as the wisecracking buddy who had seemed impervious to injury, but a bleeding shell of a soldier turning into nothing more than a corpse within Sam's grasp.

"He doesn't want you to see him like this Lynne. This morning he made me promise not to let you see him until...."

"When? He molts, gets his legs and arms back, what? I've seen it happen Sam, I've watched him...."

"But not like this. You've seen it occur in the blink of an eye, but this is...." Torture, Sam thought, unable to keep Eric's eyes from his mind. They hadn't been like Josh's, bright lights until finally they were dead orbs, but still peering out at a world in which Josh no longer dwelled. If Sam had stared into Josh's stilled eyes, might he have seen where Josh went, and if so, would Sam have willingly done anything to follow him there?

Where Josh had gone was safe, where no pain or death existed. Where Eric had been was.... "Lynne, to tell you the truth, until today I wasn't sure he would change. He hadn't made any progress all weekend and it was scaring the hell outta me. But he slept last night, he's barely been sleeping. When he woke, he could talk. And I'm hopeful that if he gets a good nap now, when I go back over there, maybe I can get him on his...."

"Feet, but he doesn't have feet yet, does he?"

Sam shook his head. Five months as a bird had taken a toll; perhaps Eric Snyder would never fully be human again. Or maybe Sam would return and Eric would have quickly altered like he always had in the past. Even in spring, it had taken Eric just hours to change. When Sam wasn't caring for Eric or catching forty winks, he was asking God to spare this man, and this woman, any more agony. All Sam wanted was to lead Lynne up her own stairs, placing her at Eric's side. But until Eric was again the man Lynne loved.... "All I can tell you is that he's not human yet. And until he is...."

"I have to stay here."

Sam nodded. "It's for the best, it really is."

"Is that the soldier talking or...."

"It's me as Eric's friend and as your friend." Sam gripped her hands. "I wouldn't betray a fellow vet if he asked the same, and I can't betray Eric. I know how hard this is on you, believe me Lynne, I really do understand. But like Renee couldn't heal me, you can't help him, not right now. We don't do this to punish you, we just don't want you seeing us so...."

"Weak, compromised." She wore a tight smile. "Well fine Sam. Go back and tell him I'll stay right here until he wants to see me." Then she began to cry again. "But also tell him that I don't care how he looks or what he is because regardless of his physical appearance, he's the man I love, even if he isn't a man." She rolled her eyes, then had a wild cackle. "My God, this's crazy. But it's also all I have, him, however he is. You tell him that Samuel. And when you do, remember what Renee did in the hospital. You men think you have to be so strong for us, but none of us are perfect, we're all messed up in one way or another. You tell him that for me. Tell him that no matter how he looks or what he is, I will love him till the day I die."

She huffed, then stood, again walking to the sink. Then she took a deep breath, keeping her back to Sam. "And tell Renee to bring me three containers of boysenberries. I don't have to work anymore, so I'm gonna make some pies. I'm still craving pumpkin, you can tell him that too. Tell him I'm making pies and I'll be happy to share when he's feeling like solid food." Now she faced Sam, hands on her hips. "I know he probably can't keep anything down yet, but one of these days he'll be my husband again. Maybe you've run out of faith Sam Ahern, but I've been praying, believe it or not. And you can tell him that also. He came home and he damn well better change back into my spouse. I'll love him no matter what, but you tell him Sam. Tell him there's pie. All he has to do is ask for some."

Sam had never seen Lynne so riled and he permitted a small chuckle. "Can I have some of this pie when it's done?"

"Yes," she said tersely. Then she grinned. "Eat a piece in front of him. Maybe that'll turn him around."

On Wednesday, Lynne baked pies in the Aherns' kitchen while Renee worked at the hospital. Renee stopped at home after her shift, sharing tidbits of gossip; some of the more licentious nurses thought that Lynne, Renee, and Sam were, well, you know. Or that the women were together in lieu of Sam's injury. Lynne laughed, picturing those who would spread such nonsense, then she thought about Stanford and Laurie. Then Lynne sighed. "Well, while I like you just fine Renee, redheads really aren't my speed."

"And I prefer bald guys," Renee giggled. Then she grew quiet. "Sam told him that you'd cut your hair. That was after he told him everything else you'd said. I wasn't in the room, but Sam leaves the door open, that's his way of telling Eric that he can't hide forever. Anyways, I could hear Eric, he was chuckling as Sam told him how mad you were, and about the pies." Renee forked herself a bite of pumpkin, then studied it. She ate it, swallowed some water, then gazed at Lynne. "Then he mentioned your hair. Eric was quiet for a few seconds, then he sighed, mumbling something about having wanted to paint you with your long hair."

"Well, maybe if he gets his keister out of bed, I'll grow it back." Lynne ran a hand through her tresses. "How did he sound?"

Renee looked away, shaking her head.

"Can't you even tell me how he sounds?"

"He sounds like, well, not like Eric. I mean, the cadence is the same, but not the voice. But it's stronger, much stronger, and who knows what it's like today. And speaking of which...." Renee quickly finished her pie, then stood. "I'd better get over there, give Sam a break. I'll take some pieces of these." She motioned to the pumpkin on the table and the boysenberry on the counter. "Depending on how it's going, I'll be back for dinner."

Lynne nodded, then slumped in her seat. "They just don't understand how much we love them."

Renee had been at the doorway, but she turned back, kneeling next to Lynne. "Maybe they do, we just don't understand how much they love us."

"What do you mean?"

"When I slapped Sam, it wasn't just because he was acting petulant. I mean, he was, but I had a lot of anger too, at him for leaving, at the bastard who shot him and ended all our dreams. I was angry at our government, at the Koreans, at just about anyone I could be mad at. Why did some idiots have to start a war, and why did our country have to get involved, and why did my husband volunteer to go over there? And when he did, why did he have to get wounded where he did? But I couldn't say that, especially not in a VA hospital, and he couldn't tell me everything he felt, and instead I hit him. I hit a partially paralyzed man all because he was feeling sorry for himself and I couldn't take his oh-poor-me attitude. But it wasn't just oh-poor-me, it was I'm sorry Renee that I'm not man enough to make a child with you now, or take care of you, or even use the toilet by myself. Because they're men Lynne, they have pride, they can't help it. The same way Eric can't stop changing into a hawk is the same way he doesn't want you to see him so unlike the man you married, even if you married him knowing he turned into a bird. Because now he's not sure he'll turn back into a man and while Eric's not a brute, he's also not the gentle loving husband he wants to be for you. We're different species and I don't mean humans and birds, but men and women. And no matter how much we love those men, we can't get inside their heads, just like they'll never get inside ours."

An eerie quiet loomed. Then Lynne nodded, but she didn't speak. She kissed Renee's forehead, then hugged her. Renee stood and left the kitchen. While she was gone, Lynne sliced pieces from both pies, putting them in an empty tin. She covered it with foil, then put the tin into Renee's basket. When Renee returned, Lynne wore a thankful smile, telling Renee to give both Sam and Eric her best.

Lynne spent much of Thursday running errands for Sam; he needed new sheets and groceries, but Renee had to work. Lynne purchased those items, returned to the Aherns, then she called her house. No one answered, but ten minutes later Sam called, asking if she could drive over. Lynne replied that of course she could, but she said nothing else. She took care on the roads, but since Eric's return, the weather had been mild.

She parked in the driveway, but left the engine running. Then she turned it off. Sam hadn't instructed her about how to deliver her purchases and while she ached to step inside the gate, she didn't want to antagonize her husband. If Eric didn't want her to see him right now, she needed to respect his wishes. Renee's words still rumbled through Lynne's head.

But how would she tell Sam she was there? She stepped from the car, taking a bag of cold items from the trunk. If nothing else, these groceries needed to be refrigerated and with hesitant steps, Lynne approached the gate, letting herself inside. The house looked unchanged, but smoke rose from the chimney. The scent of burning wood warmed her, then she headed for her front door.

It was locked, so she used her key, making plenty of noise as she did so. The only sound she heard was the crackling fire, so she quietly put the groceries into the fridge. As she reached the door to leave, she heard someone coming down the stairs. She knew it was Sam from how he plodded differently than Eric.

He entered the kitchen with a finger to his lips. She nodded and he joined her at the door. "He's asleep. I tried calling the house, but you were already on your way. Need some help?"

She nodded and they wordlessly stepped outside. They gathered all the bags in one trip, but remained hushed while walking toward the house. Once inside, they stayed quiet; Sam took the new sheets into the living room while Lynne put away the sundries. Sam returned, then motioned for her to follow him. They went to the furthest corner of the living room, but Lynne noticed her bedroom door was open, Eric's familiar snores drifting along the landing.

Her heart raced, but she stayed where she was, heat from the fire coiling around her as if trying to keep her there. "How is he?"

"Better," Sam smiled. "I think he's turned a corner. He ate some pumpkin pie earlier, has kept it down. I wasn't sure about it, but he said if he couldn't eat some of your pie, what was the point in living?"

Sam's whisper was lighthearted and while Lynne was grateful for it and the news, she couldn't stay in that house for much longer. "Well, that's good. Is Renee coming over later?"

He nodded. "She gets off around six. She felt bad that she couldn't get out for the groceries, but...."

"It gave me something to do, so it was no trouble."

"Well, that's good. I imagine you're getting a little stir-crazy."

"I'm finally winning some games of Solitaire, so there's that."

He smiled, then grasped her hands. "If he continues to improve, maybe sometime this weekend you can see him. He woke this morning looking so much better and...."

"Sam, I'll just go. I don't wanna...." Lynne forced a smile, but started walking toward the kitchen. Passing the stairs was the hardest part, but as she reached the kitchen doorway, her heartbeat eased, no longer the throbbing ache that had nearly forced her up those stairs to see him. She just wanted to....

"Lynne, wait."

She stopped at the table. "No Sam, you're right, I should leave. I can't be here."

"His eyes are the worst of it, but he's dead to the world, so to speak. Actually, I'd like to show you something, if you can take it."

"What Sam?" Renee had been right and so had this man. Eric was better in Sam's capable hands, even if he wasn't a nurse. Eric didn't need someone trained in human physiology, but schooled in life's more precarious traumas. "Just tell him I love him, that I'll wait for him Sam, please?"

Only days ago Sam had been pleading with her to leave. Now Lynne cringed at the thought of seeing Eric still in flux. Five days had passed; before he would have been fully transformed, even his eating habits back to normal. Before... Lynne bristled at that word. All she had was that moment, nothing in their past mattered.

"Actually Lynne, I need your opinion. I think his left foot's better." Sam quietly cleared his throat. "He told me what happened, we've had a lot of time to talk as you can imagine. I didn't know what to say, I mean, I almost couldn't listen to him. This morning his legs were normal, but his left foot wasn't...."

"It wasn't what?"

"Well, it's still misshapen, but it doesn't look as bad as before. Not that I'd ever seen his left foot exposed, but the shoe he wears is pretty big. I was looking at it right before I heard you downstairs. I was trying to determine if his shoe was as big as his foot is now and I don't think it is."

"Are you serious?"

"Can you come up, just to see it?"

"Well, I...I don't wanna wake him."

"No, I can tell when he's deeply unconscious. I think that's when his body makes the most progress. That was the problem for the first few days. He couldn't sleep, which meant he couldn't transform. I think he was too worried about you, but now, well, Renee gave him an earful last night and...."

Lynne had a hard time considering all this news; Renee had talked to Eric and Sam knew how Eric's foot had been damaged and now Sam was telling her that Eric's foot didn't seem as bad as before. Before made Lynne clench her teeth, then she nodded. "All right, I'll look but...."

Sam had a small smile. Then he led her up the stairs, both stepping quietly. Eric's snores made Lynne shiver, then she closed her eyes, feeling dizzy as Sam walked her to the couple's bed. The room didn't smell of bird, which allowed Lynne to open her eyes. Feathers dotted the floor, but Sam didn't try to move them away. Instead he lifted the blanket over Eric's legs. He was curled on his right side, his left foot exposed. Lynne kept her gaze from his head, mostly concealed by the sheet. She stared at that foot, which to her utter amazement looked nearly healed.

Nodding frantically, she glanced at Sam. He nodded back, then she gazed more closely at her husband. Eric's toes were no longer gnarled, and while scars remained, they were faint compared to previously. His skin was jaundiced, but Lynne wasn't repulsed, for that was how he had looked in March, and it had taken days for that to fade. His legs were also free from feathers, but his flesh seemed to still be forming. She again examined his foot, then smiled, gripping Sam's hand. Some manner of healing had occurred.

Back in the living room, Lynne asked if Eric had noticed it yet, and if he had put any weight on it. Sam said that Eric had walked around the room late last night, but it had been dark, and Sam hadn't seen if Eric was walking on feet or claws. Eric hadn't said anything about it that morning, but when Sam had checked him over, he'd noticed that Eric did indeed have feet, and that the left foot wasn't much different than the right. Lynne verified Sam's suspicions, then they embraced. Lynne glanced up to her bedroom once more, then she led Sam into the kitchen. He walked her to the gate, but their words were few. Perhaps that weekend, Lynne might get to see Eric if his recovery continued in this vein.

As Lynne drove back to the Aherns, she thought about Eric's foot, then she pondered other details; that Renee had spoken to Eric pleased Lynne, then Lynne wondered how Eric had told Sam how his foot had been maimed. She reached the Aherns' street, parking in front of the house. She wanted to cry, many emotions teeming within her. She had been so close to him, but he had been unaware of her, how deeply unconscious had he been? What remained left to alter and why was Sam so leery of her seeing Eric's eyes?

Maybe his face was still misshapen, although tufts of his hair had poked out from the blanket. He was still a towhead and she took deep breaths. Getting out of the car, Lynne noted a cool breeze, but it wasn't as bitter as last week. A week ago she didn't know where he was. Now she had seen him, although not touched him. His foot was improved for all his sufferings, but what about his mind? She let herself in the house, then flopped onto the sofa. Then Lynne wiped tears from her cheeks, gazing across at the blue barn. What was actually inside it, or what had Eric imagined the interiors were when he painted it? Perhaps, in a matter of days, she would get to ask him in person.
Chapter 23

Renee was off on Friday and she spent that morning doing laundry at the Snyders while Sam slept on the sofa and Eric snored in the master bedroom. Renee was thankful that the Snyders had a separate room, off the kitchen, where the washer and dryer could run all day, not disturbing those who needed their rest. It wasn't only Eric whom Renee considered, although that morning he seemed far improved, except for his eyes. He kept them closed when she came in the room, but his arms were mostly healed, and he proudly exhibited his left foot, which looked very much like the right one. According to Eric, previously there had been a world of difference and he couldn't wait to show Lynne.

Eric knew she had seen him, but he hadn't scolded Sam, for all she had noted were his lower legs, and Sam had required the only person who could verify that indeed, five months spent as a hawk had permitted one benefit. Eric had told Renee that it didn't ache at all, that he could live with the few remaining scars. She would have laughed along with him except that during their exchange he kept his eyes closed, often tilting his head down. But the joy in his voice was infectious and Renee had left the bedroom with a light heart, not thinking about how Eric's foot had been damaged until well after both Eric and Sam were asleep.

Renee had been worried about her husband, for Sam hadn't gotten proper rest in a week. How he survived on catnaps was akin to how he'd lived in battles with other exhausted men, but at least now, Sam had told her, his main concern was if Eric's eyes would heal. The way he'd said it had made Renee's skin crawl, both in the gravity of her husband's voice and for that caveat. She tried not to think about her weary spouse existing for weeks on end without enough sleep. Since Eric's return, Renee had reverted to how she had lived while Sam was gone, at times pacing her life by the hour. Work had been a godsend and it was easier now that Lynne was gone. Renee could slip back into her Catholic clique, pretending for those moments that her biggest problems were church-related. But then President-Elect Kennedy would be mentioned, his beautiful wife and their two children. Renee would drift away, not that she wasn't happy for Mrs. Kennedy, who had just given birth to a son the day after Thanksgiving. That news reminded Renee of what she had said to Lynne about their husbands. They never would fully understand them, nor would two wives ever accomplish what Mrs. Kennedy had, the birth of a healthy baby.

That hadn't been what Renee meant at the time, or maybe it was so implied between Renee and Lynne that now Renee couldn't escape it. Because what if Eric's foot wasn't the only part of him to have been restored? She kept that to herself, but couldn't discount it. During the campaign, Renee had read that Mrs. Kennedy had suffered a stillbirth four years ago, so not every Catholic woman had an easy time of it. The President-Elect's younger brother Robert had several children with his wife, but every woman was different.

Renee had also considered that she and Sam hadn't conceived before he left for Korea. Maybe that had also been a part of her anger the day she had slapped him. As she put sheets in the dryer, then threw more into the washer, Renee pondered what kind of mother she would have made. She loved her job, wasn't exactly the homemaker sort. Often Sam did their laundry, leaving her with the ironing, which she didn't mind. It was one of the few household tasks she did, as he vacuumed, dusted, and shopped. She always mopped, but he took out the trash, and tended to their yard, which wasn't at all comparable to the Snyders'. Renee didn't mind folding sheets, but was glad not to worry about a garden.

Lynne had kept the Aherns' home tidy, not much for her to do but clean, play cards, and wait. But Renee was glad Lynne had quit when she did, even if she was bored now. Better for her to be playing Solitaire than endure the mindless chatter at work. Now that Lynne was gone, the rumors had ratcheted up, even around Renee. But she found humorous those whispered insinuations that she and Lynne were lovers. What would people come up with next?

Renee stacked flat sheets and pillowcases, then grabbed a dry fitted sheet from the basket. She never ironed their linens, just her clothes and Sam's trousers and nice shirts. She wasn't sure if Lynne wanted crisp sheets, but at this point, Eric was fine to sleep on whatever Renee put in the hall closet. Now Eric was comfortable enough around her that she could change his bedding, but during those first days, Sam had done it all. Now he snored soundly and it made her smile. He needed several straight nights' sleep and daytime naps as well. And as soon as Eric was better, Renee was going to enforce that within her own home. Let Lynne nurse Eric while Renee kept an eye on Sam.

She put the sheets on a chair near the table. She could take them upstairs later when Sam was awake or if Eric needed something. He was walking without assistance now, could use the toilet on his own, and bathe himself. Sam had swept the bedroom that morning, gathering what he hoped were the last of the feathers. Eric had told him to put them on the burn pile, thirty feet away from the studio. He would torch them when the weather was good and he was back on his feet. Renee wondered if that was part of the routine, then she shook her head. Usually Eric transformed outside; maybe those feathers blew away on a stiff wind. Now they were waiting for his eyes to revert to normal. He could see, Renee knew that, and maybe his sight was improved, but his eyes weren't human in appearance and until they were, Lynne was still forbidden to approach her husband. Standing at the kitchen doorway, Renee could see Sam lying on the sofa, a blanket over him. The fire was dying, but the house wasn't cold, for the weather had turned balmy like a late Indian summer. Theoretically winter wasn't until right before Christmas; Eric had made good on his pledge to be home by then.

Renee stepped toward the table, sitting in a chair next to the stacked sheets. The last load was in the washer and Renee had bleached out the biggest stains. Sam had asked for more only because as Eric's skin healed, the linens weren't usable for long, and Sam hadn't been able to keep up with the wash and care for Eric both. Suddenly the worst was over, or the messiest part. Not that Renee had seen it, but she had been present while parts of it occurred, and she would never forget the sounds Eric had made, like something from a horror film. Had Christ uttered such turmoil as he was crucified; he'd still been a man after all. Renee had tried to filter out Eric's agony by considering Jesus' trial, then she'd had to step outside, but her ears still rang with those screams. How in God's name had Sam stayed with him and had Lynne ever heard such shrieks?

Lynne wasn't told about those inhumane cries, worse than any woman's labor Renee had attended. She would never again be fazed by childbirth, for she had sonically witnessed a man being reborn, and there was no comparison. She would have to watch herself when new mothers grew testy. Renee had never snapped at a woman in labor, even those most squawky, but nothing had prepared her for what Eric had endured.

Sam snorted, then coughed. Renee remained in her seat, but she stood as he got up from the sofa. She met him at the stairs and he nodded, still half-asleep. Then he went up and as he did, she heard Eric moving about. Renee didn't follow her husband; she added wood to the fire, then folded the blankets, askew on the floor.

It took ten minutes for Sam to return, but now he was alert. "Call Lynne," he said calmly, but excitement rang through his voice.

Renee stared toward the Snyder bedroom. "And what should I tell her?"

"Ask if she has a minute. Someone would like to see her."

Renee's lip trembled and she grasped Sam's hands. "Are you serious?"

He nodded, then smiled. "His eyes look, well, maybe they're as good as they're gonna get, but he wants to see her so...."

Renee released Sam's hands, then rushed into the kitchen. She picked up the receiver, then stopped, putting it back in the cradle. She turned around, but Sam wasn't there. She heard him over her head, but the men's voices were muffled. Only hours ago, Eric wouldn't reveal his eyes to her, had something happened during his nap?

She grabbed the linens, taking the stairs with care. She put away the sheets, then walked to the master bedroom door. "Sam, I, uh...."

"What'd she say?" Eric asked.

Renee took one step into the room. "I just wanted to make sure before I called her. Are you really ready?"

Eric smiled and while his eyes weren't completely correct, they were open. "Yes please, Renee. I, I...."

Renee was down the stairs before Eric could finish his sentence.

Outside the gate, Sam waited for Lynne. He wanted to see her joy and to warn her. The rest of Eric was restored, although one bodily function was still questionable. Eric's semen remained a dark gray color and Eric had told Sam he wouldn't make love to Lynne until it was normal. Neither had mentioned this to Renee and while Sam wouldn't broach it with Lynne, he wanted to explain Eric's eyes. They weren't wholly human, but no longer were they perfectly round. Renee said they looked surgically altered, but Sam was hoping that after a few more nights' rest, Eric's eyes would revert to their previous shape and color. It was the last part of him, other than ejaculation, that was still impaired.

A car approached and Sam smiled. Lynne parked in the driveway, quickly getting out, then she ran to him. Sam caught her in a brief embrace. "He can't wait to see you."

She pulled away, hurrying to the gate. Sam walked more slowly and Lynne gazed at him. "What is it?"

"Let's get inside."

Lynne opened the gate and Sam closed it. Then he held her hands. "His eyes are still more round than oval and they're...."

"Sam, I don't care about his eyes. Are you sure he wants to see me?"

Sam chuckled. "Oh yeah, he's ready. But Lynne, he, uh...."

"What?"

"He needs time to be, you know...."

"Intimate?"

Sam nodded, then blushed. Then he cleared his throat. "I'll let him explain."

She smiled, then gripped his hand. She took several brisk steps, then she paused. "Sam, is it just his eyes that aren't right?"

"Well, technically yes, I mean...."

"Samuel, you can tell me anything."

"Eric wants to tell you."

Lynne put her hands on her hips. "What is it?"

He whispered in her ear, then stood back, looking sheepish. Lynne nodded thoughtfully. "Well, that's new." Then she shrugged. "At this point, what difference does it make? He's home and he wants, he's ready to, he's asked for...."

She began to cry. Sam led her to the house, their steps slow but steady.

She was still weeping when they entered the kitchen and while taking off her jacket. As soon as Sam closed the door, Eric called out Lynne's name. He was seated on the sofa, having been helped downstairs by Renee. He stood with her assistance as Lynne and Sam stepped through the kitchen doorway. The Snyders stared at one another, lips trembling and hearts racing, but being this close to Lynne overwhelmed Eric. Before he could speak, he burst into tears. Then he was wrapped tightly within her grasp, both of them sobbing the other's name.

Renee and Sam guided them to the sofa, then the Aherns exited the living room. Eric wasn't sure where they went; all he noted was his wife's warm and wonderful scent, her soft skin against his cheek, her hands ruffling his hair. He wanted to touch hers, but it wasn't the same, and he kept that small sorrow to himself. Instead he nuzzled against her brow, not yet ready for her to inspect his eyes. They felt normal, which at first had thrilled him until Sam said they still weren't quite right. But for the first time his body seemed like before and maybe that had been enough. Now, with Lynne in his arms, he wondered why he had hesitated; had keeping her away harmed her? She had cut her hair, but that was before he came home. He finally stroked the length of it, then he smiled. "It's not as short as Renee said it was."

Lynne pulled away, then traced around his eyes. "I was sick of it, to tell you the truth. I never thought about you wanting to...."

He kissed her lips, then again nuzzled her forehead. "It doesn't matter, all that matters is...."

"I love you, oh my God Eric, I love...."

Now he kissed her with vigor and she responded with equal need. Adrenaline shot through him and he didn't care if the Aherns were in the next room or upstairs or.... Then Eric pulled away. "Did Sam say anything about...."

Lynne nodded. "Does it feel different?"

He smiled, shaking his head. "It just looks strange. I don't wanna...."

"I know, that's fine." She inhaled, her smile beatific. Again she traced around his eyes. "They aren't quite there, but soon." She giggled. "How's your foot?"

He looked down, wiggling his left toes. Then he met her gaze. "Still looks a little rough, but there's no pain, no...."

He stopped speaking as her tears fell onto his hand. Closing his eyes, Eric brushed that wetness against them. Maybe her joy would speed the final healing, for these tears weren't from sorrow. They did burn, but he ignored it, too enraptured by her presence. "I'm sorry about keeping you away, but it wasn't something I wanted you to see."

She nodded, then gripped his hands. "I know and I'm sorry you had to go through it at all."

Eric opened his eyes. "I saw my father, did Sam tell you?"

"No, he didn't. Oh Eric, oh honey!"

He nodded. "That's why I was gone for so long. I spent, Christ, I don't know how long there, but God, it was, oh baby, so good. So...." He knew why his foot was better, or what could pass as the basis for a miracle. Then he nestled against her, wanting to strip away her clothing, pressing himself right along her skin.

But he wouldn't go any further until he was one hundred percent human. Whatever he was secreting wasn't normal; he had noticed it the third or fourth night, having woken from a dream about Lynne. It had been his first wet dream since he was a teenager and while changing the sheets, Sam had noticed the dark tint. It had lightened some, but Eric would take no chances. Yet, like Renee, Eric had wondered if his foot wasn't the only fault repaired.

Eric gazed at the kitchen doorway, sensing Sam before that man cleared his throat. After Sam coughed, Eric smiled, and Lynne turned to see Sam with Renee at his side. "I think we'll leave you two alone. If you want company, just call."

"Oh yes. Thank you for everything." Lynne stood from the sofa, then looked at Eric as if to ask if he wanted to stand. He shook his head, still weary from coming down the stairs. But Renee had been right; he needed to start exercising his legs, which were weak from underuse and malnutrition. Eric had put on ten pounds in the last week, his initial bony frame another reason he hadn't immediately wanted Lynne to see him.

Lynne hugged the Aherns, then Sam pulled away, stepping to the sofa. He knelt in front of Eric. "If you need or want anything, all you have to do is...."

"I know." Eric smiled. "I never had a brother before but...."

"And now I have one more." Sam laughed as he stood, gently patted Eric's shoulder. Then Lynne embraced him again, telling him thanks. Eric waved at Renee, who was trying to hide her tears. Sam led his wife from the living room and Lynne followed them as far as the kitchen door. She locked it, then returned to the sofa, sitting at her husband's side.

The fire made the only noise as she stroked his face and neck while he caressed her arms and waist. Then their hands came together, fingers entwined. Eric's breaths were deep, then shallow, his heartbeat and pulse off the scale. "I have so much to tell you," but his voice was a hoarse whisper. "Lynne, I am so, so...."

Her kiss stopped his apology. He wanted to merge into all of her skin, relaying everything he had learned, then plead for clemency. Yet, mercy was proffered as she grazed his back, alternating tender grasps with needy clutches. She broke off the kiss, catching her breath. She laid her palm against his face, her smile a beacon. "Oh Eric, oh my God!"

"What?"

"Your eyes, oh honey, I swear they're normal. Eric, come look."

She stood, then held out her hands, which he gripped with all of his remaining strength. She hoisted him from the sofa, then walked him to a mirror across the room. Eric gazed into it, then he backed away. Within his wife's arms, his eyes had changed. Other than the slight burn, he hadn't felt any painful sensation, although he'd been so swept away, perhaps passion had cloaked the ache.

"Sam won't believe this," Eric chuckled, staring into the mirror again. He touched the edges of his eyes, for now there were edges. Then he looked at his foot. He curled his toes, then bent his ankle. Previously those movements would have caused discomfort as well as a wave of traumatic memories. Now there was no sense of agony, physical or psychological.

Lynne snuggled next to him and while he felt a bit dizzy, he was able to hold her, or maybe she was supporting him, but it didn't feel wrong. "I love you baby, oh God, I wanna lay down with you, I wanna...."

"Me too."

He smiled. "Renee changed the sheets again, well, right after she got me downstairs. I think she'd been doing laundry all morning, but they're clean right now."

Lynne chuckled. "Eric, I just wanna lie next to you, I never wanna be away from you again."

He nodded as she led them to the stairs. He gripped the railing while Lynne covered the fire with the grate. Then she helped him up the steps. As they reached their door, he stopped her. "We'll need a new bed soon. I mean, it doesn't smell bad, but...."

"We need a new sofa too. Maybe for Christmas we'll splurge, redo the whole house."

"Sam said you just quit work."

She nodded. "Eric, we can talk about this later."

"No, Lynne, wait." He stroked her hair again, the length not as abrupt as when he first saw her. But then he hadn't looked the same either. Now his eyes were fine; Sam might not believe it had happened that quickly. And Lynne's hair would grow out, perhaps by summer. She wasn't working, would be home all the time. He stretched out his right arm. He had no idea when he would paint again, but when he did, he knew exactly what he wanted to depict. That made him smile as did the way Lynne removed her sweater, then her blouse, right there on the landing. "Shouldn't we go inside the bedroom, Mrs. Snyder?"

She had a throaty laugh, making Eric weak. "Rumors are that you're married to a lesbian."

Eric laughed out loud. "You and Renee, huh?"

"Allegedly I have a thing for redheads."

"Do you still prefer blondes?"

"Oh yes," she smiled, tousling his hair. "Blonde enigmatic painters drive me crazy."

"I missed you, I didn't know anything after I left my father except I had to come home to...." He winced, then smiled. She was his wife, his soul mate. And she was the most potent healing force he had ever known. "Let me make love to you Lynne. I've wanted to make love to you for...."

Her kiss silenced him as she led him, step by step, to their bed. Eric sat on the edge as she undressed. Then she lay in the center of the mattress.

He was still weak and was adjusting to his human-shaped eyes. Using his last bit of strength, Eric climbed atop her as Lynne pulled the blankets over them, softly crying out his name.
Chapter 24

The Snyders' Christmas preparations did include new home furnishings. By mid-December, Eric and Lynne slept on a new queen-sized bed and their sofa had also been replaced. The old couch was moved to the studio, but Eric had yet to paint anything. He had spoken to Stanford the day after Lynne returned to the house. Stanford had been slightly cool toward the painter, but a subsequent chat a week later revealed no obvious cracks in their relationship. Another week had passed when the Snyders received Christmas cards from both Stanford and Lawrence, and while Eric seemed surprised, Lynne wasn't. She still hadn't told Eric about Stanford's slip in September. There had been other issues to discuss.

But Eric didn't speak about his dad right away. Eric and Lynne spent much of those first two weeks reclaiming the other, mostly in that new bed, also out of it. On nice days, when he was feeling strong, they walked in the garden. Taking slow steps, they spoke little, for words weren't necessary. Often Eric leaned upon Lynne, but as the days passed, his appetite increased along with his stamina. Since Lynne didn't have to leave, she poured all of her nursing energies into her husband and Eric fared well from her attentions. The Aherns visited a few times, only for cups of coffee and slices of pie. The two couples needed the break, but plans had been made for Christmas to be celebrated at Sam and Renee's. While neither Ahern had pointedly asked, the implied invitation to midnight mass had been issued. Lynne wanted to go and Eric was amenable, although they would wait until the date neared to tell the Aherns of their intentions.

Lynne had told her husband that while she wasn't considering becoming a Catholic, she had prayed for him, and felt that someone had been listening. Eric had smiled, for in a way he'd had a similar experience with his father. The couple traded stories; five months had created a small gulf to navigate and neither wanted to overwhelm the other. Eric's revelations were more significant, but what Lynne had discovered wasn't ignored.

In the evenings they sat on the new sofa, a fire crackling, a few decorations signifying the impending holiday. Eric wanted a Christmas tree and Sam said he would pick one out and bring it over in the coming week. As these details were shared, Lynne snuggled beside her husband, wondering how she had fallen asleep in this room by herself. Perhaps it had been possible because of all the love made on their old sofa right before Eric left. They hadn't had intercourse since his return, but pleasure had been shared in a multitude of manners. She had also started her period, which had eased some of their longings, but now she was almost done and his semen looked very close to normal. They didn't discuss what that discoloration meant and Lynne didn't mull it over inwardly. That Eric was home and completely human was the only Christmas gift she needed.

That he had earned great peace from that long journey was priceless and it was while lounging on the sofa they could speak about that part of his absence. He wasn't sure how long it had taken to find his father; the weather was still warm when he reached the prison. Eric wasn't sure how he knew his dad was there, but as he always made his way back home, perhaps it was all based upon instinct. He had easily spotted Howard Snyder, a tall man and still burly. But he had aged and walked with a limp. It had taken Eric several weeks to discern the history behind that injury, but by then, Eric had learned much about the man who had caused his wife and son such devastating heartache.

Other prisoners were drawn to the predatory bird, but Eric focused his attention on Howard, who soon became possessive of their time, which had at first unnerved Eric. Howard admitted that he was incarcerated for murder, once a bond had been established between father and son, a fact Eric couldn't escape. This was his father, but as the days wore on, it became easier to accept.

Eric had stayed until the first hard frost. By then, Howard and other prisoners weren't often allowed outside, and Eric hadn't wanted to fly in cold weather. But an early storm had knocked him off course and for several days he took shelter in abandoned buildings. Food was scarce, why he had come back so thin. But he wasn't deterred by the worsening conditions. As he quietly told his wife, not long after he left the prison he had forgotten that he'd ever been a man, all his considerations honed to surviving as a bird of prey.

Lynne had shuddered from his words. He had never lived as a hawk for that length of time, but as Eric noted, perhaps that had saved him. He never forgot his mate and he caressed Lynne's face as he spoke. A lover awaited him, spurring him on even when the cold made his wings ache and the rumble in his belly overpowered rational bird thought. Then Eric had smiled. No matter if he was hawk or human, he knew where he was needed. It wasn't until he had landed in their thicket that he recalled his mate's name and that had led to a near-breakdown when the transformation didn't immediately occur. Eric spared her the details, but gave thanks that Sam had been there. Only around that man had Eric felt safe, for the last thing Eric had wanted was to burden Lynne with his care.

She hadn't scolded him on that point, for now she wasn't sure if she could have contended with his prolonged alteration. She admitted that in the beginning she was angry, but as days passed and no major changes transpired, it had been easier to sit at the Aherns waiting for tidbits of news. Lynne reiterated that even if Eric hadn't altered, she would have stayed with him, but both were exceedingly grateful that the transformation had finally occurred.

Eric was still thin and every other day he napped in the afternoon. But Sam was catching forty winks here and there, Renee had told Lynne, so it was an ongoing process for both men. Since Lynne's return home, Eric hadn't spoken to Sam in depth, but Lynne understood the bond the men now shared. They were brothers, Eric had smiled. The Aherns were now the closest family Eric and Lynne Snyder possessed. The secret had initiated the connection, but now there was no going back for any of them.

Lynne was looking forward to Christmas dinner at the Aherns in that by then perhaps some of the last months' events would be dimmed. Eric hadn't mentioned any sense of needing to revisit his father and while neither said it, perhaps another transformation would be months away. Eric hadn't talked about an exhibit in the new year, but Lynne assumed that after the holiday, Stanford would call, or maybe Eric would get in touch with his dealer. Lynne didn't mention the studio, but she had informed Eric that both Stanford and Lawrence Abrams had seen her portraits. And that she didn't mind if they were shown or sold. Eric had been surprised, but quietly pleased. He had spent an afternoon examining his canvases and had asked Lynne why the painting of the fire was displayed. She told him about that night and how that painting had again radiated heat. Eric had wiped away her tears, then led her to their room where they had spent the next few hours in bed. She had just started her period, perhaps that had stoked her moody declaration. Or that she wanted him to know just how unique were his paintings.

That Saturday evening the couple didn't talk much about anything. They necked passionately and only stopped when Eric added more wood to the fire. When the clock chimed eleven both laughed, lost to the time. Eric put the grate in front of the flames, then sat beside his wife, who wasn't wearing any upper clothing. "Aren't you cold?" he asked.

"How can I be?" she giggled. "Are you?"

He smiled, shaking his head. "But I'm still dressed, unlike you."

"Maybe you should rectify that," she teased.

"Maybe I'll give the fire another fifteen minutes, then take you upstairs and...."

She kissed him, which led them to another long session of necking. When the clock chimed eleven thirty, they broke apart in laughter. The fire was nearly dead, but they hadn't noticed. Eric stood, then helped Lynne from the couch. She slipped on her blouse, but left her sweater where it had landed on the floor. She went up first while he checked the doors. When Eric reached their bedroom, Lynne lay under the covers, but with the blankets pulled to her neck, he wasn't sure if she was nude underneath.

Yesterday his semen had appeared normal, but she was still achy, and he had wanted to be absolutely certain before they made love. That morning he had ejaculated as the tub drained and again all looked as expected. Eric undressed, then got into bed. "Chilly up here," he said, snuggling against Lynne's naked body. "But you're warm enough."

"Yes I am. Eric, can we...."

"Oh yes, I think we can."

She giggled as he lay on top of her. At first their kisses were brief, then turned into the ardent exchanges shared on the sofa. Yet Eric didn't initiate any more than fervent cuddling. Lynne tried to accommodate something more intimate. Eric, however, seemed not to notice.

"Is everything all right?" she asked as they caught their breaths. "Do you wanna wait another day?"

"I just, I dunno. It's been so long, but now I'm...." He sighed. "Lynne, it's different now."

"How?"

He moved to her side, then wrapped her in his arms. "I feel like a different man sometimes."

"Like a hawk still?"

"No, it's not that."

"Is it something to do with your father?"

It was, in part. It was also in what Eric wanted to give his wife, what he thought might now be possible. Several times he had wondered if his irregularly colored semen was indicative of his extended time as a bird, or was it due to another alteration. His foot still bore scars, but no longer was it misshapen. He'd bought new shoes and hadn't needed the left one to be altered. What if.... "Lynne, maybe now we could...."

But even thinking about it made Eric hesitant and that too was related to his father. Howard Snyder had maliciously poured scalding water on his five-year-old son's left foot, then stomped on it, causing a little boy to black out from pain, then blot out much of the memory. Why Howard had done something so vile Eric never knew until recently. Howard had never given his wife any decent explanation, other than he'd been drunk and Emma had been working, Eric the only target for a father's inexplicable rage. But during summer, Eric learned that Howard had been viciously beaten by his father from the time he was younger than Eric when his foot was ruined. Howard had felt some guilt over that incident, but his tortured upbringing muted most of the blatant horror, and for many years he blamed Eric for the entire episode. Howard told the hawk how at one point he had almost killed his son when that boy interfered with Howard giving his wife a damn good pounding. Howard never spoke Eric's name, but Emma had been asking for it, harping how he didn't do anything but drink and cause her misery. Howard had wielded an iron skillet and would have smashed her head in until his boy yanked on his arm, causing him to fall over backwards.

Howard had retrieved the skillet, narrowly missing bashing it into his son's face. Then the boy, who was maybe nine or ten, Howard couldn't remember, picked his mother off the floor and pulled her out of the house, calling for help. How he did that, Howard mused quietly, was a mystery. That boy had a hard time walking, wasn't more than a slip of a thing. He was wiry though, Howard said to the hawk, wiry and...strange. Sometimes that boy disappeared into thin air. He'd be gone for a day or two, then come back, and Howard never knew how that happened.

Eric didn't understand many things about his sojourn, not how he flew home with the mind of a bird, but then recalled every detail with clarity. He wasn't sure how he had even found his dad, or returned to Lynne. He had no idea how he had managed to sit day in and out as a convicted murderer spilled his guts, at times in a contrite tone, but at others with no regard for his previous actions. But what confused Eric the most was learning that he was the descendant of violent drunkards who had cruelly abused their children. As Howard recounted his abysmal childhood, Eric had been relieved for not having passed along those genes. But now, lying so close to Lynne, all his previous desires stirred within him. He ached to make love to her for possibly now they could conceive a baby. His foot was healed, perhaps his reproductive health had been restored. But if it was, might it be better to remain childless than to further a damaged genetic history?

"Eric, what are you thinking?"

Tenderly he kissed the top of her head. Then he realized he was flaccid. "I was thinking about...." He sighed, then stroked her waist and hip. Immediately he was hard, which pleased him, but doubts remained. "Lynne, I wanna see a doctor."

She flinched, then stared at him. "For what?"

"To see if I'm sterile."

"Eric...."

"I wanna know if my foot's an isolated case. Although...." He grimaced. If he saw his regular physician, that man would inquire about Eric's mostly healed left foot. Eric could lie, noting that his extended absence had been to fix that previously damaged limb, but he wanted to keep falsehoods to a minimum. "Honey, I've wanted to do this for a while and...."

"But what if they find some other abnormality?"

He inhaled deeply. That was a danger. "Lynne, I know all we've ever wanted was to have a child. And I do, I mean...."

"Now it's different. Eric, I understand." She stroked his face. "After you were gone, I realized how difficult it would've been if we'd had kids, trying to explain your absences, or if they saw you change. It wasn't easy accepting that, but our lives are this way for a purpose, and so's...." She sighed, then kissed him. "Our infertility. Can you imagine what it would be like if we had...." She winced. "It's for the best and yeah, while your foot's better, maybe this is still the same."

She placed her palm against her belly, then on his groin. He wasn't hard, but her touch was soothing. Eric nodded, then put his hand over hers. "But what if something has changed, what if it's been me all along, but now maybe...."

"Eric, if for some reason I do conceive your baby, I, I...." Lynne sniffled, trying to fight tears. "Well, I don't know what I'd do or how I'd feel except sick and tired and eventually very big." She smiled, wiping her face. "Of course I'd have your baby, if that ever happened. But now it doesn't mean what it used to." She placed her hand over his heart. "You're all that matters to me, here in this bed, at my side, every morning and night. I can't fathom anything else because you came home and became my husband again. I wasn't sure that either was gonna happen, but you returned, and your foot's whole, mostly whole, and you're at peace, and you don't feel like you're going away anytime soon. You're my whole world, Eric Snyder, and it's always been that way, but I was distracted by what we couldn't make. Maybe I needed those five months just as much as you did. Because I learned that nothing means more to me than you, than us. We're our own family, Sam and Renee too. You and I never had any siblings and now we do and there aren't any secrets between us. And for the rest of my days I'm gonna be here, bugging you about this and that, getting in your way as you try to paint." She giggled. "Because you are gonna paint again Eric and soon, I can tell. You're getting that look in your eye, in your beautiful human eyes." She traced around his eyes, then kissed his nose, making him chuckle. "Who knows what you're gonna paint next, but I have you, and you certainly have me, and what more do we need?"

He absorbed her statement, then nodded. "You're absolutely correct. But what if we...."

"If that happens, then I'll be big and uncomfortable and very happy to have...." Her voice broke, but she smiled. "And I hope Sam and Renee won't mind."

Eric nodded, for he had considered their reactions. Then he smiled widely. "All right. Well, then I guess we have that out of the way."

"Well, mostly out of the way." Now her tone teased as she stroked his erection.

He chuckled as she lay down. Eric pressed into her, making her moan. "Oh Lynne, there is one other thing."

"Yes?"

"I do know what I wanna paint next."

"Uh-huh."

Eric lay on top of her, easing himself into the crook of her thigh. "I want to paint you Lynne. I wanna paint...."

"Oh Eric, oh my God, please...."

"Can I paint you like this?"

"Like this?" she gasped.

"Just like this," he panted, nearly inside her.

Lynne took shallow breaths, then fully widened her hips. As Eric slid inside her, she nodded, then cried out his name. They climaxed immediately, limbs entangled, their hearts pounding. Eric didn't think about anything but colors, vibrant and rich, and exactly how he would depict the final aspect of his homecoming, wrapped tightly against the most important person in the world.
Chapter 25

Eric and Lynne started 1961 by sleeping late, then rising slowly. By the time the coffee was ready, snow was falling, and they spent most of that day in the living room until the light grew too dim for Eric to see. Lynne lay on the couch, which had been covered by a flannel sheet, and Eric stood feet away, painting his naked wife, or making love to her. The sheet hadn't merely been to protect the sofa from the spoils of passion, but from an artist's template. Eric painted wearing only briefs, jeans, and socks. He slipped out of the jeans and underwear when the urge arose, but kept on the socks, making his wife giggle. Then he made her scream.

This was his first serious attempt at work since his return, but on nice days he had dabbled, painting scenes from his trip. Those canvases had already been burned; they weren't landscapes but images of where his father was incarcerated. Eric had painted half a dozen of them, then set those scenes on the pile of damp feathers Sam had collected and doused it all with gasoline. A bright bonfire had burned three nights after Christmas, but the Aherns hadn't been present. Eric called Sam and told him the feathers were gone, but neither Eric nor Lynne remarked upon the paintings which had accompanied. As far as the Aherns knew, Eric had yet to test his talent. Stanford Taylor had no idea either.

Those images had been stirring in Eric's head when he wasn't in bed with Lynne or tackling simple household chores. He had wanted to purge them so he would be free to concentrate on a more beautiful subject, yet not as Lynne assumed he would paint her. But she didn't care in what manner he chose to depict what they meant to each other. As she sat up on the sofa, she shivered, then smiled. "I need a bath so badly."

"I do too," Eric laughed. "You go first while I clean up in here."

She nodded, then stood, wrapping the sheet around her. "When can I see it?"

He smiled. "Another day or so, is that all right?"

"That'll be fine." She walked to the stairs, then turned back. "Eric?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you. I'm so glad you're...." She paused. "Working again."

He chuckled. "I think you're really gonna like it. And I can't wait to show the Aherns."

Lynne had taken two steps, then she whipped around. "What? You wanna show this to Renee and Sam?"

"Of course. I think it'll knock their socks off. And I can't wait for Stanford's reaction. He'll think the blue barn is passé after he sees this."

Lynne wrapped the sheet more tightly around her bust. Then she grimaced, heading his way. Eric stopped her in the middle of the living room, kissing her left shoulder. "Go bathe Mrs. Snyder. I'll let you see it tomorrow."

"You better not have painted me sprawled out on the sofa. For God's sake, that would be indecent!"

"Well, you are the wife of an artiste, are you not?"

She rolled her eyes and he laughed. Then he pulled the sheet from her chest. He stroked her skin, then groaned. "Maybe you can wait on that bath. If you take it now, you'll just need to take another before bedtime."

"Oh honey, what're you doing, oh Eric!" Lynne dropped the sheet as her husband's affections increased. Then both were on the floor, mostly protected by the sheet, as love was made. But Eric kept his wife from viewing her portrait, making her cry in pleasure as he did so.

Two days later, Lynne spent the morning with Renee, who was off from work. Sam was at the VA hospital and the women shared coffee in the Aherns' kitchen. Lynne told Renee that Eric was finishing a painting and that it was of her. Renee asked what Lynne had been doing and when Lynne hemmed and hawed, Renee stared at her. Then Renee began to giggle. "Have you ever posed for him that way before?"

Lynne blushed, shaking her head. "It wasn't hard to pose actually; I was on the sofa." Then she chuckled. "But he says he wants to show it to you and Sam. I guess I'm warning you. And feel free to say no if you want. I certainly won't mind."

Renee laughed, then finished her coffee. "I'm sure it'll be very tasteful."

Lynne rolled her eyes. "I'm not so sure. I'm still trying to get paint off of me."

Renee's jaw dropped, then she sputtered in laughter. "Are you serious?"

"Completely serious, but don't you dare tell Sam I was so vulgar."

The women giggled for several minutes. Renee loved hearing that lightness from her friend, whom she now considered a sister. She grasped Lynne's hand, then squeezed. "I don't think it's at all distasteful. He loves you and after all that's happened...." Renee inhaled deeply. "I bet he'll paint a whole series of you like that and they'll all be beautiful."

"Well, thank goodness his next show will be the rest of the landscapes and me fully clothed."

"Yes and working so hard. Then the world will get to see the real Lynne Snyder." Renee smiled, then released Lynne's hand. "Unless you don't want those shown."

"To be honest with you, I don't know, and I suppose I won't until I see it. At least tonight I'll know a little more than I do now. He said he'd have it ready by suppertime."

Renee poured them more coffee, then returned to her chair. "How is he, I mean, I haven't seen him since Christmas."

"He's better, he's...." Lynne hesitated, then sipped her coffee. But she didn't elaborate.

Renee nodded. The Snyders had gone to midnight mass and Christmas Day had been more carefree than Renee and Sam had imagined. But it had been over a week since then and Renee had been eager for this ladies-only morning. Maybe Sam might stop by the Snyders after his work at the hospital, although if Eric was putting the final touches on a nude painting of his wife, he might not ask Sam inside. Then Renee chuckled. "How about I see it before Sam? He's not a prude, but he might feel awkward if it's too detailed."

Lynne smiled. "That's a good idea. He watched Eric turn into a man, but that's not quite the same."

"No, it's not." Renee kept her tone jovial, but while Eric's recuperation was going smoothly, Sam hadn't quite recovered from last month's harrowing events. He didn't want Eric and Lynne aware and Renee wouldn't betray her husband's request. Seeing Lynne Snyder nude might be slightly jarring, but it certainly wouldn't harm Sam. Well, Renee thought to herself, he might blush.

Lynne turned the conversation to more mundane topics and Renee was glad for that. It was nearly noon when Lynne said her goodbyes and Renee walked with her to the car. Before Lynne could start the engine, Sam pulled into the driveway, and Renee wished either he had been late or that Lynne was already gone. Sam got out, walking slowly. He had a headache; Renee could tell that from how he squinted. Lately he'd had several of them, a few nearly like migraines. He'd suffered from those right after he came back from Korea, but Renee hoped that these would fade and he wouldn't need to see his doctor.

"Hello Lynne." Sam's tone was slightly strained and Renee squeezed his hand. His grip was crushing; his pain was probably the same.

"Just leaving Sam. Shall I give Eric your best?"

"Oh please do." Sam's smile was forced. "But don't rush off on my account."

"I was all ready to start the engine. You take care now." Lynne turned the key and was down the street before Renee could wave goodbye.

Sam took several deep breaths and Renee steadied him. "Are you okay?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Just wanna lie down, see if I can sleep it off."

Slowly they walked to their front door. Sam stepped inside first and Renee was right behind him, locking the door, then pulling the shades. Sam went straight into the bedroom and Renee was on his heels, but the phone rang. "Go get it," Sam said.

"They'll wait."

"It might be Eric. Renee, please answer it."

"You're in no shape to help Eric Snyder Sam. You can barely function."

He motioned to the kitchen and Renee headed that way, rolling her eyes. "Men, humph!" She picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hi Renee, how are you?" Eric's chipper tone was loud and Renee hoped Sam was already lying on their bed.

"I'm fine. How are you?"

Eric spoke quickly, but Sam had heard enough as he now stood in the kitchen doorway. He stretched out his hand as if to take the call, but Renee waved him off. "Well Eric, to be honest, Sam's not feeling great and...."

Now Sam rolled his eyes, taking the phone from his wife's hand. He spoke softly and Eric matched his tone, for now Renee couldn't hear anything Eric said. But Sam's voice, while quiet, was clear. "Tonight? Uh, well, maybe. Yeah, I do have a little headache, sometimes the vets are a handful, you know? A painting, yeah?" Sam's tone perked up. "Really? Uh-huh. Mmmhmm. Oh, of Lynne? Well, um, I, um...."

Sam looked at Renee and she shrugged. Then she mouthed: It's up to you. It's a nude and...

"Well, Renee says she doesn't have anywhere to be tonight and...." Sam's voice was jovial, but his wife's stoplight eyes flashed. Then Renee walked out of the kitchen as Sam closed the phone call.

Sam found her sitting on the edge of their bed and he joined her, grasping her hand. "Well, I guess we're going to the Snyders tonight."

"I guess we are." Renee gritted her teeth. "And I guess you either didn't read my lips or you can't wait to see what Lynne looks like without any clothes on."

Sam chuckled. "Oh, is that what you said?"

She glared at him. "You know that's exactly what I said."

"Well, that's not what Eric said."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yup."

Renee tapped her foot, crossing her arms over her chest. Then she glanced at her husband again. "How's that headache Sam?"

"Not too bad. I could use some aspirin, a nap too, but it's not nearly as awful as when I came home."

"What'd he tell you? Because Lynne said it was definitely not the same kind of painting as he did of her before."

"Well, Eric said...." Then Sam burst into laughter, which was cut short as he gently rubbed his temples. "Maybe I should take something honey. But don't worry, I'll be fine for tonight."

Renee stood, shoving fists into her sides. "Sometimes I wanna slug you Sam Ahern."

"Well, it's been a while since you slapped me, maybe I'm due."

She huffed, then started to stomp from the room. She got a far as the door, then turned around. Sam still looked pained, but not as debilitated as ten minutes ago. Then she rushed to where he sat, kneeling in front of him. "Sam, I'm sorry, oh honey, I didn't mean...."

She flung herself into his lap, her red hair splayed out over his trousers. He stroked her head, patting her shoulder with his other hand. "Renee, it's all right. Oh baby, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be flippant."

She looked up at him, tears along her cheeks. "You need to take it easy. We can go over there another night. Maybe by then I'll know what that painting is...."

"And by then you might not let me see it."

She stared at him, then smirked. "I don't know what's up with you Sam Ahern, you or Eric. What's going on?"

"All he said is that despite what Lynne thinks, it's not that sort of painting at all. Now, I don't know what she told you, but Eric said even Fran could see it. Now if Frannie can see it, it can't be that lewd."

Renee got up from the floor, again sitting beside her husband. "Are you sure that's what Eric said?"

"As God as my witness." Sam grasped her hand. "Listen, I'll swallow some pills, get a rest, and we'll go over there after dinner. He didn't say anything about pie, but I bet...."

Renee shook her head, then shivered, even as Sam's chuckle reverberated through the room. She patted their clasped hands, then stood, bringing him three aspirins and some water. Sam took the pills, then removed his shoes and trousers, getting into bed. Renee went to leave, then paused. She didn't take off her clothes, but slipped off her shoes, then slid under the covers, falling asleep beside her snoring husband.

As the Aherns napped, Eric painted in the studio, wrapped up well to avoid the chill. Lynne baked an apple pie, but didn't disturb her husband, who came in at four o'clock just as the light was fading. He brought in the painting, putting it on the easel in the living room. The canvas faced the wall and Lynne didn't mention it. Eric built up the fire, then they ate a light supper. They discussed the Aherns and Stanford Taylor; that was as close as Eric came to talking about what waited in the living room.

Renee called at six, wanting to know when they should come over. Eric told her anytime was fine and that an apple pie waited for dessert. Lynne could hear anticipation in Renee's tone; was that from the pie or the painting? Eric seemed impossible to read, but he was especially affectionate, noting that as soon as the Aherns were gone, he wanted Lynne to pose for him in their bed. She asked if he was going to sketch her and he laughed, saying he wasn't sure. Their banter was naughty until twenty minutes later when visitors knocked on the front door.

Eric answered it and hugs were exchanged as coats were removed, wraps set over the kitchen chairs. Then the conversation abruptly stopped. Eric laughed at the silence, asking them to wait while he prepared his first showing since last year.

"It's gonna be a brief one," Sam called.

"Well, you might need some time to form an opinion," Eric chuckled.

The women smirked as neither believed what Eric had told Sam over the phone, then reiterated in the kitchen, that even Fran Canfield would admire this portrait. Eric cleared his throat, then asked them to step into the living room. "And whatever you do, don't speak immediately. Give it a few minutes to sink in."

Lynne shook her head, leading the trio. She didn't gaze at what sat on the easel, but at her husband, who wasn't smiling, although joy radiated from his entire body. Then Lynne heard the gasps, Renee's first, then Sam's. Their faces showed awe and appreciation. Lynne glanced at Eric, who nodded, then pointed to the canvas. Then he joined his wife, putting his arm around her. "I love you honey. This is all I see when I...."

He finished the sentence in a private whisper, but the words didn't make her blush. Instead she blinked away tears as the depth of his feelings burst from wide brushstrokes and brilliant color. She stepped close to the canvas, but didn't touch it, for in spots the paint was still settling. "Oh Eric, I don't believe it."

He smiled, kissing her cheek. "I can't begin to tell you how you make me feel. All I can do is show you either in paint or in...."

She nodded, fully aware of the only other place she comprehended his love, but it wasn't always in their bed. It had been on the sofa, or the living room floor, and once the weather was pleasant, out in his studio. Then she giggled; they would have to be discreet while contractors renovated the house. But Lynne would brave the elements and risk being seen in compromising positions for she was the wife of a magnificent painter. Eric had exceeded himself and again she wondered just how he had done it.

Her hair was a luscious chocolate field, waiting to be sown. Her freckled skin had been transformed into dappled acres of shining wildflowers, waving in what appeared as a soft wind. Eric had taken great care to incorporate her smile as a swath of vibrant red poppies, her nipples as circles of light pink tulips. Her pubic hair was a small patch of freshly tilled earth which trailed off into two more lengthy stretches of flora, mostly boysenberry vines from the look of them. Lynne blinked, then stood back, not seeing herself but a variety of plants that if stared at long enough might resemble a woman. Then she giggled. That was her, but unless the eye was discerning....

"Do you like it?" Eric asked her.

She nodded, a slow smile spreading across her face. "And for your next trick?"

He chuckled, then kissed her. "You'll be the first to know. Sam, Renee, what do you think?"

"I can't believe it," Renee said dreamily. "It's Lynne, but it's also the most luscious farm I've ever seen."

Sam still hadn't spoken and Eric stepped his way. "I think it's okay for your sister, I mean, you know her better than I do. She did let me sketch her while she nursed a baby, so I figured she wouldn't mind something like this."

A moment of quiet followed, then Sam gently slapped Eric's back. "Are you gonna show this to Stanford before your next exhibit?"

"Uh, well, I hadn't thought about it actually. You think I should?"

"Indeed," Sam nodded. "That way he'll get off my back about that barn painting." Sam looked at Eric, shaking his head. "It's beautiful, absolutely stunning." Sam glanced at Lynne, then he quickly turned away. Then he chuckled, approaching her, grasping her hands. "I suppose I've seen the best of you and the worst of him. What more is there?"

"I guess you have. There really aren't any secrets left now."

Together they again gazed at the painting. Renee joined them, hand-in-hand with Eric. They flanked their spouses, noting the emerald forest behind Lynne's hair, a lively blue river at her feet. But all were drawn back to her poppy smile, although Sam and Renee did steal peeks at her tulip breasts. Lynne was grateful for Eric's tactful interpretation. It was a good start to her posing for him without clothing in the way.

But it was just a beginning, she saw in his beaming smile, which spoke of more than relief for their appreciation. And to her surprise, she was eager to resume their sessions, wondering what else his fertile imagination and prodigious talent would produce. Then she looked at Sam, who quietly wept in Renee's arms. She handed him to Eric, who led Sam to the sofa as Renee motioned for Lynne to follow her to the kitchen. As the women readied dessert, the men spoke in low tones, but Lynne could hear Eric's fervent apologies as Sam muttered that Eric didn't need to be sorry or to thank him for anything. That was what Sam did for any of his brothers. As Renee started decaf, Lynne fought tears while the fire crackled, drowning out what else the men needed to say.
Chapter 26

In late January, Stanford visited the Snyders, and was shown that first painting of Eric's new series. Sam had been correct; after viewing Eric's interpretation of Lynne, Stanford forgot all about the blue barn, ruing the show that hadn't occurred last fall. But this series would be months from completion, Eric noted, as Stanford remained mesmerized by the poppies and tulips, the river and forest. Stanford had enough tact not to stare at Lynne when she brought the coffee, but as she walked away, the dealer couldn't help but watch her leave, her brown hair barely reaching the middle of her back. Then he gazed at her lengthy mane on the canvas, his smile wry but appreciative.

Stanford agreed that Eric's spring show would incorporate the rest of the nature series and those done of Lynne last year. Stanford even approved that some of the Ahern and Nolan family portraits should be included, but only the nature series and those of the artist's wife would be sold. Yet Stanford ached for this masterpiece to be among those canvases, if only to make a statement; Eric was all that Stanford had hoped he would be and Stanford couldn't wait to speak to Laurie, wishing he'd accompanied. Lynne had asked about Lawrence, her tone friendly. Eric hadn't asked, but then Eric had no idea unless Lynne had said something and Stanford didn't think she had. Stanford had a new regard for Eric's wife and part of it was how she had permitted her husband to paint her portrait. It was also due to something Stanford couldn't qualify, which drove him a little nuts. The couple was as devoted as usual, but now that Lynne had quit nursing, something had altered. Stanford allowed it must be from Eric's absence, the length of which Stanford still wasn't certain. He hadn't been able to speak with him since sometime in August, then Eric called at the beginning of December. Where had he been all those months, Stanford wondered.

It wasn't until after pie had been served that Stanford finally learned a reason. The trio had moved into the living room, Eric and Lynne seated together on the sofa while the dealer reclined in an overstuffed chair across from them. The painting of Lynne was displayed to Stanford's left, but his eyes were drawn to the couple, then to Eric's lower limbs. Stanford deftly studied Eric's left foot which no longer seemed any different than his right. Had he been away due to reconstructive surgery? Eric had never spoken about such a plan, but maybe his deformity had required care. Stanford had no proof about the origins of that ailment, but he possessed strong suspicions. He cleared his throat, then stood, approaching the portrait of Lynne. Then he smiled. "Next year's exhibit will cause quite a stir."

"Do you think so?" Lynne asked.

He faced her, then nodded. "Indeed. I'd like to bring Lawrence out in summer to see this and perhaps whatever else you've managed in the meantime." Stanford smiled, but his heart raced. He had nearly said Laurie, catching himself at the last second.

Eric stood and Stanford observed how Eric didn't take any extra care, putting his full weight on that left leg. Eric did look thin, but the necessary rehabilitation for such surgery would have been taxing. Then Stanford was puzzled; why had Lynne covered this up? And why had Eric gone away unless the local doctors weren't specialists. This town was small, but not tiny.

"I'd be happy for Lawrence to see this one and the rest." Eric smiled, joining Stanford.

"There are more?"

"Goodness yes," Lynne giggled.

"Several already." Eric chuckled. "God only knows how many'll be stacked up when you manage to return."

Stanford maintained his composure, but felt a giddy rush. "Well, that's wonderful. Shall I schedule an exhibit for autumn?"

"Yes, you probably should. That way it won't come as a surprise." Eric smiled, then patted Stanford's shoulder. "But don't count on any hawks. I think I'm through that phase."

Stanford laughed. "Oh really?" He peered at the painting's upper right corner. Eric always put a little hawk there, signing his name in the lower left corner. But no hawk marked this landscape, which at first glance and second glance was of the most fertile fields Stanford had ever seen. The brushstrokes were mostly wide swathes of vibrant color, but Eric's eye for detail showed in his wife's scarlet poppy mouth and her pink tulip nipples. This painting could be linked with the nature series that would be exhibited in March, yet it wasn't comparable with what Eric had painted of Lynne last year. This was the work of true genius, but not of a madman. Wherever Eric had been last summer and fall, Stanford didn't care. Lynne was at her husband's side and Eric was besotted. Happy painters created masterpieces too, Stanford accepted, then he gazed at Eric's left foot. He wanted to ask, but would refrain. Lynne might turn the tables on him.

After another twenty minutes of conversation, Lynne said her goodnights, but encouraged the men to stay up as long as they wished. Eric threw more wood on the fire and Stanford relaxed in his chair as Lynne didn't even let Eric walk her to their bedroom. Once she closed the door Stanford sat up, eying the fire, the painting, then the artist. Eric looked slightly bereft, then he smiled. "Yes?"

"Just noticing how happy you are even if she's already gone to bed."

Eric wore a small smile, tapping his left foot, and Stanford wondered if Eric would reveal his whereabouts. But Eric said nothing, although he did get up, walking to the painting. "I gave her a good scare when I started this; she had no idea what I was planning."

"I imagine so," Stanford chuckled.

Eric nodded, then looked at his dealer. "Things are changing. No more hawks and perhaps more of my wife than this." Then Eric laughed. "It's gonna be a busy spring. We're having the house renovated, did she tell you about that while I was gone?"

Stanford shook his head, suppressing his smile. "She never said a thing."

"Yeah, in April, we're adding a sunroom right over there." Eric pointed to the wall behind the painting. "And two more bedrooms upstairs. We're also adding onto the kitchen and putting a bathroom down here." Eric smiled. "Just a toilet and sink. We're not that decadent."

Stanford nodded. "And you'll be in the studio while all the racket's made."

"Lynne and I both," Eric chuckled.

"It's good that she's home, I mean...." Stanford considered his words. "She complements you so well. And she's a fantastic model."

Both men smiled, gazing at the canvas. "I've wanted to paint her for...." Eric sighed, then sat on the edge of the sofa. "Since we met. But that wasn't something she was comfortable with and besides, hawks were in fashion then."

Eric's eyebrows shot up and Stanford shook his head. "Oh well, of course. Everything for hawks. But I don't see one in this painting. It has become your trademark. Is that changing too?"

Eric nodded, cracking his knuckles. "I hope that won't upset the applecart. But no, no more hawks, or very few. And I won't be putting them in the right corners anymore. I hope my signature will be enough."

He stood, then flashed a grin. "I want to paint her, I want...." Eric again faced his painting. "We'll save these for fall." He looked at Stanford, a clear intent in Eric's gaze. Then Stanford stared at Eric; his eyes looked differently too.

"Uh-huh." Stanford tried not to gawk, but couldn't look away for long. Then he cleared his throat. "Well yes, autumn will be perfect. However, I'll start making the arrangements for a March show as soon as I get back."

Eric nodded, then stepped into the kitchen, bringing back a chair, which he placed less than two feet from Stanford. Eric sat down, deliberately displaying his left foot. "You noticed it's different now, I saw you staring at it."

Stanford nodded, then met Eric's gaze. "What happened?"

Eric took a deep breath. "I had it fixed. But we weren't assured of the outcome and I didn't want you to...." He glanced at the fire, then at his wife's image. Then he smiled at Stanford. "It was a private matter, but I do apologize for not being more forthcoming."

"You don't need to explain."

"Don't I?" He sat back, then sighed. "There's much I need to atone for Stanford." Eric cleared his throat. "So yes, my foot was repaired. A few scars remain but...."

"Eric, please."

The men stared at each other. Stanford wanted to ask if Eric had also done something to his eyes; the color was different, or was it the shape? Or maybe Stanford was exhausted and needed to call it a night. He missed Laurie and now wished he had taken seriously his desire to accompany. These jaunts were taxing on them both and Lynne already suspected something. But did Eric?

"Stanford, I want you to know that as far as I'm aware there won't be any more sojourns. Or at least nothing that extended. My plan for 1961 is to paint, renovate my house, and putter in my garden. Well, that'll be after the house is done, God only knows what kind of mess we'll be left with when the contractors finish." Eric smiled, then yawned. "Makes me tired talking about it. I might not paint as much as I'd like after they go, too busy trying to sort out the boysenberry vines."

Stanford flinched. "You're not taking them out are you?"

Eric laughed quietly. "I hope not. By the looks of it, you as well as the Aherns would kill me."

Stanford rolled his eyes, then smiled. "I was surprised they weren't here tonight."

"Renee had to work a late shift and Sam's not really the social type."

"She does do most of the talking."

Now Eric laughed out loud. "She's a fiery gal, indeed. I think it's her hair and those eyes, my goodness, she has the most incredible eyes."

Stanford nodded, but ached to ask about Eric's eyes. It seemed the perfect opportunity, but as Eric stood, then stretched, the moment was lost. Or maybe Stanford had let it slip away.

Eric returned the chair to the kitchen, then he poked at the fire. Flames were low and he put the grate in front of them. Then he gazed at the canvas. "I wanted to paint Sam and Renee last spring, but didn't get around to it. Maybe this summer at their house, if it's too noisy here. I don't know if I could do justice to her eyes though." He smiled at Stanford. "Some elements just can't be captured."

"If anyone could, it would be you."

"Maybe. In the meantime, I have paintings to catalogue, correct?"

"Indeed you do." Stanford took a deep breath. "Anything that you want sold will be snapped up immediately. Not the Ahern portraits, but all the landscapes and those of Lynne." Stanford wore a thoughtful gaze. "From last year, of course."

"Yes, she's happy with whatever I decide. At the time I never planned to show or sell them, but I'm in a different phase now. If people want them, wonderful. If no one buys them...."

Stanford chuckled, rising to his feet. "The hawk lovers will be unhappy, but after last year's show, an entirely new audience awaits whatever you're willing to exhibit. And those family portraits will provide an intriguing element. I'm certain there will be inquiries about commissions...."

Eric shook his head. "I'll be busy enough with what I have planned."

"There are great rewards on that side of it Eric."

Stanford's tone was measured. Not that he wanted Eric to compromise his gift, but once those Ahern pictures were seen, Stanford would receive numerous calls offering exorbitant sums. If Eric so chose, he and Lynne could move from this quaint property and live anywhere in the world. But Eric's knowing smile and the slight shake of his head told Stanford all he needed. "Well, I'm afraid you're gonna have to disappoint a lot of bluebloods." Then Eric laughed. "I only paint middle-class Catholics with a minimum of four children per clan. An artist has to draw the line somewhere."

Stanford nodded, then wondered if Eric had intentionally added that last caveat. Sam and Renee had no children at all.

Eric grew quiet and Stanford didn't comment. Then Eric said goodnight, checking that the French doors were locked. He did the same in the kitchen, then waved as he took the stairs, leaving Stanford with the dying fire and that portrait which seemed to raise as many inquiries as it answered.

Eric spent most of February in close contact with his dealer, but Stanford never asked any personal questions. When Eric wasn't on the phone, he was painting or was in bed with Lynne. She had eased into the role of housewife and artist's model, but when Renee was off work, the women went to lunch or shopped as Eric no longer had time to buy the groceries and Sam was busy as well. Sometimes he joined Eric at the Snyders, if their wives were out, but the men's conversations weren't about more than Sam's hopes for the Red Sox and his family's curiosity as to how their portraits would be considered next month in New York City.

Over half of Sam's family had permitted their paintings to be shown, only a few of the Nolans. Fran had used her influence, but Renee's relatives were more skittish. Eric mentioned that he wanted to paint Sam and Renee; he hadn't realized the other significance of his statement to Stanford at the time, but now it grated on him. But Sam wasn't receptive to Eric's request. "God only knows how Renee and I'd look," Sam said.

"Well, I wouldn't paint you as American Gothic," Eric smiled, seated in the kitchen, coffee and pie between the men.

Sam laughed, then leaned back, patting his gut. "I'm bald enough, but too fat. And Renee's hair isn't right. Plus I don't have coveralls or a pitchfork or...."

"Your day will come, Sam Ahern." Eric's tone was jovial. He wouldn't press Sam just as he had outlasted Lynne's reservations. "You and Renee both."

"Paint her first, I dare you to get her eyes right."

Eric nodded. "Stanford and I were talking about that last month. She's a daunting subject, I'll tell you."

"Try being married to her," Sam drawled.

"That's your job," Eric laughed.

A moment of quiet gave them a chance to finish their pie and coffee. Sam collected the dirty plates, but Eric waved him off. "Just sit. Lynne'll give me hell if she comes home and finds you did the dishes."

"Renee would give me hell if I didn't do them."

They laughed, then Eric nodded. "Sam, thanks, I mean, for talking to Fran and the rest of your family. I'd loved to have had more Nolans in the show, but at least I'll have a chunk of your relatives."

Sam smiled. "Between Frannie and our folks, I think everybody's arm got twisted. Not sure what the New York crowd will make of it, but it'll be interesting."

"Did I tell you Lynne and I are going to the opening?"

Sam shook his head. "Really? Stanford put you up to it?"

"Well, he gently nagged until I agreed. Besides, Lynne's free. I wouldn't go without her."

"Have you been to New York before?"

"Years ago, when Stanford became my dealer." Eric smiled. "But that was enough to hold me for a while."

"But it's different now, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is. And when I show the new series in fall...." Eric paused. "That'll change everything."

Sam nodded. "Will you, I mean, you're not moving anytime soon, are you?"

Eric laughed. "Not after everything we're gonna do to the house. God, I hope I sell out, it'll pay for the renovations."

Sam smiled. "Is that all right, becoming so, well, famous?"

Eric sighed, then looked around the room. "It's not something I can change. I didn't assume it would happen like this, the painting or anything else." He stood, then gathered the coffee cups, putting them in the sink. Then Eric leaned against the counter. "Sometimes I wonder what my mother would say. She always loved my drawings, but never got to see any of my paintings. I didn't start that until college."

"And then you made up for lost time."

Eric nodded. "I just wanted to, hell, I wanted to do something worthwhile, something beautiful. And I was good at it, I won't say otherwise. Then I met Lynne and everything fell into place with her and the work and...." He smiled. "Stanford represents an artist where Lynne and I went to school. I happened to be showing some of my stuff at the campus library, just hawks. Stanford saw them, realized my potential for a niche market, and he appreciated that. I don't think he ever expected my work to go beyond wildlife. I didn't, I mean, not for pay. I've wanted to paint Lynne for forever and now...." He took a deep breath, then let it out. "Now I feel like all I have to do is pick up a brush, close my eyes, and there's the painting, right here." He tapped on his skull. "But it's not just hawks or barns or sunsets. It's something deeper, something that was trapped." He gazed at his foot, then blinked. "Stanford didn't ask about my eyes but he wanted to. He was dying to but...."

"They still are a little different, I mean...."

"Yeah, but I made up a story about having my foot operated on and he bought it. I hated lying to him, but he noticed, and it explained last autumn. I also told him I wouldn't be jetting off anywhere else, at least not for that long, so I think that assuaged his curiosity. But I'm not gonna say anything about my eyes."

Eric smiled. Lynne never mentioned it, but Eric felt that his eyes remained slightly altered. Perhaps he and Sam were the sole ones here to notice; Sam had been the only one who could look Eric in the face when his eyes had not at all resembled those of a human being. Then Eric gazed at Sam, who looked pale. "Sam, you okay?"

"How could you tell him you're not going anywhere?"

Eric sat at the table. "Because I don't feel that I am."

"But you can't be certain about that."

"Well no, not a hundred percent. But when I came home this time last year I told Lynne that I'd need to leave again, I had to find him. And I did and that's that."

Sam shook his head. "Eric, I just...."

"I can't say I'll never change again, but right now, today? All I wanna do today is chat with you, then paint this afternoon if the light's good. Then tonight I'll go to bed with my wife and give thanks to your God that I came home. And that you were here to take care of me. Sam, after I finish painting how many ever pictures are left of Lynne, I'd like to paint...."

Again Sam shook his head, but before he could speak, the door opened. "Hope I'm not interrupting."

Lynne's cheery voice didn't change Sam's weary face, but Eric smiled, getting up to meet her. They kissed and he took a bag of groceries from her grasp. "More in the car?" he asked.

"Oh yes. I know we'll be gone soon, but we'll have to eat when we get home, and this way I won't have to shop first thing. Hi Sam." Lynne squeezed his shoulder, then set the other bag on the counter. "But right now," she giggled, "I need the ladies room. Eric, I'm so glad you thought to add another bathroom down here. Be right back."

Lynne headed to the stairs and Eric noted her swift steps. Then he watched as Sam stood, gathering his hat and coat. "Give her my love," he said in a croaky voice.

"Sam, I'm sorry, I didn't mean...."

Sam reached the door, then smiled. "Eric, stick to nature or families. Or Lynne. Or paint Renee's eyes, I dare you on that one." Sam tried to smile, then he waved, exiting the kitchen before Lynne returned.
Chapter 27

The bustle of New York caught Lynne by surprise, but Eric embraced the crowds and noise, perhaps a reminder of his urban childhood. Now that his foot no longer hindered him, Eric loved walking the streets, keeping his wife close at his side. They were tourists, also anonymous, although Stanford said that after opening night, Eric Snyder would be a well-known name within a wide circle. Eric understood Stanford's warning, for that's what it was. The Snyders' quiet life was about to be up-ended. Eric was ready, also grateful for the tall walls that surrounded their property back home.

The couple enjoyed their privacy at the hotel, but the night before the show they ate supper with Stanford and Lawrence at Stanford's Manhattan apartment. Eric had stayed here years before, but this time he could afford a place for him and Lynne to get away, and he didn't wish to displace Lawrence from his residence. Eric held an assumption about the nature of Stanford and Lawrence's relationship and he wondered if perhaps Lynne had picked up on it too. He had wanted to ask her, but no time had seemed appropriate. As Stanford and Lawrence shared jovial banter, Eric felt uncomfortable; it was insinuated that Lawrence lived in a different Manhattan apartment, but that he had wanted to again see Stanford's favorite client. And Lawrence teased, he had also wondered if Lynne had somehow managed to bring along a boysenberry pie.

Lawrence said that in a whisper, after Agatha Morris had left the room. She was Stanford's cook, also his sole domestic help, which Eric took as another sign toward the two art dealers' relationship, the men wishing to keep their love as concealed as possible. Eric didn't miss that aspect, which was conveyed by Stanford's happy but albeit slightly weary tone and the way Lawrence's eyes sparkled. Eric wondered which couple was hiding a bigger falsehood, then he smiled as Lynne joked that she had considered bringing a pie, but decided against it, assuring Lawrence's presence the next time Stanford visited the countryside.

"But of course, you'll need to wait until mid-summer. The house won't be in any shape for guests until then." Lynne smiled, then sipped her wine. Then she squeezed Eric's hand. "And by then we'll have more than one guest room available, unless Eric goes on another painting spree."

Stanford gazed at Eric, then smiled widely. "That's what I want to hear."

Eric nodded, noticing how Stanford then nearly blushed. Eric then chuckled, setting his napkin over his empty dinner plate. "I think you'll need to reserve a large space for the autumn show. I really have been busy."

"Trying to make hay while it's quiet," Lawrence grinned. "I usually don't like to travel, but for a piece of Lynne's pie, I'd go to Bombay. And for those pork chops too," he added.

"I'll be sure to tell Sam. He loves to feed a crowd." Lynne placed her napkin over her plate as well, then leaned against Eric, who deftly put his arm around her. Then she yawned and he wondered if it was authentic. She had to know the truth about Stanford and Lawrence; it was simply too obvious to miss.

Eric would love to incorporate these men into a painting, but doubted he would ever get the chance. It might be as remote as painting Sam, although Renee had agreed to pose for Eric while the contractors were busy. Eric had accepted Sam's dare about capturing Renee's eyes, but he more ached to include Sam. Perhaps some ideas were best left to an artist's imagination. Then Eric chuckled as Lynne squeezed his knee. She yawned again and that time he knew she was faking. But dessert waited and Eric hoped that Lawrence wouldn't try to leave first. Eric wanted to make their departure long before Stanford and Lawrence had to excuse the latter's presence.

"Shall I ask Agatha to bring out dessert?" Stanford looked toward the kitchen door.

"Oh please," Lynne smiled. "Then Eric and I will be on our way. I've loved seeing the sights, but tomorrow will be busy and...."

Agatha stepped through, gazing at Stanford. She didn't even speak, just raising her eyebrows. Stanford smiled and within minutes chocolate cake was served, custard on the side. The foursome shared hushed giggles once Agatha was gone, but the custard was very good, and the sweets quickly disappeared.

Eric declined decaf coffee, then thanked Stanford for the hospitality, and Lawrence for joining them. Lawrence remarked that he would see them at the show tomorrow night, then all stood as Stanford retrieved Eric and Lynne's coats. Spring was flirting with the city, he said, but it was better to be well wrapped than not. Lynne agreed, warmly shaking Stanford's hand. But Lawrence demanded a hug and while Eric and his dealer exchanged strong grips, Lynne and Lawrence embraced. Lynne laughed at his whisper in her ear, saying she would do her best, then the couple said their goodbyes. Eric walked Lynne to the elevator, learning that Lawrence promised to see them in summer, with or without Eric's dealer.

Eric smiled, but said nothing in front of the elevator operator, or in the cab. Once in their hotel room, Eric made small talk about the meal, and Lynne reciprocated, but her tone was stilted. They got into bed, snuggling close. Then Eric kissed her forehead. "Honey, did you notice...."

She nodded, then moved away, staring at him. "Last fall when I showed Stanford the paintings of me, he slipped and called Lawrence Laurie. He kept on talking, but I could tell something had changed. And tonight, well...."

Eric stroked her face. "When I came here the first time, I could tell then. I felt so bad that Lawrence didn't stay at the apartment. That's why I deliberately didn't extend the evening. And you seemed to...." He smiled. "Yawn at all the right times."

She grew teary. "I don't know which of us has the bigger secret." Then she rolled her eyes. "Well, we do, but not by much."

"They're more accepted here with what they do, but you're right, I mean, they can live together in New York. But probably nowhere else, well, except for some of Europe's biggest cities."

Lynne sighed, then again cuddled against Eric. "Maybe if they come in summer, perhaps they would...."

"They won't. Stanford wouldn't allow it."

"Laurie wouldn't mind," Lynne giggled.

Eric laughed quietly. "No, probably not. He looks more like Laurie than Lawrence, that's too formal."

"They complement each other so well." Lynne nibbled on Eric's chest. "It's unfortunate that they have to live so, well...."

"Like we do, at times. Or maybe it's not the same at all."

"Maybe. Stanford was staring at you, at your face. I wonder if he thinks your eyes are still odd."

"I don't know. I did catch Laurie gazing at my feet."

"You better watch yourself," she smiled. "You call him Laurie in front of Stanford and...."

"And maybe one of us will have to 'fess up."

"Oh goodness," Lynne said. "I don't know which situation would be harder to admit."

"Neither do I," Eric smiled. Then he stroked his wife's hair, which seemed to be growing out rapidly. As he did so, Lynne pressed against him, and within moments love was being made, that other couple forgotten.

In the morning, Eric and Lynne ate breakfast in the hotel restaurant. They weren't disturbed until a delivery man approached with a large bouquet. He presented it to Lynne on behalf of Lawrence Abrams. Eric didn't have his wallet, but the man smiled, noting that a tip had already been arranged. Several diners gazed at the couple, who hurriedly finished their meals, taking the flowers to their room. Within moments a maid knocked, carrying a vase, and Lynne watched as the bouquet was artfully arranged. She wanted to call Stanford, to thank Lawrence, but that would appear too forward. "I'll thank him this evening," she said, her voice quaking. Then she wept briefly, embraced by her husband.

They spent that day in their room, making love when Eric wasn't on the phone with Stanford. He didn't mention the flowers, but Lynne told Renee all about it when Renee called to wish them well. Eric and Lynne were having supper with Stanford and his father, the elder Taylor anxious to meet the artist. Years before Eric hadn't been introduced to Michael Taylor, but now Eric's talent was deserving, and the older man wished his own father was alive to meet such an esteemed painter.

During the meal, Lynne said little, but she noticed how father and son shared several traits. Their formal bearings were identical and Lynne smiled inwardly; Stanford would be totally bald by the time he was his father's age. Lynne and Eric learned that Michael hadn't necessarily wanted Stanford to follow in his footsteps, but perhaps it had been inevitable as the family was steeped in New York's art world. But Lynne felt a small ache in that this would be the last Taylor so occupied. Stanford's younger sisters weren't inclined toward the family business and Michael said that his father, for who he'd been named, would have wished for the legacy to have continued. Stanford mentioned a nephew as a possible candidate, but Michael noted that boy was destined for medical school, taking after his father's side of the family. Nieces weren't broached as if this occupation was only for men, but Lynne wasn't offended. Art was a man's world and a woman's place was to act as a muse.

Stanford didn't represent any female painters and that didn't surprise Lynne either. He was cordial to her, but he obviously preferred the company of his own gender, regardless of the situation. Many of the doctors with whom she used to work were much the same and Lynne didn't try to break into the conversation. She was happy to sit near her husband, occasionally receiving his warm squeezes on her knee. A few times he inched his hand up her dress and she had to fight breaking into giggles. Then their eyes would meet and she had to blink away tears. No matter what was being said, she was Eric's focus.

After supper, the foursome took a limo to the gallery. Lynne had never ridden in such a sumptuous vehicle, but the trip was short, and soon she was being escorted from the sedan to where a large crowd had gathered. Lynne hadn't realized the meaning of this night until she encountered popping flashbulbs and reporters' questions. But Stanford guided the artist and wife, his father right behind them. Michael said that his wife Constance would join them later, once the flurry had subsided. Lynne was glad for another woman's company, although Eric had told her he didn't want her to leave his side.

Lynne didn't want to be anywhere else that evening, unless Lawrence Abrams requested her attention. She was content to flank Eric, Stanford on his other side, and once they entered the gallery, Eric wrapped his arm around her waist. They were offered a drink, but Eric declined on their behalf, which suited Lynne. They would enjoy champagne later, after Stanford made his remarks to the audience, but she wanted a clear head to absorb what would usher in a new life for Eric, and for her. His previous showing had introduced a maturing artist. These paintings would confirm that statement, also laying a deeper foundation. And in autumn.... Then Lynne shivered. What kind of reaction would erupt from the work Eric was currently producing, or the pictures he ached to begin?

He had mentioned that right before they left home as if preparing her. Lynne gazed at mounted canvases, the landscapes first, and she smiled. These were nothing like what waited at their house.

Yet, they were stunning, for the hues and what was depicted. She stared at the horses, which was her favorite, then she recalled that conversation, over a year ago, with Sam about his ideas of what filled the blue barn. Lynne would never forget how innocently Sam described those beasts, then his shock and subsequent embarrassment. Then how he had departed, abruptly and with some anger. Now that seemed like a lifetime ago and these paintings were the same, heralding a similar virtue, but with much lingering under the surface.

Eric and Michael wandered through the maze while Lynne was happy to remain alone as she reached the next part of the exhibit, her hobbies on show. She considered how nervous she had been, yet relieved for Eric's presence after such a long, miserable winter. Then she shook her head; that had been merely a taste of what autumn was to bring. She walked past those canvases, enjoying the warm camaraderie evoked by the Ahern and Nolan clans. Those family portraits acted as a transition to the last series, which was of the artist's wife amid her passions, or those that didn't concern her husband. Lynne wore a seductive smile. At the time these were painted she wasn't at all comfortable as a model and her poses, while welcoming, didn't hide her anxiety. Yet, Eric had turned those fears into a formidable beauty; in a matter of weeks, he would be gone, they had both known it. These pastimes had shielded her until Eric's agonizing return.

Gentle murmurs wafted through the hall, but Lynne only noticed the pounding of her heart. She didn't mind that these canvases would be sold as she had no desire to see them again. The man who had created them might not be at her side, but soon Eric would stand next to her, and that night they would revel in all this evening had wrought, as well as feting their devotion to one another. Lynne didn't assume their love was any more outstanding than, say, Stanford and Laurie's, but it was singular in the obstacles they had overcome. She sighed, then giggled. The art dealers might be homosexuals, but she highly doubted either turned into a hawk.

The last painting was of her seated at the patio table, blue yarn piled in a heap. Now Lynne wished she had met Eric's gaze, but perhaps this was the best way to conclude this chapter of his career, for there was a buzz in the air, even if the hall was still quiet. The paintings spoke loudly, warning of the demarcation displayed throughout the gallery. Eric Snyder wasn't merely another emerging artist; in these canvases he had arrived and woe to those who didn't acknowledge his greatness. Lynne knew not everyone would be so inclined to believe, but in another six months, no one could say they hadn't been notified. The blue barn might linger in a few minds, but what Eric had fashioned in the last several weeks would push that painting off the map. And, Lynne sighed, then smiled, if she acquiesced to his request, all hell would break loose.

Footsteps approached and she turned around, finding Eric with Lawrence, the Taylors right behind them. Lynne met them, going into Lawrence's waiting embrace. Then he kissed her cheek, handing her to Eric, who did the same. Lawrence began speaking, but all Lynne heard was his gushing tone, Stanford and Michael's alongside. She closed her eyes, relieved to be in Eric's strong grip, ready for however their lives would change. And this time, Eric wouldn't be going anywhere.

Lynne enjoyed two glasses of champagne as the compliments flowed. Eric was the toast of New York and by the evening's end, all available canvases had been sold. In snatched moments of conversation, Stanford noted that several distinguished families wished for Eric's time, but Lynne knew not enough money existed to tear her husband from what he next wanted to paint. All she had to do was give the word, but Eric wouldn't badger her. Yet after all he had produced of her recently, the next step was clear. The artist's wife was a huge hit that night, both in person and on canvas, and Lynne wondered what percentage of those well-wishers assumed she was already striking other poses for her husband.

If she did agree to Eric's request, Lynne wouldn't accompany him to the next exhibit. She might travel to New York, but she would spend her time at the hotel, or maybe at Stanford and Laurie's apartment. That evening, when Eric had been detained, Lawrence Abrams stood at Lynne's side, and she learned many tidbits about his life, and a few juicy morsels of those who encircled the artist, his dealer, and Michael Taylor. But Lawrence never betrayed his connection to Stanford and Lynne didn't reveal her suppositions, although as the crowds thinned and Eric rejoined his wife, Lynne was even more certain as to the nature of Stanford and Laurie's relationship. It wasn't hard to think of Laurie with that pet name, for it suited him better than the staid Lawrence; Lynne couldn't get Stanford's slip from her mind every time she saw the men chatting together. They never stood alone as a couple, always flanked by other dealers or collectors. Sometimes Michael admonished his son and.... Lynne had to look away, for Michael Taylor treated Lawrence Abrams with the same fatherly concern, bordering on tenderness, as he did Stanford.

Lynne hadn't minded that Michael's wife Constance hadn't attended. She suffered from migraines and one had set in late that afternoon. Neither her husband nor her son had seemed troubled and Lynne hadn't asked more than questions any nurse would pose. Lynne had been standing beside Laurie at the time and she'd picked up no anxiety from him. Later Lynne mentioned that she hoped Mrs. Taylor would be feeling better in the morning and Michael assured her she would improve. And that he hoped the women could meet in October when Eric's next exhibit was planned.

Eric had rescued Lynne, mentioning that autumn was a busy time for the boysenberry harvest, which wasn't quite the truth, but it sufficed for Michael, who had heard of Lynne's famous pie. Then they walked to where on canvas she tended those vines, displayed in vibrant colors, although her back was to the audience. Lynne blushed, but it wasn't due to Michael's praise for either her pie or Eric's talent. The next showing would focus upon her, but not in such mundane settings. Perhaps she would stay at home, making it easier on everyone.

Or maybe she would be the only one so affected. Social mores were changing and New York wasn't a provincial township where she was already the grist for gossips. Imagine their wagging tongues if she posed for Eric as he wished, which wasn't any differently than how she had posed for him since his return. But Lynne wouldn't appear as fields or forests or even an ocean. His most recent painting depicted her as a vibrant coral reef, which had pleased her immensely. There seemed no end to his vast imagination, but now he was ready to return to a more acceptable manner of illustrating the human body, her body. All she had to do was say yes.

To the happy sounds of an artist and his dealer, Lynne drifted from her husband's side. She meandered through the gallery, stopping momentarily at the fire which still radiated heat as she admired it. Lynne might never see these pictures again, but she possessed clear memories of when each had been painted. She moved on, finally pausing at the first Ahern canvas, Fran, Sally, and tiny Helene in Sam and Renee's kitchen. Lynne studied how adult Sally looked, how weary Fran seemed, and the angelic baby in Fran's arms. Eric had created this painting from a mere sketch, but it had ushered in a series of its own, many of which were displayed nearby.

Lynne hadn't witnessed any more than the paintings taking shape, but now she shuddered at how many personalities Eric had depicted. She was surrounded by Sam and Renee's siblings and their many children, making Lynne ache for the exclusion of the couple who had brought these people into Eric's realm. Eric needed to paint Sam and Renee before he started painting Lynne again.

"Honey? Lynne, where are you?"

"Over here," she called. Then she smiled. "I'm at Ahern central."

Eric chuckled, approaching her. He pulled her close and she collapsed against him. "You ready to go?"

"I was ready ages ago." She smiled, but fatigue edged her voice. "I think this might be my last show."

He kissed her head, then laughed quietly. "If that means what I think it does, excellent."

She huffed, tapping his arm. "All it means is that I'm not made for the New York nightlife." Then she giggled. "Although that was very nice champagne."

"Yes it was. Expect more of that Mrs. Snyder."

She moved away, staring at him. "And what does that mean?"

He caressed her face. "If you want, I can hire professional gardeners this summer, let them clean up the contractor's mess. You won't believe it when I tell you the prices...."

She shook her head. "That's between you and Stanford."

Eric nodded, but his smile teased. "All right, I'll keep mum. But we are celebrating when we get home." Then he lowered his voice. "And after autumn, oh honey."

She stroked his face, then traced his eyes. Were they different? Not to her, nor would their lives be changed by his talent. "Take me to the hotel. We can start celebrating there."

"That's a fabulous idea." He brought her against him, then kissed her passionately. They only broke apart when Stanford could be detected, both by his step and a sharp cough.

"I don't mean to intrude, but if you want to continue the party, there are several places I recommend." Stanford's tone was light, then he chuckled. "Otherwise, the limo is waiting."

"Let's go," Lynne smiled. "I'm about to fall over."

Eric gripped her, then nodded to Stanford. "Lead the way, my friend."

Stanford made a small flourish. "After you Eric, and your lovely wife. You both are the stars of the evening and for the next several. Although it will be a sad patron of the arts if they were hoping to buy a canvas past opening night."

Lynne leaned against her husband, who took slow steps. "Did they actually all sell tonight?"

"They did," Eric said. "And several would've bought the Ahern and Nolan portraits if they could've."

"Not enough Snyder canvases to go round, although some were assuaged that in October, more would be available," Stanford smiled.

Lynne nodded as they reached where Lawrence and Michael stood, near the painting of the horses. That canvas had been the desire of many collectors, Stanford said, as a doorman stepped their way. Lawrence held Lynne's coat and he helped her into it. Eric thanked Lawrence, who smiled graciously. Then Lawrence turned to Michael, asking if he was ready to leave.

They followed the doorman, but Lynne took one more glance at the horses. Who bought it, she wondered, and would she ever see it again? She didn't care about the money, somehow that aspect of Eric's career never intruded, maybe because in the past she had been working. But now people were fighting over his paintings. She grinned, then closed her eyes. "Take me home," she mumbled to Eric.

"My pleasure." He led her into a cool New York night and Lynne opened her eyes. The city pulsed around her in lights, traffic, and voices, but she longed for the quiet comfort of their home as if she was one of those horses, happy in the meadow. Eric helped her into the limousine, then got in beside her. She nestled against him, sensing the rush of his heartbeat. Some of that was from the show. Most of it, she nodded inwardly, was for her within his arms.

Stanford sat across between Lawrence and Michael. Yet they were stilled, probably from their own musings, she assumed. Then Lynne was overwhelmed by the realization of where she sat, in a black sedan in the most notable city in the world. Her husband had been the center of that evening's activities and Eric Snyder's art would be the buzz for weeks to come. Yet he was the same man she had waked to that morning and with whom she would sleep that night. All he wanted was to be with her, in that bed, then at home, in their own space. And he wanted to make one other place that venerated....

"Yes," she murmured so only Eric would hear her.

"Yes?" he repeated.

She nodded, then snuggled against him.

He stroked her hair, then chuckled softly. Lynne didn't see the way Stanford gazed at them, or Laurie's affectionate smile, or how Michael gripped his son's hand. All she knew was her husband's love wrapped tightly around her. He had painted her tenderly before and she trusted him implicitly. However Eric next translated his adoration would be just as beautiful as that coral reef, the field of wildflowers, and as.... Lynne fought, but lost a battle, as her tears erupted, thinking about that mare and her colt, a stallion right behind them.
Chapter 28

Accolades followed Eric and Lynne from New York to their small town; the local paper published an article about the artist, but Eric refrained from allowing them to photograph him at work. Eric had claimed that with contractors tearing up the house, it wasn't safe for outsiders, but he permitted a shot of him standing beside the barn painting, taken at the Aherns' home. After the piece was printed, Eric was besieged by townspeople begging him to paint their families' portraits. Lynne ran interference and the builders assisted, too noisy for Mrs. Snyder to speak on the telephone. Eric would wait until the renovations were finished before he began painting at the house, which had been fine with his wife. Plus, there was another subject Eric wished to capture.

Renee had been surprised by Eric's request and had nearly said no once Sam made it clear he did not want it to be a portrait of them both. But Sam had urged his wife to sit for Eric, all joking that her eyes would be the chief test of his abilities. Renee agreed, only if at first Lynne would join her, both women dressed in their uniforms. Lynne didn't mind and on Renee's free days they posed in the Aherns' backyard as Eric worked with his usual speed. Sam observed and was shocked at how quickly Eric could produce a canvas, and how realistically he conveyed two women with remarkable physical contrasts. Yet they seemed similar to Sam, although Renee's eyes were nothing like Lynne's. Renee's eyes were depicted as Sam had always seen them, the most alluring part of her entire presence. From the moment they had met, Sam had never forgotten her stoplight eyes.

In the painting, Renee's hair was collected under her cap, and one might not realize she was a redhead until they studied her eyebrows and lashes. Eric had perfectly matched the hue and Sam tried to discern just what kind of vision Eric possessed, as well as see into his wife's eyes from a different perspective. When Sam peered into Renee's gaze, he found love, acceptance, and great need. When Sam studied Eric's interpretation, those moods were joined by thankfulness, faithfulness, and hope. Then Sam had to look away, for he couldn't ignore the reason for her optimism. It had nothing to do with him being miraculously healed. It had to do with that blue barn.

That barn was Sam and Renee's home. She wanted to fill that structure, but of course they couldn't. Still she prayed about it, couldn't move much past it. But until now, Sam hadn't realized the depth of her wishes, and they weren't futile. Was she expecting a miracle, he wondered. Then he smiled inwardly. Eric was living proof of the oddest phenomenon and between that and their faith, who knew what could happen?

As that painting took shape, Sam spent his days at the VA hospital, or in the kitchen, ministering to Eric, who altered as he painted. He ate little, then would gorge himself. When not posing, Lynne had taken the task of conferring with the contractors, which Sam thought was brave of her, but perhaps now Eric's notoriety permitted that the artist's wife was better suited to speak with about such matters. When Renee returned to work, Eric and Lynne remained at their own house, and Sam wondered if then Eric spoke to the workers, and what was Lynne doing in that time. By mid-May, Eric returned to the Aherns', painting only Renee, who posed in casual clothes, her hair draped over her shoulders. But this time Sam didn't witness the proceedings. He wasn't sure how much more about his wife he wanted to know.

Sam wished Eric would go home and paint Lynne. Then Sam chuckled, for painting Lynne was probably set to change, revealing far more of Eric's wife than Sam had ever seen. Renee had mentioned it late at night after prayers were said and cuddles exchanged. When the Snyder house was finished, Lynne was going to pose for her husband, and it probably wasn't going to be a continuation of the previous series. Then Renee adamantly noted that Eric hadn't mentioned anything of the sort to her, although her voice was slightly wistful, making Sam laugh out loud. Eric was a gentleman, but perhaps every woman ached for a genius to paint them nude.

Renee posed for Eric throughout the rest of May, but Sam rebuffed his wife's request to join her. Eric never asked, not since Sam had refused before the exhibit. But Sam wasn't sure if Eric had put the notion from his mind. When obsessed with canvas, Eric was hard to read. Sam felt that Eric had another distinct personality in those moments, somewhere between a man and a bird of prey. When a brush and palette were involved, Eric Snyder couldn't halt instinctive actions that weren't brutal, but certainly evoked a survival disposition. Those sentiments had kept Sam alive in Korea, although until then he had never realized they dwelled within him.

Was that why he didn't want to pose, he mused, hearing his wife and Eric's backyard chatter through the open kitchen window. Sam now remained in the house when Renee posed for Eric, but he couldn't escape the consequences of their activities. Whether he was cooking, cleaning, or just relaxing on the sofa, Sam felt a creeping invasion of his privacy. It hadn't stirred any nightmares, but it was perplexing. It also kept him from delving too deeply into Renee's thoughts, although when he stared at the blue barn, he had to shake himself. He had put them inside it, but what did she think inhabited it now?

Initially she had mentioned chickens, he recalled with a smile, but then she always felt badly about that. Pigs too, if he remembered correctly, but not huge beasts. While Sam now understood his reflections, originally he hadn't analyzed those horses' representations until Lynne had asked him, and then Sam had felt utterly ridiculous. He walked from the kitchen into the bedroom, watching Eric and Renee studying the painting. Their laughter was gentle but genuine and Sam wanted to join them, but he hesitated. What might Eric have learned about Renee, and of that, what had he translated onto canvas?

Renee caught Sam's gaze, then motioned for him. He nodded, then returned to the kitchen, going out the back door. Birds chirped and a soft spring breeze warmed his face. Then he inhaled oil paints as he reached Eric's easel, the artist and model flanking it. Sam stepped between them, facing the painting straight on. But he stared past it at the house, unable to focus on the image.

"Well, I think this's it for the day. Light's starting to fade. Besides, I bet Lynne's ready for me to come home." Eric's tone was light, but he didn't pat Sam on the back as he sometimes did. "I'll just put this in the house, will probably finish it tomorrow. Sam, you give me a hand?"

"Honey, whatdya think?" Renee asked.

Sam still couldn't concentrate on the painting, but he nodded as if doing so. "It's great. God Eric, I just don't know how you do it."

"Neither do I." Eric smiled, taking the painting from the easel. "Sam, you get the rest?"

"Oh sure." Sam toted the easel, following Renee and Eric around the side of the house. Renee opened the door, then the men stepped inside, going to the back bedroom where Eric stored his equipment. The floor was protected by old sheets and Sam placed the easel in the center of the room. Eric carefully set the painting on the easel, but he didn't study the piece. Neither did Sam. Instead he gazed at Eric's healed left foot, then at Eric's eyes. No visible trace of hawk remained, but Eric didn't see like the rest of them. Sam shivered, but Eric missed that, already heading through the doorway.

During the first two weeks of June, Eric didn't paint at all as the final touches were made to the Snyder home. Eric had tweaked the designs, having showers installed in the master and guest bathrooms. Lynne had enjoyed that feature at the hotel and it hadn't taken much extra effort for the contractors, what with everything else that had been planned. Eric had informed Stanford that the October show would be of Lynne and Renee Ahern, although the women would be displayed in very different mediums. The only canvas Eric was excluding was that of them in their nurses' uniforms; Renee didn't want her profession as a part of the exhibit. The paintings of Renee weren't going to be sold, only displayed, but all of Eric's interpretations of Lynne would be available, and Stanford expected them to fetch high prices. He still fielded calls from those requesting Eric's time, but as the last of the building materials were removed, Eric told his dealer that he had another series to start. Stanford didn't ask for details and Eric didn't offer any. The men arranged a weekend in late August for both Stanford and Lawrence to visit, when Eric would show them all he wanted exhibited in autumn.

All of the paintings would be seen unvarnished. Eric would attend to that task in due time, and those who bought the pictures of Lynne would acquiesce to whatever the artist required. Renee's portraits would be given to members of her family, for Christmas, she had laughed, saving her the shopping. Eric was keeping the nurses' portrait, as he thought of it, for himself. But he had told Sam that whenever he wanted it, Eric would gladly loan it out. They could start their own gallery, Sam had joked, but Eric had heard an underlying tension in Sam's voice. It wasn't about Renee as a model, but a subject Eric still hoped one day to unravel.

Gardeners were set to spend next week tending to the backyard while Lynne and Eric tidied their new home. The house did feel differently to Eric, and Lynne agreed. Part of it was due to the expansive brightness that lit the living room, next to the new sunroom. The upstairs was spacious too, although the storage room would still be stacked with paintings, as would Lynne's craft room. But two other bedrooms now waited to be used, one of which would be where Lawrence slept at the end of summer. Eric didn't expect the nature of Laurie and Stanford's relationship to be revealed, but he was curious which of those new rooms Lawrence would choose. One was next to the guest room, the other was beside the master suite. Eric would let Lawrence decide, but that was still weeks away.

On Friday, June sixteenth, Eric walked the head contractor to the front gate, shaking that man's hand. The final check had been written and both Mr. and Mrs. Snyder were very pleased with the results, Eric said in a cheery voice. The man nodded, having gained an appreciation for this client since beginning the renovations. He had been given a tour of Eric's studio, where all of the artist's canvases had been stored. The man had no idea those fantastic landscapes were based upon the painter's spouse, but nightly he had relayed to his wife how talented was this Eric Snyder. And he had assured his wife that no, there weren't any nudes among the canvases.

There hadn't been a free moment for Eric to paint Lynne in that manner, what with all the work he had accomplished at the Aherns'. Those paintings had caught the contractor's attention too, but Eric hadn't given away Renee's identity. The town was small, but not all paths crossed. Eric said goodbye to the builder, not wondering if he would ever see him again. All Eric considered, as he heard the man drive away, was when Lynne would be ready to pose.

Slowly Eric walked to the house, which now looked formidable. It wasn't a mansion, but it had been substantially altered, and he inspected the new exterior layout, thrilled with the results. The gardeners would refashion the patio, but it would now approach where the fountain bubbled. Behind the sunroom, boysenberry vines needed attention; that year's crop would be smaller than last year, he accepted, but Lynne wouldn't have as much time to bake. Then Eric laughed, looking at his wife, standing between the open French doors. She was much closer than before, for now the living room stretched to where the original patio had ended. Her smile was naughty and he stepped toward her. "We're finally alone," he said.

"It's about time. But next week this place will be swarming with more hired hands. By the time Stanford and Laurie get here, I hope we'll have had a moment's peace."

"Oh, I assure you, we'll have enjoyed plenty of privacy." Eric stood beside her, stroking her face. Then he wrapped her close, kissing her.

She pulled away, giggling. "And in the meantime, shall I make us some lunch?"

"If you're hungry."

"Aren't you?" she asked. "We haven't eaten since breakfast. It's after one, you know."

"Hmmm, one you say." He smiled, then gazed at the studio. "The light looks perfect."

Lynne rolled her eyes, then tapped her foot. "He might come back. Maybe he forgot a hammer or something."

"He can get it on Monday. We have two days before anyone intrudes."

Eric placed his hands on her hips, grasping with intent. Lynne pressed against him, then more kisses were shared. But these weren't all about intimacy. This time Eric pulled away first, but he kept his hands upon her. "I love you. There's so much I wanna give you."

She nodded, then cleared her throat. "What about the sunroom? Is the light all right in there?"

"Let's investigate," he chuckled.

Hand in hand they walked into that new room, the walls of which being solid glass until the last three feet to the ground. Tiles lined the floor and it was empty except for stray bits of dust. The windows sparkled, revealing tangled berry vines to the right, the garden's expanse to the left. The fountain could be seen and the studio lingered in the distance. Where the new patio would be built was to the far left and French doors led to that space. Those doors were closed now, but Eric opened them, permitting a cooling breeze. "What do you think?" he asked his wife.

"I think this will be a lovely place to entertain if it's raining."

He laughed. "I can think of other uses."

"I'm sure you can."

He smiled, then stood beside her. "You know, I am hungry." He wouldn't pressure her, just as he wouldn't harass Samuel. "What's in the fridge?"

But Lynne didn't answer him. Instead she closed one of the French doors, standing in the open space. "Eric, how will you do it?"

Her tone was soft and somewhat anxious. He joined her, wrapping his arms around her torso. "As tenderly as I make love to you. But only if you want me to honey. That's entirely up to you."

She leaned against him, grasping his hands at her waist. "Do you need this much light?"

"Not in the beginning." Eric kissed the back of her head, then nuzzled into her hair, which now was near the middle of her back. "Why don't we eat lunch first? No use working on an empty stomach. Then we can...."

She giggled again as he pressed his groin against her buttocks. "Maybe after dinner? Or would that not be enough light?"

"That might be perfect." He smiled, wanting a gentle introduction for this new venture. He didn't care if it began in their house or within the studio. Right now the studio was actually off limits, for no room existed. He would carry the canvases back to where they belonged while gardeners tackled the exterior, and while Lynne.... While she percolated in his mind and pottered around their renovated home. Then when the gardeners had left for the day, Eric could paint his wife's portrait in the evenings, plenty of light remaining. And once she was comfortable, they could move to the studio where the sofa waited and all of his supplies and no phone to answer....

She turned to face him, then rubbed her cheek against his. Another kiss was shared, which led to several more, which in turn took the couple upstairs to their bedroom. By the time they got around to eating lunch, it was more of an early supper. And Lynne made sure both had eaten plenty, for, as she smiled, it was going to be a long evening.

She fell asleep before her husband that night, but Eric was too wound up for slumber. He sat in the sunroom well after dark, the doors ajar, the sounds of night soothing his still whirring mind.

The painting rested on the easel, but by Sunday night, it would be finished. How he knew that, he wasn't sure, but it had come together as succinctly as his previous works, also with a newfound rhythm that accounted for some of Eric's edginess. His lingering energies were due to what lay on the canvas and what remained within Eric's brain.

Painting her in this manner had always been his heart's desire, but he hadn't been prepared for the actual process, which wasn't like how he had depicted her only months before. Now those landscapes seemed like shrouds, which were safe to display to others. Eric wasn't sure if he would ever show this series to anyone.

He might not even let Stanford have a peek and certainly not Sam and Renee; while Eric hadn't painted his wife in a racy pose, he had injected her likeness with more desire than originally intended. Perhaps after a time, the nudes wouldn't be so electric, or maybe Eric had no other way to paint his beloved than with all of his passion exemplified. He felt spent, but still adrift, yet that was familiar; until a piece was finished, part of his psyche was missing.

But another feeling hovered and he couldn't put his finger on it. Then he smiled, getting up, then closing the French doors. He locked them, then left the sunroom, checking that the rest of the house was secure. The place seemed huge, and a little eerie, as new walls and fixtures began to settle. But in a matter of months this would be again like home, perhaps after Stanford and Laurie visited, or even the first time Sam and Renee came for a meal. Eric wanted the backyard cleaned first, then the Aherns could stop in. Maybe not on the Fourth of July; Eric wished to spend that day with Lynne alone. But last summer seemed far from Eric's consciousness. All he knew now was tremendous peace.

He took the stairs, hearing Lynne's steady breathing. After dinner, she had lain on a lounge chair, hastily covered with some of the sheets she had bought when he came home last year. But nothing was said about that time, which seemed like another life as Eric made certain she was comfortable, although she joked it wasn't as nice as posing on the sofa. But within minutes Lynne was relaxed and once that occurred, Eric began layering paint on the canvas, glad for their previous sessions, which had set the tone. Lynne expressed no fear, radiating a warm, inviting glow that fueled Eric, and only the darkening sky had ceased his activities.

Then he'd knelt beside her, stroking her body with his hands, laying hues against her skin. But those colors seemed as natural as the flesh that protected her muscles, organs, and bones, which he was bringing to life on the canvas behind him. She didn't ask to see it, but groaned under his touch, and within minutes he was satisfying both of their desires. They lay there until night enveloped the sky and Eric wasn't sure how many times they had repeated those loving actions. He had walked her up the stairs, quiet giggles sufficing for sentiments that were best conveyed by what they had done, and what he was painting. Perhaps no one needed to witness that level of emotion. Maybe it was only for them.

As Eric undressed, Lynne remained stilled, but she faced his side of the bed. Good thing they had plenty of sheets, he smiled, getting in next to her. An artist's life wasn't exactly tidy, but it was tiring. Eric closed his eyes while a wave of sleep seeped from Lynne's warm body. As slumber approached, Eric's last thought was to her wide smile, which hadn't changed from the moment he picked up the brush, to when he had set it down. It was finally their time, he thought, where nothing intruded.
Chapter 29

As Lynne rolled out a pie crust, Eric hummed in the sunroom. He was finishing another painting of her and his tune was merry, which made her smile. In the week since he had started this new series, Lynne had realized notions about being an artist's model that hadn't been prevalent earlier in the year. Now she didn't wonder how Eric was depicting her, nor did she feel any trepidation. And as soon as the gardeners left that day, Lynne would appease Eric's final wish, the studio cleared out, waiting for them.

In the meantime, there was pie to make, but Lynne was distracted by the new expanse of her kitchen and Eric's cheerful melody. He had altered too, but not in any painful manner, and perhaps only she would be aware of the change. Part of it was in how he painted, a little more slowly than before, or maybe that was due to how often he set down his brush, wishing to make love to her. He had bought an air mattress during the week, allegedly for a future camping trip. Instead they used it in the sunroom after he had put down his tools, helping her from the chaise lounge, then easing her onto the inflatable bed. It was too low to the ground for her to pose on, but perfect to explore other passions, and Eric had laughed, that it would stay in the sunroom until visitors arrived. Sam and Renee hadn't stopped by yet, at Eric's request. He wanted their home fully restored and he had needed the uninterrupted time to paint. Lynne had enjoyed the solitude, ignoring the gardeners while resettling their possessions. But now her eyes wandered from her work as Eric's hum wound into her brain. It led her back over the last seven days that seemed to mark a new phase in their marriage. She didn't rue having waited so long to pose that way for him, there hadn't been the time before. She smiled; before was no longer the bane of her existence. Everything that had occurred was for these days and all of those to come.

Eric stopped humming and Lynne returned to the task at hand. She heard him step outside, then men's voices mingled. Eric came back into the house, quickly taking the stairs. Lynne wondered if they were finished already; there had been much to clear, plus the new patio to construct. She didn't mind that the garden had been reduced as she loved her spacious kitchen, the downstairs bathroom, and the sunroom. Eric had mentioned that maybe next year he would have some of the thicket cleared, if they felt the garden was too small. Several acres remained as scrub, maybe they could plant more boysenberries, he had smiled. They spoke of these ideas late at night in weary but grateful voices as slumber teased. Then they woke in desperate need of the other, yet, Lynne felt no anxiety that Eric would change into a hawk. Not that she thought those days were over, but the peace he had earned from last year, coupled with the calm he'd gained from painting her, had set them both at ease. Maybe he was through altering into a bird. It had been over six months; he had never gone so long between transformations before. She smiled. All that had happened before seemed like another life.

Eric returned down the stairs as Lynne put the crust into the tin. She squinted, seeing through new kitchen windows the workmen carrying their tools, heading to the front gate. She smiled, scooping the prepared berries into the shell. She worked a lattice top, then crimped the edges, hearing faint voices from the front of the property. As Eric entered the kitchen, Lynne was placing the pie in the oven. She set the timer, then washed her hands as he met her at the sink, wrapping his arms around her waist. "That's it, Mrs. Snyder. Just you and me."

She nodded, taking a deep breath. "About time, although this pie has fifty minutes. After that, I'm all yours."

Another idea Lynne had learned about being a model was that the human body wasn't a single entity. Sometimes Eric talked as he painted, noting how various features could be viewed apart from the rest. Her breasts, he had grinned, were like smiles, while her belly was similar to the top of a pie crust, which had made her laugh out loud. Then Eric had grown quiet, glancing at her with a curious grin. When she asked him about it, he shook his head, noting that painting her was like exploring a new world, finding intriguing vistas in the crooks of her elbows, the curve of her armpits, the length of her legs. Then he had set down his brush and palette, walked to where she reclined, then buried his face in her.... Lynne shivered, then giggled. "I mean it Eric. I am not gonna let this pie burn while you...."

He had moved his hands from her waist to her chest, but the pressure was gentle as were his words in her ears, how much he loved and needed her. And that he would wait for the pie, although it wouldn't be easy. She groaned, wondering how long he would tempt her, and himself. Then she chuckled as he pulled away, deep breaths taken.

While she cleaned up her workspace, he investigated the garden, and they met in the sunroom, which still looked like a studio. Lynne gazed at the canvas, but didn't blush; she was used to seeing herself naked, but in a way, she was attired in her husband's love. She was glad he didn't want to share these paintings, although later perhaps both would change their minds. For now Lynne needed these pictures to remain concealed. It wasn't anyone's business how much they meant to each other.

Then she thought about Stanford and Lawrence. Purposely she had reverted to thinking of Lawrence with his full name, for she didn't want to slip and embarrass all of them later in summer. If Eric showed these paintings to them, might that elicit a confession? Then Lynne shook her head. The men's relationship was none of her business, but the pretense still bothered her. They were all adults and why should Stanford and Laurie....

She huffed, then crossed her arms. "Honey, what is it?" Eric asked, rubbing her shoulders.

"If you wanna show these to Stanford, that's fine." How many canvases might Eric have accumulated by then, even if he was painting more slowly than before. Then Lynne grasped his hands, squeezing tightly. "All that we feel about each other's in this picture." She released his hands, then faced him. "But they can't do that, not even here, behind our walls. They'll come in August and we'll pretend nothing's between them, but that's so wrong." She sighed. No matter how much she wished otherwise, Stanford and Laurie.... Lawrence, she chided herself. It simply wasn't her concern.

But she turned back to the painting, her heart aching. Since Eric's homecoming, Lynne had accepted a new level of love for him, mixed with thankfulness that he had returned and changed back fully into her husband. She had given great thought to what Renee must have experienced when Sam came home and how precious were these men and these moments. Now Lynne didn't have to be away from Eric and all their time could be spent in one of the most intimate manners available. Why had she been so reticent to pose for him like this before? She winced, then blinked away tears. Before Lynne had never realized the worth of her husband, those brief sojourns pale in comparison with all the time he was away last year. She had lamented the baby they couldn't make, unaware of the treasure within her grasp. She kissed him, then began to cry.

Eric walked her to the sofa in the living room, then sat her down. He rocked her as she wept, saying little as the ticking timer seemed to speak for him. Life was precarious and limited. Lynne expended her grief, then she had a wry smile. "What?" Eric asked, stroking her face.

"I keep thinking of Lawrence as Laurie. When they visit, I know I'm gonna slip and...."

"Then maybe the truth will come out and they'll both sleep in the guest room, the master guest room," Eric chuckled. "Lynne, I know and I agree. But we can't force them into sharing that part of their lives with us." He gazed toward the sunroom, then inhaled deeply. "I don't know if I wanna share these paintings, I mean, maybe one day, but you're so vulnerable in them and...."

"I don't feel that way, really. Eric, I'm not afraid at all."

He laughed gently. "Well that's good, because when I'm painting, I wonder just how much more of you I should reveal."

"I think you've stripped away anything left," she giggled.

He nodded, then brushed aside the last of her tears. "Lynne, it's more than that, it's like I'm...." He kissed her cheek. "I'm screaming to the whole world everything that matters within my life, all that's happened to me. Well, not about being a hawk, but...."

They both chuckled. "Eric, I feel that way too. Like for the last several years I was pretending at being your wife. I should've posed for you like this a long time ago."

"But how?" he asked. "Really honey, how could you?"

His tone was soft and questioning and her heart pounded, for she wasn't the only one being transformed by these sessions. No longer was she a nurse or the wife of an unknown artist, terms that had defined her, also limiting her. She was Eric's lover, his muse, and something even deeper, the keeper of a secret that no longer haunted them. If he turned into a hawk tomorrow, Lynne wouldn't fret for now they were bound more closely than ever before.

"Eric, last year when I thought about our life, before would hit me, like I'd give anything for all those little trips you used to take as if that was okay. I'd think, well, before this and before that, and pretty soon before became the ugliest word in the English language. But now it's harmless because before is irrelevant. All we have is now and I'm not even gonna think about tomorrow. Because maybe tomorrow won't come, we have no idea. But we have this moment, these seconds. I have you, oh honey...." She gasped, then smiled. "Why was I afraid to pose for you, I have no idea. Why were you gone for so long, who knows? But you're here and in a little while the pie will be done and after that...."

He nodded, his smile a beacon. "After that we'll have to let it cool, won't we?"

"Oh yes," she grinned. "At least an hour, but two or three would be better." She looked toward the sunroom. "Plenty of light left, isn't there?"

"Plenty of light Lynne."

"And would there be more outside, I mean, in the studio?"

Eric's eyes grew wide, then he closed them. Lynne traced around them as he again nodded, but didn't speak. The only sound was the ticking timer as they curled into each other, remaining as one until the timer buzzed.

In the studio, Eric hadn't started a new painting, but they had shed all their clothes, making love on the sofa as another summer's day came to an end. Lynne felt no reservations lying near her husband, fully exposed, exploring their passions as birds chirped overhead, as tree limbs blew in the breeze, as their voices rose and fell, barely contained by the aged glass panes that allowed light to pour over them until the sun no longer shone. Now as dusk turned into night, Lynne snuggled against Eric's chest, caressing his back. She didn't think about anyone or anything but her husband.

When she'd met him he was shy, but not without a smile. Then he had pursued her, although hesitation had dogged his initial advances. Neither had families from whom to seek approval, but when he told her about turning into a hawk, Lynne was momentarily adrift. After she witnessed that transformation, she was bound to him for a variety of reasons, but a large part was her need to protect him. They married with that specter in place, but after she became accustomed to it, her worries abated. Then the mundane notions of matrimony and work took over, buffered by his artistic dreams. Infertility turned into their biggest obstacle, although he still changed into a hawk, which had kept her from focusing too strongly on being unable to have a child. She had known him coming on ten years, a third of her life, and for the rest of their days she would pour all of her energies into supporting his work, and being a part of it. But as it happened, the life of an artist's model was superior to nursing, which made Lynne smile. This was her true calling.

Eric stood, then offered her his hand. "Shall we go inside?" he said, his voice tired but content.

"I don't know. We could sleep out here, seems a perfectly pleasant spot to me."

"Who are you and what have you done with my wife?" Eric laughed, then knelt beside her. "What happened to the proper nurse I married?"

"I quit nursing Eric. Now I'm the bohemian lover of one of America's great painters. Who needs a big house? We can just live in the studio."

"Now you tell me. And what were all those renovations for?"

"Oh, just for Stanford and...." She giggled. "Mr. Abrams. Eric, I am not gonna be able to stop from calling him Laurie."

"One of us will slip." Eric sat beside Lynne, who had scooted to the left end of the sofa. "But maybe that'll be for the best. God, can you imagine what would happen if I suddenly changed while they were here?"

For all of her previous peace, Lynne's blood ran cold. She shivered, then nestled against Eric. "Do you feel something?"

"Oh honey, no, not at all. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...."

She shook her head against his torso. "No, it's just...."

"Lynne, look at me."

She met his gaze, but only light from the emerging moon permitted her to see his eyes. "Eric, no, I'm sorry."

He cupped her jaw in his hand. "I have never felt so right within my own skin." He tapped his left foot. "Maybe this's part of it and I know painting you has been some too. This evening in here as well." He smiled, then kissed her gently. "I'm not gonna say I'll never change again, I can't give that sort of guarantee. But never before have I felt so...." He took a deep breath, then let it out. "So totally correct. Always something was nagging in the back of my head, but not anymore. I wish I could explain it better and while I don't wanna give you false hope, I just can't see myself changing...."

She set a finger to his lips. She carried no fears, although a part of that was accepting his transformations weren't only for her to bear. Sam and Renee's knowledge had taken much of the weight. Still, she didn't want anyone else aware, especially Stanford and Lawrence. Then she sighed. He was back to that formal moniker and she closed her eyes, wondering if she would ever be immune from that oddity of her husband's existence. Perhaps she would always wonder until the day Eric died.

Lynne opened her eyes, but could barely make him out other than his steady breaths, and if she concentrated, the throb of his heart. Yes, for the rest of Eric's life that possibility would linger, but she couldn't dwell on it. They were together, he was whole. He was also healed and Lynne said a brief prayer, thanking.... She wasn't certain who, but someone, for she couldn't accept all of this was arbitrary. It was at times inexplicable, but not without a reason. Then she chuckled.

"What?" he asked.

"Eric, if I started attending church, what would you think?"

For a moment the studio was silent and she smiled. To him, this place was a sanctuary, and Lynne could see it becoming the same to her. It was a place to fete the other, and his art, but was there more than that? In that moment, Lynne decided there was, although exactly what it was remained elusive. Going to church would be like attending a lecture, learning about a new subject. Would it be a Catholic church, a Protestant church? If the latter, which one? She could visit several denominations, but she would start where Renee and Sam worshipped, feeling a debt was owed. If nothing else, the Aherns' faith had brokered Eric's well-being, and Lynne's too.

"If you went, where would you go?" Eric's tone was curious.

"Well, I'd start going with Renee and Sam if they'd have me."

Eric chuckled. "I'm sure they'd love that. Do you want me to go with you?"

"Only if you'd like to. I just wanna...." She smiled. "It'd be like going to class, which probably isn't how the Aherns or other Christians would like me to look at it, but...."

"I think that's fair. No Lynne, I wouldn't mind that at all."

She nodded, but wasn't sure if he could see her. "Eric, I love you, I just wanna investigate it."

"No, I understand."

"You do?"

"Lynne, I won't join you, but I think it's good, to investigate." He said those last two words slowly. "You let me do that when I came back and now it's led us out here."

He had kept his tone smooth, but a hint of a chuckle finished his sentence. Lynne smiled, then shook her head. "So Eric, shall we stay out here all night?"

"Is that more investigating?" he teased.

She rolled her eyes, but knew he couldn't see her. "Actually, there aren't any blankets out here. Not that it's a cold night, but...."

"I'll keep you warm Mrs. Snyder, don't you worry."

"When will you be done with the painting in the sunroom?" Her voice was soft.

"I can bring it out here if you'd like."

"Will that mess it up, I mean, the light won't be the same and...."

"And if it isn't, so what? That painting is for us Lynne, just like whatever you learn at Sam and Renee's church is for you. I can finish it out here, I'd love to do that honey."

"If we sleep out here, are you sure you won't get cold?"

"If I do, I'll just wake you up, and you can keep me warm."

She smiled, then giggled, then laughed. "All right Eric Snyder, you just do that. And if I don't wake up, then what?"

"Then I'll pick you up and carry you into the house. And if you still don't wake up, then I'll put you into the bathtub and run a cold shower over you."

"You wouldn't!"

"I might," Eric teased. "But I don't think we'd even get through the French doors before you realized something had changed."

His tone was odd, as if something already had altered. Lynne stared at him, but mostly she was gazing from where his voice had emerged. She reached out, finding his face, then moving her hand to his neck, then to his shoulders. Then he leaned toward her, finding her mouth, where he remained for many minutes. Then their positions changed. As he pulled away, Lynne was lying on her back, her husband's body covering her. Then he was inside her, keeping her very warm indeed.
Chapter 30

In July Sam saw very little of Eric Snyder except for three evenings, all spent at the Snyder residence, which Sam thought was now more like a showplace. He did appreciate their larger kitchen, but he missed the coziness of the previous living room. Sam had enjoyed fine conversation with Eric during those get-togethers as their wives chatted separately from their husbands. The men had explored the grounds; Eric showed Sam where next spring part of the thicket would be removed. To the left of the studio, Eric pointed, another acre would be cleared, although Eric and Lynne weren't quite sure what they were going to replace it with, other than more boysenberries, Eric had laughed, leading Sam back to the house. Eric had deftly avoided the studio and Sam hadn't gazed that way, not wanting to see any nudes of Lynne.

Sam knew that was what had kept Eric and Lynne so busy; Lynne had told Renee and Renee mentioned it to Sam in passing. By the end of July, when Sam bumped into Lynne at the grocery store, Sam had set it out of his mind. Amongst canned fruit and vegetables, Lynne was her usual self, although she seemed tired. They made small talk, that Sam would love to fix supper for them one evening, and Lynne quickly agreed, noting that July had slipped away too fast. But Stanford and Lawrence were coming on Friday, the eighteenth of August, and Sam should save Saturday the nineteenth for a barbecue.

He nodded, then others stepped into the aisle. But Lynne didn't seem eager to leave and they moved their carts so people could pass. "It's been too long since we got together," she sighed, then smiled. "But I know Renee's been busy and...."

"You're still getting the house put back together."

"Something like that." Lynne giggled, then she gazed at him. "Whenever you want us to come over, just say the word. Or give me a day so I can make a pie. I think we'll fill a lot of that extra land next summer with berries. Lawrence wrote to me, wanting to confirm I'll make plenty of pie while they're here."

Sam laughed. "Well, I suppose that means extra custard, correct?"

"Indeed. Depending on what you and Renee have going that weekend, we'd love to have you join us on Sunday too. They're not going back till Monday, so...."

Sam had stopped listening, staring at Lynne's face. Dark circles hung under her eyes and she wore a kerchief over her hair. She looked like a housewife, but not the sort he normally encountered at the market; Lynne seemed bedraggled, then Sam blinked. It had nothing to do with Eric's transformations. This time Mrs. Snyder was changing.

Previously, her appearance had been tidy, keeping in line with a nurse's mantra of cleanliness. Now she had embraced the role of the artist's wife, stealing time to buy the necessities, then returning home to be her husband's muse. Her smile was fetching, for she didn't care how she looked, only that she and Eric had something to eat at the end of the day. Their lives weren't like others and while Sam's wasn't either, he had routine to keep him occupied. Lynne and Eric's schedules were wholly unlike regular people.

They stayed up late, Sam imagined, then tumbled out of bed when hunger woke them, hunger or more passionate urges. Maybe they ate a large breakfast, then spent all afternoon in the studio, only returning to the house to eat and.... Sam smiled, pleased for their newfound lifestyle. Not everyone had to punch a clock and Eric was a brilliant painter. Lately Sam had been studying the three hawks staring into the sunset, as well as an unassuming landscape that Eric gave to them last year. But there was nothing simple about the thin trees and small brook and scattered wild animals, the brushwork so delicate, new details emerging every time Sam stared at it. Eric's talent set him apart and Lynne was now fully wound into her husband's magic. Then she spoke, stirring Sam from his reverie, but her question was so odd that he wondered if he had made it up in his head. "Whatdya say?"

She stepped close to him, then cleared her throat. "I was wondering if I could go with you and Renee to mass this Sunday. I've been meaning to ask, but things keep cropping up and...."

"Of course, my goodness, certainly." He smiled, then chuckled. "Lynne, that would be wonderful." He felt giddy inside, then realized she hadn't mentioned Eric. "Would it be just you or...."

"Just me. I've spoken about this with Eric and he thinks it's a lovely idea. I just want to, well...."

"See what's there."

She nodded. "Is that all right? I don't wanna appear as a voyeur, but...." Lynne closed her eyes. For a moment she swayed and Sam wondered if she might faint. She took a deep breath, gripping the side of her cart, then she smiled. "Goodness, maybe that was a sign."

"Are you okay?"

"Just felt a little lightheaded. I'm sure it was a sign."

"Maybe," he chuckled. "Would you like us to pick you up? It'd be no trouble."

"Yes, that would be fine." She again inhaled deeply, then nodded her head. "I didn't eat much breakfast this morning. We woke late and...."

Sam stifled a laugh. "Well maybe you should just get what you have and call it a morning."

Lynne stared at the few items in her cart. "I need to bring home more than this or we won't have food for supper."

"Tell you what. Give me your list and I'll get the rest. You go sit in your car and I'll follow you home."

"Oh now Sam, that won't be necessary."

He took the grocery list from her hand. "I won't take no for an answer." Sam set her few groceries into his cart. "Go on, catch forty winks. That way I'll get to say hello to that husband of yours. Haven't seen him enough this summer anyways."

She nodded, then hugged him. "Thanks. Maybe I'm coming down with something."

"Model flu," he whispered.

She giggled while grabbing her handbag, then she headed toward the entrance. Sam left the empty cart and began shopping in earnest.

Eric thanked Sam for looking after Lynne, and while Eric walked her to their bedroom, Sam put away the cold items. He had purposely not bought any for himself and Renee, hoping to chat with Eric, and the men did share a cup of coffee on the new patio. Eric said little, other than taking up Sam's supper invitation for that weekend, and reiterating Lynne's invite for the Aherns to join them when Eric's dealer was in town. After Sam finished his coffee, he made his excuses, and Eric didn't press him to stay. Sam drove home slightly worried about Lynne, but eager to tell Renee that they would have a guest on Sunday morning.

Eric walked back to the house, glad that Sam had been at the market that morning. Lynne hadn't looked well when she left, but he had been painting, and they had nearly run out of food. If they weren't working, either in the studio or occasionally in the sunroom, they were making love, which incorporated a variety of places, but most often it was in their bedroom, or under a ceiling of glass, separating them from the outdoors by the slimmest of margins. Both sported suntans and often Eric painted in the nude, no reason to put on clothes when at a moment's notice he might gaze at his wife and need to touch her. One caress invariably led to another, why they had so badly needed groceries that day. Who thought to shop when entangled in such bliss?

That was why she hadn't yet joined Sam and Renee for church; they had simply been too enraptured in each other. And then there were the paintings, which now filled the studio. His initial slow pace had given way to a flurry of canvases in a multitude of styles. But perhaps that was indicative of all the ways Eric loved his wife, which streamed from his right arm through brushes onto flat surfaces, yet Lynne emerged as a three-dimensional vision, or that was how Eric saw her. He vacillated about whether or not to share a few with Stanford and Lawrence. Not the initial paintings, for those were only for the artist and his wife, not that they were vulgar, but so intimate in what the couple had shared throughout their relationship. But two that Eric had recently completed might be acceptable; in one Lynne sat on the stool, her arms spread wide, her eyes shut. Her smile was beatific, her head pointed toward the heavens, light pouring down on her from overhead. He had purposely obscured her from the waist down, focusing on her outstretched upper limbs and her intense bliss. Eric thought it was one of the most meaningful pieces he had ever painted.

In the other, she was standing at the studio's back wall. Her hair, now to the middle of her back, reached her buttocks in the picture, and she shielded her eyes, gazing into the thicket. Eric had depicted the entire length of her body in dipping afternoon light, but the greenery just outside the windows was vibrant, the contrasts evoking some memory of when he had left her. He had ached to return, but nature could not be denied. Still she kept watch for him and when he showed her the finished piece, she had nodded her head, silent tears trickling down her cheeks.

Eric stepped in the house and could hear her soft snores. He smiled, then walked to the studio where they did spend nearly all of their time. They used the sunroom in the evenings, for he loved portraying her in the fading light; he wanted to depict her in every conceivable fashion. But the studio was where he captured her best and afterwards the love they made seemed even more powerful. In this space, he acknowledged, they were the true essence of their existences. If the opportunity arose, Eric would paint other scenes. But he could happily spend the rest of his life interpreting his wife. And now, with seven full months separating when he had last changed into a hawk, perhaps that was the key. Painting Lynne's portraits kept him as a human being and Eric hoped those five months apart last year were the last they would have to endure.

He stood in front of those two canvases, then nodded to himself. If Lynne agreed, Eric would share these pictures with Stanford. Eric wouldn't sell them, but perhaps in a couple of years he would exhibit them. The show in October might be the last one for a while and Eric hoped the canvases would fetch good prices, for that income would sustain them until he produced a series carrying less personal significance. Then he shook his head. If he got his way, the next series wouldn't be sold either, although it would be shown. Eric smiled, staring at his wife's outstretched arms and Cheshire cat grin. Then he paused, gazing at how he had painted her breasts.

He had used a hue similar to the light pink tulips for her nipples, but suddenly that shade seemed incorrect. It wasn't the light, for it was nearly noon, and he squinted, then peered closely at the canvas. Had he misrepresented the color? He wasn't that much of a perfectionist, but had meant to match it as closely as possible to that first canvas he'd painted of her months ago. Curious, he headed to the house, still hearing her steady snores. Quietly Eric took the stairs, then slipped past their closed bedroom door, entering the storage room. All of these canvases would be heading to New York after Stanford had given his final approval.

Eric carefully pulled that canvas from its slot, then propped it on an easel. The light wasn't bright enough for him to compare and he grimaced. If he took it from the room, he might wake Lynne, but the desire to know was overwhelming. As quietly as he could, he hefted the canvas down the stairs, placing it in the sunroom. Then he fetched the other canvas, setting it alongside the older painting.

The poses weren't identical, nor was the light the same when they had been painted, yet Eric's vision was very keen, as was his memory. But clearly the shades were different; her nipples were darker in the actual nude, and they were larger. Then he tapped his left foot. No one else would be able to discern the changes, for in the first painting, Lynne's breasts were a creamy wheat field, her nipples a bright spray of tulips. But Eric knew her body well. If she wasn't upstairs sleeping, he would ask to see her upper torso. Then he shook his head, nearly sprinting to the studio. His most recent canvas might answer his question.

But that painting only demanded further inquiries; Lynne lay on her back, taking up the length of the sofa, but her breasts seemed curvier to Eric, and he had painted her nipples an even darker shade of pink. He stared at the image, wondering if he had subconsciously chosen a deeper hue, or had her nipples changed color? Then he walked back to the house, but didn't go in the sunroom. He made himself a sandwich, then sat at the kitchen table, looking at the calendar hanging on the near wall.

July had been a quiet month and Eric had appreciated that morning's chat with Sam. Otherwise the Snyders and Aherns had hardly seen each other compared to before. Then Eric smiled. Now when he used before, he couldn't help but hear Lynne's thoughts about how brutal she had once considered that word. It was as if they had spent all of July exorcising what before used to mean, perhaps they had needed to be shut away from the rest of the world. In those moments, whether he was painting or she was posing, they were discovering a new level of affection and purpose within themselves and in their marriage. Now it was time to step back into reality, or what they needed, which was contact with friends, those local and some faraway. Eric considered Stanford as his friend, although Stanford might not view Eric that way. And Sam was Eric's brother. Their morning chat had been brief but fulfilling, and Eric looked forward to a longer visit on Saturday, which as he peeked at the calendar, was the twenty-ninth. August was right around the corner, an entire year gone by since Eric left his wife and friends for the longest sojourn of his life.

Eric finished his lunch, then took his plate to the sink. Lynne was still asleep and he smiled, then again peered at the calendar. It was devoid of engagements and he lifted that page, seeing Stanford and Lawrence in ink for the middle of August. Then Eric returned to July, which appeared so empty. Yet it had been filled with revelations for a husband and wife. Still something nagged at Eric, all those blank squares, day after day. Paintings waited in the studio, it wasn't like they had been idle all that time. But something was missing, something was....

He turned back to June, scanning the few items, some in pencil, a few in pen. Lynne had gone to the dentist, a few lunch dates with Renee were scribbled. Then he noticed five consecutive X's, starting on June eleventh, ending on the fifteenth. They weren't larger than dots in the left-hand corner of the squares. Lynne kept track of her period that way, also on a calendar in their bedroom, but the X's were larger upstairs. Down here no one would notice, not that they had many visitors, maybe only Renee would have seen it. Lynne marked both calendars and had done so for years. Her cycles were regular, although occasionally she had an odd long stretch, but six weeks had passed since....

Eric blinked, then flipped the sheet back to July. He couldn't remember her being on her period this past month and he scrutinized every date, finding no mark whatsoever. His heart pounded and he steadied himself on the edge of the nearby counter. He didn't allow the notion into his head; first he needed to see the calendar in their bedroom. Maybe she had forgotten to mark this one, or thought it was no longer necessary to note her cycle in two places. But Eric distinctly felt it had been a good number of weeks since any break in their sex life had occurred. Lynne didn't like making love until she was fully over her period.

Then he looked overhead, where she was still sleeping. She never napped in the daytime, not even with all their extra activities. Sometimes Eric caught forty winks and while he did, she was knitting or watching him sleep, or that was what she said when he woke. She would join him on the sofa and they would curl into each other talking about the upcoming show or that she was still fearful of calling Lawrence Laurie. Then they would laugh, still nestled against one another. All summer long, whether builders or gardeners were present, Eric had felt a deep connection to his wife, but he had chalked it up to painting her portraits. Yet, what if?

He smiled, then chuckled at himself. Then he took the stairs, but not quietly. He reached their bedroom, opened the door, noting a break in Lynne's snores. She didn't stir, however, which was fine with Eric. He stepped to where a calendar hung near her dresser. Not a single X was visible.

He flipped back to June, noting a large X from the eleventh through the fifteenth, the same dates as downstairs. Then Eric silently counted the days; on that Tuesday, the twenty-fifth, forty-five days had elapsed since her last period. He breathed evenly, but again his heart raced. Then he turned to see her starting to move. He closed his eyes, wondering if she knew.

Perhaps she had forgotten, or maybe she was aware, but not believing. She could have assumed she'd skipped a month, was waiting for August. Perhaps she hadn't wished to alert him, instead keeping it to herself. Eric smiled, taking lively steps to their bed. "Hey, how are you?" he asked quietly.

Lynne blinked, then rubbed her eyes. "What time is it?"

"After lunch, sleepyhead." Eric sat beside her and she nestled against him. He stroked her head, the deepest sense of fulfillment rushing through every part of him. But he wouldn't say anything for she was still drowsy. He leaned down, kissing her cheek. "I love you. Did you dream anything?"

She shook her head, then sighed. "Well, maybe something about ponies." She met his gaze. "Did you eat?"

"Yeah. You hungry?"

She nodded. "Did Sam leave?"

"Hours ago," Eric laughed. "But we're having supper with them on Saturday. Did you mention going to mass with them?"

"Yeah, well, I think I did." She sat up, then looked around the room. Eric gazed at the calendar. He had left it on June and he wondered if she could see that. Maybe not, for she was still lethargic.

"Eric, you okay?"

He met her gaze, then stroked her face. "Uh-huh. Listen, why don't I make you some lunch?"

She nodded. "That would be wonderful. Then I think I'll take a shower. Sam was looking at me funny, probably noticed I wasn't my usual self."

Eric shivered, then smiled. "Well, you do look a bit...."

"In need of a bath," she giggled, running fingers through the front of her hair. "Tell you what. I'll shower, then come down for lunch. Then maybe we can...."

She laughed in a husky tone, making Eric hard. He kissed her gently, but she sought more, and within a minute they were entwined on the bed. Then she pulled away, laughing again. "I need to pee. And I am starving. You go cook, I'll shower, and then we can...."

He smiled, moving from the bed. "Whatever you want honey."

Eric helped her to stand, remaining in that spot until she stepped into their bathroom. After she closed the door halfway, he returned the calendar to July, then headed down the stairs. He wasn't sure what she suspected, however his instincts were certain.
Chapter 31

For the rest of that week, Eric kept his thoughts to himself. He was skeptical, however, that Lynne wasn't aware, for she seemed slightly furtive. While she tried to refrain from taking afternoon naps, by Saturday it had become a habit. So had the way she spent extra moments in their bathroom when she woke, although Eric pretended to be asleep. She gagged, but didn't throw up, and while he felt badly for her weak stomach, inwardly he felt like cheering.

They were expected at the Aherns at four, but at three thirty, Lynne was still sleeping, and while Eric wanted her to rest, if she slept much longer, she might be awake late that evening. Which wouldn't be a problem, unless she didn't feel well, which had just started on Thursday night. She had spent half an hour in their bathroom while he waited for her in the sunroom. Again he didn't hear her vomit, but the toilet was flushed several times, and the faucet ran. She had passed it off as something she ate, but she wouldn't meet his gaze. It was then that Eric realized she felt as he did, but still she avoided telling him.

At ten minutes to four, Eric called the Aherns, informing them that Lynne wasn't feeling well, and while he hated to cancel.... As he said cancel, Lynne entered the kitchen, shaking her head. "I'm fine," she whispered. "Just tell them we'll be a few minutes late."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, then poured herself a glass of water.

"Well, seems we will be heading over there, maybe in half an hour? Great, okay, thanks Renee. See you soon." Eric hung up the phone, then slowly approached his wife who stood near the sink, her empty glass on the counter. "Lynne, you sure?"

"Uh-huh." Then she stared at him. "Why'd you let me sleep?"

"You seemed to need it." He smiled, then grasped her hand. "Been taking a few naps lately, I wonder why."

He tried to keep his voice flat. It had taken her many years to pose for him, but this condition would only permit a few more days of quiet. Eric wasn't sure he wanted her to say anything now; it would make for an awkward evening at the Aherns. But he couldn't hide his smile as she nodded but didn't speak.

Then she stared at him, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. He softly wiped them away, aching to ask, then to hear her say the words. Of course she was.... Then he laughed. "So you wanna change before we go?"

She nodded, then shook her head. Then she began to cry and he grasped her tightly. She nodded her head again and he kissed the side of her face, his tears mixing with hers. "I love you," he warbled. "I love you so much honey."

She pulled away, still nodding her head, then she giggled. "I love you too. Yes, I'll go change. Will you, can you...."

He stroked her cheek, gazing at her trembling mouth, a few more tears rolling down her face. "Anything sweetheart."

"Will you put the pie in a bag? I won't be more than a few minutes."

Before he could tell her yes, she sprinted from the kitchen, going straight upstairs. Eric chuckled, placing the pie into a carrier bag, hearing her gagging in their bathroom right over his head.

They didn't speak on the drive, but she clutched his hand the entire trip. When they arrived, Eric carried the bag, his wife walking beside him. Renee opened the front door, then she paused. "Lynne, my God, are you all right?"

Renee met them on the sidewalk, grasping both of Lynne's hands. "You look, well, awful. Maybe you should go back home. I mean, you really don't look good."

"I feel fine," Lynne croaked. "Eric's got the pie."

Renee glanced at the bag in Eric's hand, then shook her head. "Who cares about pie? I mean it, you look terrible." Then Renee stared at Eric. "Why'd you bring her over? She should be at home in bed."

"Well, she said...."

"I don't care what she said." Renee pressed her fists against her hips. "Listen, just go home. Well, wait a minute." She took the bag from Eric, then rushed into the house. Eric could hear her hollering at Sam, then Sam came running. "What's going on?"

"I'm fine, really," Lynne mumbled.

Sam crossed his arms, then shook his head. "You're as fine as nothing. Renee's right, you need to go home. She's packing up some potato salad and custard. And I imagine she's cutting us some slices of pie." Sam smiled, then gazed at Eric. Eric rolled his eyes, unable to speak for fear of laughing out loud.

"Eric, I'm surprised," Sam continued. "She should be in bed. You really should," he then said to Lynne, feeling her forehead. "Well, at least you don't have a fever. But my God, you look just...."

"I'm really okay, it's just...."

"It's just that she didn't wanna disappoint you two." Eric cleared his throat, but a belly laugh was waiting to rumble.

"Well, we can get together in a few days. And you just put a hold attending mass tomorrow," Sam chuckled. "Now that I know you wanna go, I'll hold you to it, but not until you're feeling a whole lot...."

"No Sam, I need to go tomorrow, I have to...."

Lynne stared at Eric and he nodded. She looked ready to throw up and he rushed her inside the house, nearly running into Renee, who was heading outside. Lynne reached the bathroom just in time, loudly vomiting all the water she had drunk at home.

It was all she had on her stomach and Eric felt badly that the first time she was sick wasn't within the safety of their house, and that she didn't have much to lose other than bile. Renee stood at the doorway. "You think she could keep down soda?" she asked Eric.

"That or apple juice if you've got it."

Renee didn't answer, but she disappeared. Then Sam took her place. "Jesus Christ, is she all right?"

Lynne trembled, leaning against Eric. "Yeah, I think it's just...." He hesitated. "A stomach bug."

"Well no kidding." Sam shook his head. "Why'd you come over if she's feeling so cruddy?"

"I'm really okay," Lynne croaked.

"Like hell you are." Renee handed Eric a glass of what looked like 7-Up, although most of the bubbles were gone.

"Here, sip this." Eric set the glass to Lynne's mouth and she drank a quarter of it. Then she took another sip, swishing it around her mouth. She spat that into the toilet, then motioned for Eric to set the glass near the sink, which he did. He stood, then helped her do the same. Then she waved them all out of the bathroom. Eric was the last to leave, closing the door behind him.

When he reached the living room, Sam and Renee both frowned. Eric ached to tell them, but then his wife hadn't yet mentioned it, and that came first. "Listen, she was okay earlier."

"Well, she's sure not okay now." Renee tapped her foot. "You go home, put her to bed. Sam'll grill the meat and we'll bring some over tomorrow. Tonight you can live on potato salad and custard."

Eric nodded, hearing the toilet flush. Then he met Sam's gaze. Samuel Ahern's face had changed, worry replacing displeasure. Renee left the men as Lynne opened the bathroom door, but Sam didn't speak. Yet his look of concern remained and Eric nodded, so wishing to ease Sam's mind.

Instead Eric turned to see his wife approaching, with Renee's assistance. Eric took over for Renee and while Lynne still protested, Renee would hear none of it. She stood on Lynne's other side as Eric led his wife to their car. Sam brought the bag of food, then Renee ran back inside for the Snyders' half of the pie. She wagged her finger at both Eric and Lynne, then waited on the curb as if to make sure that Eric took his wife back home. In his rear view mirror, Eric could see Renee shaking her head as Lynne continued to mumble that honestly she was all right.

Eric escorted his wife upstairs, then returned outside for the bag of food. When he stepped into the kitchen, he could hear her gagging, but it sounded innocent enough. He refrigerated the salad and custard, then went up, hearing her getting into bed as he reached the landing.

He smiled, wishing to laugh, but held it back. Then he put on a somber face, stepping into their bedroom. "Honey, you okay?"

She lay in the center of the mattress, nodding her head. Then she shrugged. "Did you put the food away?"

He grinned, then again frowned. "I did. But that's the least of my worries. Renee's right, you do look...."

He wasn't sure for how much longer he could contain his joy. He sat beside her, then stroked her hair, matted along her forehead. "If you weren't a nurse, I'd consider calling a doctor, although then Renee would get on my case that I should've just called her to come over and...."

"Don't Eric. Don't call anyone, please?"

Her tone was soft, also pleading for privacy. "I won't honey, it's all right." He grasped her hand, which felt cool and small. Then he smiled. "Lynne, it's just between us until...."

She met his gaze, nodding as tears poured down her cheeks. "Oh Eric, oh my God, I, I'm...."

He kicked off his shoes, crawling under the blanket, wrapping her in his arms. "Honey, it's okay, I know. I know and I love you and...."

She kissed him before he could say any more. Then somehow they shed their clothes, making love as that notion seeped into them. As they finished, Lynne called out his name, telling him her suspicions. Eric answered her with an emphatic I love you, both laughing and crying together.

They didn't speak, trying to catch their breaths, and allowing the news to settle. Then Eric cleared his throat. "How long've you suspected?"

"For the last two weeks," she smiled. "But I knew if I said something, I'd start that day. That's why I didn't say anything Eric, I didn't wanna...."

"I know, I understand." Then he chuckled. "So when were you gonna tell me?"

"Well, before this week, I was starting to wonder if you'd realized I was late. Then when Sam followed me home on Tuesday, I decided that if you hadn't said anything by the end of the week, well...."

"When you were sleeping that day, it hit me. But I didn't wanna pressure you." He kissed her forehead, then slowly placed his hand on her belly.

She gasped, then wept, then put her hand on top of his. "Oh Eric, is it, are we...."

"I think we are." He laughed. "You know how I realized it?"

"How?"

"You'll laugh at me. I was looking at that painting of you on the stool. Your nipples weren't the right color, or they weren't like I had painted the tulips. Then I compared those paintings to the one I just finished and...."

"How could you tell from that?"

"Lynne, I know your body very well."

He softly stroked her nipples, but she flinched, and he chuckled. "They're darker already, but then you are probably seven weeks along."

"Oh my God, don't even say that."

"You are Lynne. You're carrying my...."

He watched how her lips trembled, her head darting from side to side. With every fiber of his being he knew she was pregnant, yet, she was still wary. Then he nodded, kissing her nose. "We need to make an appointment with Dr. Salters. If she tells you, then will you believe it?"

His tone was light, but he understood her apprehensions. Yet he held not one worry. He'd always assumed their infertility was his fault, but his foot was whole, and it wasn't the only part of him healed. Then he laughed, wiping away her tears. "After all the love we've made over the last six months, I'm not at all surprised. I only have one question."

She stared at him. "Just one?"

"Mmmhmmm." He kissed her again, then nuzzled against her brow. "I wonder where we made this baby. In the studio, the sunroom, the living room, or right here in this bed."

He whispered that last word, for by then she was nestled against his chest, weeping hard. Eric crooned her name, alternating Lynne with Mama. Then they made love again, using no words at all.

On Sunday, Sam and Renee dropped off the chicken Sam had grilled last night. Lynne was asleep and Renee peeked in on her as Sam and Eric waited in the kitchen. Renee gave Eric a sharp stare, then told him that if Lynne wasn't better by Tuesday to make her an appointment with Dr. Salters. Sam reprimanded his wife, but Renee clucked at them both. "I'm the medical expert right now. Like I said, if she's still green around the gills...."

"I'll make the appointment myself." Eric smiled, then followed them to the front door as Sam led Renee out. Eric walked with them as far as the front gate, barely keeping a straight face. When he heard their car start, he chuckled, and once they had driven away he laughed all the way back to the kitchen.

Eric put the chicken into the fridge, then took out the potato salad. He dished up a serving, then ate it standing up, gazing at the calendar. When Stanford and Lawrence arrived, would he tell them? It all depended on how Lynne was feeling. She said this was the first bad morning sickness she'd suffered, but it wasn't confined only to the morning. He finished the salad, then noticed very little was left in the container. He smiled, then ate that too. Lynne could have chicken, custard, or pie when she felt like eating anything.

She was still reticent about vocalizing what both knew was true. Last night he had inspected her body once they were both calm, and indeed, her breasts were larger, although her stomach appeared the same. Again that morning, Eric looked her over, then he asked to paint her. He wanted to mark this occasion and while she had said yes, she was also feeling ill. Maybe that afternoon, if she was up to it, and they would work in the sunroom in case she felt sick. He was grateful for having added a toilet downstairs, then he laughed. Extra bedrooms upstairs would come in handy as well.

Then he shivered, closing his eyes. She was pregnant, he knew she was. He inhaled deeply, then sat at the table. All week he had considered it, but in such vague terms, it was more of an insinuation than reality. She couldn't say the word, or any others related to her condition, but he didn't mind for it was etched into his heart as permanently as was his love for her. Lynne was having his baby, they were going to be parents. He was going to be a father and Eric smiled, no ominous connotations connected to that at all.

Then he looked at his hands. They had lain along Lynne's beautiful body, then the right one had translated her goodness onto canvas. Now as if by a miracle, all that bliss and perfection rested inside her, and he itched to paint her portrait, for now she wasn't only his wife. She was his wife and their child, which made Eric shake. His daughter or son lay far within Lynne as if placed there by a....

Eric blinked, letting the magnitude of that statement find the proper place within him. Yes, he could, and would, spend the next seven and a half months painting her and their emerging offspring, but on that day he ached to find the right manner to express the boundless thrill, the infinite delight, the massive gratitude. He was extremely thankful, but to whom or to what did he owe that recognition?

Then he smiled, for he knew what Samuel would say, Renee too. Then Eric wondered when to tell them; perhaps after Dr. Salters had confirmed it. Lynne would want to wait until then, or even later. Then Eric chuckled, a giddy rush coursing through him. They would get the news from Lynne's doctor, then Lynne would be showing. She would feel the baby before Eric would notice any exterior flutters, then she would grow exponentially, and he would capture every day on canvas. Eric would paint like a madman for the next several months, and then....

What about the show in October? He shook his head; there was no way he would go to New York. Stanford could deal with it because Eric would be here taking care of Lynne. They would tell Stanford and Laurie next month, just to excuse Eric's presence at the exhibit, unless Lynne felt like taking a journey. Maybe by then she might not be sick at all, maybe....

He laughed at himself, for honestly he had no idea what would occur other than sometime next spring, Lynne would give birth to their daughter or son. In the meantime.... Eric stood, then cut himself a slice of pie. He retrieved some custard for it, then took his plate into the living room. Lynne still slept and he was glad for that. The house was done, the garden restored. For the next few seasons, Eric would happily hunker down, doing little more than capturing his wife's changing form, cooking for her, running the household. Which now that he thought about it was plenty, no need to run off to New York for any reason. Stanford had managed one show without the artist and this time, Eric would only be a phone call away.

He sat on the sofa, then ate his pie. Then he heard Lynne getting out of bed. Eric set the plate on the coffee table, taking the stairs two at a time. When he reached the bedroom, she was sitting up, but she didn't look sick. She smiled, then patted his side of the bed.

Eric joined her, getting under the covers. She snuggled next to him and he lay down as she settled along his side. "Were you eating pie?" she asked slowly.

"I was. Sam and Renee brought over some chicken."

"You didn't tell them, did you?"

"No, but I did eat all the potato salad."

"You pig!" She laughed, then sighed. "Actually, chicken sounds good. Pie does too."

"I'll get you whatever you want." He started to move, but she kept him in place, and he smiled. "Or I'll just lay here and let you feed yourself and the baby."

He said that last word with emphasis. "Lynne, I love you. I can't begin to tell you how much I love you."

She nodded, then stroked his face. "How're we gonna tell them?"

"The Aherns?"

"Uh-huh."

"I'll do it. We only have to tell them and Stanford. And Lawrence," Eric added with a chuckle. "Thank goodness our circle is tiny."

"I wanna see Dr. Salters before we say anything to anyone."

"I agree." Eric kissed her cheek. "Sweetheart, however you wanna do this. You're in charge with this project."

She nodded, then slowly placed his hand on her belly. "We'll do this together, but you can tell Renee and Sam. And Stanford and Laurie too." Then she paused. "Eric, what about the show, what will you do?"

"Stay right here, thank you very much."

"Are you sure?"

"Honey, nothing is more important than you and our baby." He took a deep breath. "Stanford handled one exhibit without me, he can certainly do another."

She didn't speak, but her breathing was stilted. "Lynne?"

"What if you have to leave?"

Eric closed his eyes, for he had deliberately not considered that. "Well, we'll cross that bridge if we come to it."

She nodded. "Eric, if everything's all right, I wanna have...." Her voice cracked and it took her a minute to continue. "I wanna deliver here, at home."

He sat up, staring at her. "Are you sure?"

"If Renee's willing, I want her and Dr. Salters and you. I don't wanna be surrounded by a bunch of women who either have no idea what they're doing or think they know it all. And I don't wanna spend a week or more where you can't be right beside me and our...."

She started to sob and Eric cradled her. "Whatever you want honey, oh Lynne, don't cry, don't cry baby. Baby," he smiled, tickling her belly. "You're having my baby Lynne, you're really having my...."

Now Eric paused as a wave of peace breached his skin, seeping along his veins. It wound through muscles and organs, settling into his bones. Then his soul was touched and he wondered if other men were so affected. Then he smiled, for he wasn't like other men; he was an artist, and at times he was a hawk. And for the rest of his days he would be a father, but not like his father or grandfather. With Lynne, Eric would create a new line of Snyders, then he laughed at himself as Lynne asked if he was all right. He nodded, then kissed her lips, then traveled down her torso until he reached her belly. Carefully he traced her navel with his mouth, whispering affectionate words to both his wife and their child. Then Eric looked at Lynne, desire plain on her face. Eric satisfied that need, all the while acknowledging the still formless entity to which he owed many thanks.
Chapter 32

On Wednesday Lynne and Eric saw Dr. Salters, who expressed joyful surprise in their news. Lynne gave a urine sample and while Dr. Salters felt that Mrs. Snyder was indeed expecting a baby, she would call them personally with the test result. Lynne had decided not to actually speak about her condition until they had received that call, but it became more difficult to ignore what was probably occurring. She was often nauseous, her breasts were very tender, and she was exhausted no matter how long she slept. But in scattered moments when she felt fine, she began to ponder the miracle, how she thought of it. Then she would seek her husband, but usually he wasn't far away. Eric stuck closely to her in part for his own peace of mind, but mostly for her needs. When Lynne wasn't feeling poorly, she was very desirous of him, and Eric acquiesced to her wishes. Then she would smile, wondering where they had made this.... Where she had conceived, she would correct herself. Lynne could admit that she had conceived, but that was as far as she permitted that notion, even if she was perched over the toilet, puking yet again.

After seeing the doctor she called Renee, but Lynne didn't bring up attending church. She didn't want to go until Renee and Sam knew, but she didn't want Eric to tell the Aherns until she and Eric were certain. By Friday Lynne had posed for her husband in the sunroom, but Eric hadn't painted for very long, although not due to her morning sickness. He had set down his brush, then helped her to the inflatable bed, unable to keep his hands from her torso. He was very gentle with her breasts, but more tactile around her lower abdomen, and he spoke softly in between kissing her lips and neck. Then he made love to her and Lynne smiled, unsure how he would get any canvases finished. But a few hours later, after she had napped, he presented to her the beginnings of what he said would be the most cherished series he would ever paint. Then he laughed, saying he would never complete it, for it would encompass not only this pregnancy, but the rest of their lives as parents. She was crying as he spoke, for while he didn't put a number on their projected offspring, he made it sound as if this would be her first of many confinements. He didn't employ formal terms; Eric used everyday language, which Lynne still could not. But she loved hearing his enthusiasm and the painting, even in this early stage, was stunning. Lynne had never felt so beautiful in Eric's eyes, but indeed, something had changed, and this time it was her.

On Saturday morning she woke first and to her shock, she didn't immediately need to throw up. For a few seconds Lynne was terrified until the familiar wave of illness rolled through her. She smiled, then got up, used the bathroom, but only to urinate. Eric was sound asleep; she didn't remember when he came to bed, although he had been there as she had lost consciousness. She put on her robe, then went downstairs, first heading into the kitchen for apple juice. She had given up coffee, preferring something sweet first thing, not so bitter when she vomited it back up again.

Slowly she sipped the juice, pleased to be awake before her husband, who she felt needed extra rest as much as she did. Then she padded into the living room, inhaling paint and turpentine. Lynne suspected Eric had lain with her until she was asleep, then he had returned to work. As she stepped into the sunroom, her suspicions were confirmed. She clasped her hand over her mouth, then blinked away tears. The painting was done; she knew it from his signature in the bottom left corner and in how an incandescent glow radiated from the canvas. But for all the nudes he had painted of her before, none compared to how he saw her now.

Her skin tone was warmer, her brown hair shining as if each strand was on fire. Her breasts were larger, even she could see that, and gently she cupped them, noticing the added heft. He had painted her nipples a rich pinkish red, nearly the same color as her lips. Her eyes were wide, but the gaze was a little wary, and she nodded at her image, thankful he still understood her hesitation. While her left hand rested on a flat belly, her right hand grasped the back of her neck. The pose was definitely that of an uncertain woman, yet the smile wasn't fearful; concrete hope lurked in Lynne's sly grin. Now she smiled in a similar fashion; the next several months of posing would be an adventure.

The next several months would be nothing like what she had endured at this time last year. One year had passed since Eric left and now here she was, expecting.... Lynne clutched her middle with both hands, then looked at that section of her body. Was this real, had he actually been healed during those agonizing weeks? His foot had, that had been obvious. But within him another restoration had occurred. All those years Lynne had placed the blame squarely on herself. Eric had never agreed with her and he'd been right. She could conceive, she probably was.... She walked to the sofa in the living room, sitting with a plop. All she wanted was for Dr. Salters to telephone with the results. Once they had the lab results....

Then she gazed toward the painting; was she that suspicious? The way she gripped the back of her neck, yet, that smile was more pleased than that in the Mona Lisa, relaying that much knowledge. What had that woman been thinking when da Vinci painted her, Lynne wondered. Was it something as precious as all that Lynne had been considering while Eric worked his magic. How late had he been up last night, she then wondered. He needed to pace himself, for at least right now she wasn't in much shape to take care of him. Then she smiled as he plodded onto the landing. "Lynne?" he called, sounding half awake.

"In the living room."

He lumbered down the steps, then joined her on the couch. "Good morning. How do you feel?"

"Not quite so green." She motioned to the canvas, then snuggled against him. "It's beautiful. But how late were you up?"

"Midnight. Did you have some juice yet?"

She nodded as he stroked her face. "Even kept it down so far." Then she giggled. "I have yet to throw up this morning."

"Well done," he smiled.

They cuddled for several minutes, then Lynne stood, stepping into the sunroom, stopping in front of the canvas. "Eric, this's different from the other ones." She stared at him and he nodded. Then he came to her side, putting his arm around her.

She leaned beside him and for the first time, she thought about what having a family with this man meant. She could conjure that word, for the woman in the painting wasn't the same woman Eric had depicted over the last several months. Lynne was changed, she was pregnant. She gasped, then grabbed Eric's waist, burrowing her face against his chest. Then she peeked back at the canvas. The eyes were leery, but that smile was so positive. Her right arm balked at the news, but her left hand embraced it. Then Lynne gazed at her husband, but even Eric seemed altered. He wasn't merely her spouse; he was a father in the dark circles under his eyes, the stubble on his cheeks, and the widest smile he had ever worn. But it wasn't sexual in nature as before it would have been. Before made Lynne chuckle. Before had nothing on the life they now lived.

She kissed him, but in a new way that translated all she felt. It wasn't about making love, yet it was all about affection and devotion, but not only to each other. He set his palm over her belly and Lynne placed her hand on top of his. "I'm having your baby," she said softly, conviction ringing through her voice. "We're gonna have a baby Eric."

"Yes we are Lynne." His tone was deep and blissful. Then he kissed her forehead. "I think I'd like to tell Sam and Renee today."

Lynne flinched for seconds, then nodded. She didn't need to wait for Dr. Salters' call; the truth was right in front of her in Eric's painting and inside of her, starting to make her woozy. She smiled, then winced, then pulled away from Eric. Then with a joyful rush to her steps, she ran to the downstairs bathroom where she vomited. As Eric handed her some toilet paper, Lynne smiled, even if she still felt unsettled. She had morning sickness because she was carrying her husband's baby.

After lunch Lynne napped in the sunroom, lying fully clothed on the chaise lounge. Eric began a new painting of her, for he didn't only want to capture her undressed. He smiled as he worked; half of these early canvases might be of her asleep, but so much was occurring within her, it was no wonder she nodded off easily. Having studied human anatomy in college, Eric knew quite well what was going on inside his wife.

Yet he didn't think of it in molecular terms; he considered it as he had his own transformations, how without any rational explanation her uterus was now housing a developing embryo, or perhaps it was already called a fetus. He couldn't remember, for that had been over a decade ago. But in a matter of weeks a child would be formed and he wondered if they would be able to hear a heartbeat through a stethoscope. Probably, he hoped. He wanted to hear their baby's heart rate, added proof of the fantastic marvel that now made Lynne so weary.

She had wanted him to call the Aherns, but she'd been so tired after lunch that Eric suggested that first she lay down. It hadn't taken her long to fall asleep and as soon as she was settled, he sat at a blank canvas, and with very little conscious thought on his part, she began to take shape within his reach. He would need to stretch more canvases, some horizontal like this one, and in a few months, those vertical. He wanted to illustrate her from every angle, especially once she started to show, but as she softly snored, this position was necessary too. There weren't enough hours in the day for all he wanted to accomplish; loving her and caring for her and painting her portraits would need to be meted out accordingly. For now, looking after her came first, but making love to her was part of that. Painting was for Eric's own pleasure.

He took great joy from this action in part that she was so close to him and that he felt very protective of her. The day was warm, the French doors open, but the gentle breeze didn't stir her, or he would have closed those doors. She wanted the Aherns aware, which Eric felt was right, not wishing to worry them. But telling them would raise some uneasiness, yet Eric felt the slight sorrow would be short-lived. If anyone would be happy for them, it would be Sam and Renee.

Eric didn't rue that his mother and Lynne's parents were dead. Some families were limited, but that didn't make them less happy, or relevant. He wondered what Stanford and Laurie would think; Lawrence would be thrilled, Stanford somewhat aloof, especially since Eric would probably stay here in October. But Stanford would soften as Lynne's deep contentment spread. Eric was ecstatic about becoming a father, but his feelings paled in comparison to those of his wife.

He wasn't dismayed by that disparity and perhaps it was only in this early stage, or maybe until she had their baby. She was doing all the work and had blamed herself. Now she had to rearrange her beliefs, which wasn't something achieved overnight. But it also wasn't going to be a long process. Her words that morning, followed by her request for him to tell the Aherns, were walls falling. And once she wasn't so sick, he smiled, then perhaps she could embrace this pregnancy like most other women.

Then he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. One aspect would probably trouble them both, but there wasn't anything either could do about it. Eric didn't feel a transformation was imminent, but he couldn't rule it out. He didn't want to miss a single moment of this pregnancy, but it wasn't up to him. Eric set down his brush, then gazed at his wife. Lynne was deeply asleep, but her mouth curved in the smallest smile. Was she dreaming and if so, about what? Probably not him turning into a hawk or anything else turbulent. Eric stood, shaking his shoulders, then touching his toes. Then he stepped to the open doors, warm sun shining on his face.

He walked to the edge of the new patio, which now ended at the fountain. His studio was so close and he looked forward to next year when more acreage was cleared. But instead of them planting the boysenberry vines, Eric would hire someone. Lynne would be busy with the baby and he would be painting his wife and.... He wanted a daughter, which didn't surprise him. He wouldn't say anything to Lynne, far too early to consider gender, but Eric accepted that desire. Maybe a female Snyder wouldn't change into a hawk, he smiled wryly.

Eric approached the studio, wondering when he would next paint in there. Right now Lynne needed to be close to the house. But morning sickness would probably end by fall and while the weather was still pleasant, he would paint her in this outbuilding, where maybe they had made their baby. He smiled, then looked back at the house. Who knew where exactly, but within this property Eric had found his way into Lynne, and there he would stay until no more room remained.

He chuckled, then was glad she wanted to give birth at home, assuming all was well. She knew more about that aspect than he did, but he wanted to be present. He wanted Renee there too and if Sam was amenable, perhaps he would be waiting in the kitchen, or if Lynne was too loud, maybe Sam would slip outside, wandering the grounds until the screaming stopped. Eric laughed, then gazed back at the sunroom. This was his whole world, safely tucked behind walls and shrubs, encased in the newly renovated house, resting deeply within his wife. All that time it had been Eric to hold them back, but time had been necessary for him to establish his career, to seek out his father, for Lynne to quit work. And now.... Now all he had to do was tell Sam and Renee.

Eric didn't explore that, for what happened next was solely for the Aherns. But after time for contemplation, they would embrace this news, and Eric coveted that support. After all Sam had done for him last December, Eric didn't want to go through this without him, and Renee, as a part of it. Eric didn't consider Renee as his sister, but Sam was definitely Eric's brother, and while Eric wouldn't spill all of his guts to Samuel, there were a few things he ached to share, details that perhaps Lynne might not understand. Particulars that only a man could comprehend, but maybe Sam might not want to hear what Eric had to say.

Eric shivered; a few times last year, Sam had started to speak about Korea. Eric had been intrigued by Sam's ramblings, but Sam had stopped himself before too much was revealed. Maybe the next few months would usher in another level of the men's friendship, or maybe it would taper off. All Eric could do was be honest and hope Sam would respond in kind.
Chapter 33

That evening, Eric called the Aherns, speaking to Sam. Lynne wasn't up to attending mass with them in the morning, but she was feeling better, and the Snyders would love to host an impromptu lunch tomorrow when the Aherns were out of church. Sam asked Renee, who agreed. Lynne stood next to Eric during this call and both cast happy, then wary, glances at each other.

On the other end of the receiver, Sam and Renee shared the same kinds of gazes. They had discussed what might be causing Lynne's ill health and while neither had mentioned a baby, it ran through both of their minds. Eric's somewhat ominous call stoked that idea and by the time Sam and Renee were in bed, it was on the tips of their tongues. Yet, it remained unstated, for as Renee thought to herself, it could be anything else. And as Sam wondered, if Lynne was pregnant, what did that mean about Eric?

The Aherns fell asleep and said little about it in the morning, although Sam lamented not having time to fix something to take for lunch. Renee gently chided him and they drove to mass in quiet. The service was long, a baptism taking place, during which Renee squeezed Sam's hand, catching his eyes. He nodded, but still they said nothing.

It wasn't until they were halfway to the Snyders when Renee finally spoke. "Sam, what if Lynne's...."

He cleared his throat. "She might be. It's all I can figure."

Renee nodded, then gripped his right hand. "If she is, oh my God." Renee crossed herself, then sighed. Then she smiled. "If she is, I think that's very good."

Sam glanced at her, then stared back at the road. "Yeah?"

"Don't you?"

"Well...."

Renee clucked. "Sam, I know what you're thinking and...."

"You know what I'm thinking?"

"Well, I know you're thinking about Eric."

Sam nodded, for that man was his main concern. Not that Sam didn't care about Lynne, but Renee would consider Lynne enough for both Aherns. Renee would think about Eric, well, she already was, but it was in the context of her own husband, which Sam appreciated. "Honey, if Lynne's...." Then Sam coughed. It was one thing to assume she was expecting a baby, but to say it? "If she is, then well, yeah, Eric, he, uh...." Sam smiled, taking his foot from the accelerator. He pulled to the side of the road, but didn't stop the engine. Then he turned toward his wife. Renee's teary face made his heart lurch. For several seconds, Sam prayed, asking God to let them also get lucky, for that was what had happened to the Snyders. They had been extremely blessed and Sam hadn't realized how deeply that desire rested within him.

As Renee sniffled back tears, Sam stroked her face, a plethora of emotions bubbling inside him. Mainly he was aroused, which made him roll his eyes, then he wondered what that meant. After all these years, he still wanted to do what Eric Snyder had probably done. Sam kissed Renee's damp face, then embraced her over the gear box. She started to weep, but the sound wasn't painful. It was similar to the sentiments Sam felt at that moment, pleasure for others, with a small hint of what if? What if Sam hadn't been injured, what if he and Renee had conceived before he left for Korea, what if.... "I love you honey," he whispered. "I love you so much Renee."

She nodded, then kissed him. Sam ached for her, then Renee pulled away. "Sam, it's a quiet road, there's no one here."

Her smile was mischievous, then she blushed. "I know someone could drive past, but the chances are slim and you're...." She giggled, setting her hand on the front of his trousers. "Sam, please?"

Killing the engine, he grinned, feeling seventeen years old. "I love you baby. Yeah, let's."

She kept giggling as she got into the back seat. Sam retrieved some blankets from the trunk, then laid one over the seat. The other was placed around Renee's shoulders, which to Sam's great joy were bare. In fact, Renee was completely naked, and he laughed, wondering how she had managed that so quickly. Moments later, he wasn't thinking about anything but how good she felt, even in the back seat of their car. Then he only considered how fantastic he felt as she mumbled very intimate notions which led to Sam's release.

By lunchtime, Lynne was feeling mostly well. She wondered if the Aherns were late due to guessing the reason for this invitation or maybe church had run long. Lynne was on the patio when she heard Sam's car outside the gate and she called for Eric, who had just gone in the house. He returned, then gripped her hand, and together they walked toward the front wall.

Sam and Renee stepped through the gate, looking somewhat disheveled, but not displeased. "Well hello," Sam said with a laugh. "Sorry we're late, church took forever."

The men shook hands while the women embraced. Lynne had never seen Renee looking so flushed. "There was a baptism," Renee smiled. "Sometimes they take ages."

A hint of bile crept up Lynne's throat, but she forced it back down. "Well you're here and that's all that matters."

Renee nodded, then grew solemn. Then she grasped Lynne's hands. "We are and you're looking better."

Lynne couldn't speak, but she gave a small smile. Then Renee stroked Lynne's face. "Are you?" Renee started, but couldn't finish.

"Oh my goodness Renee, yes!" Lynne trembled as the words tumbled forth. Renee clutched Lynne and both women broke into sobs. All Lynne could see was Sam in Eric's arms while Renee continued to cry, gripping Lynne with all her might.

They walked to the patio arm in arm, conversation shared between them. The Aherns expressed sincere happiness, the Snyders conveying their grateful appreciation. Details were then noted, that Lynne had seen Dr. Salters that week, and while they were still waiting for the test results, all felt that yes, Lynne was expecting a baby, probably due in mid to late March. Renee cried again, but her tears were joyful, as was her tone. "That is so wonderful, oh my goodness." She wiped her face, then laughed. "If someone was seeking a miracle, this has to be high on the list."

"I fully agree," Eric chuckled. "And we need to thank you both for your divine intercessions."

Lynne stood beside her husband, but she gazed at Sam. "We have so much to thank you for...."

Sam shook his head. "Just seeing you together and with this news." Then he laughed. "Really, this's the best thing you could've said."

"Are you sure?" Lynne asked softly.

Sam stepped her way, reaching for her hand. Then he placed Eric's on Lynne's, grasping both of them in his own. "Of course it is. Aside from God's grace, this's the most beautiful gift in the world."

Renee joined them. "He's absolutely right. It really is."

Lynne nodded and Eric did too. "We weren't sure how to tell you, I mean...." Then Eric smiled. "But we couldn't hide it anymore, Lynne's just too darn sick."

"How're you feeling now?" Renee's tone turned professional.

"So much better," Lynne squeaked. Then she shook her head. "Actually, I need to...." She turned for the French doors, then ran into the house. Renee followed, leaving the men chuckling on the patio.

The initial awkward moments were swept aside by many good feelings. After lunch, the women drifted into the kitchen while the men stepped into the garden. Eric again showed Sam the land that he wanted cleared next spring and perhaps some additional acreage past the studio for a proper storage building. Sam didn't ask specific details, still considering the biggest news; he accepted that Eric and Lynne were hoping for more than one child. Then Sam wondered if Lynne would be that forthcoming with Renee, but maybe Lynne wasn't that optimistic. Eric certainly was, for he mentioned that they would probably tell Stanford when he visited in two weeks' time. "I'll need a good excuse to miss the October exhibit," Eric joked. "If this doesn't satisfy him, too bad."

Then Sam realized there was no one else for Eric and Lynne to inform. Sam looked forward to telling his sister, but Frannie hadn't met Lynne, only Eric. Sam smiled, then sighed, which caught Eric's attention. Sam wasn't sure what bothered him, certainly not that the Snyders were having a baby. They were so solitary, but maybe Sam was used to loads of relatives hovering nearby.

"She wants to have the baby here," Eric said, gazing past the studio. Then he looked at Sam. "Of course that's a long ways off, but if there aren't any problems, she'd like Renee along with Dr. Salters, and I'll be there." Then Eric chuckled. "And we'll need someone close, making the custard."

Sam blushed, then shrugged. "Well, if she's not too noisy, we'll see."

Eric laughed. "She'd known, or suspected it, for a few weeks, but didn't say anything. I had to bring it up."

"How did you know?" Sam was curious, then he shook his head. "That was rude of me."

"I've painted her enough to know when something changes." Eric took a deep breath, then gazed at the house. "I'd been hoping, you know, that since my foot healed, maybe something else would too. She's always blamed herself, but it was never her fault, so maybe last year was worth it. Not that I wanna go through something like that again, but Sam, honest to God, I'd do it, I mean...."

A long pause emerged, then Eric sighed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring that up."

Sam inhaled deeply, then looked around the garden. He could still recall Eric in the thicket, appearing not at all like a man, or even a bird, but some otherworldly creature that if Sam hadn't witnessed in person, he would never have imagined possible. "Renee and I talked about this, on the way over." Sam hid his smile, then cleared his throat. "We'd been thinking that maybe Lynne was.... But we hadn't said it to each other. I watched that baby being baptized this morning and all I did was pray for you and Lynne. Renee and I can't, but for you guys...."

Eric stepped in front of Sam. "Nothing's impossible."

Sam shivered. "Well okay, but Eric, your foot, I mean...." Sam wanted to speak openly, but both of these issues required delicacy. He wasn't sure which was more awkward to broach, then he smiled. "Yes, you're absolutely right, nothing's impossible with God. But some things are more, well, improbable."

"Sam, what's more strange, what happens to me or that...."

"Eric!" Renee's voice carried across the yard. "There's a phone call for you, from Mr. Taylor."

Eric smiled and Sam did too. "Tell him I'll be right there," Eric hollered.

"Okay!"

"Well, Mr. Taylor awaits." Eric turned for the path and Sam followed, wondering if Stanford had heard Renee's deference, and if Eric would spill the beans. Then Sam said a prayer, asking God to look after Lynne, but Sam didn't include anything about himself and Renee.

Eric didn't tell Stanford that Lynne was pregnant. Stanford only wanted to know if another guest could be included; his father Michael was interested in seeing where Eric worked and while Eric was pleased for another visitor, he inwardly lamented that the elder Taylor's presence would probably preclude anything being admitted about Stanford and Lawrence. Eric asked if Mrs. Taylor would be joining them, but Stanford said no, and didn't elaborate. Eric heard something else in Stanford's tone, yet Stanford was eager to end the call, apologizing for interrupting the luncheon. Eric didn't say anything about that to the Aherns, but would tell Lynne after Sam and Renee had left.

All were surprised that Stanford's father wanted to travel to this small town, but Eric conceded that after the October show, his stature in the art world would alter dramatically. Yet, he wasn't overly concerned about it, for something else took precedence. He sat beside Lynne on the sofa, putting his arm around her. Renee sat on Lynne's other side, Sam in the recliner, and all took inquisitive breaths. Then Eric chuckled. "So, shall I show you what I've been working on?"

Lynne nearly jumped. "Honey, you can't be serious!"

Eric laughed. "I can show them the one in progress." He stood, then motioned to the sunroom. "I've been painting my wife's primary task over the last few weeks."

Renee shook her head as Sam squirmed. "Uh, really Eric, I think it's okay."

"C'mon, be brave Samuel. You too Renee. I'm sure Lynne's told you she wants to have the baby here at home with you at her side."

Renee rolled her eyes. "Eric Snyder, for goodness sakes, have some modesty!"

"How can I Renee? I'm a heathen, remember?" Eric held out his hand to her. "Please, I promise you won't blush too much."

Renee stood as Lynne giggled. "Go on Renee, he's just teasing. Sam, you too. It's nothing awful."

Sam flinched until Renee nearly hauled him from the chair. "If I'm seeing it, you can too."

Sam put a hand over his eyes. "I'll be scarred for life, I'm sure."

"Hey now," Lynne complained, with a smile in her voice. "It's not that bad."

Eric led them into the sunroom. "I'll probably have more of her like this than nude by the end of it." He stood back as Renee slowly approached the canvas. Then she gasped, which made Sam immediately remove the hand from his face. "Oh goodness Eric, it's beautiful!"

Sam nodded, staring at the sleeping woman. Then he gazed at Lynne, who embraced her husband. Sam smiled at her, then returned to study the painting, which seemed nearly completed and so peaceful. It reminded him of the horses gathered in the meadow, then he wondered who had bought that picture. Then Sam looked at Eric, who nodded. When he'd painted those horses, was he thinking of what now was their reality? Lynne was indeed expecting a baby; Sam discerned that from her clingy nature, also from Eric's possessive hold. And as Sam returned to the painting, from how Eric depicted his wife, casually sleeping on first glance. But the longer Sam stared at the canvas, he noted how restful was Lynne's slumber, and how it wasn't at all solitary. Was that from her smile or just that Eric managed to convey how no longer was his wife a single entity.

And how had Eric done that? Probably the same way he had painted the barn that hung on Sam's wall, a magical edifice, Sam allowed. That structure was a mirror into the soul of whomever gazed at it, but how in the world had Eric constructed it? Was it the same sort of miracle that Sam acknowledged when he came home from Korea, or how Eric had turned back into a man, or his healed left foot? What about Eric's.... Sam trembled, then he ached to speak honestly with his brother, for somehow that was another phenomenon; Sam had a brother who wasn't Catholic, but who was just as tightly bound to Sam as his blood siblings were. For a time they had shared another bond, but no longer was Eric unable to give his wife God's greatest corporeal treasure. Faith was separate from what humans could actively achieve, or most human beings. But Sam didn't feel less of a man, that wasn't what any of Eric's paintings conveyed. They implied possibilities, endless opportunities. That barn could mean anything to anyone.

To Sam it meant himself and Renee and...ponies for children. But Sam and Renee couldn't have kids, although now Eric and Lynne could. And Sam was thrilled for them and in how Renee had started to cry, she was too. They would talk about this, perhaps as soon as they got in the car. Or maybe they would wait until they were home, or maybe Sam would think about it, and find himself able to make love to his wife, and again he would stop the car and.... He laughed as Renee continued to weep. Why did the idea of procreation stir Sam and why had he thought about ponies in that barn?

"I think that's one of the most gorgeous poses you've ever struck Lynne." Sam smiled at her, then he glanced at Eric. "And I agree, I think you'll be painting lots of similar scenes, at least for the next few months. Just don't paint one of her kneeling in the bathroom. She might not want another if you remind her of these early days."

Tremendous optimism flooded Sam Ahern, then he laughed out loud. He hadn't felt this hopeful since the day Renee agreed to marry him. Not even during their wedding had he realized such assurance; that day was marked by extreme nervousness and overwhelming religious inviolability. Yet, this was just as blessed, for from marriage came forth children, usually. Sam gripped Renee, who still wept. He kissed her head, then smiled. "I see several series ahead of you Eric, either of Lynne fast asleep or Lynne wishing she was napping. Or you wishing she was baking, but both of you will be too busy for pies. Guess I'll have to start sharpening my pastry skills if we're ever to have proper dessert again."

Renee wailed louder, but Sam wasn't worried. Something was being released in her cries, and it wasn't all from her. He wrapped her close to shield her, for he knew how badly she ached, yet, she needed to expel this, even if it was in front of Eric and Lynne. What did it matter now, for Sam had tended to Eric when that man wasn't even a man, and next spring Renee would minister to Lynne in her most compromised moment. But the situations, while somewhat tenuous, weren't bad; they were about new life springing forth, wounds being healed. Occasionally pain was involved, but ultimately those aching memories were set aside by the joy of what had been transformed. Eric had suffered immensely, Lynne would too. Sam could sense Renee's agony; it was similar to how he'd felt on the battlefield and as with every dying man he had held in his arms. Was all their pain akin to Mary, cradling her dead son, Sam wondered. Maybe, for while Mary was mother to a savior, Jesus had also been her human offspring. Perhaps she'd had no idea of his divinity or maybe Sam had it all wrong.

But in that moment, he grasped the barest edges of why Christ had come at all, to ease the torment, to give new life. In that room, a new creation was forming. As Renee started to calm, Sam stepped toward Eric and Lynne. Sam stroked Lynne's cheek, then he gestured for Eric to take Renee. Then Sam embraced Lynne, whispering something only for them. She nodded, then began crying profusely. Sam hadn't wanted to stir her tears, but maybe the soul could respond in no other fashion. As he comforted Lynne, Sam stared at her image on the canvas. Then he gazed at Eric, who nodded his head.
Chapter 34

From inside the train station, Eric glanced at his watch; the New Yorkers were due to arrive at any moment. Eric waited alone, although Lynne's morning sickness had waned in the last ten days. She was still prone to mild nausea and she napped every afternoon, what Dr. Salters had confirmed was perfectly normal when she'd called with the positive test result. Eric wasn't sure if that news had eased his wife's vomiting, or that she didn't want to appear ill in front of their guests. As a train whistle blew from afar, Eric smiled. All that mattered was that she felt better and now they had confirmation. And in seven months a baby would join them.

Ten minutes later, Eric spoke to Lawrence as Stanford ushered his father through the small station. Michael Taylor thanked Eric profusely for allowing him this privilege and he passed along his wife's greetings. Eric stared at Stanford when that was mentioned, but Stanford didn't blink. Eric and Lynne had discussed Constance Taylor; was there a breech in the marriage or was she ill? Or had Eric assumed too much in Stanford's voice when he first broached his father's accompaniment. As the group reached Eric's car, Michael sat in the front, Stanford and Lawrence in the back. Both Stanford and his father referred to Lawrence with his full name and Eric breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps that would keep him and Lynne from slipping with Laurie.

Michael commented on the beauty of the countryside. Approaching his road, Eric noted how in another few weeks, the autumnal foliage would be stunning. Eric carried his side of the conversation as he slowly weaved down the deserted stretch, but Michael noticed a few of the sumptuous homes that could be seen. Eric replied that he and Lynne had gotten very lucky in finding their house, which had been in a deplorable state when they'd bought the property. Only the studio had been in decent shape, Eric chuckled, but now the home had been completely renovated.

"Stanford's permanent quarters are at the end of the hall," Eric said. "That leaves two free rooms for you gentlemen. I'm gonna have a few acres of the thicket cleared next spring. Most will be for the garden and the rest will be a storage room for paintings."

"I hope you'll be planting more berry vines," Lawrence said.

"Several of them actually." Eric smiled at Laurie through the rear view mirror. Then Eric shook his head. He would slip and use that nickname, but better if he did it than Lynne.

"How large is your property?" Michael asked.

"Twenty acres, but much of it's forest. Pretty unwelcoming to most, but we call it home."

As Eric finished the sentence, he pulled into the driveway. "The other task, one of these days, is to make it so I can pull into the garage and not have to walk around the gate to get inside." Eric got out of the car as the men exited. Stanford and Lawrence hefted the few bags as Eric led Michael to the gate. "Keeps out the riffraff," Eric joked.

"You'll need those kinds of measures soon enough," Stanford said.

All four men chuckled as Eric opened the gate, ushering his guests inside.

An hour later, five were comfortably seated on the patio, iced tea and lemonade in glasses, empty plates stacked in the center of the table. Lynne had earned a heap of praise for her pie, and none of the guests had commented on her slightly pale coloring. To Eric, she looked just as before, but he had painted her like this so many times maybe now he wasn't a correct judge. Yet, even if Stanford or Lawrence had detected any change, they wouldn't speak of it openly. As it was, Lynne was charming, keeping Michael in stitches, what Lawrence noted, making Stanford groan from the medical pun. When Lynne caught Eric's gaze, he nodded, then stood as she did. Lynne gathered the plates, then made her excuses. Eric offered to assist, but she smiled, then waved him off. It was time for her nap and he would entertain the visitors while she dozed.

Stanford and the rest never mentioned that she didn't return and Eric smiled to himself. Lynne had been included during the meal, but after her culinary feats had been lauded, her departure was practically expected. But it worked to the Snyders' advantage, for she needed to sleep. Unless she became ill at an inopportune moment, Eric thought that he wouldn't have to bring up her condition, which pleased him. He wanted to keep this news under wraps for a little longer, although he would have to inform Stanford before the end of the month. Eric gazed at that man; Stanford had waited a fair amount of time, but impatience was etched in his furrowed brow. "Shall I show you some paintings?" Eric said.

Stanford rolled his eyes. "I thought you'd never ask."

Lawrence laughed. "Pay him no mind Eric. I think he's actually trying to finagle another piece of pie."

"Well, I'm tempted by another slice," Michael said. "But actually, a rest calls my name. Not that I don't want to see your work Eric, but when you get to be my age, sleep has a sweetness all its own." Michael stood, then smiled. "I'm taking the room at the end of the hall, correct?"

"Not mine," Stanford said.

"No, not yours." Michael shook his head, then grinned. "Although, I am senior chap of this trio. Perhaps I should have that room."

Lawrence chuckled, then joined Michael. "You take the one next to Stanford. I hear he snores. Mine's the one next to the master suite, I believe."

Eric felt an ache for the charade, but he nodded politely. "Whatever you gentlemen have worked out. Lynne says I snore too, so nowhere's safe."

The guests laughed, then Lawrence led Michael into the house.

Eric waited a few minutes, but when Lawrence didn't return, he motioned toward the studio. "Well, looks like it's just us for the time being."

Stanford stood, then followed Eric down the path. "It was a long journey."

"Does your father travel often?"

"No, but he's heard so much about Lynne's pie and...." Stanford cleared his throat. "My mother isn't well and it's taken a toll on Dad. He needed to get away."

Eric stopped just shy of the studio. "Is she all right?"

Stanford looked back at the house. "She has...." He sighed, then shook his head. "The doctors say it's dementia, which sounds like she's insane. She's just, oh my God. She hasn't been herself for several years. Now she has round the clock care, she doesn't even know us anymore. Dad can't stand what's happened, but he's absolutely helpless. It was...Lawrence's idea for him to accompany us, me, I mean, to come along." Stanford coughed, then gave a wry smile. "There's no one at home for him anymore."

"Where is she?"

"At their apartment. She has her own room and when she's feeling good, she wanders around the place. Can't recall anything, but she's not agitated. But lately she spends all day in bed. Often she's asleep, or one of the nurses reads to her. She's only sixty-nine, Dad's just seventy-three. I don't know how long she has, but what's it matter now? There's no resonance of her beautiful self anymore." Stanford took a deep breath, then stared at Eric. "She's my mother, but she's not. And what that does to my father...."

Eric shivered, then nodded. "I am so sorry. When you said she wasn't well in March, we just assumed...."

"Dad doesn't want it in the papers. Not that we're high society, but he fears for my reputation as a dealer." Stanford shrugged, then sighed. "Not that it's going to matter, but to their generation, it denotes a complete falling apart. I don't care what people think of me, I mean...."

Eric inhaled, exhaling slowly. Then he patted Stanford's shoulder. "I'm glad he decided to travel. I see so much of him in you."

Stanford chuckled. "Really?"

"Oh yes." Eric grinned. "You're a little taller, a little more hair, but...."

Stanford rolled his eyes. "I'd trade a few inches of height for more hair, I'll tell you." Then he pointed to the studio. "So paintings, correct?"

Eric nodded. "Yes, I have a few."

"Are the ones of Renee in there too?" Stanford's tone lowered.

"Of course. I think you'll like them."

"Did you get her eyes right?"

"Sam says I did."

"Well, he'd know. All right, lead on MacDuff."

Eric chuckled as he stepped to the studio door.

When Laurie joined them, Stanford had regained his composure. The paintings of Lynne had rendered Stanford speechless and even the series of Renee had caught him by surprise. Then Eric's news, that he and Lynne were expecting a baby, had floored the usually staid New Yorker. That had emerged by surprise; maybe Stanford's admission about his mother had brokered it.

Stanford wasn't sure what hit him harder, how Eric had depicted his wife months ago, or that now she was in a delicate condition. As Laurie asked if everything was all right, Stanford nearly said that no, his entire world was altered. But as Laurie gasped, taking in the series of the painter's wife, Stanford didn't need to speak. If Eric never painted another canvas, these portraits, disguised as a variety of natural settings, would be the hallmark of his career.

But more paintings were accumulating and Eric had shown one of them, a nude of Lynne with her arms outstretched. Eric wasn't sure when he wanted it displayed, although Lynne had given her permission. But now with the baby coming, his focus would solely be upon his wife and their upcoming addition. Stanford had gazed at Eric, who nodded cheerfully. For some reason, this news was too good to keep hidden.

First however, Stanford wanted Laurie's opinion. He wasn't sure why, other than to confirm his own feelings. Laurie would be honest and Stanford wanted Eric to hear it from one other. Then Stanford smiled at himself. When his father saw these paintings, he might try to wrest Eric from Stanford, even if Michael had been retired for many years. If nothing else, these paintings of Lynne would lift Michael's spirits. And the news of a baby would do that too.

"Well Lawrence, what say you?" Eric's voice teased, making Stanford chuckle. He had never heard Eric speak so blithely, but he had every reason for that impish tone.

Laurie glanced at Eric, then at Stanford, then to the canvas depicting Lynne as a coral reef. "I have never seen anything like it and I mean anything." Laurie smiled, then shook his head. "Eric, do you realize what you've done?"

"Believe it or not, I think I do. But to be honest, this was just to ease Lynne's mind about posing for me. I wasn't trying to shake up the art world, I promise."

His tone was infused with a bliss that Stanford wanted to bottle, then sell. It would make him a rich man, nearly as wealthy as his commissions on these paintings. Did Eric realize their true worth, or maybe money simply didn't matter. After years of marriage, his wife was finally pregnant, not that Eric had ever bemoaned their childless state, but Stanford took for granted that most married couples of Eric and Lynne's age wanted a family. He assumed the Aherns knew; how had they taken the news? Suddenly tomorrow's dinner took on a new dimension. Not only would Stanford study Renee for her reaction to her paintings being displayed, but in how she treated Lynne. And how Sam acted too.

Laurie approached Eric, gently tracing the painter's right arm. "With sculptors, both hands are actively engaged, but you lot barely let the other arm get involved." Then Laurie smiled. "No glory except in this limb and in your eyes. You have very special eyes Eric. I thought the barn painting was extraordinary. But that field, those tulips." Then Laurie laughed out loud. "I'm gonna blush when Lynne wakes up, I'll tell you that right now."

"She's asleep?" Stanford asked.

"Sound asleep," Laurie said. "Did she have a poor night last night?"

"Well, actually...." Eric cleared his throat, then chuckled. "She's sleeping for two. I was just telling Stanford that I might miss the exhibit unless she's feeling like making the trip."

Laurie nodded. "Oh well, my goodness!" Then he laughed. "Congratulations are in order, I believe."

"Indeed, and thank you very much. We weren't planning on telling you both for a bit but, well...."

"I told her about Mom." Stanford spoke quickly, then wanted to kick himself. "About my mother and why Dad's here, with us."

"I see." Laurie nodded. "Well, no more secrets, I suppose, although Eric, yours is quite a jolly one."

"Uh, yeah, no secrets." Eric chuckled nervously, which Stanford didn't miss.

"Well, I hope our presence won't be taxing on Lynne. When is she due?" Laurie gazed at the paintings as he spoke.

"Next March. We just got the news."

Stanford observed Eric's slightly furtive nature, but other truths swirled in that studio, and he didn't wish for those to be revealed. Neither did Laurie, although of the two, Laurie was the more open. Still, Stanford had no desire for his private life to be aired, even if Eric had bared his soul, and not only about Lynne's condition. Stanford was drawn back to the paintings, then he motioned to where the nude of Lynne waited, on an easel facing the studio wall.

Eric nodded, then displayed that painting. "Stanford likes this one too, although I told him I have no idea when this series will be done. She is willing for it to be shown, however, so maybe in a year or so. But I'll tell you right now, it's not for sale."

As Laurie turned, Stanford was torn, wanting to see Laurie's reaction, and to again feast upon Eric's prodigious talent. Laurie gasped, then fell silent, and Stanford joined him, just two feet from the canvas. Lynne was in rapture; was she already pregnant? Why had it taken this couple so long to achieve that state, which one had been at fault? Then Stanford peered at Eric's left foot. Had he also undergone some other operation? Stanford would never inquire, that was indeed too personal. But he couldn't help to wonder until Laurie gripped his hand.

Stanford didn't breathe, nor did he reciprocate the ferocious squeeze. Then Laurie released him, taking a small step toward the portrait. "Did she know, at the time you painted this?"

"About the baby?" Eric asked softly.

Laurie nodded.

"I don't think so, but to me, she's pregnant. No, she'd probably just conceived, well, maybe she was a few weeks along. When I painted that, she was just getting truly comfortable with posing out here." Eric laughed. "Maybe because she wasn't alone anymore."

"Maybe," Laurie said absently. Then he faced Eric. "I've always thought Lynne was beautiful, but my God, this's one of the most provocative pieces I've ever seen. And I mean ever, Eric." Laurie stared at it again, then took a long look at Lynne as the wheat field. Then he chuckled.

"What?" Stanford asked.

"Her nipples are different colors, I mean, they're lighter in this one." He pointed to the field. Then he laughed. "Not that I'm obsessed with your wife's breasts, but was that on purpose?"

Now Eric laughed. "It wasn't on purpose, but it was how I figured out she was expecting."

Stanford shook his head. "Good God. Is this necessary?"

"Lawrence brought it up," Eric chided.

"It's a body Stanford." Laurie rolled his eyes. "It's obvious, I mean, in all these paintings, her nipples are this hue. But in this one, they're darker." Laurie smiled at Eric. "Any others you'd like to share?"

"For God's sake Laurie!"

The studio fell silent as Stanford's heart skipped several beats. For weeks he'd been fearful of slipping around Lynne again, but Laurie had pooh-poohed that, sometimes even teasing that he might stumble, calling Stanford Stan, as Laurie usually did when the men were alone. An uncomfortable stillness sucked all the oxygen from the studio, making Stanford cough. Then he stopped, glancing at Eric. That man's eyes were wide and Stanford trembled. Eric knew.

Yet, he only said for now that was all of Lynne he was willing to share. Laurie again asked for more, but his voice was shaky, although maybe Stanford was being paranoid. Then Eric smiled, noting that there was one more portrait, but it was in the house. When Lynne and Michael woke, he would show it then.

"And speaking of those sleepyheads, best that we check on them. If Lynne sleeps too long, she'll have trouble falling asleep later. Not that much trouble, but...." Eric's tone was jovial, but hedged with too much knowledge. Yet, Stanford didn't feel that Eric was judging him or Laurie. Eric simply understood the weight of the men's feelings and how they needed to be concealed. Why did he comprehend that, Stanford then wondered.

"Michael won't nap for long," Laurie said, his voice still off balance. "But they were both sawing logs when I left."

"Lynne tells me I'm making it up, but for the last two months, she snores louder than I do. Laurie, are you sure you wanna sleep on our end of the house?"

Another hush fell over the studio. Stanford gazed at Eric, but didn't detect any malice from his words. He did know, but then, perhaps it was impossible to hide from someone with such keen vision. What else did Eric Snyder see, Stanford would love to ask.

"Well, I'll ask if Michael doesn't mind switching rooms tonight. Once he's asleep, he's deaf as a post, but don't tell him I said that." Laurie smiled, then he sighed.

The men returned to the house in a pained silence. Laurie didn't try to again hold Stanford's hand, but if he had, Stanford would have grasped hard. Later, after everyone else had gone to bed, Stanford would tell Laurie that very sentiment. That night Stanford planned to sleep with his partner, no need to hide that aspect anymore.
Chapter 35

Sam was relieved that Stanford, his father, and Lawrence Abrams knew about the baby. Eric had told the Aherns that information on Saturday morning, saving Sam from stewing about it any longer. He had slept poorly the last few nights, but that evening he was lighthearted. And he was tired, but would nod off as soon as he and Renee managed to get home.

From how friendly she was with Michael Taylor, Sam wasn't certain when they would leave. While she said no more than hello to Stanford, she had chatted easily with Lawrence, but now she and Michael, as he insisted both Aherns to address him, were seated at the patio table, their cheery voices wafting into the living room where Sam sat beside Lynne, who had looked pale, but showed no signs of impending illness. Across from them Stanford sat in the recliner while Eric and Lawrence flanked those on the sofa. Sam sometimes held Lynne's hand, light squeezes shared between them. Sam Ahern had spent the last two weeks contemplating the Snyders' news, alternating praying for them, then for himself and Renee. She had gotten her period during that time, deflating him a little. But she exhibited no anxiety, only noting how pleased she was for Lynne not to be suffering alongside her.

Eric and Stanford talked about the show in October, also about Eric's current work, which was represented by the portrait of Lynne asleep displayed in the sunroom. As far as Sam knew, Stanford had only seen one other recent picture of Lynne, a nude painted before the couple realized they were expecting, but in which Lynne was probably already pregnant. Sam grasped her hand again and she gripped back, then she giggled so only he would hear. It was fine that Eric was in another world with Stanford and Lawrence; that trio might as well be in a New York gallery, Sam thought. Lynne clutched his hand again and Sam smiled. If she had the baby in this house, maybe he would be able to be here, albeit in the kitchen. And if she became very noisy, he would walk to the studio, even if snow was falling.

To Sam, the main surprise about Eric and Lynne's news was how readily both Aherns had accepted it. It wasn't the focus of conversation between the New Yorkers, although Michael had grown misty-eyed a few times, noting that he adored his grandchildren from Stanford's three younger sisters. Otherwise, Stanford and Lawrence made little mention of the baby, but Sam and Renee talked about it all the time. Sam wasn't sure what that meant; they hadn't discussed Eric's transformation so intensely, but that wasn't a happy event. This was the opposite, even if it had resulted due to Eric's.... Sam inhaled, then smiled, as Lawrence glanced his way, then stood. "Art blah blah blah," Lawrence said, stretching. "I'm gonna see what the fuss is about outside."

Eric and Stanford didn't miss a beat and Sam chuckled, then gazed at Lynne. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn't asleep, although slumber looked like it could be easily found. "Are you tired?" he whispered.

"I'm always tired." She giggled, opening her eyes. "Dr. Salters said after the first trimester, I'll be feeling better."

Sam squeezed her hand again. "You're pretty busy right now."

"I am, but sometimes it's hard to believe."

"I imagine it is."

That was the mainstay of the Aherns' discussions; seven months after Eric's return, that couple had managed what had seemed impossible for several years. Renee knew that they hadn't used any kind of contraception since they wed, and that was nine years ago, Sam mused, as Lynne still gripped his hand, but not as strongly as before. Then Eric knelt in front of his wife. "Honey, you ready for bed?"

She nodded, her smile broad, warming Sam's heart. He carried not a single envious thought toward them. Eric had gone to hell and back, taking Lynne with him. They deserved this bliss and Sam was going to enjoy it as much as he was allowed.

While Stanford exited the living room for the patio, Eric helped Lynne from the sofa, then walked her upstairs. Sam went into the kitchen, tidying the dessert dishes. Lynne and Renee had washed the dinner plates while the men had stepped outside, but Sam had felt like a fifth wheel around Eric and the New Yorkers. Sam thought of them like that, easier than the Taylors and Lawrence Abrams. Lawrence seemed quite affable toward Michael, but then the New York art world was probably as clannish as Sam's family. Yet, Lawrence had spoken to Sam about the barn painting, reiterating Stanford's plea that if Sam and Renee ever needed to part with any of their canvases, to just let either Lawrence or Stanford know.

Sam had appreciated the way Lawrence put it; if they needed to part with them, for he would never actively wish to sell any of those pictures, well, except for the three hawks. If they fell on very hard times, Sam would call Stanford, or Lawrence, probably Lawrence, for he was more personable. But it would take a family tragedy for Sam to part with any of the three. Still, that trio of hawks was at times too close to the bone for Sam, yet, oddly enough, it wasn't in connection to Eric.

After setting the last plate in the drainer, Sam dried his hands, then surveyed the kitchen. He liked the larger lay-out and with a new addition, the room would be fully employed. Lynne had mentioned she wanted another table for the far corner, where she would do arts and crafts with.... Then she had grown teary, for the idea of motherhood was still so novel, and somewhat poignant, but not in a distressing way. Nine years, Sam thought to himself, staring at that bare space where one day Lynne would indeed be sitting with her and Eric's offspring. Sam assumed more than one baby would arrive, but he didn't equate that to his dreams. Just that now Eric and Lynne could conceive and while they wouldn't be as prolific as Fran and Louie, Lynne would more often than not be in the family way until....

Sam laughed out loud; Renee had been teasing him, that he wanted to make good Catholics out of the Snyders, or at least out of Lynne. Lynne hadn't mentioned attending mass, but she wasn't completely well either, and that weekend was taken. But soon, Sam felt, and when she did accompany, he wouldn't pressure her to immediately return. She might only go with them once, then she would move on to other manners of worship. Sam had gone with Josh to a few Baptist services and while he'd missed the familiar liturgy, God's presence was always felt. Maybe God was closer to soldiers, Sam had wondered, or maybe there was no difference between Catholics and Protestants. But Sam had never said that aloud to anyone.

Yet, that had to be the truth, because when Sam had grasped Josh, Christ was all around them, keeping Sam sane. He smelled death, also incense. He heard screams as well as a choir. He saw chaos alongside the most blinding beauty and he blinked away tears, having forgotten that detail. But now, with Lynne expecting her husband's baby, Sam could reclaim that miracle amid one of the most horrific moments of his life. Josh's death had been at the top of that list until Sam was shot. Then Renee's face, when he first saw her again, had pushed both of those events aside. Coming home to his wife had been a mixed blessing, sort of like finding Eric in the thicket. But now all of those moments seemed far away as Sam composed himself, hearing men's voices approaching. Sam didn't look their way as three New Yorkers and Eric entered the kitchen. Sam was fixated on that empty space across the room; how many children would one day be seated around that non-existent table?

Sam fixed his gaze on that futuristic figment as he spoke. "Is she asleep?"

"Soon enough. Renee's up there, girl talk." Eric stood beside Sam. "But Renee said she's ready to go home whenever you are."

Sam nodded, then smiled at Eric and the rest. "Well, it was a lovely evening. Too bad there's not much pie left."

"I agree," Lawrence smiled. "And we finished the custard too, I believe."

"We did," Sam laughed. "But I suppose you have more exquisite fare back east."

"Mr. Ahern, I have yet to find any dessert that tops Lynne's pie and your custard. Stanford's cook is still peeved she can't get her hands on fresh boysenberries."

Sam grinned as Lawrence joined where he and Eric stood. "Call me Sam, please."

"Only if you'll call me Laurie. Lawrence is for acquaintances and my Aunt Sheila."

Sam smiled, then shook Lawrence's outstretched hand. "Laurie it is. One of my buddies in Korea was a Lawrence, always preferred us calling him Larry. But you look like a Laurie," Sam laughed. "It's more sophisticated."

"Was Larry not from New York City?" Lawrence smiled.

"Nope. He was from...." Sam skipped a beat, but his grin was genuine. "Huntsville, Alabama. Always got into fights with my best friend Josh, who was from Natchez, Mississippi. You'd think it's all the same down there, but believe me, Josh didn't even like the guys from Louisiana. I couldn't tell their accents apart, but they all could. And they called all northerners Yanks, even those of us from out West." Sam chuckled, then looked at Lawrence. "You'd definitely be a Laurie, but that way we wouldn't have mixed you two up."

Sam didn't hear the silence, lost in the memory of Larry Hudson's slow drawl and Josh's quicker tempo. At first how those two fought made many in the platoon laugh out loud. Josh was more of a backwoods character while Larry was a chivalrous southern gentleman. Neither had gotten home alive; Larry was killed a few weeks after Josh and while Sam had mourned him, his grief was still palpable over his best friend's death. Sam hadn't thought about Larry Hudson in ages, but it didn't pain him, and considering Josh wasn't overly agonizing either. Then Sam glanced at the empty space. Hopefully Eric and Lynne's son wouldn't have to fight in a war, then Sam shivered. Better if they had a daughter first off, much better indeed.

Then Sam glanced to his right; Eric and Laurie flanked Renee, who approached her husband while wiping tears from her cheeks. "Honey, what is it?" Sam asked, grasping her hands.

Her lips trembled and for a few seconds Sam's heart raced; was something wrong with Lynne? But Eric remained at Sam's side. Then Sam swallowed hard. He never spoke about Korea outside the VA hospital. Yet, something about Lawrence.... Laurie, his name was Laurie Abrams. Sam had known a few Jews overseas, but while he'd attended services with Josh and Larry, Sam had never gone to a Sabbath observance.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...." Sam sighed, then shook his head. The evening had gone so well, but he had spoiled it, and right when things between the New Yorkers and an average Catholic couple had seemed amiable. Sam shifted from side to side, then he stopped abruptly as Laurie gripped Sam and Renee's hands.

"I've always wondered what that conflict was like. My cousin served, but he never talks about it." Laurie released Sam's hands, then offered Renee his handkerchief. As she wiped her face, then blew her nose, Laurie reached for Sam's right shoulder, gripping it strongly. "Did Larry get back to Huntsville?"

Slowly Sam shook his head, hoping that Laurie wouldn't ask about Josh.

Laurie nodded, then inhaled, letting go of Sam. "My cousin Seth's a little younger than me, but he's never been the same. We used to be really close, he volunteered to go over there, and I tried to talk him out of it because I didn't feel he would make a good...." Laurie sighed. "He wasn't army material, not that there's a standard personality type, but he's an artist, a sculptor. I've never understood why he felt so driven to enlist and he's never been able to speak about it, so maybe I'll never know. Sam, did you enlist?"

Sam felt frozen, wishing for Renee to grasp his hands, or maybe Lynne, but hopefully she was asleep, not hearing a single word they said.

"I'm sorry, that was rude. I just...." Laurie sighed again. "I wish I could get into Seth's head, to free him. I miss him; our mothers are sisters and we grew up together. And he was so talented, is so talented!" Laurie shook his head. "Seth was why I got involved in art, well, the part of it I could manage. I represented him for the short time he was active, but he's never made another piece." Laurie looked at Sam. "When I learned you were a vet, I wanted to ask about your experiences. Seth's the only veteran I know, but other than he went over there, that's all I know. He went over there, but another man came home to us. I'm sorry, I don't mean to bring all this up." Laurie sighed again. "I'm sorry Larry didn't get back to his family. But Sam, I'm glad you did." Laurie smiled, clasping together Renee and Sam's hands. "I'm so glad you made it home Sam Ahern."

In Laurie's warm grip and with Renee's familiar hands close, Sam wanted to tell Laurie he wasn't at all surprised that Seth couldn't talk about Korea. And it wasn't because Seth was Jewish or that he'd been a sculptor. But that Sam never spoke about it except to those who didn't need an explanation. Yet, they could and did talk about it amongst themselves, assuming no one else wanted to know, or if they did, that they could never fathom the hell that war was. It was akin to what Eric endured in coming home, maybe in what it took for him to alter, then remain separated from his wife. Eric never wanted to leave Lynne, but he couldn't stop it, and while Sam and Seth had both chosen to enlist, they did so due to an inexplicable need to.... What had drawn Sam to volunteer to leave his wife and risk his life? And why had Seth made a similar decision?

"What's your cousin's full name?" Sam asked quietly.

"Seth Monroe Gordon."

Sam nodded, then cleared his throat. "Seth Gordon. Well, I didn't know him, but I'm sorry Laurie. I mean, I'm sorry he came back so...affected."

Then Sam looked at Eric. Eric didn't speak, but questions teemed in his eyes, queries that Sam had seen for a long time, but had ignored.

"He is different, but at the same time, we're all just glad he did come home." Laurie had a small cough. "God, I didn't mean to end tonight with a discourse on foreign affairs."

"Soon it'll all be about diapers and pabulum," Eric smiled.

"Thank goodness for that." Renee cleared her throat, then shook out the handkerchief, glancing at Laurie. "Thank you. I'll wash it and get it back to Lynne as soon as possible."

Laurie shook his head. "Please, it's no bother. I have a drawer full of them at home. Rare is the chance I get to offer one to such a beautiful artist's model."

Sam missed Stanford's guffaw. Instead Renee's snort caught his attention. "A beautiful model is trying to sleep over our heads."

"Another is standing in our midst." Laurie smiled, then kissed the back of Renee's hand. "Only Eric could do justice to your eyes and by God he did." Then Laurie laughed quietly. "Mrs. Ahern, you're gonna turn some New York heads and Sam, you're a lucky man. And Eric, one of these days I will figure out just how you work that magic." Laurie gently patted Eric's right arm. "Something special in this limb and in your eyes. But we're better off for your gift."

"Indeed we are." Michael smiled, then yawned. "But if you'll excuse me, I think I'll head to bed. Lynne's slumber is leaking through the ceiling."

"We should be going too." Renee kissed Michael's cheek. "Rest well and have a safe trip home."

"I shall endeavor to do both, my dear." Michael extended his hand Sam's way and Sam shook it. "Looking forward to seeing you again, if my wife lets me traipse off for another sojourn."

"Perhaps she can come with you next time," Renee smiled.

"Perhaps. All right, goodnight gentlemen." Michael nodded to the rest, then turned to leave the kitchen.

All through that exchange Sam breathed deeply, not giving the missing Mrs. Taylor any of his consideration. As Eric offered to walk the Aherns to the gate, Sam kept peering at Laurie, trying not to stare, but making a poor showing of it. Laurie met Sam's gaze, nodding his head. Sam nodded back, aching to speak to Seth Gordon, or at least see some of his sculptures. They wouldn't carry any resonance of Korea, instead representing who Seth had been. Sam didn't doubt that Seth was no longer that man. He probably never would be again.

Only Eric escorted the Aherns to the gate. Renee remarked that she was glad they, meaning the New Yorkers, knew about the baby, and Eric agreed. He noted that Lynne had expressed an interest in traveling east for the exhibit, in that it would be their last trip as a twosome. Sam remained silent as Renee agreed, if Dr. Salters didn't think it would be too taxing. Eric said that yes, if the doctor gave her consent and Lynne was feeling better, then perhaps they would take the train.

Sam didn't even say thank you or goodnight to Eric, but their firm handshake conveyed those sentiments, and several others that tumbled through Sam. As Renee said one final goodnight, Sam stared at Eric, who said thanks for coming while nodding his head. The words were for Renee, but far more was expressed in Eric's nod, yet Sam couldn't respond verbally. What was there to say? Some men came home physically debilitated, and some were scarred emotionally. Every single one of them was marked, no matter how long they had served or how they tried to cover it up. To Sam, it was worse on Seth, for he had fashioned art and now could not. What if Eric hadn't been able to paint again, then Sam shivered. He opened Renee's car door, helped her in, then closed the door. Slowly he walked to the driver's side. All the paintings of Sam and Renee's families, not to mention those of Lynne and Renee, would never have been created if not for Eric's need to paint and that he came home able to do so. But Seth hadn't been that lucky.

Sam sat in his seat, then started the car. He was halfway home before he realized Renee hadn't spoken. "Honey, you okay?" he asked while braking for a red light.

She sighed, then grasped his hand. "You didn't tell them about Josh."

"Laurie didn't ask."

"I know. You said Josh was your best friend."

"He was. Renee, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...."

"It's green Sam."

He looked up. "Oh yeah." Sam accelerated through the intersection. "Renee, I really am sorry about dragging all that up tonight."

"You shouldn't be."

He huffed. "Yes I should. There wasn't any place for it and...."

Renee squeezed his hand again. "Sam, do you realize you never talk about it? I had no idea Josh was from Mississippi."

Sam shook his head. "Now, that's not true. I've told you about Josh before."

"Sam, I don't even know his last name."

Bradley, Joshua Henry Bradley, Sam almost said. He grew up in Natchez, right on the Mississippi-Louisiana state line, and had never left Adams County until he was sent to Virginia for basic training. Josh had two younger brothers and a younger sister and lived with them, his parents, and his maternal grandmother in a three-room house where all four Bradley children had been born. Josh had been a St. Louis Cardinals fan and had played shortstop in high school. He'd left a sweetheart in Natchez, but wasn't sure if when he got back that she would be waiting for him as he hadn't received a letter from her in over two months. Lorene was her name, Lorene Goodley, and she lived up to her name, Josh had smiled broadly when they spoke about women. Josh was two years younger than Sam, but had thought he'd marry Lorene when he got back, unless she had found another boyfriend. He died never knowing that Lorene had been ill with the flu, unable to keep up her end of their correspondence. Sam had written to her a few weeks after Josh's death, carefully revealing his friend's intentions, and that Josh hadn't suffered.

Truth and fiction weaved all through Sam's Korean experience, but he couldn't believe that Renee didn't know Josh's last name. "Bradley," he said abruptly. "Josh Bradley. Of course I've told you his last name."

"Bradley," Renee repeated softly. "Maybe you did."

Then Sam braked hard as a yellow light turned red. He stared at his wife, her stoplight eyes full of tears. "Renee, I'm sorry, I didn't mean...."

Softly she touched his hand, resting on the gearshift. "It's my mistake honey. I just forgot."

But she hadn't forgotten because in all likelihood Sam had never told her. Did fellow vets at the hospital know? Probably. Most likely Sam had told them all about Josh, Larry, and the rest of Sam's platoon, as he heard about their friends, living and dead. But Seth Gordon didn't ring any bells, although now Sam would be alert to that name. But that was ages in the past. It was coming on ten years since Sam had served and....

"Honey, it's green. Sam?"

He gazed at the light, then zoomed through, glancing at a car behind him in the rear view mirror. But only Renee had prompted him, and gently, for he'd been far, far away.

She didn't speak during the rest of the drive and she said little until bedtime. Then all she told him was that she loved him and that she was sorry. Sam said he loved her too, but didn't ask why she had sought forgiveness. Instead he thought about Laurie Abrams and Seth Gordon. Then Sam wondered if Eric was thinking about Seth. Maybe he was, or maybe he was making love to his wife. Or maybe he was painting.... Sam stopped there, kissed Renee, then turned away from her, not falling asleep until after the living room clock chimed midnight.
Chapter 36

Moonlight shone through the open curtains which fluttered in the soft breeze. Seth lay awake, covered by a sheet, for the night was still warm. He'd fallen asleep shortly after he'd said goodnight to his mother, but a dream had stirred him, in addition to the brightness. Yet he didn't want to shut the window, then close the curtains. The calming moonlight reminded him of previous evenings long before the dream began.

All summer he had endured these dreams, but when he woke only faint memories flirted with his consciousness. He chalked up that protection to the blue barn, which seemed far away but still provided a haven. Seth wondered if it would again be exhibited in another month; he could ask Laurie, for his cousin and Stanford had just returned from visiting.... Seth smiled despite the ghostly images floating between his temples. Then he concentrated on the bedsheet, which looked pale from the moon's glow. He stretched out his hand creating a shadow on the sheet, his fingers long and spooky. His smile faded for his right hand now seemed useless. Seth brought his right forearm close to his face; Eric Snyder was probably right-handed too, all those paintings emerging from one limb. The blue barn was Seth's favorite; he wondered if somehow Eric had read Seth's mind, was Eric aware of the dreams? Probably not, Seth allowed, setting down his arm, then again focusing on the moonlight at the end of his bed. Eric Snyder hadn't painted Seth's dreams within the barn. He'd captured something far more beautiful instead.

Seth sat up, then pulled his knees close to his chest. Years ago, Seth had possessed a similar ability, fashioning figures as meaningful as Eric's paintings. Seth felt their manners of creation must be the same, or had been the same, he sighed softly. When Seth had been able to sculpt, it was like his arms belonged to someone who had guided his hands with rapturous joy. It had been years since Seth had sculpted anything, but that sense of artistic thrill occasionally tingled within his muscles, like he was again a teenager or even a child, playing in the mud with Laurie. Seth tried to block those memories, but he couldn't; the barn had reminded him of when life was as simple as frolicking in the backyard while his mother baked one of her exquisite chocolate cakes. Laurie would be waiting for that treat as Seth put the finishing touches on another mud statue, then both boys would wash outside before Wilma allowed them in. Sometimes Laurie teased that the cake tasted vaguely of earth, but Seth's mom shot back that Laurie could go right out and eat whatever Seth had left to dry. Laurie would laugh, then gaze at his younger cousin, Laurie's green eyes flashing.

The boys appeared similar, but Seth's eyes were blue, and his build was slight, although now that both were older, Seth looked to be Laurie's senior. That was from the war everyone said, carefully avoiding the truth. It was all any within their families noted about Korea, as if Seth had never actually served. Nobody mentioned that Seth used to sculpt; both of those subjects were verboten, like speaking ill of the dead. But then Seth's mother Wilma and his Aunt Rose didn't talk about other morose issues; the sisters yakked about their daughters and grandchildren, they shared neighborhood gossip. Occasionally they even discussed Wilma's chocolate cake, the recipe for which Seth's mother had never shared with Rose. Seth fought a smile, but it emerged; that contentious piece of his family's history would never be forgotten and between the sisters it was nearly as prickly of a topic as why Seth was....

Why as a grown man he still lived at home, but had no job or girlfriend or prospects for the future. All he had were.... Seth grimaced, wrapping his arms tightly around his legs, pressing his head against his knees. Figurines graced his mother's curio cabinet downstairs, a few displayed at Aunt Rose's home. Laurie and Stanford had a set, then Seth shut his eyes, not wanting to think about those pieces. They had emerged so effortlessly, like Seth had been making mud pies. When Laurie saw them, he had been speechless, prodding his mother and aunt to permit Seth to display the few other sculptures he'd made at that time. He'd only been seventeen and to family, Seth's art was no more than a hobby. Only Laurie had comprehended the depth of Seth's talent and it was Laurie to most suffer after Seth came home, unable to sculpt. Seth didn't feel remorse about that loss. Another horror was far more debilitating.

Yet, year after year had passed, and other than helping his mother around the house, Seth had very little to show for his life. Last year he had spent much time admiring the blue barn, then in spring he'd seen Eric's latest paintings, lamenting the barn's absence but enjoying the portraits while pondering the absence of hawks. His mother never nagged about when he might return to sculpting, neither did his sisters, nor any of Laurie's family. Sometimes Laurie brought it up gently, as if lifting a bandage and checking a wound. Seth never took Laurie's queries as more than a way for Laurie to gauge Seth's mental health. But there was no possible manner for Seth to ever conjure that ability. And no way to explain to his cousin the reason.

The reason Seth couldn't sculpt was.... He released his legs, then shook them out on the bed. Then he went to his knees, crawling to where moonlight spilled onto the mattress. He gazed out the window, seeing nothing more than dark houses, quiet cars, even a few prowling cats that seemed to know they were being watched. They slipped under vehicles, making Seth smile. Remaining at the window, he inhaled the quiet as well as the notion of how easily he could see in the dark. In Korea, he'd had the best night vision, sent up out of the foxhole to inspect what others couldn't discern. But what Seth saw was always different than what everyone else viewed, as if his eyesight was misaligned. Others saw Koreans across the way. Seth saw....

He glanced at his mother's car, parked in the driveway. A light-colored feline poked its head out from behind the rear left tire. Seth knew that cat; he was very familiar with all the neighborhood pets for he spent much of his time roaming the streets. That particular cat belonged to the lady who lived next to Aunt Rose, but she dwelled around the block and another three houses over. Seth had never seen this cat so far from its home, but maybe it knew of the familial ties shared between the sisters. Seth had grown up just minutes away from Laurie; they were closer than most cousins, but not even Laurie knew why Seth couldn't sculpt, or why he'd enlisted. Nor did Laurie know what Seth had seen, day after day, within Eric Snyder's blue barn.

When Laurie visited, the cousins discussed the same issues as their mothers, even at times joking about Wilma's chocolate cake, but always after Seth's mom had stepped from the kitchen. Yet that dessert was one of the few subjects to stir Seth's smile. Sometimes he chuckled when Laurie shared a funny anecdote concerning Stanford; only with Seth did Laurie ever talk about his lover. Neither cousin would ever marry, but at least Laurie had a partner. He had a life, which Seth did not, but they never broached that. It had been a decade since Seth had come back from Korea and so little had changed. The only thing different was the blue barn.

But that painting probably wouldn't be exhibited this fall, Laurie would have mentioned it otherwise. All Laurie had said the last time they'd talked was how nice it had been go to west, even if Stanford's father had accompanied. Then Seth smiled. Laurie had also noted that no longer would he and Stanford need separate bedrooms when staying with the Snyders. Seth hadn't pressed for more information; the relief in Laurie's voice had been enough. Relief and joy and.... The sense that even if Laurie's lover was a man, the Snyders hadn't seemed to care, which allowed one more place where Laurie and Stanford could be themselves. What was that like, Seth wondered, to be oneself?

Seth again peered at the sidewalk, but the cat was gone. The light had dimmed too, but Seth didn't feel like sleeping. If he slept, he might dream. He'd survived in Korea on little rest, finding how easy it was to prop himself next to his rifle, wondering when again the fighting would start. He'd surprised many in his platoon that for his slight stature, he was proficient with a gun. None there knew he was also a sculptor, they never would have believed him. And as it was, once he came home that talent was lost, so perhaps in Asia he'd only been what the others had witnessed, a willing, skillful, killing machine. As a sniper, he'd been decorated by his troop countless times, but those commendations weren't the kind anyone here would believe. The army didn't give medals for that sort of nerve, bordering on madness. Seth had never retrieved a comrade from the field, but he'd made certain as those men were dragged back behind their line that far more on the other side were left for dead. Every man had a unique role in war, he'd been told. Those with beefier builds did the heavy lifting while men with keen vision and nimble hands picked off the enemy one by one.

That was who Seth had become in Asia, which wasn't like the person he'd been before, nor who he was now. He gazed at the heavens, which were dimmer than earlier, the moon slipping out of view. How many nights had he sat in similar darkness with no uncertainties plaguing him. There wasn't time to ruminate in war, barely time to breathe. But his aims had been concrete, perhaps that had kept him focused. The chatter afterwards might have been scattered, but it was also demanding, about this battle or that plan, and Seth had taken to soldiering better than anyone here had assumed. He'd excelled at it, but in a solitary manner that felt so unlike his art. His sculptures had felt directed. Killing had come about all on its own.

But he couldn't tell anyone that, it would sound obscene. He couldn't even reveal that to Laurie, not for all the secrets they had previously shared. It had been to Seth whom Laurie confided after he met Stanford and only Seth knew Stanford hadn't been Laurie's first male lover. Seth had shared a few romantic tales with his cousin, but that had been before Korea when Seth could tell Laurie anything. Or most things; Seth would never divulge why he'd enlisted. That was like his mother's cake recipe, going with Wilma to her grave. Seth smiled, then he shivered. Now darkness enveloped his street, cars and cats and even houses having disappeared. Gripping the sheet, Seth didn't see his knuckles, but he could feel the cool cotton, similar to how his gun had felt in the midst of battle. It wasn't tacky like clay, but firm, with purpose. The purpose had been unquestionable and uncompromising. For the first time in his adult life, Seth had grasped the reason for living and it had little to do with making sure he came home alive; that had been a fluke, which now seemed as offensive as the directionless existence he led. He didn't sculpt, he hadn't made a life with anyone. He was as fleeting as the stray cats roaming this section of Brooklyn, but other than rodents, these felines didn't harm anyone. Seth had killed scores of.... They'd been Korean in nationality, but different in Seth's eyes.

A cool wind blew, making him tremble. No one could ever know, not that they asked, but queries weren't always tendered via language. Seth thought of his cousin, then shook his head as if Laurie sat beside him, again tenderly asking why. Even though both men were surrounded by women, it was Laurie who was the most gentle, or maybe Laurie loved Seth better than his mother or sisters could. Not in the way Laurie loved Stanford, but as if Laurie had stood next to Seth on foreign soil, watching all Seth had done, and had still forgiven him. If Laurie knew, could he condone Seth's actions, or more importantly, the reasons behind them? How much did Laurie truly care, Seth wondered. Maybe Seth had never spilled his guts for fear of Laurie's condemnation. Now Seth shook, the last thing he wanted was to lose Laurie. Perhaps they didn't do more than gossip, maybe they would never again talk honestly, but Laurie was the only person who believed Seth still possessed the ability to sculpt, although that wasn't the main reason Seth needed him. By loving Laurie, Seth remained a human being.

But, Seth sighed, was that fair? He stared at his hands; they were covered in blood, dripping on his bed. He closed his eyes, could still feel the dampness, then he inhaled. The night smelled bitter, but he wasn't the first to have struck such evil blows. Could Laurie understand, was there any possible way Seth could tell him and not lose him? Probably not, Seth thought, exhaling with force, wiping imaginary blood on the cotton bedsheet. Laurie was tolerant, but this was beyond rational considerations. The magnitude was horrific and Seth had to shield his cousin. No way in hell could he subject Laurie to such....

He needed to put Laurie in the barn, only there would he be safe. But if Seth did that, he would never be able to retrieve him. That burden fell upon Seth's shoulders with an agonizing thud, momentarily taking his breath. As Seth struggled to inhale, a familiar blackness crept over him, more desolate than the darkest night. Far within him a child screamed as a friendly face ran to his aid. But green eyes turned cold when meeting icy blue irises, as if Seth's soul had been stolen, Laurie helpless to revive him. Again Seth was slipping away, but this time it was for Laurie's benefit. As Seth lay down, curling into a ball, that's what he told himself. He had to protect Laurie, for in the recesses of Seth's mind remained one faint truth: only Laurie could save him.
Chapter 37

Lying naked on the studio sofa, Lynne giggled. "Can I move yet?"

"Just another minute," Eric mumbled.

"You said that half an hour ago."

Eric peered around the canvas. "I did?"

"Yes Eric, you did."

He sighed, then smiled, stepping her way. Eric knelt by his wife, but didn't touch her, making Lynne shiver. His fingers were covered in paint, but now that she was pregnant he wasn't as eager to spread those oils along her skin. He worried it was somehow bad for the baby, but Lynne missed that element of their intimacy, although later he always made up for it. At the end of September, Lynne was indeed feeling better; she felt invincible at times, although an afternoon nap remained part of her routine. Eric probably had as many canvases of her sleeping as he did of her naked, or maybe she was snoring in the nude. That idea made her laugh out loud but quickly she stopped as Eric kissed her while laying those paint-spattered hands upon her.

She motioned for him to join her on the sofa, but he pulled away, breathing hard. "I really am nearly done, oh Lynne...."

She had closed her eyes, stretching out her arms as far as the couch allowed. Something about this pose was very enticing to him and she had been captured in a few paintings with her upper limbs extended, like in the painting he had done before they knew about the baby. Before made Lynne giggle again, as did her aching husband, torn between joining her and putting the final touches on the canvas. Finally Eric shrugged, removing his clothes. Then they were making love and she clutched him, not wishing for him to leave.

Lynne wasn't yet showing, although Eric said he could see a difference, and not only in her bosom. But nothing impeded their closeness; in fact, the baby bound them in a way Lynne had never imagined. She couldn't speak of that with anyone but Eric and while he wholly agreed, Lynne wondered if she was alone in feeling so completed, what with her husband all along her skin and their baby resting within her. The couple was intimate as often as before, but now it carried deeper meanings, and while she craved that level of attachment, she ached as well. Did this mean that Renee and Sam couldn't share such affection, and what about Stanford and Laurie? Lynne had been so relieved, waking on that Sunday morning over a month ago, as Eric relayed what had happened after she fell asleep. Not that Sam and Renee were aware of the men's relationship, but that Lawrence had ended part of the charade. Then Eric had shared what Sam had revealed, which made Lynne weep. She still had been soppy in front of their guests, but Eric passed it off as her reaction to Laurie's cousin Seth. Before Eric drove the Taylors and Laurie to the train station, Lynne had embraced Laurie, thanking him for everything. She hadn't needed to be explicit and Laurie had nodded, thanking her for pie and for perhaps making Michael a grandfather again.

Lynne and Eric hadn't expected anything of the sort, but in the last six weeks, she had corresponded with Michael Taylor, noting that yes, both she and Eric would be at the exhibit, and that she was feeling much better. Against his usual judgment, Michael seemed to be adopting the painter and his wife, but then Michael wrote that Eric was Stanford's client, which had made Lynne smile. Constance Taylor's health hadn't changed, according to Michael and Laurie, who sometimes wrote to Lynne, the letters sent from the same address where Eric received mail from Stanford. Lynne and Eric had been invited to stay at Stanford's apartment by Laurie, who wouldn't hear of the couple at a hotel. Far too impersonal, Laurie had written to Lynne, and this way, perhaps if Lynne felt able, might she make them a pie?

Eric had laughed hard at that request, wondering how Agatha would feel with another cook in her kitchen, but Lynne pondered more than Agatha's feelings. While nothing had been stated aloud, the true nature of Stanford and Laurie's relationship would be exposed, unless Laurie chose to leave at the close of the evenings as he had when Eric stayed at Stanford's years ago. Lynne hoped that wouldn't be the case now. Not that she wanted to embarrass Stanford, but.... Lynne sighed in part from deep pleasure and from inquisitiveness. Who could say why the heart worked as it did, which was just as unfathomable as why Eric had....

His weight upon her was a balm and she stroked his back as his breathing slowed to a normal pace. She didn't consider why she was now pregnant, for she had no desire to think about last year. All that mattered was this moment, her husband nearly limp, their bodies still pressed close, and their baby.... Lynne began to cry, her happiness buffered by a hint of curiosity. Eric hadn't altered in ten months, the longest stretch between transformations. Could what have occurred last year been his final absence?

"Honey, I love you. Lynne?"

Now she sobbed, which made Eric move from atop her. He sat on the end of the sofa, putting her legs over his lap. Then he laid a thin blanket over her, and she curled into the back of the couch, trembling and crying. Yet, as he whispered her name and rubbed her feet, she wasn't overly worried. Then she sat up, letting the blanket fall. He smiled at her and she nodded, then scooted toward him. He set his hand on her belly, which he said had expanded, but she had scoffed, although a few skirts did seem constricting. She couldn't feel the baby, but it was there, and so was her husband. After all those miserable weeks of last year, Eric had come home to her.

She nestled against him and he replaced the blanket over her. "I'm not cold," she said.

"I know, but I feel very proprietary about you now, the both of you." Then he chuckled. "Although some people might not see it that way."

"Maybe not," she giggled. "They might see us as...."

"Perverts."

Lynne laughed, then wiped her face. "Eric, I was thinking about...."

He stroked her face. "I know. You don't have to say it."

She pulled away, staring at him. "If something happens, I mean, if you have to go away...."

"I don't wanna be anywhere but right here."

She nodded as he caressed her face, then kissed her. Even that felt differently, warmer and more knowledgeable. But Eric had deduced that she was pregnant, so perhaps he was more informed about her now, maybe.... They necked for several minutes, then made love again, but this time Lynne sat atop her husband, the blanket on the floor. She didn't care if someone saw them, not that anyone would, for they were very safe behind their high walls and the surrounding thicket. But before, Lynne would have blanched at the idea of being exposed outside of their house. Yet, this studio was another extension of their home, of Eric, and now of her too. She loved being this free with him under clear glass panes and rued that with the onset of winter, these exchanges would end.

Her pleasure was exacerbated by the openness as she loudly told him how much she loved him. Then she laughed, spreading her arms wide, a great liberty coursing through her. All fetters had been cast aside, for this was who she was, the wife of a brilliant painter, the mother of his child. The model for his talent and the recipient of his prodigious love as Eric responded in similarly bold tones just how she made him feel. They might not make love in here like this ever again, Lynne considered, their subsequent offspring all conceived within the confines of their bedroom. But wherever this baby had been formed, it had resulted from a far wider landscape, originating in the vast acreage Eric had traversed. If not for that last agonizing transformation, Lynne wouldn't be carrying her husband's child.

She climaxed with that thought, pushing Eric over the edge. Vociferously they shared their emotional and physical joys, perhaps making the studio walls shake. Lynne was grateful for the size of their property and the seclusion. Then she gripped her husband, very thankful for his presence.

In bed that night, Lynne spoke her heart, sometimes wiping tears from her face, then brushing away Eric's. When she woke in the morning, Eric was gone, but she could smell the coffee, which she had avoided previously for the scent had made her ill. Today Lynne ached for just a sip of that fragrant brew and she put on her robe and slippers, feeling a small chill. After using the bathroom, she peered out the window. A light frost covered the ground and she smiled, wondering how many days remained for them to frolic in the studio.

Eric met her at the bottom of the stairs. "Good morning," he said, brushing aside loose hairs that had gathered around her face. Then he placed his palm against her cheek. "I love you."

She nodded, then joined him in the sunroom, which was devoid of easels for lately he had worked exclusively in the studio. They sat in chairs, but the room still smelled of paint and turpentine, and Lynne smiled, setting her hand on the baby, who would grow up knowing these scents. Eric stood. "You want some coffee?"

"Just a little, maybe half a cup?"

He smiled, then departed. A few minutes later he returned with a full mug, but the beverage was light in color. "I added some milk," he said.

"You added a lot of milk," Lynne chuckled.

"Well, you both need it." He retook his seat, then held her hand. "I was thinking about you two this morning, hearing you sleep, wondering if the baby was sleeping too. Or maybe it's not that advanced yet, but you are definitely showing. You'll need new clothes for the trip."

She nodded, sipping the coffee, but it didn't taste the same with milk. She set the mug on a small table to her right, then turned her chair to face him. Eric looked differently to her, but she couldn't place how, other than he seemed older. Was that impending fatherhood or.... "If you have to leave, it'll be all right."

"What makes you think I'm going anywhere?"

She stroked his face; his skin was warm, a little stubbly, and she grazed over it with her fingernails. Then she smiled. "I wouldn't be pregnant now if you hadn't left last year."

He grasped her hands, then kissed them. Then he met her gaze. "I've been thinking about that, trying to equate it to what happened to Sam and to Laurie's cousin."

"I wonder if we'll meet Seth next month."

"I doubt it. Stanford's gonna be a wreck what with us staying with them."

"I hope it's them."

Eric nodded. "I do too."

Lynne looked back at the coffee, but it held no appeal. Then she smiled. "I don't think I like it with that much milk."

Eric laughed. "Things aren't the same now."

"All things?" Her voice rose at the end. If he did disappear, she would draw on last year, plus she was carrying a part of him that she prayed would never share in that experience. She caressed her belly, then looked at her husband. "I think I have changed. Some of my favorite skirts aren't so comfortable anymore."

Eric smiled, then knelt in front of her. He removed her robe, kissing the skin around her navel. "We've both changed."

She stroked his head. "Do you feel something?"

"No, it's just...." He met her gaze. "We're altered Lynne, but this time it's both of us."

"Is that all right?"

"Oh God, yes." He stood, then helped her up, pulling her close. "I don't know what'll happen, I mean, not that I've felt anything, but honey, look at us, our lives, this house, your belly." He tickled her there, then laughed as she did. "My foot's healed, the rest of me as well. You let me paint you naked in the studio, hell, you let me ravish you in there." He smiled. "You waited for me Lynne, all those weeks and months and...."

She kissed him, for his voice had grown plaintive. Since summer, in accepting their miracle, she hadn't considered the other phenomenon. She had gone to mass twice with the Aherns, finding a quiet reverence in the liturgy and ceremony. Then alone she had attended a Protestant service, but it wasn't the same, although she had chalked it up to being by herself. Going on her own hadn't bothered her, for often she had lived as a solitary person, not counting the baby. The baby was just beginning to assert its physical presence, but for years Lynne had lived on and off in a strange isolation.

If Eric left again, how would she approach those empty days? Only the idea of giving birth without him scared her, although Renee and Dr. Salters, and probably Samuel, would be near. Maybe Laurie would leave New York for such an event, or he would escort Michael on the train, but that would be after the baby arrived. Then Lynne smiled. Stanford might visit grudgingly, but if Eric wasn't home, perhaps she would prefer just Renee, Sam, and the doctor. How would Lynne explain Eric's absence then?

"I won't miss this," he said, laying one hand on her belly, the other pressed softly along her cheek. "No matter what Lynne, I will be here for our baby and for you."

She shivered. "You can't make that kind of promise."

"I swear on my life, on anything you want. I won't be anywhere but right at your side."

The certainty with which he spoke stirred her few tears, then led to another long kiss. Then Eric gripped her hand, leading her up the stairs. They spent the rest of the morning in bed, not speaking of the subject again.
Chapter 38

As Lynne stepped off the train, a whistle from another engine blew. Lynne gazed at Eric, who wore a beaming smile. Then she glanced at Laurie, who looked just as pleased.

Even Stanford had a grin, which made Lynne feel this trip had begun under warm auspices. Once she was on the platform, Laurie hugged her tightly, whispering how beautiful she looked. Then Stanford shook her hand, but clasped both of his around hers, holding on longer than an informal handshake. Lynne blinked away tears, then heard Eric laugh. The jovial mood lingered as Laurie escorted her through the station while behind them Eric and his dealer talked shop. Stanford called for a cab and Lynne was ushered inside it. Eric sat on one side of her, the men across, the plush interior denoting to Lynne a subtle but permanent change in the Snyders' lives.

But this had little to do with the baby, although it was all Laurie could speak about as the cabbie negotiated busy traffic. Stanford relayed details that he and Eric had hammered out via letters and a few long distance calls; opening night would be a far grander affair than in spring, but Lynne had packed plenty of outfits befitting the wife of such a heralded artist. She and Renee had gone shopping, choosing for Lynne necessary maternity items and some extra frills, which included elegant silk scarves, one of which Lynne had worn on the train. Eric had told her to spend whatever money she wanted, for he wished to show her off as much as his paintings. She would be the focus, for the bulk of the canvases were of her in various guises. The rest were of Renee, but her identity was being concealed. Eric and Lynne had laughed that Renee might be thought of as the artist's mistress and what a scandal it would be that Eric would attend the exhibit with his now obviously pregnant wife.

Lynne was four and a half months along, but there was no way to hide a bulge that when the couple was alone was lovingly feted. She had placed her hands on the baby as soon as she was seated in the cab and while Eric might set one of his hands there too, he never tried to remove hers. A week ago Lynne had felt the baby move and now she was consumed with those fluttery motions, looking forward to when Eric noticed them too. Then Renee and Sam would feel them and.... Lynne looked up, finding both Laurie and Stanford staring at her. "What?" she asked.

"You're in another world," Laurie smiled. "Baby off to the races?"

"Always, although I think she fell asleep on the train."

Stanford raised his eyebrows. "She?"

"Well, he or she. I don't like using it, that sounds...." Lynne shook her head, then giggled. "It's one or the other, but either way, he's resting now. I think he likes the movement."

She leaned against her husband, then closed her eyes. They were spending four days in New York and while much of that time Eric would be detained, he wanted to take her through some of Central Park, and Michael had invited them to dinner on their last night in the city. Lynne didn't know if Stanford's mother would be well enough to join them, but she looked forward to seeing Michael, feeling this metropolitan realm could become an extension of their lives. Then she tutted herself. If Stanford's assumptions proved true, Eric and Lynne's world was set for expansion beyond the changes their baby would provide.

Only in the last few weeks, since shopping with Renee, had Lynne started to dwell on those alterations, most of which were fairly pleasant. Later that afternoon Eric was being interviewed by a reporter for the New York Times, then a junket of press would attend the exhibit for tomorrow's opening night. Renee and Lynne had only guessed at what the reception might be like, for neither woman had any experience with such glamorous events. When Eric was busy, Laurie would be Lynne's escort; in their correspondence, he had gently steered her toward a few stylish pieces that would perfectly outfit the wife of such an illustrious painter. But the silk scarves had been Lynne's idea, in soft autumnal tones that complemented her slightly tanned skin and her now lengthy brown hair. All those afternoons of posing in the studio, Renee had chided, but Lynne didn't mind her ruddy coloring. It was from being as close to Eric as had been possible.

He too sported the remnants of a summer tan, his hair a lighter shade of blonde, which Stanford noted, teasing about white hairs, which Eric blamed on impending fatherhood. Lynne felt sleepy with their jolly voices; she didn't discern any anxiety from Eric's dealer and of course Laurie was thrilled for their presence, and that they were staying at Stanford's. But Laurie refrained from saying it was their place, although Lynne heard a proprietary tone in Laurie's voice, the same way Eric spoke about her and the baby. It was loving in nature but protective, and for the first time, Lynne realized that in Laurie's New York accent, she and Eric were included. He was as concerned for them as he was for Stanford.

She opened her eyes, meeting Laurie's gaze. His smile was broad and a small nod of his head seemed to confirm her suspicions. Then he reached out, grasping her hands. "I'm so glad you're here."

"I am too," Lynne said, trying to stay composed.

"Me too," Stanford added. "Otherwise Eric would be back in the studio."

"True," Eric chuckled, putting his arm around Lynne, who still grasped Laurie's hands. "But this will be our last sojourn. Then we're gonna hunker down, get through winter, and prepare for spring."

As both Laurie and Stanford laughed, only Lynne heard the veiled hope in Eric's voice. He'd felt no inclinations that any other trip was imminent, but Lynne wouldn't rule it out. Yet, at that moment, the biggest alteration was of an entirely human sort. As the taxi pulled up in front of a tall, sumptuous building, Lynne inhaled deeply. Laurie got out of the cab first, offering her his hand. She exited the vehicle, staring up at where Stanford lived. Laurie gripped her hand, then kissed her cheek. "We're home," he said softly.

She nodded, tears falling down her cheeks, as Stanford's lover led her into the building.

While Lynne napped, Eric shared a cocktail with his hosts, for Laurie had made no bones that once Lynne was asleep, both he and Stanford would be sharing their residence with the couple. Eric was pleased there would be no tiptoeing around that arrangement and once Laurie tactfully laid the ground rules, he disappeared, leaving Eric and Stanford with a small amount of silence. Stanford was the one to break the awkwardness with a brief huff that Laurie had a propensity for the dramatic. Then the dealer stared at his client. "But I suppose you realized this a while ago."

Eric nodded. "When I first stayed here."

He wanted to elaborate and with Laurie, he might have. However Stanford needed no further details. "Well, not much has changed since then." Then he cleared his throat, looking around the room. "Well, he's updated the décor some, but...."

Eric chuckled. "Looks about the same to me."

Stanford stared at him, then smiled. "Don't tell Laurie that."

"We'll keep it just between us."

The way Eric spoke, that sentiment covered more than the interior of Stanford and Laurie's apartment. Then Stanford laughed, clearly more relaxed. He sat in a large, overstuffed chair, then shook his head. "I also hope you realize what's going to happen after tomorrow. I didn't imagine the build-up, but several of your paintings changed hands over summer, and for not small sums." Stanford sighed, then brightened. "Which wasn't immediately good for our bank accounts, but it's promising for what tomorrow will bring. Actually, I haven't gotten a chance to tell you because I only learned this late last night. One of your first hawk paintings was recently sold and the value has increased exponentially."

Stanford's tone was measured, but Eric didn't miss the glee in the dealer's voice. "Really?" Eric also spoke with reserve. "Well, that's interesting."

"Do you want to know how much?"

Eric stood, admiring the library's tasteful settings, stuffed with books and artwork from both men's clients. Then a small sculpture caught Eric's attention; the figure was of a woman, clothed in a knee-length skirt, her hands thrown to the heavens. She was bare-chested and long hair fell loosely down her back. Her breasts were full, her cheekbones high, her nose broad, her eyes wide. Something about the pose might incite fear, yet her face was hopeful, or at least not at all afraid, or that was how Eric interpreted it. Then he shivered. "Did Seth do this?"

Stanford sighed, then joined Eric, who now stood only a foot away from the figure. "How'd you guess?"

"An artist's prerogative." Eric fingered the woman's hands, then her arms, tracing her waist, then her skirt. She wore no shoes, standing about eighteen inches tall, and was made from clay, but the exterior was painted a deep turquoise blue, giving the statue a southwestern feel, which Eric didn't equate with Seth Gordon. Yet he had known this was Seth's work, perhaps as soon as he had spotted it.

"How old is this?" Eric asked, trying not to get lost in the vitality of the woman's cry for help, a plea she firmly expected to be answered to her exact need.

"Seth did it in his late teens." Stanford motioned toward another figure, across the room. "He did that one at the same time."

Eric glanced at where Stanford pointed. It was a man, the same height and shade of blue, dressed in ragged trousers, wearing no shirt. His arms were outstretched, often as Eric liked to paint Lynne. Eric walked to that piece, finding open expressive eyes, a strong jaw, sinewy limbs, and a crook of a smile. Then he gazed at Stanford. "Why do you keep them apart?"

They were lovers of a sort, but Eric didn't feel overt sexual intimacy was implied. It was a more of metaphysical rapture, which Eric understood on the level of how Sam had nursed him nearly a year ago. Or how Lynne cared for him, at times, when the roles of husband and wife were stripped away. It was how he felt about her now when she was tired due to the baby. Occasionally Eric forgot his hunger for her, replaced by a more spiritual desire to protect her. When he painted her asleep, nothing erotic intruded, even if she was nude. It was his slumbering partner, their baby encased within her, and Eric would fight to the death to maintain that duo's safety.

He gazed back at the woman; she wasn't pregnant, but she was very feminine in her skirt, her breasts voluptuous, the nipples full. Lynne's were starting to change, widening slightly. Eric noted every detail of her evolving form and now that the baby was indeed visible, he'd found a new appreciation for the wonder of a woman's body. He smiled, trying to keep that separate from what happened when he transformed, for that was an aberration. Pregnancy was a natural state and in Seth's sculpture, Eric had no doubt that the figure had nursed a child.

Yet her bosom didn't indicate multiple offspring, only noting this was a mother, unabashed to seek assistance partially clothed. Religious inferences swirled around the sculpture and he glanced back to the other, finding the same message relayed in that piece. "Can I place them side by side?" he asked. Then he looked at Stanford. "If you don't mind."

Stanford nodded, then handed the male figure to Eric, who set it half a foot away from the female. Then Eric pulled up a chair, sitting down. Now he studied the pieces, finding their hues weren't exactly identical; the man was more kingfisher blue than turquoise. He was slightly taller, but otherwise the proportions were equal. His feet were sturdy, as were the woman's, but something about the man's stance intrigued Eric. Then he smiled. The left foot was slightly deformed, in a similar manner that Eric's had been.

Eric tried not to laugh, but he couldn't help it. "These are amazing, my God." Then he gazed at Stanford. "I realize this's short notice, but if there's any possibility of me meeting Seth, I'd...."

Stanford shook his head. "He's not well."

Eric stood, then inhaled. "What's happened?"

The dealer frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "He tried to kill himself a few weeks ago. He's in an institution in Vermont. Laurie didn't want to tell you, although he thought you might ask." Then Stanford stared at Eric. "Please don't tell Sam."

Eric was touched at Stanford's plaintive tone. "Yes, of course. Is he gonna be all right?"

"Physically yes. But this was another emotional setback. He'd actually been okay over summer. Then after we got home something happened. No one knows exactly what, but he started to withdraw, didn't even want Laurie to visit. Then he slit his wrists, badly enough that he had to be hospitalized. Now he's...." Stanford sighed. "Right back where he was when he came home, a wreck. I don't know how Sam Ahern manages, I really don't."

His faith, Eric nearly said. Then he bit his tongue, for religious conviction was steeped in both of Seth's figures, but it wasn't necessarily Jewish, although the way Seth had molded these people, Eric felt they could be from far back in Biblical history, or from twenty years ago in Eastern Europe. Seth had made these in the late forties, Eric assumed, but The Holocaust wasn't the primary theme. It went further back in time, or could represent that very day. Suddenly Eric wanted to lie next to his wife, answering her call, which was often similar to the woman's appeal, which was for sanctuary and love. Those needs were eternal, Eric half-smiled at himself, not confined to race, creed, or any historical moment.

"These are just stunning." Eric blinked several times, feeling an overwhelming sense of what Seth wanted to convey, at such a young age. Was he aware of the days ahead when this gift wouldn't be within his capacity, or had his immense talent been a fluke? Then Eric shook his head. Nothing was by chance and he cracked his knuckles, then stared at the man's twisted foot. Eric bent his left ankle, feeling no pain. Lynne laid asleep, their baby the cause. Then he smiled. "Stanford, will you pass him a message on my behalf?"

"Of course. He knows you, I mean, he's seen your work." Stanford's tone was hesitant. "He went to see that blue barn so many times that he said he felt almost able to read your mind. He was probably as well as he'd ever been when that painting was exhibited. Laurie and I hoped it would inspire him, but then he fell into another funk. I'd be happy to tell him anything you wish."

Eric nodded. "Thank you. I'll write it up before we leave." He glanced back at the sculptures. "Would you do me another favor?"

"What is it?"

"Would you keep these together from now on? They really shouldn't be separated. Maybe not here, wherever you and Laurie feel is best to display them, but they should stay about this distance from each other." Eric studied them again, moving the man back an inch and a half. Then he changed his mind, placing the woman two inches closer. Then he smiled. While she was staring heavenward, the man was looking right at her.

Eric smiled, wondering if Lynne might feel the same as he, that while the man's foot was deformed, it was as if Lynne was the male figure while Eric was the woman, gazing upwards. Or perhaps only he saw it that way. He knew what Stanford thought, although the dealer was having a hard time struggling with such a strange possibility, that somehow years ago Seth had set into clay a nearly identical representation of Eric's deformity. His former disability, Eric chuckled inwardly. But while that might cause Stanford some unwanted queries, it didn't bother Eric. He only hoped that Seth would accept his message with an open mind, and a receptive heart. The heart of an artist still beat within Seth Gordon, Eric didn't doubt. But the fragility of that organ, and of Seth's psyche, was another issue entirely.
Chapter 39

While Laurie made no pretense toward the nature of his and Stanford's relationship, Stanford still felt skittish as Agatha bid the two couples goodnight. She had amiably permitted Lynne to wander through the kitchen, the women discussing various recipes, then childbirth. Stanford had tried to tune out that conversation, but Agatha could be loud, and that evening she was vociferous. If Lynne wanted to have her baby at home, by all means she should. Agatha Morris had birthed all six of her children right in her own bedroom and all had survived just fine. That evening Stanford learned much about his Negro cook, that her third and fourth children, who had given her the most trouble at their arrivals, were actually her most dependable offspring. She had coddled her two youngest and they were up to no good. Use a firm hand, Agatha advised, and don't forget it takes two to make babies.

Eric laughed as that sentiment had leaked into the dining room where the men were waiting for dinner. Laurie had a small grin, but Stanford was slightly irritated. Then he shrugged; Agatha was too good of a cook to dismiss, plus he trusted her. Having Eric and Lynne staying over wasn't troubling to Stanford, at least not outwardly. He did fret the morning; however, by the time he stirred, all he'd be considering was that night's exhibit. Eric had never asked just how much that hawk painting had fetched, so Stanford didn't bring it up again. But he ached to infer the scale of the increase to warn Eric, and Lynne, how differently this show would be.

Instead, after Lynne woke from her nap, and Eric spoke to the New York Times reporter, all talk centered on Seth's sculptures. They made Lynne cry, which in turn made Laurie a little maudlin. But their moods were different; Lynne wept from release, while Laurie sniffled in sorrow. Stanford had never noticed the man's deformed foot, the same left foot as what Eric had previously suffered. Stanford said nothing of that to anyone, mostly because he felt foolish for only just realizing it.

Now the two couples relaxed in the living room. Normally Stanford would have ushered them into the library, but he didn't want Seth to again usurp the conversation. Yet, Lynne yawned as Eric and Laurie spoke, and Stanford was glad for a pregnant woman's inclusion. Soon enough the Snyders would excuse themselves for the guest room and shortly afterwards Stanford and Laurie would retire to their bedroom. The master suite was down the hall from where the Snyders would slumber, but Stanford didn't feel like making love. Too many issues crowded his mind and those damn figurines were at top of the list.

He should be stewing about tomorrow's show, although there was little over which to worry. That Eric's early paintings were changing hands, and for significant sums, was indicative of an active market for his work, and once the paintings of Lynne and Renee were seen.... Stanford smiled as Lynne's voice decreased from the chatter, Eric and Laurie carrying the conversation. It would only take moments for a discerning art collector to deduce the truth behind those landscapes, then the murmurs would explode, what with Lynne there next to her husband, but who was the redhead in the rest of the canvases? Perhaps some might realize she was a relative to the Catholic clans shown in spring, but was she more than an acquaintance to the artist, who would cling to his pregnant wife as often as possible. Intrigue was good for sales, Stanford allowed, plus Eric and Lynne didn't care about the buzz. Stanford gazed at his client, then at Lynne; she was nearly asleep, safely nestled against her husband. Eric stroked her arm, nodding at Laurie. But if Laurie wasn't present, Eric would be collecting his wife in his arms, then carrying her to bed.

Stanford had never been attracted to women, but in watching this couple, he nearly had an inclination toward what men and women shared. It was proprietary, what Laurie always told him, but Stanford had few protective feelings toward his lover. More were Stanford's concerns for his clients, which were all men, he smiled to himself. Not that he disliked women; he loved his mother, even if she hadn't seemed like his mom in years. He cared about his three younger sisters, but from childhood he had been drawn into the world of art, a realm almost solely consisting of men. Laurie had been a challenge in that Stanford had become enamored of him while Laurie was involved with someone else. That girl had been no match for Stanford, however, especially since Laurie wasn't fully committed to women. That was how Stanford and Laurie had fallen in love, Stanford chasing after a slightly younger man who preferred to keep gender out of the picture. But once Stanford made his feelings plain, Laurie never looked back. Fifteen years later, here they were, entertaining overnight guests for the very first time.

But Eric and Lynne Snyder weren't just any couple because Eric wasn't simply any painter. He was, in Stanford's opinion, a wonder, even at his relatively young age. He wasn't Picasso or another rare genius, but Stanford didn't want to battle an eccentric virtuoso. That would be Seth, and look at where he was, locked away outside of Burlington. The facility was one of the best; it was also exclusive and was where Michael was considering placing his wife. In Stanford's opinion, his mother needed more than in-home nursing. She needed....

Eric stood, breaking Stanford's concentration. Lynne weaved, then was helped from the sofa. Laurie smiled as Eric mumbled goodnight, and Stanford followed Eric to the hallway. "We'll see you in the morning," Stanford whispered.

Eric nodded again, softly crooning something to Lynne. Stanford watched them until Eric opened the guest room door. Only when Eric closed it did Stanford rejoin Laurie, who looked nearly as tired as Lynne. "Time for bed?" Laurie said quietly.

"Yes, I believe so."

Laurie smiled, caressing Stanford's face. Then Laurie kissed Stanford's cheek. "C'mon, I'm beat."

Stanford grinned as Laurie squeezed his hand. Perhaps Eric and Lynne would fall right to sleep, but Laurie had other ideas. And making love would clear Stanford's head. He needed a good night's sleep. Tomorrow held the makings of an exceptional day.

Eric stirred to fragrant coffee, men's chatter, and Agatha Morris' low but melodic hum. Lynne was sound asleep and Eric would let her rest as long as possible. But he wanted coffee and was curious as to his hosts' morning attire. He suspected Stanford would be showered and dressed, but might Laurie wear something more casual?

After using the toilet, Eric put on his robe and slippers, then padded toward the kitchen. The hum was beautiful, like a song being sung, but the lyrics were known only to the vocalist. Eric entered the dining room, but it was deserted. He smiled, then headed for the kitchen, knocking on the closed door.

"Come on in," Laurie said.

Eric entered the room, finding what he'd expected. Stanford looked impeccable in grey trousers and a white dress shirt, although the top two buttons were unfastened. Laurie wore a charcoal dressing gown with blue piping, slippers similar to Eric's, and what appeared as a plain white t-shirt under the robe. Agatha wore her usual attire, a full apron covering her cream blouse and black skirt. But she didn't stop humming, although she poured Eric a cup of coffee, setting it near one of the open table settings.

"What a lovely way to wake," Eric said cheerily. "Good coffee, amiable conversation, and the most beautiful tune. Mrs. Morris, you're a woman of many talents."

She turned, then smiled, still humming. Then she stopped. "Mr. Snyder, please call me Agatha."

"Only if you'll call me Eric."

She chuckled, then nodded. "Juice Eric? And will Mrs. Snyder be joining us any time soon?"

"Juice please and I think Lynne will be resting a bit longer." Eric sat between his hosts at the place Agatha had designated for him. He was glad not to be in a hotel, although it had been fine for last spring. He preferred this homey atmosphere, even if Stanford looked like he'd slept in his work clothes. Eric fought a chuckle, then spilled it, gazing at Laurie, who appeared as though he'd just tumbled from bed.

What Eric would give to paint these men as they were, in love and very happy to be so. Agatha was a part of it, like a substitute mother, which Stanford did need. Laurie's mom was still living and Eric had learned that Seth's breakdown was as hard on her as it was on Seth's own mother. But Agatha was this couple's stronghold, keeping their secret and providing a feminine touch that Eric thought was necessary, no matter what Stanford might assume.

The men ate, then talked, but not about Seth or Stanford's mother or the show. While neither Stanford nor Laurie was keen on sports, they mentioned Roger Maris breaking Babe Ruth's home run record, which Eric had followed alongside Sam. Laurie spoke about the recent release of West Side Story, and that he'd heard it was a terrific film adaptation, asking if Eric had seen the play. Eric noted that he hadn't, but that when the movie came to his and Lynne's town, he would take her to see it. Perhaps it would be a double date with the Aherns, which made Stanford chuckle. "I can't imagine Sam Ahern sitting through a musical."

Agatha stopped humming, Eric noticed, but she didn't turn to face them. "Well, Sam likes a good movie now and again, especially now that baseball season's over." It had been long over for Sam's beloved Red Sox, Eric then explained, particularly when Maris overtook Ruth's record on the last day of the regular season.

"You sound like a fan yourself," Agatha said, bringing the coffee pot to the table.

"By osmosis," Eric laughed as Agatha refilled his cup. "Thank you so much. This is just delicious."

"I swear Eric, I couldn't wake up without a cup of Agatha's brew." Laurie smiled, then stood. "All right, time to make myself presentable. I'll see you gentlemen later, several items on my agenda before tonight. Give Lynne my love if I miss her."

"Will do." Eric watched as Laurie made no motions toward Stanford, who drank his coffee while reading the paper. Eric didn't smile, but he wanted to. Instead he leaned Stanford's way. "So, anything in there about an art exhibit?"

Stanford nodded. "It's a good piece, notes that your prices are going up as well." Stanford chuckled. "That will entice anyone on the fence. Get a canvas now before prices go through the roof."

Agatha clucked loudly, making Eric grin. "Well yes, Stanford, definitely rope them in tonight. You never know, I might have a dry spell or be too busy changing diapers to paint much in the future."

For a few seconds the room was silent. Eric didn't look at his dealer, but felt Stanford's intense gaze. Then Agatha hummed and Stanford huffed, rattling the pages of the Times. Eric chuckled quietly, looking forward to sharing that morning's adventures with Lynne.

Many hours later, Lynne recalled Eric's tales, wishing she had been awake to see Laurie in a slightly disheveled state, and to hear Agatha's gentle chidings. Now walking slowly with Laurie Abrams, Lynne felt transported into another realm, which was inhabited by sophisticated New Yorkers all seeking to either own a canvas painted by Lynne's husband, or to speak with the painter, or to even chat with his wife. Yet Laurie monopolized Lynne's time, when she wasn't standing at Eric's side, and Lynne was grateful for Laurie's calming presence. The gallery was teeming with guests and the press and while Lynne had known a change was imminent, it had been nothing on the scale either she or Eric had expected.

She felt slightly out of place, unless she stood with Laurie, who sensed her unease. Even near Eric, Lynne was wary, for he was just as overwhelmed; neither had anticipated this much interest or the waves of praise, which Lynne accepted were now unavoidable. No longer was Eric Snyder a nature artist, even if two thirds of tonight's canvases were devoted to landscapes. The paintings of Renee were thought to be of Lynne's sister. That had emerged by accident, when a reporter asked who was that redhead with the most intriguing eyes? Off the cuff, Lynne had replied it was her sister, and the answer stuck, helping to quell suspicious that Eric had a mistress. Many recalled similar faces in family portraits shown last spring; those must have been from the painter's wife's family. Lynne didn't try to dispel those assumptions. Renee was Lynne's sister, if not by blood then by deeper ties, which would have been just as impossible to explain.

Lynne also didn't deny that she was pregnant, but those queries were far more subtle, brought on by her loose blue and cream dress and that she still caressed her baby whenever that child moved about. Which on that night seemed a constant, Lynne told Eric and Laurie. When Michael inquired as to her health, Lynne slyly placed his hand upon her belly, making him blush, then smile. She didn't ask about Constance, not wishing to cause the older man any heartache. He had embraced her, but not too tightly, then he'd laughed, grabbing Lynne in a bear hug. She looked forward to spending an evening at his home, even if other issues intruded.

She was eager to end this night, in part due to fatigue and that she wanted to separate herself from this arena. Not that she wasn't proud of Eric; Lynne was immensely pleased for all the accolades that rumbled throughout the gallery. Either people were admiring Renee's stoplight eyes or they were musing over various natural settings which thinly disguised the woman who weaved through crowds as if she heard nothing more than rumbling waves or rushing leaves on stiff breezes. Lynne spoke little to anyone, for Laurie was protective, and while the canvases depicted her likenesses, this night was about the man who had cleverly fashioned the illusion. How had he done it, rustled about the room. From where did his genius spring?

While Stanford might not want that label applied to his client, Lynne heard it repeatedly, and thought it a fair assessment. Eric was a brilliant artist, but his gift wasn't from a tortured soul, or not anymore. It emerged from love, then she caught herself again stroking her abdomen. She giggled, then whispered to Laurie. "I need to sit for a bit."

"Of course." He steered her to a quiet corner, near a painting of Renee. While sold stickers adorned all of Lynne's portraits, these carried no such tags, although Lynne knew they too would be snapped up if it had been possible. Lynne couldn't wait to tell Renee how her image had been coveted, but Lynne wouldn't relay that in front of Sam. Staring at a picture of her friend seated in the Aherns' backyard, Lynne missed Renee, and home. New York was fine for a visit, and staying with Stanford and Laurie was certainly enjoyable, but Lynne ached for privacy. Thank goodness their house was protected by walls in a sleepy town far from this city.

She was also grateful they lived on the West Coast. New York was another world, but Lynne preferred her life, just Eric and.... The baby kicked and Lynne giggled. "I know, you too," she smiled.

"Someone active?" Laurie asked.

"Just reminding me it's not going to be only me and Eric for much longer, not even at home."

Laurie squeezed her hand. "Would you like to leave?"

"Oh, not quite yet." She gazed at passersby who slowed as they approached, but didn't intrude. "This'll be the last show I attend for a long time. Best to savor the moment now."

"I suppose I'll have to come visit you." Laurie chuckled. "I'm not big on traveling, but I can't wait to meet Junior."

Lynne nodded, feeling teary, but it was joyful in nature. Then liquid spilled down her face and she struggled not to break into sobs. "You haven't gone up there, have you?"

Her voice was hushed. She hadn't meant to bring it up, but she wasn't the only one in another world. During the day, she had slipped into the library, mesmerized by Seth's sculptures. Those were the only two that Laurie and Stanford owned and Lynne held the same notions that Eric did. She also saw Laurie as the male figure and Stanford as the woman, which she hadn't said to her husband. As Laurie embraced her, Lynne sobbed, his arms as encompassing and healing as those Seth had sculpted not long after Laurie and Stanford had met.

"I think it's time to take you home." Laurie's tone was soft, then he sighed. "I wanna see him, oh my God, but if I did...." Laurie pulled away, then handed her a handkerchief. "He's so fragile. Right now I'm scared we're gonna lose him."

Lynne blew her nose, then wiped her face. She perfectly understood Laurie's fears and wished she could relay that comprehension. "I'm so sorry," she mumbled instead. "I wish there was something we could do."

"Stanford said Eric wanted to send Seth a message. I suppose it can't hurt. He's so lost right now, nothing could make it worse."

Lynne nodded. "I know you don't want the Aherns aware, but they'll ask if we were able to meet him and...." Lynne wanted Sam and Renee to pray for Seth, but she wouldn't tell Laurie that.

"I just don't wanna hurt Sam."

She shook her head. "This won't hurt him, I mean, he won't like it, neither of them will, but he'll understand." Then she sighed, recalling his confusion in her kitchen before he knew the truth about Eric. Sam would consign Seth's setback as a matter of course. At least it had a rational explanation.

But why had Seth given that figure a deformity, the left foot of all things? Lynne hadn't had time to ask Eric's opinion, but now that opening night was nearly over, their minds would be less burdened. Perhaps tomorrow, when they toured Central Park, or on the train home. Lynne had no illusions; while they had never met Seth Gordon, that figurine's disability was more than a coincidence. Then she wanted to laugh out loud. In this building, a hoax had been perpetrated. Canvases allegedly those of landscapes were actually of her, lying naked in the sunroom. Then Lynne gazed at Renee; that woman wasn't her sister, although she was, so what was truth? Laurie was Stanford's.... They were as committed as Lynne and Eric. Stanford might try to modulate his affections for this man, but Lynne saw through that aloof veneer, as well as how much Stanford worried about his parents. Lynne stood and Laurie joined her. Reality and fantasy were all matters of opinion and Lynne was ready to call this fabulous but odd day to a close. "Let's go find those men of ours," she smiled, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Laurie stared at her, then nodded, his smile wide but sly. "Yes, let's. Then I'll escort you home. Those chaps can burn the midnight oil if they like, but there are better places for us to be."

"Snug in bed is where I'd like to be right now."

"Me too."

They laughed together, grasping each other's hands, weaving through the still stunned crowds. When they reached their lovers, Lynne readily went into Eric's embrace as Laurie permitted Michael to separate him and Stanford. That caused Lynne a moment's sorrow, but it was quickly mitigated by the kiss Eric set upon her cheek. As Laurie announced their departure, Michael asked to join them. Stanford nodded as Eric again kissed his wife. She didn't need to tell him to take his time, but other issues would be broached as soon as that time belonged to only them.
Chapter 40

On the Snyders' last morning in New York, an article appeared in a daily paper all about Eric's incarcerated father. Stanford had gotten wind of the piece, but wasn't sure if it would be run before the couple headed west. It made Lynne teary, while Eric stoically accepted this unwanted presence in their lives. Tragedy touched everyone, Laurie quietly said during breakfast as Lynne dried her eyes, then kissed her husband, announcing she was going to soak in the large guest tub. Agatha asked if Lynne needed assistance, but she gave a wry smile, and while thanking Agatha profusely, Lynne left the kitchen, not even allowing Eric to follow her out.

He sighed as the kitchen door swung closed. Then he picked up the paper, nothing more than a scandal sheet, Agatha had sniffed. A photo of Eric and Lynne graced the front page, the headline in bold type: Painter's Father Is A Killer! Eric grimaced, wondering for how long the editor had known this fact, then Eric shrugged. The details mostly concerned Howard Snyder's conviction, with only hints to his other misdeeds. Eric's mother Emma was barely mentioned, and truthfully, not much was said about Eric or his wife. The reporter had scoured the public records, but beyond the basics, little else was noted. Still, the photo was telling; how did photographers happen to catch the worst of people, Eric wondered. Lynne looked weary in the shot and Eric's eyes were downcast as if instead of savoring that night's tremendous joy, they were dogged by one relative who had actually helped the couple achieve their greatest happiness.

Then Eric stood, excusing himself. He didn't hear Stanford and Laurie's voices or Agatha's gentle hum. Eric walked to the guest quarters, closing the door behind him. Hearing Lynne splashing in the tub, Eric stripped off his clothes, then entered the bathroom. Bubbles obscured his wife, but the scent was pleasantly fragrant, the room warm. Lynne looked up, her face not at all sad. "Eric, what is it?"

Then she giggled as he knelt beside her. "What," she smiled. "You wanna join me?"

He nodded, stroking her face. "Is there room?"

"Are you serious?"

Now he chuckled. "Absolutely. I need you, I need to tell you...."

Before he could finish, she kissed him. Then Eric stepped into the tub as Lynne managed to make room. They were making love within minutes as Eric let the gossip rag slip from his mind. His father had caused him vast heartache, but years later, that same man had somehow freed his son to become the father Howard Snyder never would be. That was all Eric considered as bubbles popped between his and Lynne's warm wet skin.

As the train rumbled from the station, Lynne nestled into Eric's grasp. She was still warm from her bath, which hadn't gone as she had planned, but that memory would sustain her in later months when intercourse was too difficult to achieve. Then she blushed, but didn't care. Leaving the East Coast, she felt like a new woman, but wasn't sure how to correctly elaborate that sentiment. It was related to that morning's paper, which she had seen as they passed kiosks within the station, but it was also tied into the figurines Seth Gordon had fashioned years ago. Then she could add Eric's profound success, his somewhat ominous fame, and of course a questionable relationship, but only in how outsiders might view Stanford and Laurie. While nothing was spoken regarding the men's living arrangements, Lynne had given each a strong hug, saying she couldn't wait to see them again, making it quite plain that if Stanford visited, Laurie was also expected. Laurie quickly accepted her invitation, gripping her hands. Stanford's silent nod was approval enough, and had Lynne seen him wipe tears from the corners of his eyes? The trip had only been four days in length, but the change in all of them would be lasting, and that included Michael Taylor and Agatha Morris. Lynne and Eric had thought their circle was small, yet it seemed to have doubled in less than a week.

Lynne caressed her small bump, then blinked away tears. Yes, Eric's father was a convicted criminal; had that story been picked up nationwide, or was it only fodder for New York? Lynne was certain that some in their small town would have been watching for any such news, but now she wouldn't have to feel their contemptuous gazes on a daily basis. Eric had said that for the next several weeks he would do their shopping, but Lynne didn't feel that was necessary. She wasn't embarrassed by this becoming public knowledge; she was immensely proud of her husband. Eric hadn't been able to pick his parents, but he'd made the best of a poor beginning. His mother, for whom Lynne wanted to name the baby if it was a girl, had worked herself to an early death to provide for her son. But nothing about that was included in the article. Emma Snyder had barely been mentioned as if Eric was only the product of one wicked man.

Lynne shivered, then closed her eyes as Eric placed his hands alongside hers on their child. The baby was wriggling about, which made Lynne smile. She forgot about Eric's father, instead considering the life inside her who would never know such depravity. This child would thrive in a home filled with artistic and culinary endeavors, with medical ingenuity on the side. Perhaps the baby would be a physician, a chef, or.... Lynne giggled as Eric began murmuring in her ear that he loved her, and couldn't wait until they were home so he could....

She sat up, then gazed at him. His smile was wide, his eyes sparkling. He didn't look at all like the man on the front of a tawdry New York scandal sheet, for this man was filled with a sensuous joy that she easily detected. Others would see only immense pleasure, but Lynne knew Eric better than anyone in the world. Then she had a husky chuckle. "Mr. Snyder, really. Here, on the train?"

"I should've gotten us our own private car. Goodness knows now money's no object. Next time for certain, Mrs. Snyder."

"And when will that be?" she teased.

"Depends on when baby number two appears," Eric laughed.

Lynne nodded, her lip trembling. All the storms of their past had paved the way for this present bliss. She saw more than a painter in her husband's eyes; while art would always matter, another occupation was taking precedence. She said a brief prayer, still not quite certain to whom she was giving thanks. Then a muffled sob burst from her throat. "Eric, what did you write to Seth?"

Eric closed his eyes, nodded, then opened them again. "I told him...." Eric sighed. "Lynne, do you believe there's a God?"

Before she could think, she nodded. "Yes, I suppose I do. Is that what you wrote about?"

"Not exactly, because a part of me isn't quite sure. Although now, here with just you, I'd have to say that yes of course there is because I'm the most blessed person in the world, sitting beside you and our baby."

His tone was serious, also tinged with deep thankfulness. "Not that I'm ready to sign up with any particular church." He smiled, then caressed her cheek. "I told him I believed in his gift, which I'd had the genuine pleasure of witnessing at Stanford and Laurie's. That while I couldn't say I comprehended the exact pain he was suffering, I knew a man who had endured a similar sort of agony and who, in the care of those who loved him, had been able to set aside enough of the pain to allow for healing to occur. That as an artist, I knew the fire to create still burned within him, but that he felt it was unsustainable. And that I fully understand feeling unable to express all that I want...."

Lynne traced around Eric's eyes. "I'm sorry honey, oh Eric, I should've let you paint me sooner."

He shook his head, then kissed her brow. "Lynne, do you know what I've learned on this trip?"

"What?"

"I've learned there's a time and place for all things, good and bad. My mother used to tell me that, but she always sounded so defeated I never took her seriously. It was just another homily, but she was right, although she wasn't able to truly grasp how the bad is necessary to accentuate the good. Maybe that's what I really learned, that even the worst moments have purpose. And if that's not a reason for accepting there's a God, what else is there?"

His tone lifted at the end of his sentence and Lynne stared into his eyes. "Rather profound for a simple train ride, Eric."

"Well, I am a painter. Aren't I supposed to translate the truths of the world?"

Lynne rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you're gonna paint a Guernica when we get home."

He chuckled. "No, just you and Junior and...." He sighed, then again stroked her face. "I wanna paint...." He paused. "Lynne, are you gonna attend mass again?"

She nodded slowly. "Do you wanna go with me?"

"I think I would. Boy, Sam and Renee aren't gonna know what hit us."

"Are you gonna tell them about Seth?"

Eric nodded. "I don't wanna lie to them and Laurie didn't seem bothered if they knew."

"He was a little worried, I mean...."

"Well, he doesn't want to offend Sam. But personally, I think Seth needs Sam to know. That man has a special link with whoever's up there."

"God?" Lynne said softly.

"Maybe. It's like you said, I wanna go in the manner of taking a class. And like you also said, most Catholics probably wouldn't appreciate that sort of impetus. But Seth's figures, both of them, how'd he do them, he was so young. He was just a teenager, my God. How did he...."

Lynne nodded, looking down at Eric's left foot. "I wonder the same thing."

"The woman is so plaintive, but also completely trusting. She looks Jewish, they both do, but they also look...." He took a deep breath. "Like us. And like Stanford and Laurie."

"Oh yes, Eric, I saw that too."

"Did you see them like...."

Again Lynne nodded, this time with purpose. "Eric, I think true artists, no matter the form they choose to express their gifts, are in touch with something the rest of us can't see or feel. I've always thought that about you, even before I knew about...." She placed his hand on their baby. "And cooking is an art too, you know."

He smiled, stretching his fingers wide over the rise of her belly. "Yes, it certainly is. What about nursing?"

Lynne giggled, setting her palms over the back of Eric's hand. "Well, I don't know."

"What if I told you I thought that no matter what a person does, even if it's selling my paintings, that if they truly believe their contribution is for the betterment of society, it's artistic."

Lynne stared at him. "Really?"

"Why not? Art can be achieved through physical labor, which is all painting or sculpting is." Then he grinned. "It's also writing, which is just jotting words on paper. It's doing something that makes a person think. Nursing can be artful, especially when the patient isn't necessarily in need of bodily assistance."

He pressed gently against Lynne's belly, then squeezed her hands. "The way Sam took care of me, there was an art to that because it wasn't only about my physical bearing. It was about my psyche. Yes, I was a mess." Eric motioned to his torso. "From my head to my feet, but the worst of it was here." He tapped his head. "I kept thinking about what I was doing to you, how I was hurting you. That's why I didn't want you to see me, because I thought it was better for you to be alone, because that was so traumatizing. But as soon as I did see you, I realized how wrong I was, because in keeping you away, I'd denied you a chance to use your gift to reach me. Nurses are artists, don't tell me they're not. You and Sam and Renee have incredible powers in your hands, but mostly in your hearts." Eric set his palm between his wife's breasts. "Now, not all artists can achieve the same level of quality." He smiled. "But I've been held in the most capable and tender hands Lynne. I know from where that great talent springs." He leaned over and kissed her, then removed his hand from her chest. "From a heart able to give and reciprocate empathy. It's one thing to treat a wound and anyone can write a grocery list or draw a stick figure. But the heart leads from those elementary levels. And Lynne, your heart, yours and Sam's and Renee's...."

"And Laurie and Stanford, oh Eric!" Lynne wept, then sagged against Eric, who stroked her hair.

Eric clutched her with his free arm. "Honey, I told Seth that no matter how dead he thought was that flame, I knew it flickered. And I know it's still inside him. But what he saw in Korea and whatever he did there, all of that buried it and now it's trying to bury him. I don't know how or if he'll be able to dig through it, I can't predict the future. But I know it's possible. Anything, Lynne, is possible."

Eric tipped her face to his. "I came home to you, we've made a child. I love you, perhaps that's the most improbable of all. After everything my father did to me and my mother, I should've turned into a psychopath. But I didn't. Something or," he smiled, "someone kept me sane, kept that fire alive. My mother never saw any of my paintings. But Lynne, I ran into you on an arbitrary day, or that's how it seemed. It seemed like the most innocuous meeting, yet it was the restart of my whole life. And the day we made this baby was another. Maybe life's a constant stream of indelible moments, but we don't realize it until later. We have no idea when or even where we made this child." Eric smiled, wiping away his wife's tears. "But several weeks later, I was looking at paintings of you, that's how I realized it. And when I saw Seth's figures, I knew he was capable of even greater work. I know he is."

"Do you know if he'll...."

Eric shook his head. "Like I said, I can't predict what'll happen." Then he stared at his arms. "I can't even say I'll never change again. But honey, we have this moment, here on this train. We had this morning at Stanford and Laurie's." Eric chuckled as Lynne did the same. "And hopefully we'll get another time in the studio before it gets too cold. Oh Lynne, that's what I hope Seth reads in between the lines. I hope he understands that his very life matters, he's here for a reason, and I hope it's more than just those figures. But maybe it won't be, I just can't say."

Lynne nodded, then sniffled. Eric reached into his pocket, handing her a handkerchief. She blew hard, then dabbed at her eyes. "Honey, do you think he'll...."

Eric shrugged. "I've done what I can. The rest is up to him. But I can, well, I can...."

"What?" Lynne said, her voice quivering.

"I can pray for him, so can you, Samuel and Renee too. Laurie alluded to me that while he's not observant, he's been offering his, well...." Eric smiled. "He says he went to a synagogue recently, the first time since his bar mitzvah." Eric chuckled. "I think faith isn't the same as religion, but they get tied together. But faith, real faith, means believing in, and I think it was Abraham Lincoln who said it, the better angels of our natures. We're awful Lynne, when it comes down to it. Strip away all our trappings and we're just like the rest of the animal kingdom."

"Now Eric...."

"No, we are. But that's where art comes into it. Animals don't create things for pleasure. They are solely hardwired to survive. But we tickle our fancies, be it with art, food, sex." He said that last word quietly, making Lynne smile. "Hawks might mate for life, other creatures do too, but they don't buy their lovers flowers or write sonnets to them. We have a fantastic capacity for evil Lynne, we most certainly do. But somewhere inside ourselves, we can succumb to great love."

"Maybe that's all faith is, loving and thinking we're able to improve."

"Maybe." Eric smiled, relaxing into his seat. Then he embraced his wife. "If Seth takes that on board, maybe one day we'll have a figure of his gracing our living room."

Lynne nodded, snuggling against her husband. Within minutes, she was softly snoring, and she slept for the rest of the afternoon. Eric held her the entire time, alternately praying for his wife and for Seth. He also prayed for the Aherns, that this news about Seth wouldn't hurt them, and that maybe one day he could paint Sam alongside Renee. And that eventually he could paint Sam's portrait in that man's most important role, but it wouldn't be at the VA hospital or within a kitchen.
Chapter 41

On the final Sunday of October, in the last pew of St. Anne's Catholic Church, Eric sat beside his wife. They had wanted to get there at the same time as the Aherns, but a phone call from New York had delayed them. Now as worshippers filed out, Eric gripped Lynne's hands, waiting for their friends. Eric hoped Renee would immediately sit on Lynne's other side, for Lynne was still shaky and Eric remained slightly despondent. Stanford had felt badly, calling right as the couple was out the door, but truthfully, church was the best place to go after receiving unpleasant news.

Eric looked up, then met Sam's gaze, which was at first pleased, then worried. As Eric nodded, Renee sat beside Lynne, but Sam stood at the end of the row, still staring at Eric. Eric didn't need to speak; Sam seemed to sense the latest about Seth, but Renee embraced Lynne, who warbled that they didn't know if he was going to pull through. The he didn't need to be qualified; Eric and Lynne had told the Aherns all about Seth's setback when they returned from New York. Sam had considered writing to Seth, but hadn't, yet Eric didn't think it would have made any difference. Seth Gordon's mental and emotional damage was far too crippling even for a fellow vet to soothe.

Not that Eric thought he could do any good, but he also didn't feel his letter had exacerbated Seth's illness. Stanford wasn't sure what the family would do next. Seth had overdosed on sleeping pills, was alive, but in a bad way. If he recovered, he'd be moved to another facility. Stanford briefly mentioned McLean Hospital in Massachusetts, or the Caffey-Miller Institute in Minnesota. Eric had heard Sam mention Caffey-Miller in passing, a few vets having been sent there. When a moment was free, Eric would ask Sam about it, wanting Seth to receive the best possible care. McLean was a top hospital, but if Caffey-Miller had a special unit for veterans, perhaps that might be where Seth should go.

It would be far from New York, not that Eric thought the location mattered. At this point, the only consideration was Seth's health, which Lynne mumbled was precarious. Sam nodded, then sat down, scooting next to Renee. A few parishioners slowed, but no one intruded as Lynne continued to cry.

The foursome didn't move until Lynne was calm, then they left church in a huddle, only Sam saying goodbye to Father Riley. Eric ushered Lynne to their car and he didn't need to speak to the Aherns, who got in their vehicle and followed the Snyders home. Renee and Sam said little on the drive, but Lynne spoke, that Seth needed to be moved to Caffey-Miller, he needed treatment especially for a veteran. Perhaps that hadn't been fully taken into account in Vermont, but if that aspect wasn't given the proper due, Seth wouldn't survive.

Lynne used her nurse's cadence, for which Eric was relieved. Better for her to approach this as a professional, less painful on her. As for Seth, Eric wasn't sure; McLean Hospital had an excellent reputation, and it would be much easier for Seth's family to visit him in Boston than to travel to Minneapolis. But maybe Seth needed a change of scenery, then Eric sighed. Perhaps the note he had written and how much Seth was loved would make no difference. Some people survived, but not everyone.

Eric hadn't paid attention during the liturgy, trying to prop up Lynne and make sense of Stanford's call. Not that Stanford's message had been oblique, but he had never sounded that vulnerable. If Stanford was so touched, how were Laurie and the rest of Seth's relatives? Eric had taken his mother's death quite hard, but then she'd been all he'd had. Yet in larger families, was the pain accentuated? Eric had no idea, and of course Lynne came from a similarly limited background. But many people loved Seth and all were helpless. Eric gripped his wife's hand, then shivered. This was how she had felt every time he'd changed, and Sam and Renee had worried about him too.

Now they all pondered another fragile man and Eric sighed, then pulled into his driveway. Sam parked parallel to the road and all four walked through the gate, then into the house, no words spoken. Once the women had removed their jackets chatter emerged, but it was in somber tones as Eric started a fire with Sam's assistance. Sam cleared his throat as Renee asked if they wanted coffee. Sam nodded and Eric said yes. Then Sam motioned Eric toward the sunroom.

Eric followed him, staring out at golden leaves blowing in the slight breeze. Had it been warm out or cool, Eric wondered. Then he shook as Sam spoke. "He should be at Caffey-Miller. If there's any chance of you passing that along...."

"I can call Stanford now. Do you think it would make that big of a difference?"

Sam nodded. "I don't know anything about other hospitals, I mean, I'm sure there's great ones on the East Coast, but Caffey-Miller has a fantastic program for vets. It's new, I mean, the system's only been going the last couple of years, but all that we've sent there have made amazing progress. We haven't lost a man yet."

"Stanford mentioned it, as well as a hospital in Boston. But I don't know what'll happen. They're not even sure if he'll recover."

Sam gazed outside. "Well if he does, Caffey-Miller's the best place for him. Maybe they're thinking of treating him like an artist, I mean, he is from what you've said, but he's also been in a far darker place." Sam looked at Eric. "Very few would understand, I mean, you do, but then you've been in a pretty scary place yourself."

Then Sam shook his head, again staring outside. "Eric, what happens to you is similar to what I know, Seth probably too. You change into something so alien to who you are at this very minute." Sam looked at Eric. "You've changed, I mean."

"I might change again, who knows?"

"Well maybe, but what I mean is war alters men, but I can't describe it to someone who's never been there because they just wouldn't get it. And some of the ones who have been there might not understand either, not unless they...."

Sam faced the windows. "Not unless they were in combat. It's one thing to wear the uniform, but unless you've had to defend yourself." Then Sam sighed, glancing at Eric. "But you have. That's why you painted the blue barn."

Eric nodded, but didn't speak.

"You painted that barn because whatever happened, you didn't wanna let that stay inside you. When Renee told me you'd turned into a bird, I just wanted to slap her. My God, I've never wanted to hit her, but it was so damned ridiculous." Sam shook his head. "Then when I confronted Lynne, I'm sure she's told you about that."

"Yeah, she did."

"Of course she did, because I came over here acting like...." Sam chuckled. "Well, I don't know, but she asked me what I thought was in that barn. And I told her and...." Sam choked up. "And I couldn't believe how blind I'd been, not that I believed her about you, but about myself, me and Renee." Sam turned to face Eric. "You put the worst of yourself in that barn Eric, but it didn't translate into something awful. You freed yourself and anyone with a shred of hope in their lives sees the best things inside it. My God, how'd you do that?"

"I really can't tell you. I just painted what I remembered from that day."

"Mmmhmm. Well you did one hell of a job, I'll tell you that. I wonder if Seth ever saw it."

"Stanford said he did, several times. And that when he saw it, he was feeling well."

"I'm not surprised about that at all." Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe I should send it to him. Maybe it might...." Sam grimaced. "Shit. Right now not much is gonna help him. You're a great painter Eric, and a little touched. But not even that barn can reach him."

Eric wondered if maybe this man could help Seth, but he said nothing as Renee announced that lunch was ready. "Well, I'll call Stanford this afternoon and give him your take on Caffey-Miller. From how he talked, if Seth recovers, it sounded like they were thinking about McLean, it's so close to New York. But maybe the Midwest would better serve him."

Then Eric shivered as Sam's gaze bore into Eric's soul. Nothing was said, but Eric couldn't escape the sentiment, which ran contrary to everything he wanted. Then Renee called again, and Sam answered her, stepping out of the sunroom, leaving Eric alone.

Over lunch the foursome didn't speak about Seth. Instead they talked about the Snyders' second visit to St. Anne's as a couple. Renee asked if this would become a habit and Eric said that he wanted to attend some Protestant services. Renee smiled graciously, then noted that she hoped they would again come to midnight mass. That was several weeks away, but as if reserving that date, Renee added that they could share Christmas Eve dinner together, a late supper even, so that Lynne could rest in the afternoon to stay up until midnight. Eric chuckled, agreeing that would make midnight mass more feasible. Lynne was feeling much better, but fatigue was still a factor, and by Christmas she would be six months along, needing all the rest she could muster.

The meal ended on a pleasant note and the Aherns left without any mention of the morning's unrest. Lynne fell asleep on the living room sofa as Eric built up the fire, still feeling a chill. Then he went into the sunroom, thinking about Sam's unspoken missive. But Eric couldn't change into a hawk at will. It happened spontaneously and was right now the last thing he wished for. Not even for Seth Gordon did Eric want to leave his pregnant wife.

While Lynne slept, Eric went to the studio, but he couldn't get Sam's words from his head, and not only those about Seth. The painting of the blue barn now seemed like years in the past; Eric had started it not consciously thinking of the fight with the falcon, but that battle had indeed rattled him. Was it akin to what Sam and Seth had suffered, and so many men before them? Eric had been driven by hunger, not hatred, but the instinct to wound, or even kill, had been impossible to ignore. He had swooped upon that falcon with no hesitation, and while the mice had fled, Eric hadn't considered that loss in the melee. Sheer selfishness had propelled him toward the other bird, but perhaps animals didn't feel arrogance. It was self-interest, Eric conceded, gazing at paintings of Lynne in various poses. He'd had to eat to return to his wife, nothing else to matter. But his two last transformations had taken Eric far from her, and while the result had been positive, his absence had caused her deep suffering.

Then Eric shook his head, bending his left ankle. No pain remained, nor hardly any memory of that injury. And now Lynne was pregnant, making Eric smile. He did want to attend different churches; he wanted to impart other lessons to Seth. Eric didn't wish to leave his wife, he wanted to paint more of her, but another series nagged at him. Yet just as painting Lynne had been time in coming, Eric had little recourse to further what else he ached to set onto canvas. He could do no more about that than he could for Seth's mental health.

The sun had warmed the studio's interior, perhaps Eric and Lynne could enjoy a few more outings before the temperatures forced them inside for winter. Eric removed his sweater, then stretched his arms over his head. He tidied the space, but that took only moments, for now he was fastidious in here, which made him laugh. How many changes remained, he wondered, admiring his beautiful wife sleeping, then awake, enticing him. Eric was lost in Lynne's teasing smile when his left arm twitched. The niggle was slight and he cracked his knuckles, not giving it a second thought.

But minutes later, his right arm ached, pulling him from his reverie. He stared at that limb, lifting it over his head. A cramp forced him to shake it out, then he grimaced. As he did, an ache in his guts flared, making him double over. He closed his eyes, wishing to cry out, but Lynne might hear him. Or perhaps, if he stayed silent, all of this would disappear.

Then he shook his head, standing upright, taking several deep breaths. The only thing slated to vanish was himself. The question was when, and to where.
Chapter 42

Lynne spent the first week of November posing for her husband, but not in the studio. A sudden blast of Arctic air had descended, forcing the couple into the house, but Eric kept a fire burning, and Lynne never seemed cold lying naked in the sunroom. She wasn't sure if being pregnant had elevated her body temperature, or maybe it was being made love to whenever Eric felt the need, which always seemed aligned to her desires. She was thankful he didn't paint her blushing, for often that was how she felt, but not from being depicted once again in the buff. Her coloring was more ruddy than usual for the fervency with which Eric ravished her.

On the tenth, Lynne and Eric saw Dr. Salters, who pronounced Lynne in fine health. The fetus' heartbeat was rapid and steady and Eric said that he thought he had felt the baby's movements, to which Dr. Salters smiled. Then she frowned, only momentarily, when Lynne mentioned having the baby at home. "Are you sure Mrs. Snyder?" the doctor asked.

Lynne nodded, grasping Eric's hand. "I want my husband there, and Renee Ahern. And you, of course." Lynne giggled, then sighed. "I want a very natural setting unless complications arise."

"Well, I haven't attended a home birth in a while, but as long as things continue to proceed as they have." Dr. Salters smiled. "I don't think it'll be a problem. Will anyone else be present?"

She glanced at Eric when she spoke, and he blushed, shaking his head.

"Well, Renee's husband will hopefully be downstairs." Lynne grinned. "Unless I get too loud."

Dr. Salters gazed at both of them. "Is he, well...."

"He makes the best custard you've ever had." Lynne laughed. "I'll need all the fortifying nutrition possible after such an endeavor."

"Well, yes you will." The doctor stood, then shook their hands. "All right, I'll be seeing you in the new year. Make an appointment for late January and by then Mr. Snyder, I guarantee you'll be feeling that baby."

Eric nodded as Lynne led them from the office.

Eric said nothing on the drive home and Lynne didn't badger him. He'd been exceptionally quiet the last few days, but very busy with work. Lynne had been equally distracted, knitting booties and hats, sweaters and blankets. She had bought fabric and batting to make the crib bedding, a project Renee would assist with over the winter. Lynne was five months pregnant and she was glad to have now alerted her doctor to where she wanted to give birth. The only question Lynne had was if Eric would be with her.

She hadn't missed the way he occasionally shook out his limbs, or when he clutched his gut if he thought she wasn't looking. He was going to transform and probably before Thanksgiving, yet he hadn't said boo to her about it. But in so many other ways, he was preparing for what might be another prolonged absence. He was painting with fierce determination, although he tenderly approached his wife. Lynne knew all these signs and silently clucked to herself; did he think he was keeping this from her?

But while she wanted to speak to it, she remained still. The news from the East Coast wasn't good, although it now sounded like once Seth could travel, Minneapolis would be his destination. Stanford and Laurie had been relieved for Sam's recommendation, for while McLean Hospital was indeed appropriate, perhaps a change of scenery would benefit Seth. Laurie didn't speak of that around his mother or aunt, but he and Stanford had talked about it extensively. Maybe Seth needed to be far from relatives who loved him, but didn't comprehend how deeply his wounds festered.

When Eric passed along this news, he was particularly stoic, which had confirmed Lynne's suspicions about his need to change form. But what had hit her the hardest was that maybe this time it wasn't for his father. Perhaps Eric would travel to where another man required comfort, but even if Eric only went to Minnesota, at this time of year he might as well travel to the upper reaches of Canada. And what if he did attempt to fly to Vermont? Laurie wasn't certain, in his last letter to Lynne, just when Seth might go to the Caffey-Miller Institute. And in reading between the lines, Lynne discerned that Laurie wasn't even sure if Seth would make the journey.

She had put that from her mind; of course Seth would recover. She couldn't think otherwise, but while that slipped from her head, she didn't ignore another issue. As the Snyders reached their road, Eric slowed considerably. Lynne gripped his hand and he clutched hers, then he let the vehicle idle along the pavement, only a few leaves twirling in front of them. Trees were bare, summer flora long dead. In two weeks Thanksgiving dinner would take place at the Aherns, with Christmas Eve celebrated there as well. Christmas Day was scheduled at the Snyders and perhaps these would be the two couples' new traditions. But as Eric was absent last year, would that custom also be revisited?

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Lynne spoke softly, still grasping her husband's hand.

"Talk about what?"

She snorted. "Eric, you know about what."

He revved the engine, then immediately took his feet from the pedals. The car barely registered, still winding along their street.

Lynne wanted to sigh, but held her tongue. She tried taking back her hand, but Eric increased the pressure. Then he picked up speed, reaching their driveway. He parked, killed the engine, then looked at her. "I don't know this time, I can't tell anything."

She nodded, stroking his face. "I love you. I will always love you."

"But, but...." His lip trembled, then he slammed his fists onto the steering wheel. "I do not wanna miss the baby, I don't care about anything else."

She leaned toward him and he grabbed her, burying his face into the crook of her neck. Lynne fought tears, having never seen him so opposed to leaving. She didn't want him to go either, but never had her wishes made any difference. And they wouldn't now, she knew that too. But for the first time, Eric was visibly angered at the prospect. He was angry and fearful and....

The kisses were just pecks, then he found her lips. They necked for several minutes, then Eric got out of the car, went to her side, and helped her from the vehicle. Quickly they walked through the gate, to the house, where he led her straight to the sofa. He placed an afghan over the cushions, stripped his clothing, then assisted her. Then they were making love on the couch, and while the room was slightly cool, Lynne knew a great heat rising from her husband's body, in part from their intimacy and from the cauldron raging inside him.

When they were through, Eric panted hard, and Lynne felt just as flushed. He gripped her back, for she was sitting atop him, but the baby was a small impediment, which before Lynne hadn't noticed. Eric then set his hands on her belly, closing his eyes. The baby was fluttering, but Lynne didn't say anything, wondering if he could feel it. He had a long sigh and she blinked away tears. "I don't wanna miss this," Eric almost wept. "I promised myself I wasn't gonna miss any of this."

"That's a silly kind of promise to make."

Opening his eyes, Eric looked at her. "Why?"

"Because you're not that sort of man." She laid one palm over his heart. The other she placed over his hands, the baby rustling just beneath her skin. "What's making all that racket is solely due to you not being here this time last year. You are so special and I love you and if you have to leave...."

"There's no if," he scoffed. Then he shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be cross."

She nodded, keeping her hands right where she had placed them. "I know. I didn't mean to insinuate you had a choice."

He gazed into her eyes and for the first time, Lynne felt their positions had reversed. Always before she was the one left behind while he soared through the heavens, experiencing vast pleasures. Now he looked terrified and she bit her lip. He had been gone for five months before, which this time would be too long. The baby was due in March and there was no way for Lynne to wait him out.

"I don't wanna go," he said so quietly that Lynne almost didn't hear him.

"When?" she whispered.

"Soon, too damn soon."

Eric sighed, then his arms went slack. Lynne grasped his hands, kissing his knuckles. Then she caressed his face. "I'll be here."

"You and who knows who else. God honey, I'm sorry, you don't need this."

"I need you Eric. And now I know that no matter how long it takes, you will come home to me."

She wanted to smile, but didn't. Instead she kissed his lips, assured that whether he flew to see his father or to visit Seth, Eric would eventually make his way back here. Yes, perhaps he would miss the birth of their baby, but in addition to that child, Lynne carried tremendous optimism. More offspring would follow and he couldn't skip them all. Although, she sighed inwardly, his absence might alter her plans. If he wasn't here, what was the point of having the baby at home? She didn't think about trying to explain her husband's absence to Dr. Salters, or to Stanford and Laurie. And she wouldn't have to enlighten a baby who would know his or her father no matter how often Daddy was away or the length of those sojourns. Lynne had never lost any affection for Eric, her heart had always grown fonder. And his pain at the idea of leaving her was added insurance that no matter what happened, he would return.

The agony edged his eyes, which were fully human. Then Lynne shivered; would another prolonged trip be just as hard on him? Might he take even longer to transform? She inhaled deeply, then tears rolled down her cheeks. "Oh Eric, can you smell that?"

"What?"

She smiled. "Take a deep breath honey, please?"

He grimaced, then inhaled. As he let it out, he shook his head. But a second later he took another breath, letting it out slowly. "Oh my God, that scent, like when I came home last March!"

She nodded, that beautiful aroma filling her lungs, seeping into every crevice. Even the baby noticed, for it stopped moving, then began to hiccup. Lynne laughed, putting Eric's hand where the knocking was strongest. Then kicks were added as that scent wafted through the room. Lynne laughed as tears still poured down her face. She wasn't sure why she chuckled except that Eric did too for a fragrance which denoted more than calm. It was a balm for which Lynne would give thanks in two days when she attended church with Sam and Renee. And if Eric was at her side, Lynne would be even more grateful. But if he wasn't, she wouldn't fret, not for how long he might be gone or for his heartache. They began making love as if he was never leaving her again.

They ate lunch with the Aherns that Sunday, but as soon as the meal was finished, Eric and Sam went for a walk. Lynne didn't have to say much to Renee, who seemed as aware as Lynne to Eric's changed mood. But peace was entwined with what none of them could forestall, which Renee did question. Lynne smiled, then sat at the Aherns' kitchen table. "Were you praying for us on Friday?"

"I always pray for you," Renee giggled.

"No, I mean, specifically on Friday afternoon."

"Sorry, I was working. Shall I ask Sam if he was?"

"No, it's just that...." Lynne shook her head. "It doesn't matter. What'll be is what'll be."

Renee gripped Lynne's hands. "Are you sure?"

"I can't change it. He'll go whenever he does for however long is necessary." Lynne squeezed Renee's hands, then released them. She sipped her water, then nodded. "I just told Dr. Salters I wanna have the baby at home, but if he's not here, I'll have it in the hospital."

Renee shivered. "Do you think that might happen?"

"I'm not gonna discount it. I wanna be prepared. Maybe you'll be taking care of me and the baby and Sam will be nursing Eric."

Renee stood, then went to the sink, keeping her back to Lynne. "Isn't there something he can do, I mean...."

"If he could, he would. He might not even remember I'm pregnant."

Renee whipped around. "Don't say that!"

Lynne stood, joining her friend. "It's just like when Sam left you, he couldn't help that either. It's not how we wanna look at them; we wanna think they'll put us first. But something inside them is different to us, you said it. They're men, they have this sense they can make everything right. Eric wants to save Seth, not that he's come out and said it to me, but I know he does. He wanted to save his father regardless of what that man had done to him. But he couldn't deny that, and in the end, look at what he was also able to do."

Lynne had never placed Renee's hands on the baby, but she did so now, although Renee flinched slightly. Then Renee began to cry as a fetus tumbled against her palms. Lynne moved Renee's hands as the baby rolled. "This time last year all I could think was how hard it was without him, how lonely I was, even if you and Sam knew. But someone else needs him Renee, someone in great pain. How can I dread his absence when I have this gift?"

Renee stopped crying. "Oh Lynne, oh my God!"

Lynne nodded. "If you weren't praying for us, it must've been Sam."

"He was working yesterday too."

The women gazed at each other. "Well, someone was thinking about us," Lynne smiled.

"God's always thinking about you."

A chill ran up Lynne's back, but it wasn't frightening. "I suppose he is."

Renee nodded, then smiled, placing her hands on another spot of Lynne's belly. "What's it feel like?" she whispered.

Lynne smiled, wiping tears from her eyes. "It's all I ever wanted from him beside all he's already given me. It's like the best gift, it's...."

The baby kicked with force, making Lynne take a sharp breath. But it wasn't just from inside her, or not inside her womb. Lynne's heart raced, then calmed, then she brushed away a few streaks from Renee's cheeks. "Oh Renee, oh my goodness."

Their eyes met and Renee nodded. "I know Lynne, oh dear God, I feel it. I never thought I'd know, I never imagined I'd feel it, but I can, right here."

Renee set Lynne's hand on a nondescript belly and Lynne nodded vigorously. "What does this mean?" Lynne said quietly.

Renee laughed, firmly pressing Lynne's hand into her gut. "It means that you'll have all the agony and I'll get to watch. But now I'll always know Lynne, and it doesn't hurt one bit."

Then Renee grazed her hand over Lynne's heart. "And you'll always know too," she continued. "And that won't hurt you either. Sometimes it might feel mighty sore, but the sting only lasts for moments. He did that for us Lynne, Jesus...."

"Renee, Lynne?" Sam's voice carried through the living room, but Renee didn't answer him as Eric also called for the women. Lynne only concentrated on where Renee's palm rested in the center of Lynne's chest, and the warm pulse that beat in Lynne's heart. As Sam and Eric entered the kitchen, Lynne glanced at her husband, seeing slight worry in his eyes. How would she explain her new outlook, she smiled, as he stepped her way while Sam flanked Renee. And once Lynne had conveyed all that swirled inside of her, would that ease his mind as the knowledge of another separation loomed in Sam's anxious blue eyes.
Chapter 43

Three days before Thanksgiving Lynne woke to familiar sounds that only last year had struck fear into her heart. She got out of bed as Eric raced from their room. She followed, but didn't take the stairs. Instead she gripped the railing, waiting on the landing until he had opened the French doors. A cold wind forced her downstairs, but she didn't go outside. She closed the doors, glanced at the darkness, then caressed her baby. "Daddy'll be back soon," she whispered, certainty in her voice.

Later that morning she called Sam, who inquired if she wanted company. She declined, but asked if she could join them for supper. Sam said she was welcome to spend every evening with them, but Lynne hedged, and Sam didn't press. He did offer to make custard in exchange for pie. Lynne smiled, agreeing to the deal. It would give her something to do on that first day of another of Eric's sojourns.

When Lynne arrived at the Aherns, Sam was cooking. The women sat in the living room where lit candles waited. Lynne hadn't yet decided if she wanted to become Catholic, but since the middle of the month, her heart had been leaning toward some sort of spiritual home. She had spoken about it with Eric, who didn't acknowledge the same call, but he was happy for her, and for what she and Renee had shared while he told Sam what was probably going to happen. Now that event had occurred, but Lynne's soul wasn't overly troubled. She wasn't sure how Eric felt; the last two days he had been painting from morning until the last rays of light. They hadn't spoken about his impending absence; all Lynne had done was pose for her husband, then made love with him. But his cries as he'd fled the house reverberated in Lynne's head; they weren't at all peaceful and as she and Renee relaxed on the sofa, Lynne felt an irresistible need to intercede for Eric. She used words that conveyed her heart, not necessarily in line with Catholic liturgy. She prayed for his safety in the air, for his peace of mind, and for his timely return. And if that homecoming was before she had their baby, all the better it would be.

Sometimes Renee gripped Lynne's hand, sometimes the women weren't aware of the other. Lynne hadn't realized that Renee had gone to her knees until Sam softly called their names. Lynne looked at him, then noted that Renee no longer sat beside her. Lynne saw her friend on the other side of the coffee table, still meditating. Renee didn't face them until she was finished, by which time Sam had helped Lynne from the sofa. Renee smiled in their direction, then leaned toward the table, blowing out the candles. Then Sam offered his assistance and she stood. All three walked into the kitchen where supper was waiting.

Little was said during the meal; Lynne didn't wish to speak about Eric, Sam didn't want to talk about Seth, and Renee felt that Lynne's budding faith needed to stay veiled. All commented on the food; again Sam had outdone his previous efforts with pork chops. He had another chicken recipe to try, but with turkey looming, he would wait until next week. Lynne laughed that she would never tire of Sam's efforts, and he smiled, noting he felt the same about her pie. Renee chuckled that she had the best of both worlds and the meal ended on a happy note as if all their sorrows didn't exist.

It wasn't until Lynne prepared to leave that a cloud descended. Sam asked if she wanted to stay there, the guest room was ready. Lynne looked around the room, then she gazed at the blue barn. Perhaps Eric had found shelter in such a building; she didn't want to think of him flying in the cold. Purposely he had departed, even in this frigid weather, and where he was going, be it to see his father or further east, was even colder. She stepped toward the painting, not looking at the mice or the barnyard, just at that edifice. Then she glanced at Sam, who gripped Renee's hand as Lynne blinked away tears. "I'll go home tonight." Then she cleared her throat. "Not that he'll be back, but it's where I belong."

The house would be chilly and it was much larger than last time. But a baby had been conceived somewhere on that property, within Lynne's home. She smiled, then rejoined her hosts. She grasped their hands, then took a deep breath. "Maybe on Thanksgiving I'll stay over, but tonight I need to be there."

Sam nodded while Renee sniffled. Lynne squeezed Renee's hand again as Sam retrieved Lynne's coat. He helped her into it, then walked her to the car. She drove away not thinking about how cool and vast the house would seem. She wasn't alone this time and she spoke aloud about Eric during the entire drive; soon, she told the baby, Daddy would be there with them.

On Thanksgiving morning, Lynne received a phone call from Stanford, wishing her and Eric a lovely holiday. She asked about Seth, but the news was the same. He wasn't well enough yet to travel east, but as soon as he was, Minneapolis was his destination.

Lynne relayed that to Sam and Renee, then Sam took a call from Laurie, who sent his regards to all. Lynne was glad Laurie had reached out in that manner, yet Sam and Renee didn't seem aware of the men's connection. Lynne did wonder if either Stanford or Laurie had wanted to speak to Eric; Lynne wasn't sure what she would do when that happened, for eventually Stanford would request a moment with his client. Sam brought it up, after ending the call with Laurie. What did Lynne want him to say if either art dealer asked about Eric?

"I don't know." She sighed, then leaned back, patting her belly. "Any ideas?"

She smiled as Renee and Sam both shrugged. This time last year all three had been despondent about Eric's absence. This year the biggest challenge was how to explain it to the New Yorkers, how Sam still referred to the men. But his voice had been light and Lynne had nodded, wanting to preserve their privacy as well as her own. Yet Seth had known something, she was certain, and she ruminated over that as silence fell over the dining table. That one figurine had the same deformity that Eric used to possess. With her newfound faith, Lynne couldn't discount what Seth had sculpted, even if it was years ago. If Eric was on his way east, he might not be back for months, and ultimately Stanford would want an explanation.

"You know what? Let Stanford bring it up because he will, one of these days." Sam took another bite, then spoke with his mouth full. "Depending on when it is, and it probably won't be long, you can tell him Eric's on another retreat. That he wanted to go before Christmas and the baby. Stanford's pretty reserved," Sam smiled. "You put it like that and I bet he won't ask anything else."

"You're probably right," Lynne said.

"But what about Laurie?" Renee also had another bite, but she swallowed before speaking. "He's not as...." She giggled. "He's not at all like Stanford Taylor."

"You know, those two." Sam shook his head. "Like oil and water, I mean, in their bearings. I have no idea how they stay friends other than they work in the same circles. But you know the saying, opposites attract. I suppose that goes for friends as well as spouses."

Lynne kept a straight face. "I suppose you're right." Then she sipped her water. "And in the meantime, I also think you're correct about letting Stanford bring it up. I'll just tell him Eric needed some down time. There really isn't much more to say."

There wasn't on any of the subjects, although a strong kick against Lynne's spine made her flinch, and brought Sam to laughter. "Well, I think someone would disagree with us."

"She seems to think so too." Lynne smiled, then stood from her chair. She walked around as the baby did somersaults, but all those movements were what Lynne had been feeling for the last month. A fetus had no idea who was missing or who loved who. Stepping to where Sam sat, Lynne gingerly laid his hand upon the baby. Sam had yet to feel anything and he grew silent, pressing his palm where Lynne had directed.

Then Renee set her hand on Lynne, who closed her eyes. Their prayers coursed through her and she could almost sense the purpose, that one little child wouldn't realize a voice was absent. Lynne remained in that position until another sharp kick made her jump. Then all three laughed as Sam stood, embracing her.

December began with rain and wind, but Lynne went out to buy groceries and Christmas presents. Renee came over when she wasn't working and they began to sew crib bedding; Lynne had chosen green and yellow, not wishing to saddle a boy or girl with the expected hues. Sam purchased two Christmas trees and Lynne decorated hers with lights and baubles used at this time last year. Yet by now, Eric had not only returned, but was nearly human again. She did ponder that fact as she joined the Aherns at church, or when Stanford called, not asking to speak to Eric, just wondering how they were. They meant a husband and wife, but Lynne took it as her and the baby. Before, Lynne would have put Eric on the phone within a minute, but this time she made small talk with Stanford, sometimes chatting with Laurie, who also avoided mentioning Eric. Not until the middle of the month did Stanford skip over his words, but Lynne didn't mind. He was showing great restraint and she let the break in the conversation pass without comment. When he said goodbye, Stanford's tone was especially kind, and Lynne wondered if Laurie had been listening, and was now giving Stanford an earful.

Lynne wrapped presents for Eric; new clothes and books, some stationary. They gave each other practical gifts, although years ago he had bought her jewelry, but nothing ostentatious. Lynne hadn't worn those pieces in ages, simple opal pendants and earrings that rested in her upper drawer.

She had saved them, but for no apparent reason, certainly not to give to her children. Then she smiled, patting her belly. "Perhaps they are for you," she said. "Maybe I should see if they're still in good condition."

She took the stairs, humming a Christmas carol, then entered the master bedroom. She opened her top dresser drawer, then moved aside underwear, revealing several small boxes bought at the local department store. She didn't know how Eric had afforded these gifts, for they had saved every penny to buy the house or to purchase painting supplies. But somehow he had socked away enough to give her these trinkets, what she had thought of them when first opening the boxes.

The chains were flimsy, one of the reasons she had stopped wearing them. The earrings had also been cheap, but the stones glittered in the light, various shades of blue opals flecked with yellow sparkles. Lynne fought tears but lost, the first time since Eric had left that she ached for him. Not even at night had she been troubled, sleeping in their bed, unlike how she had avoided it during his previous absence. Now she prayed before she fell asleep that he was safe, and whomever he was with was benefitting from his presence. At times she felt like a different person from last year; she wasn't bitter or devastatingly lonely. She had the baby for company, but the man who had scrimped, probably on his supplies, to buy her these gifts wasn't there to hold her, or tell their daughter or son just how much their mother had been delighted with these simple treasures.

Lynne dangled one pendant, the first one if her memory was correct, then she smiled as the stone sparkled in the light. Unhooking the clasp, she placed it around her neck, fastening it. Then she gazed at the opal. Dangling from a long chain, the stone lay flat along her sweater, reaching the beginning of her bosom. Previously she had worn it under her blouses, for while the opal was pretty, the chain was not. Yet now it held a different significance; one day she would give it to a daughter, or perhaps a granddaughter. It carried deep value, which she accepted was exacerbated by Eric's absence. But even if he was here, she still would want to keep it safe, for she would have descendants. Lynne smiled, deciding to wear the necklace until Eric returned, and maybe beyond that. Gazing at her reflection, she admired the opal, even the chain. She would wear it until that necklace broke, then ask Eric for a new chain.

After inspecting all the pieces, she went back downstairs, stoking the fire. Sam replenished the hearth every time he visited and she rarely needed to step out for more wood. Her cupboards were filled with canned goods; when Eric returned, Lynne wouldn't need to run out for more than milk and perishables. Then she tutted herself; Sam would do their shopping unless the day was exceptionally balmy. And depending on how long Eric was gone, she might be so cumbersome that even driving to the market would be difficult. Lynne gazed at the fire, then to her middle. The baby was visible, but wasn't being depicted on canvas. There would be a break in the series, or maybe no further pictures would be created.

She stepped into the sunroom, the fading afternoon light casting long shadows. But Lynne didn't mind, for the room was warm, the fireplace providing plenty of heat. If Eric was there, she would probably be lying on the chaise lounge, most likely undressed, posing for him. Canvases waited on easels and all were finished paintings. But now three weeks had passed, Christmas was eleven days away. She was still spending Christmas Eve with the Aherns, joining them for midnight mass. But instead of Lynne hosting Christmas dinner, Sam would do the cooking. Lynne would even wake at their home that morning, no use to stay here by herself that night.

She turned to see the tree, on the far side of the living room. Early in November, she and Eric had discussed where it would go, nowhere near the fireplace, both had agreed. It stood near the large windows and was covered in colored lights that Lynne left on all day. She could just make out the presents underneath, all carefully wrapped and labeled. Each one was for Eric.

Lynne had no idea if he had shopped for her before he left. He never mentioned it, other issues on his mind. Was he heading for Vermont? She shivered, then stepped to where the tree sparkled, much like the opal resting against her chest. She inspected the ornaments, some she had made when they were first married and so.... They had been poor, no doubt, and he hadn't assumed his paintings would fetch more than enough to cover his supplies. How had he saved to buy her the jewelry, how had he....

She took a deep breath, not wishing to fall into sorrow. It wasn't good for the baby, she felt, and she gently patted that bulge, which seemed to have increased over the last week. Renee had discreetly asked if Lynne needed larger maternity clothes. Not that the blouses and slacks she wore were tight, just that suddenly the baby had undergone a growth spurt. Had Renee been tactful as not to remind Lynne that these days weren't being documented?

But somehow they were, if only within a mother's consciousness. Lynne fingered the pendant, then the aged chain. When Eric returned, he would smile, seeing that piece around her neck. It would bridge the gap in the series, no matter how large it loomed. And if when he came home the baby was already born, Lynne would tell him how wearing that necklace had reminded her of all the blessings she possessed; his baby and now again her husband. Eric would come home, she assured herself and their child. "Daddy won't be gone forever."

A soft kick was the fetus' reply. Lynne inhaled deeply, smoothing her sweater over her child, hers and Eric's. They had finally gotten pregnant; he would come back to her and their offspring.
Chapter 44

Since Stanford last spoke to Lynne, New York had been covered in snow, leaving streets slippery and sidewalks a morass of icy sludge. Stanford's daily routine wasn't overly ruffled, but the nagging sense that Eric Snyder wasn't at home kept Stanford off kilter. Why in the hell would Eric leave now, what with Christmas so close?

Stanford wasn't sure for how long Eric had been gone; the last time they had talked was before Thanksgiving, and as Stanford stepped into his office, he glanced at the calendar; that was nearly four weeks ago. Stanford and Laurie had chatted with Lynne since then, but only Lynne. Stanford considered calling Samuel Ahern, but didn't, for it wasn't any of Stanford's business, and Sam might ask about Seth. Sitting with a plop in his large leather chair, the dealer heaved a weary sigh. Between Eric and Seth, Stanford hadn't received a good night's sleep in nearly two weeks.

Laurie would be home that night if trains weren't delayed by more snow; he'd been in Vermont for the last two days, a sudden trip that Seth had requested of his cousin. Laurie didn't like traveling, especially not in bad weather, but he had packed a small case, and Stanford hadn't heard from him other than one collect call that he'd arrived safely. Whatever Seth felt was necessary to say would be learned that evening over drinks long after Agatha had left. Laurie wasn't due back into the city until eight o'clock, and with snow still falling, it would take the taxi forever to reach the men's home.

Stanford wouldn't be surprised if Laurie told him that Eric had flown to Vermont and in a way, Stanford hoped that explained the painter's whereabouts. Then Stanford shook his head; why did he care so much about Eric? None of his other clients demanded this much of Stanford's attention, well, a few did, but not in the way Eric preyed on Stanford's mind. Then the art dealer tutted himself. Eric was the only one who had stayed at Stanford and Laurie's apartment. Eric knew the truth about them and didn't seem to care. Lynne knew as well and was as accepting at her husband. Then Stanford clucked aloud. Every time he stepped into the library, he gazed at Seth's figurines, still placed right where Eric had set them. The man's foot was deformed, which before Stanford had barely noticed. Now that maligned limb plagued the dealer and since Thanksgiving Stanford had avoided the library. He and Laurie would enjoy their drinks in the living room because Stanford didn't want to again face where in the world had Eric gone.

Damn artists, Stanford fumed, wishing for a drink then and there. But it was ten in the morning and he had no lunch plans that would satisfy such an itch. Then from the bottom right drawer of his oak desk he pulled out a manila folder. No label adorned the folder, but Stanford knew the contents. He opened it slowly, leafing through the papers. Was Eric visiting his father again?

Better for him to be there, much closer to home, than having trekked across the country to Vermont. Then Stanford drummed his fingers along the polished wood; had Eric mentioned the Caffey-Miller Institute for more than Seth's benefit? Minnesota was closer to the West Coast, then Stanford sighed. Eric had sent a message to Seth, but he wouldn't visit him unless he had first cleared it with Laurie. Then Stanford gazed at the folder, details about Eric's father in typewritten notes. Laurie hadn't mentioned Eric at all, or not about him visiting Seth. They wouldn't keep something like this from Stanford, the art dealer again huffed. It was one thing for Eric to want his privacy concerning his dad, but....

Stanford picked up his receiver, nearly speaking into it. Just as he heard the operator take a breath, he put the phone back into the cradle. His time would be better utilized accomplishing things first in the office, then at home. Besides, he'd be waiting for Laurie's train for much of the evening. Stanford could chase that secondary inquiry from the apartment, although depending upon what he learned, what would he say to Lynne the next time he called her? If something was wrong with Eric's father, she would know, but Lynne was one of the most subtle women Stanford had ever met. Perhaps he could insinuate that he knew why Eric was gone without ever noting that the painter was away. Pleased with his plan, Stanford stood, then approached his door. "Miss Harold, can you come in here please?"

"Yes Mr. Taylor."

"Thank you." Returning to his desk, Stanford hastily put the folder back into the bottom drawer. By the time Emily Harold entered Stanford's office with a fresh cup of coffee for him, Stanford had set Eric and Howard Snyder, and Seth Gordon, far back in his head.

When Laurie finally stepped through the front door, it was nearly eleven o'clock, and Stanford had been sick with worry. They embraced, and supper waited in the refrigerator, which Stanford could easily heat up on the stove. Laurie wasn't hungry, however, only cold, and they went into the living room where a fire crackled. Stanford poured Laurie a whiskey, which he quickly downed. Then Laurie sighed, shaking his shoulders, setting his hands behind him, but directly in front of the flames. "Well, what'd I miss?"

Stanford joined him near the blaze. "I missed you. How was he?"

Laurie dropped his arms to his sides. "To be honest, I don't know if he'll see 1962. It was strange, like he knew something was coming and he was afraid of it. Yet he seemed happy to see me, or as happy as he could be. He asked about Eric, like he knew something was wrong with him." Laurie sighed, then stroked Stanford's face. "So, what did I miss?"

Stanford wore a wry smile. "I think I know where he is. God, what awful timing, but I suppose no one can predict these sorts of things, like trying to forecast the weather." Stanford grasped Laurie's hands. "I just hope it's over soon. Lynne shouldn't have to spend this Christmas alone and...."

Laurie kissed Stanford, then smiled. "Well, she won't be completely alone."

"The baby doesn't count."

"I meant the Aherns," Laurie quietly chuckled. "But yeah, the baby probably helps keep her focused. I suppose she has no idea when he'll be home."

"From what I learned, no, probably not. I nearly called her tonight." Stanford stroked Laurie's cheek. "But that wouldn't have been fair, pestering her when I was nearly out of my mind wondering about you."

"Damn snow," Laurie laughed. "But I made it and you know why Eric's been gone and...." His voice trailed off, then he cleared his throat. "I'll call Mom tomorrow, but she can tell Aunt Wilma. He looked so lost, no, not lost. He looked like he knew exactly what was coming and it scared him to death. That's it Stan. Seth knows if he goes to Caffey-Miller, everything's gonna change. I think he's trying to decide if it's easier to die or to try to find a reason to live."

Stanford grimaced, then nodded. "What'll you think he'll do?"

"God, I wish I had some idea. At least it'd give Mom and Aunt Wilma some comfort. But you know what? I don't think even Seth knows. That's the worst of it. If he...." Laurie choked back a sob. "If he kills himself, it'll be out of fear. Whatever the future holds is too damn bleak to face. He fought over there Stan, he fought and managed to come home, but now whatever he can't face is worse than killing Koreans. Jesus, can you imagine that? Why'd he come back if this was gonna be the result? Why not die over there like Sam's friend Larry and...."

And Sam's best friend; Stanford knew whoever that man had been, Sam had lost him. He'd casually mentioned that Larry didn't go home to Huntsville, Alabama, but Sam never revealed what had happened to Josh from Natchez, Mississippi. Sam seemed in good shape, maybe that was due to his wife, but Seth was walking a tightrope. Would he fall, Stanford mused, as Laurie remained quiet. Or would Seth pull himself together, with the assistance from doctors trained to deal with these sorts of traumas. Maybe Seth did need to speak to Sam, or maybe....

"What?" Laurie broke the silence. "Stan, what is it?"

Only in their most private moments did Laurie utter that nickname, one he had started using shortly after the men had met. Not even Stanford's parents called him Stan, but Laurie did, after Agatha was gone, and usually when the lights were low. Lawrence had been discarded as soon as Stanford made his feelings known and sometimes Laurie teased that they were more like Laurel and Hardy, such differing personalities, yet tied at the hip. Stanford gripped Laurie's hands, then kissed him again, wishing all he considered could be translated through affection.

As Laurie pulled away, his gentle nod seemed to grasp what Stanford couldn't say. Then Laurie turned around, putting the grate in front of the fire. "Time for bed," he said while yawning. "We can talk more about this in the morning."

Stanford nodded, following Laurie to their room. He wasn't sure if further discussion would arise, but at least after they made love, Stanford would get a decent night's sleep. Eric was visiting his father, who was dying in prison, and Stanford was certain Eric would be home after that event had transpired.

On the third Sunday in Advent, Lynne sat between Renee and Sam, trying to concentrate on Father Riley's sermon. She was used to the structure of the liturgy, even if Advent altered some of the chanting. The hymns were Advent-based and while she didn't know any of them, she tried to join in. Renee and Sam had strong voices, and were well versed with all the tunes. Lynne coasted along, her mistakes drowned out by them and the rest of the congregation. Since the beginning of Advent, most of the pews were full, and Sam had mentioned they would need to arrive early next Sunday night, or else they'd be the ones standing in the manger.

No room at the inn or in church, he had laughed, and while Lynne had been glad for his humor, she wondered how differently she would feel if Eric was gripping her hand, maybe even caressing the baby. Sometimes Renee patted Lynne's growing belly, but unless Lynne set Sam's hand on that bulge, he kept his distance. Then Lynne smiled; little room remained now for they were packed like sardines within the church.

She enjoyed the cadences, which were like hymns all their own, be it chanting after Father Riley or with him, or just listening to his sing-song tone throughout the service. She wasn't sure about believing in a pope, or that Mary never had another child. While she was Jesus' mother, she'd also been Joseph's wife. Lynne wasn't certain about celibate priests or the nearly invisible roles women played. Hadn't it been all women who sat at the foot of the cross when Christ died, she mused. If that was true, why were women barred from a priest's private life, relegated to nunneries.

But past those issues, Lynne strongly felt called to Catholicism, yet she wasn't going to do more than attend mass, although she longed to take communion. Something about that sacrament made her ache when she was left behind as the rest went up for the bread and wine. All but young children accepted that gift, for Lynne had been studying Catholic teachings and the accompanying rituals. They were soothing, which over the last few days had been necessary. She still wore the opal pendant, but her dreams had been stormy. Was Eric in Vermont? She had nearly called Stanford yesterday, but had refrained. Instead she had read the Bible Renee had loaned her, struck by one particular passage in Matthew. Christ admonished his followers that the least they did for others, they had done for him, and consequently what they had not done had been denied to Christ. If Eric was tending to Seth's needs, that was doing as Jesus taught, just as Eric had done for his own father. Lynne couldn't interfere, not that calling New York was meddling, but even if Stanford had gone to see Seth, he wouldn't make anything of a stray hawk who happened to be loitering. And that was if Eric had traveled that far already. How fast could he fly, Lynne wondered, losing interest in the sermon. Did cold weather hamper his wings, could he find anything to eat? Animals would be snug in burrows and other hiding places. Why now, during this season, she rued. Then she sighed as everyone stood. Lynne did too, glad for something to do. Usually church took her mind from her missing spouse, but what she had read yesterday seemed to have placed Eric right in the middle of the service.

A hymn would be next, then the Nicene Creed, then the prayers, followed by the peace, which Lynne particularly relished as everyone shook hands with those around them. That led all to take their seats as communion was prepared while the offering was gathered. Then Lynne would sit quietly while parishioners filed toward the front, kneeling near the altar, waiting for a wafer and the communal cup. Lynne loved all these elements, which were easy to follow and quickly absorbed as the rites of worship. She smiled as Renee and Sam said the Nicene Creed from memory. Lynne usually said it while looking at the book. But she was late in finding the right page and by the time she did, they were done.

She did participate in the prayers. Then she stood, shaking hands with those young and old, most with smiles, some gazing at her dress, which hung loosely over the baby. The frock was new and would be serviceable for what remained of Lynne's pregnancy.

Then Lynne's legs buckled and she swayed. Sam steadied her, then as everyone sat down, Renee escorted Lynne to the ladies' room. Lynne splashed water on her face, but was ashamed at the reason for her swooning. Renee didn't ask why, maybe she knew. Lynne had been pleased for a new dress, but would Eric see her in it?

Would he miss their baby's birth, would he even come home? The last few days the temperatures had plummeted, winter having arrived. While the baby was due just as spring began, there were still three cold months to endure. Where was he, she nearly blurted.

"He'll be back, hopefully it won't be too much longer." Renee's voice was soft and she massaged Lynne's shoulders. "You've been so strong, but it's okay to...."

Gripping the sides of the sink, Lynne began to weep. She hated feeling scared, for that was the overwhelming sensation. She was frightened for Eric and for herself. She didn't want to have the baby in the hospital, but in their bedroom, with him at her side. She wanted him to paint her portrait, for she didn't look the same as when he'd left. She wanted him to be lingering outside the restroom, then he would envelope her within his grasp, whispering how much he loved her. Then perhaps they would leave the service while communion was offered. And instead here was Renee, missing that sacrament. "Go take communion," Lynne warbled.

"It'll be there next week."

Lynne stared at Renee, who looked like a huff or cluck was imminent. Then Lynne managed a smile. "Are you sure? What if Jesus returns tomorrow?"

"Then I'll be begging him to let you and Eric come with us. He's ministering to someone, Eric is I mean. And you've done your time as a nurse, you're both covered in my book." Then Renee looked toward the ceiling, crossing herself. "Forgive me Father, but that's how I see it. Eric's doing your work goodness only knows where and Lynne's done it and will do it again when he comes home."

The strength of Renee's faith wove through her words, striking Lynne with their certainty. "Well, from your lips to his ears."

"That's all we can do sometimes. Look, you wanna sit in the car for the rest of it?"

"No, it's freezing out there. Give me a minute, but you go get in line."

Renee nodded, then smiled. "Take your time."

Lynne heard the bathroom door open, then close. She splashed more water on her face, then used the toilet. By the time she left the restroom, the last of those waiting for communion were being served. She loitered at the back of the church, not wishing to interrupt. Then she stepped into the foyer, sitting on a folding chair left near the door. Cool air seeped through the cracks, but it was refreshing. Maybe wherever Eric was, it wasn't too frigid there. Perhaps he had turned around and was on his way home, maybe....

An older woman stepped toward her and for a moment Lynne wondered if she had taken her chair. The woman motioned for Lynne to stay seated, but she stood next to Lynne. "Are you all right honey?"

Lynne nodded, but a wave of tears rolled down her face. "Just part of being pregnant."

"Is this your first?"

"Uh-huh."

The woman smiled, then patted Lynne's shoulder. "You don't remember me, but a few years ago I was one of your patients. You're married to that painter, aren't you?"

Again Lynne nodded, then she smiled as the woman gave her a handkerchief. Lynne wiped her face, blew her nose, then sighed. "Sorry, I don't recall you, but...."

"You nursed a lot of people, it's no bother. I just wanted to see if you were all right."

"I'll be fine, thank you."

The woman wore a hat and a heavy coat, but she knelt by Lynne's side. "I'd just taken communion, saw that you weren't sitting with Renee and Sam. Then I felt, well, obliged to come looking for you." The woman chuckled softly. "Obliged is a mild way of putting it. When God asks me to jump, I stopped asking how high ages ago."

Lynne gazed at the woman's warm brown eyes, her crows' feet, and the lines around her mouth. Lynne couldn't place her, rare were the time she recognized a former patient. But this woman exuded peace; she grasped Lynne's hands, which had been cool, but now they were warm to the touch, from this woman's touch. Then Lynne wanted to sob; was someone offering Eric a similar gift of....

"It'll be all right, don't worry. Wherever he is, he'll be back and sooner than you think. Soon enough," the woman chuckled. Then she patted the baby, who kicked from the pressure. "A girl, I think, although I'm wrong half the time." The woman smiled widely. "If it's a boy, don't blame me."

Lynne nodded, but couldn't speak. Instead she squeezed the woman's hands, noting gray hair peeking out from under her hat. She looked like a grandmother; Lynne's mom would be a similar age, had she lived. Other than Michael Taylor, Lynne and Eric's baby had no grandparents, not that this woman was offering to fill that role. Her objective was different, Lynne felt. It was for that moment, ministering to Lynne as Lynne had once done for her.

"What you do for the least of my brothers, you've done for me." The woman's tone was soft, but Lynne didn't miss a single word. Then she stood, again patting Lynne's shoulder. She walked back to where a hymn was being sung, not one that Lynne knew, but the woman began singing as she exited the vestibule.

Was Eric ministering to his father, or to Seth? Or maybe someone else entirely, Lynne pondered as voices surrounded her, even where she sat, apart from the rest. But she wasn't alone. Lynne stood, then rejoined Renee, who smiled at her. Maybe Lynne wouldn't wait until Eric returned to join St. Anne's, or to set those wheels in motion. Or if she couldn't become an actual Catholic, she would attend services, saying the prayers and offering the peace. This manner of worship had been brought to her attention for a reason, she decided, sitting at the end of the pew, allowing Renee to scoot next to Sam. But Renee grasped Lynne's hand and Lynne gripped back. And hopefully someone was being this kind to Eric, Lynne prayed, as Father Riley blessed them, sending them on their ways.
Chapter 45

Early on Monday, December eighteenth, Stanford received a phone call. The caller was one of Stanford's private detectives and he apologized profusely for intruding at such an early hour, at Mr. Taylor's residence no less. Stanford trembled as the detective hemmed and hawed. Then Laurie appeared in the library, his eyes full of questions. Stanford nodded, still listening to the caller, then sighing in relief and slight sorrow. Eric's father had died yesterday morning, but according to the detective, the painter hadn't appeared at the prison.

Stanford thanked the man, then wished him a merry Christmas. Laurie was at Stanford's side as he hung up the receiver. "What?" Laurie said softly.

"Eric's dad died yesterday morning," Stanford said flatly. Then he turned to Laurie, grasping his hands. "He wasn't there, Eric I mean. But I'd only had Turner there for the last couple of days. Perhaps Eric left before he actually passed away or...." Then Stanford grimaced. "Jesus Christ, what if something's wrong with Lynne?"

Sweat dripped from Stanford's forehead as he picked up the receiver. Just as he asked for the operator, Laurie took the receiver from Stanford's hand, setting it back into the cradle. "The Aherns would've called us Stan, it's okay."

Not even over his mother had Stanford felt this level of anxiety. He let Laurie lead him into their bedroom; Laurie sat Stanford at the foot of their bed, then sat beside him. "Stan, listen, I want you to go into work for the morning, then come home for lunch. I have a meeting at ten, then I'll be home. You can call Lynne after lunch, it'll just be nine Pacific time. If he died yesterday, I'm sure she knows, and while she's an amiable sort, waking her before the crack of dawn isn't a good way to start her day."

Laurie smiled, stroking Stanford's still shaking hands. Then Laurie kissed his lover's cheek. "Eric probably said his peace, then started for home. Hell, he might even get there today. I'm sure he didn't wanna be away for Christmas, not this year." Then Laurie cleared his throat. "Calling her in a few hours will be fine, you'll just be offering your condolences. They'll assume you know what's happened and they, well, they're pretty open-minded." Now Laurie laughed. "We didn't scare them off in October, no need to pretend about his dad now. But let Lynne sleep. I guarantee you wake her now, she'll be cross no matter what."

Stanford nodded, then looked at Laurie. "What, you an expert on pregnancy?"

"Hey, I paid attention when my sisters had their kids. She's six months along and it's only gonna get worse."

Stanford shook his head. "Good God. You going to ask to be with her when she delivers?"

Laurie laughed out loud. "I won't ask, but if she does...."

Now Stanford glared at Laurie. "You aren't serious!"

"I'll be first in line with the biggest damned bouquet of flowers I can find. It's been a crappy end of the year Stan. I want 1962 to be better."

Stanford nodded, then sighed. "Well all right, I'll go to work, should be back around noon. Not much going on right now anyways. But I do want to call her, maybe Eric will be there."

"Maybe," Laurie said slowly.

Stanford stared at him again. "You don't sound that convinced."

Laurie stood, then walked to a large window that faced a busy street. Sludge remained along the sidewalks, but cars maneuvered through the slush. "I can't put my finger on it Stan, I can't even say why I feel this way." Laurie faced his partner. "Seth sculpted Eric's foot half a dozen years before Eric became your client. I know you've been avoiding the library, but...."

"Laurie, for God's sake. That was just a...."

"Don't say it was a coincidence. Those figures are Eric and Lynne and don't tell me otherwise."

Stanford sighed wearily, then joined Laurie. "Okay, yes they are. But that's just what we've appropriated to them, the figures I mean. It's like that damn blue barn, God, how'd that bastard paint that canvas?"

Laurie smiled, then chuckled. "If you told him what you thought was inside it...."

"He'd never let me live it down."

"He'd laugh and think he finally had your number, although I think he already does." Laurie kissed Stanford, then pulled away, stroking his face. "He knows all about us and neither he nor Lynne could care less. And in a few days those who read gossip rags in this city will know Eric's father's dead. But they'll never know about Eric's foot, although Seth did. In 1948, Seth knew, Stanford. He knew and he still went to Korea anyways."

Laurie's voice lowered, then he shook his head. "Sam came back and seems in good shape and Eric doesn't have that deformity anymore and now he and Lynne are gonna be parents. Not everything's shitty Stan. I don't want to lose Seth, Christ, Aunt Wilma will have a breakdown, maybe Mom too. I love him, you know I love him, but right now he's...." Laurie's lip trembled. "He's somewhere I can't go. Maybe if he gets to Minnesota, maybe...."

"Perhaps Eric or Sam can visit him," Stanford said.

Laurie nodded, then smiled. "But in the meantime you have work and so do I and Lynne needs her rest and Eric needs...." Laurie paused, then glanced out the window.

"Eric needs what?"

"To be home," Laurie said absently. "He'll be home soon Stan, I just know it."

Stanford rolled his eyes, but only because Laurie's back was to him. Then Stanford stood beside Laurie, both gazing at the skyline. A gray horizon waited, snow forecast all week. Still Stanford thought it was beautiful and he hoped that wherever Eric was, he was getting closer to home with each passing minute.

Lynne spent that morning reading the Bible. Renee had stuck various markers throughout the New Testament, not having noted any Old Testament chapters. Lynne was curious about that, but Renee was at work, and it wasn't enough of a question to call Sam about. Besides, this was a loaner for which Lynne was grateful, but she wanted her own copy. She was still considering Catholicism, but no immediate decision was necessary.

She was having dinner with the Aherns that night; Sam would pick her up on his way to collect Renee from work. The meal wouldn't be anything special, he had laughed, when taking Lynne home after Sunday lunch, for he had work that day too. Lynne had offered to make a pie, but Sam said to hold off until Christmas Eve. Christmas was a week out, but Lynne felt the next seven days might last as long as the last four weeks. Other than reading, be it a Bible or anything else, little remained for her to do.

Renee was busy all week and while Lynne could have sewed, she preferred doing that task with Renee's assistance. The weather was still dismal and Lynne wouldn't drive anywhere, not that she needed food or sundries or Christmas presents. She inhaled, then exhaled, setting the Bible on the sofa. She stood, stoked the fire, then glanced at the clock; nearly nine in the morning. She had been awake since seven, taking a long bath, dressing, then eating breakfast, but those activities occupied only so much time. Time now loomed in front of Lynne like it had last year, an endless stretch of lonely uncertain days until Eric returned.

Lynne had learned the woman's name, Beverly Stewart, from Renee. Lynne still didn't recall caring for her, but she would never forget her now, although Lynne wasn't as sure as Mrs. Stewart that Eric was destined to come back shortly. It didn't trouble Lynne that Mrs. Stewart knew Lynne's husband was away, but her tone had been so assured; Eric would be back, and sooner than Lynne thought. That day wouldn't be soon enough, Lynne sighed, walking into the kitchen. She wasn't hungry, but lunchtime seemed like ages away. She chose a banana from the bunch, then got herself a glass of water. As she sipped from it, the phone rang.

She wasn't sure who might be calling as both Aherns were working. Other than Stanford, then Lynne shivered; had something happened to Seth? She grabbed the receiver, cleared her throat, then spoke. "Hello?"

"Hello Lynne. It's Stanford."

She breathed a quiet sigh. "Good morning Stanford. How are you?"

Her tone was measured. This call had nothing to do with her husband, but Stanford didn't sound particularly upbeat. Then she blinked away tears. If Seth had killed himself so close to Christmas, Lynne wasn't sure if she could take it.

"Um, I'm fine." Stanford cleared his throat, making Lynne nauseous. Please don't say it, she thought, please whatever you do, don't say.... "I just wanted to extend my condolences."

Tears sprang from Lynne's eyes. "Oh Stanford, oh please no...."

"Lynne, I didn't mean to pry, but I just learned about Eric's father and while I know they weren't close, I mean...." He coughed, then continued. "I just wanted to send you and Eric, from Laurie and myself, our most sincere apologies at this time of loss."

For a few seconds, Lynne stopped breathing. Then she coughed, taking a long inhalation. "You want to send us your condolences," she repeated slowly, wondering if she had heard him correctly.

Stanford sighed again. "We just learned the news this morning. I didn't want to intrude previously, but not having spoken to Eric since, well, before Thanksgiving, I had to wonder. Was Eric with him or is he already on his way back?"

Lynne reached for a chair from the kitchen table, quickly seating herself, grateful that she hadn't fallen to the floor. Then she closed her eyes, thanking God that if Stanford's information was correct, her husband might indeed be on his way home. "Well, the last I heard from him...."

She paused, for she hated to lie. Then she had a weak smile, opening her eyes. "The last thing I knew was that he wasn't sure how long he'd be gone. I suppose he is on his way back."

"Oh, that's good. Did they call you yesterday?"

"Did who call me yesterday?"

Stanford coughed again. "The, um, authorities."

"Oh yes, uh-huh." She thought back to Mrs. Stewart's words in the vestibule. "Yes, they did."

"Well, did they say if Eric was there?"

Lynne took a deep breath. Whatever she told Stanford, she would need to write down so later Eric could corroborate the details. "No, they didn't mention him. Perhaps they didn't wish to...."

All she could consider was that Eric hadn't gone across the country, then she wept, for Seth must be all right. "How's Seth, Stanford?"

"Oh, uh, he's, well, the same. Laurie saw him last week; hopefully Seth will be on his way to Minnesota in the new year."

"Oh, that's good. We've all been praying for him."

"Oh, well, um...." Stanford coughed loudly. "I'll tell Laurie, I'm sure it helps."

Lynne wanted to cry. She also wanted to shout, laugh, then weep a little more. She needed to call both Renee and Sam, but maybe this week she wouldn't go far from home. Eric might return before Christmas, he might be.... "Uh, what?" she asked as the line had gone quiet.

"Lynne, I just wanted to tell you and Eric that we're both, well, we're glad it's over, I mean...." Again Stanford coughed. "He's at peace now, I suppose."

"Yes, of course, I'm sure he is."

"And Eric, I assume he is now too."

Lynne nodded, feeling that no matter where he was, Eric was indeed at peace. He might be cold and hungry, exhausted too, but if he'd had a chance to see his father, then the last four weeks would have been worth it for both men. "Stanford, I so appreciate your call this morning. Yes, it's been a difficult time, but as soon as Eric can, I'll have him get back to you. And I'll pass along your message, yours and Laurie's. Please tell him we're all keeping Seth in our thoughts and prayers."

"Of course I'll pass that along. And yes, once Eric's home and has had a chance to rest, do have him give me a ring. Even if it's on Christmas. Laurie and I will be at my parents, do you have Dad's telephone number?"

"No, I, uh...."

Before Lynne could finish speaking, she was reaching for a pad and pencil in the closest kitchen drawer. She scribbled down the information, still trying to maintain her composure. Then Stanford offered his goodbye and Lynne wished him a merry Christmas and a happy new year. As soon as she hung up the phone, she burst into tears, which were a mix of happiness, slight sorrow, and some amusement. Stanford Taylor had inadvertently given Lynne the best news since she learned she was expecting Eric's baby.

Later she shared all she knew with Sam and Renee, but not at their home. Sam had stopped by mid-afternoon and was equally shocked and relieved with the information. Then he had smiled, noting that Stanford's curiosity had been a godsend. Sam left to pick up Renee from work, but told Lynne they would return to the Snyders for dinner, just in case. Now after a filling meal, the trio relaxed in the living room, a fire blazing. Lynne had no idea when Eric had left his father's location, but maybe by early January, he would be safely home.

"Or maybe sooner. Maybe once Eric knew he was that sick, he just turned around and...."

"Renee, we have no idea what's going on, other than it was Eric's dad he went to see, and thank God for that." Sam gave his wife a stern gaze, then he smiled at Lynne. "At least we know a little more than before." Then Sam chuckled, patting his wife's shoulder. "Thank goodness Stanford's as nosy as he is. And thank God Seth's...."

Then Sam paused. He crossed himself, then gazed at the women. "Seth'll probably live to see out the rest of 1961 and if God wills it, Eric will be home not long after that. That's all we can hope for, whatever God has waiting for us."

Lynne nodded, for she felt that was indeed true. She didn't mind Stanford's inquisitive nature, no better time for it to surface. And Sam was right; Seth probably would end up in Minneapolis, which was neither here nor there when it came to where Eric was now, on his way back to her. Lynne clung to that, for it was better than the complete uncertainty of before.

Before.... She smiled, then grasped Renee's hand. "I don't know anything other than Eric's father's at peace and that Eric didn't have to fly all the way east. You're here with me and the baby and it's just a matter of time."

Renee nodded, gripping Lynne's hand. "It is, like when we were all little, waiting for Santa Claus."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, something like that."

"Well, she has a point. To be honest with you both, that's what it feels like. Santa's gonna bring my husband home, one of these days." Lynne smiled, then leaned back in her chair. She gazed at her middle, which visibly protruded. She patted her belly, then giggled. "I wonder what he'll think of this."

"He'll think it's beautiful," Renee said. Then she sniffled. "And he'll be painting you as soon as possible."

Lynne nodded. "I'm sure he will."

Sam said nothing, but he grunted, or what sounded like a grunt to Lynne. Then he stood, heading to the kitchen. Within minutes Lynne heard water running, but Sam didn't return. Renee joined her husband, then stepped back into the living room. "Let's give him some time," she whispered to Lynne. "Said he wanted to wash those dishes before dessert."

Lynne glanced toward the kitchen, then nodded as Renee added wood to the fire. Suddenly the room grew warm, but Lynne wasn't sure if it was from the rising flames or that Christmas meant more than this time yesterday. She looked at the tree, which seemed to shine more brightly, but she hadn't added additional lights or ornaments. Renee sat beside her, grasping Lynne's hands. Then Renee began reciting The Lord's Prayer and Lynne joined her. When they finished, Lynne asked God to be with Eric that night, wherever he was. And to be with Stanford, Laurie, and Seth too. Four men were on her mind, but one wasn't exactly a man. Lynne didn't need to mention that to God; all she had to do was wait. Eric was on his way, of that she was certain.
Chapter 46

On Wednesday, December twentieth, Lynne accepted the delivery of a large bouquet of white roses, along with three massive poinsettias. She smiled at the card, from Laurie and Stanford, small crosses adorning the corners. She declined to telephone them her gratitude, for they might expect that Eric had returned. Lynne had stayed home the last two days, but Eric had yet to arrive.

On Thursday, she sent a thank-you note, the cold making her walk quickly back to the house. From the sunroom's French doors, she stared at thick frost laid across the back garden, but amid streaky clouds occasionally the sun shone, making the crystals sparkle. She hadn't looked at the outside thermometer, but it was well below freezing. Sam had been grateful the weather had been dry, or roads would have been treacherous. Lynne didn't worry for the Aherns, for Sam was a careful driver. But Eric was flying in the frigid air, that thought making Lynne shiver. Maybe he had found it too cold, was taking refuge in a barn or other structure. Christmas was in four days, but he probably didn't realize that. He only noted the dim light, during which tomorrow it would be the briefest. Lynne had never pressed her husband about those sorts of details, for once he was home, all that mattered was feting that event. He'd been fully a hawk flying home this time last year, but that had been after five long months away. Now it had been over four weeks, but had that extended stretch somehow altered him this time?

The phone rang and she hesitated answering it. When she did, Sam's tone put her at ease. He wasn't working that morning and if she needed company.... Immediately Lynne requested his presence and they hung up with little more said. Sam arrived half an hour later, finding Lynne starting a pie. "I thought we were gonna wait till Christmas," he teased, setting his wraps over a kitchen chair.

"I got a craving for pumpkin," Lynne smiled. "Besides, this won't last much beyond the next few days, and it certainly won't interfere with what I make for Christmas."

"Boysenberry, right?" Sam's eyebrows shot up, making Lynne laugh. She nodded, then poured him some coffee.

While she rolled out the dough, Sam drank his brew, decaf a fairly acceptable compromise. Lynne had said that regular make her jittery and she hadn't wanted it to affect the baby. Sam didn't know if things like that made any difference; Frannie had never avoided anything and all of her kids were fine. Little Helene was talking a streak, but sometimes Sam saw a trace of sorrow in Fran's gaze. Fran was excited for Eric and Lynne and had told Sam to let her know when they had their baby. She had a small gift, no more than a token, but Fran had wanted to somehow repay Eric for the painting, and that sketch. Sam hadn't mentioned it to either Eric or Lynne, but as he observed Lynne, he could see Fran in that kitchen, although a passel of kids would be surrounding her. Then Sam smiled. One day a throng of children would clamor at Lynne's sides.

"He'll be home soon," Sam said without thinking. Then he shook his head. "God Lynne, forgive me." Sam wanted to slap himself, sometimes he was a loose-lipped as Renee. Probably from all their years together, he admonished himself. The Nolans were more chatty than the Aherns, when he thought about it, although around Fran, Sam could talk about most issues, or those safe for public expression. He could talk about anything with Eric, or he had this time last year when Eric could barely speak. Conversation had been necessary to distract Sam from exactly who Eric had been for those days in early December. Sam had rambled more than in ages, probably the way he had chewed the fat with Josh and Larry back in.... "Lynne, please, I didn't mean...."

She stood at the counter, wiping her eyes, but a smile lit her face. "No Sam, I think so too. Maybe we're setting ourselves up for heartache. Actually, I wanted you here this morning, maybe hoping to tempt...." She sighed, then chuckled. "To tempt the fates, or God. Do you think God is shaking his finger at us right now?"

Sam vehemently shook his head. "Not at all. He wants us to ask for great things, he came to bless us with the most perfect gifts. Faith is top of the list, but we're measly corporeal beings, so sometimes tangible items best catch our attention."

He joined her, then gave her a hug. She wasn't short like Renee, but the baby had made Lynne's usually slender frame more curvaceous. That baby was kicking hard and Sam bravely set his hand on Lynne's torso. Their eyes met, hers with grateful tears, his with a flash of knowledge. How many Catholics felt that God was always seeking to condemn? What point was faith if this life had to be so damned miserable?

War was vile and often actions outside of combat were brutal, but not everything had to be tainted with the scourge of human sin. Sam stroked Lynne's damp cheek, ignoring the tears falling down his face. "I know he didn't wanna miss any of this Lynne, but sometimes we have to do things because...."

"Because we just do. I know Sam, I know and...." Her voice broke and she collapsed against him, weeping hard. Sam's grasp increased, then he chuckled as the baby stopped kicking. Lynne pulled away, smoothing her blouse over her belly. "You're gonna have a funny family," she said to her child. Then she looked at Sam. "Is that all right?"

"Of course it is. And I do feel like Eric'll be back soon. But that pie isn't gonna make itself." Sam pointed to the oven. "Shall I do the honors?"

"Sure. I'll be right back." She headed out of the kitchen, taking the stairs. Sam placed the pie in the oven, set the timer, then sat at the kitchen table. His coffee was cool; if it had been regular, he would have topped it up. Instead he stood, walked to the sink, then poured the remnant down the drain. He could hear water running overhead; Lynne had needed to collect herself and Sam wondered if he should stick around. They could wish for Eric's return, but other than their prayers, Eric was in God's hands.

When Lynne came downstairs, Sam was stoking the fire. She didn't join him, going into the kitchen. Sam stood at the French doors, staring at the glittering ground. Clouds had gathered, allowing the frost to remain. It was pretty, Sam allowed, but he couldn't fully enjoy it. Only after Eric was home might Sam permit himself to embrace the icy beauty.

His heart skipped a few beats, then he grimaced. Most would view the scene as setting the stage for Christmas Day. Snow was rare in these parts, no one ever saw a white Christmas, but this was darn close, and Sam was torn by his anxiety for Eric having to fly home in it and the sheer spectacle of the sparkling vista. To the left, tangled berry vines supported webs of ice, while water in the birdbath looked like a miniature skating rink. Sam imagined that if the fountain was bubbling, instead a solid block of frozen water would gurgle in the shape of babbling liquid. Why he could see that so clearly, he wasn't sure, other than for all the times he had been mesmerized by that running fountain in the spring, summer, and autumn. Eric had left it in motion until the first hard frost.

He had still been here then, Sam mused, then Sam smiled. It was pretty, even if Eric was out in it. "Lynne, I'll be right back."

She stepped into the doorway between the kitchen and living room. "Is he...."

Sam shook his head. "No, sorry, I just wanna see something."

"Oh okay," she smiled, turning back for the kitchen.

Sam grinned from her easy tone. Eric was foremost in their minds, but he didn't always intrude. Perhaps the baby was active again, or Lynne had been considering the same idea; there was much to appreciate regardless of the cold and who was missing.

Poking around the garden, Sam shivered, then smiled at himself; he hadn't even grabbed his scarf. But if Eric was out, Sam could brave the temperatures. Sam went as far as the studio, but the bramble was forbidding. Besides, Renee would have his head if he came home with holes in his clothes.

In a few months this thicket would be cleared, and Sam wondered what it would look like, once the studio was no longer bordered by shrubs. Eric and Lynne would have plenty of room to add whatever they wanted to the garden, besides more boysenberry plants. Sam chuckled, then rubbed his upper arms. He was quite cold now, the fire would feel so good. But instead of returning to the house, he walked the perimeter of the thicket until he reached the property gate. His car was on the other side, parked along the street. Lynne and Eric's vehicle was safe in their garage. Sam had driven it a few days ago to keep the battery charged.

Sam gazed at the house; it looked huge, but only because he still remembered how it had appeared this time last year. A chill ran all through Sam, but he chalked it up to being outside in little more than a sweater. He started for the kitchen door, silly to be out without proper attire.

As he reached the front door, the clouds broke, rays of sunlight streaming across the icy ground. A large shadow then blew past and Sam glanced upwards, but saw nothing. Instead of going inside, he quickly walked around the house, stopping at the bare patio. He nearly shouted Eric's name, but didn't want to alert Lynne, although Sam wasn't sure if she could have heard him. Sam peered over the landscape, then again into the sky. The sun had snuck behind a fast-moving low cloud and Sam stamped his foot. Had Eric flown past, it was a very big shadow. But if so, why didn't he just land? He was home, he had to know that, it had only been four weeks since he....

The screech made Sam cover his ears, then he looked up, blinded for a moment by the sun, shining directly into his eyes. When he could see again, Sam scanned the garden, then ran toward the studio. "Eric?" he called, but not loudly, still not wishing to garner Lynne's attention until he was certain. "Eric, is that you?"

Sam stopped at the start of the brush, but something was inside, rustling about. "Damnit Eric, it's cold out here." Then Sam sighed. "Hell, you know that better than me. Are you all right?"

The rustling stopped and Sam closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. He had seen something overhead, then heard that distinctive screech. Now Sam was worried, but he remained where he was, opening his eyes. "Eric, I'd prefer to not have Renee yelling at me tonight about torn clothes. But if you need me to come in there...."

The rustling started up, making Sam's heart pound. He peered into the frosty brush, then gasped as a figure appeared naked, bleeding, and emaciated. "Oh Eric!"

Sam ignored the feathers falling from Eric's forming skin as he scooped up the shaking, injured man. This time Eric was a man, but the cold, and perhaps what he had encountered, had left him skin and bones. Yet, these were human bones, Sam pondered, as he carried Eric's limp frame toward the house, calling for Lynne as loudly as possible.

This time Sam didn't try to separate a husband and wife. Sam had bathed Eric as Lynne wasn't quite up to that task, but once he was clean, Eric had asked for Lynne, who helped Sam get the weak man into bed. Sam left the couple long enough to remove the pie from the oven and heat up tomato soup, what Lynne had told him to fix. When Sam reached their bedroom door carrying the bowl and crackers on a tray, he knocked. Lynne said to come in, but Sam's steps were slow. He found them curled against each other in the middle of the bed, Eric under the blankets, shivering. Sam had dressed him in long pajamas, but perhaps he had a fever. "Eric, I'm gonna set this right over here. Whenever you're ready...."

"Bring it now Sam. We need to get something into him."

Lynne sounded like a nurse, Sam thought, as he picked up the bowl, then carefully sat on Eric's side of the bed. Lynne sat up, then positioned her husband into her arms. Eric still looked miserable, although clean, and Sam wondered if he was strong enough to swallow soup. Sam gazed at Lynne, who nodded. Sam shrugged his shoulders, then dipped the spoon into the soup. It wasn't steaming, but Sam blew on it anyway. Then he placed it in front of Eric's lips. "Take a small sip honey," Lynne said softly.

Eric's eyes were closed, but he opened his mouth, and Sam did the rest. Several spoonfuls were ingested, then Eric slumped against Lynne. Sam set the bowl on Eric's side table, but wasn't sure what else to do. He looked at Lynne, who cradled her husband, her face at peace. Sam gazed at them for a moment, recalling Michelangelo's Pietà, although Eric wasn't lying in Lynne's lap. Yet she looked as beautiful as Mary while Eric seemed as lifeless as Christ. Feeling like an intruder, Sam stood. As he went to leave, Lynne spoke. "Don't go, please? He just needs a minute to rest. Actually, have you called Renee yet?"

"No, there hasn't been a free moment."

"Call her now. He's gonna need round the clock care for a few days."

Sam nodded. He stepped to the door, then turned back. Lynne was whispering something to her husband, who still looked unconscious. Yet Lynne's tone wasn't fearful, which encouraged Sam as he took the stairs, going into the kitchen. His words to Renee would be discreet, but the message would be clear; Eric had returned, worse for wear, but not as a casualty. Or at least not to his wife.

That evening Sam slept on the sofa while Renee took the night shift. Lynne napped when she could, but Eric's fever hadn't broken. Lynne didn't fear catching his cold, staying close to him in their bed. He hadn't spoken more than her name, but had motioned for her to place his hands on the baby. He seemed to rest better that way, and often the couple slept at the same times. Lynne didn't get out of bed except to use the toilet and to eat. Otherwise she had remained at Eric's side.

During the night, Renee prayed the rosary, or tended to Eric. He had lost perhaps as many as thirty pounds, which had diminished his already slender frame. His appetite was hampered by the fever, but Lynne insisted they keep shoveling food into him. Renee didn't ask if Lynne assumed that Eric hadn't eaten during his return; Renee wanted to separate that element of Eric's persona from the scrawny but human figure she now looked after. She was grateful Sam had been there, for Lynne wouldn't have been able to carry Eric into the house and Eric couldn't even walk to the bathroom.

If he was any other man, Renee would demand they admit him to the hospital. His temperature had spiked to one hundred five degrees, then dipped to one hundred one. He had swallowed aspirin, but that wasn't going to alleviate such a fever. Renee tried to maintain a positive attitude, but it was difficult until she glanced at Lynne. Something about that woman's calm bearing gave Renee hope that Eric would pull through.

Renee fell asleep in the large chair that Sam had brought into the master bedroom. She dreamed of watching Eric leave that first time, then of when he had come home, his squawky voice like nothing she had ever heard. When she woke, Sam shaking her gently, she squinted at the light, which peeked through the curtains. Then she looked at the bed. Eric was in it alone, but water in the shower was running. Renee stood with Sam's assistance. "Go down to the couch," he said softly. "I left the blankets there for you."

She nodded, then pointed at Eric. "Any change?"

Sam shook his head. "One-ought-four half an hour ago. Honey, I'm not sure about this."

Renee closed her eyes, fearing the worst. But a familiar tune drifted under the closed bathroom door; it sounded like "Oh Holy Night". Lynne had a beautiful voice, Renee thought, as she blinked away tears, heading for the door. Renee could still hear that tune as she sat on the sofa, taking off her shoes. The carol followed her into sleep, which came over her like a warm blanket, assisted by the scent of her husband within the bedding.

When Renee stirred, the Christmas tree was lit, but it was dark outside, and she had no idea of the time. A fire blazed and good smells emanated from the kitchen. Renee got off the sofa, used the downstairs bathroom, then entered the kitchen. It was six in the evening, she saw on the clock, then she stirred the simmering pot of vegetable soup. She detected a beef broth, then spooned herself some. It was tasty, Sam's doing she assumed, which made her smile. Then she frowned, finding on the counter most of the pumpkin pie alongside a half-full bottle of whiskey. Who had needed a drink, she wondered.

She took the stairs, hearing muffled voices behind the master bedroom door. Renee almost knocked, then refrained, not wishing to wake Eric. Slowly she pushed open the door; her husband stood at the foot of the bed. His head was bowed and Renee shivered for the room seemed cool. Then Sam faced her, but the light was behind him and she couldn't see his expression.

Renee came to Sam's side and he put his arm around her. Eric lay in the middle of the bed, sweating profusely. He was mumbling something and Lynne lay at his side, kissing his face. Renee's heart pounded for something didn't seem right. She tugged on Sam's hand and he followed her out of the room.

She led him to the end of the hallway, then spoke. "Why'd you let me sleep so long?"

"You might need to be up with him tonight."

"Is he...." She blinked, but wanted to weep. "How is he?"

"I don't know. But she's, well, stronger than I ever thought. Lynne seems to think he's gonna pull through. She's why I made the soup, although he hasn't eaten anything since you fell asleep."

"Who had the whiskey?" Renee asked.

"I ran home for it. I needed something and...."

Sam's voice cracked and Renee hugged him tightly. "You give any to him?" she whispered.

"Tried to, but he can't even drink water. Renee, I just don't know if he's gonna...."

She trembled, but not even Sam's grasp could steady her. Then both of them turned as Lynne cleared her throat. "Sam, Renee, can you come here?"

They ran down the hall, but Lynne stopped them at the bedroom door. "Bring me a slice of pie and two bowls of soup. Well, maybe just half a bowl for Eric. Then go home." Lynne smiled, her voice kind. "I know Renee just woke up, but I need to be alone with Eric right now."

"Lynne, he needs to be admitted into the hospital." Renee stared at her friend. "He's...."

Lynne nodded, then grasped Renee's shaking hands. "I know that's how it seems, but...."

Sam unclasped the woman's grasp. "Renee, go get the soup. I'll be right down."

Renee glared at her husband. He might be good with emotional problems, but this was a physical ailment. Then Renee felt sick. Lynne looked like she sometimes had at work when a patient was near death. Acceptance was etched along her brow and in deep lines framing her mouth. Renee nodded, for she couldn't speak. Her steps were slow going down the stairs.

She was grateful that Sam followed her, for she didn't want to return up those steps. He delivered the tray, then came back into the kitchen. "Honey, let's go."

"Are you serious?" Her voice was raspy. "He's gonna...."

"He's in God's hands. There's nothing more we can do."

Renee shook her head, then sighed. "Fine, fine! We'll leave and she'll be here alone and...."

"And that's how they want it."

"Humph!" Renee jammed her hands into the pockets of her slacks. Then she stomped to where her coat and wraps waited, hung over a kitchen chair. She did allow Sam to help her into her jacket, but she hastily draped the scarf around her neck and didn't bother with the gloves until she stepped outside, the temperature bitterly cold. "Do they have enough wood?" But her teeth chattered so badly that Sam had to ask her to repeat it.

She waited until they were in the car, which was frigid, but protected from the strong wind. "I said do they have enough wood, inside the house, I mean."

He nodded, starting the car. Then he looked at her. "I brought in plenty. You never stirred."

That puzzled her, then she shook her head. "That doesn't make any sense, none of this makes sense Sam." She stared at him. "You should be there. Just take me home and...."

"They have all they need Renee. We'll hear from Lynne in the morning."

"But, but...."

Sam squeezed her hand, then put the car into gear. Renee wept all the way home, tears in her eyes making Christmas lights a blurry mess.
Chapter 47

No one heard from Lynne all day on Saturday, but Stanford called the Snyder residence several times. Renee wanted to, but Sam wouldn't let her, not even after Stanford rang them, asking if Lynne and Eric were all right. Sam lied right through his teeth, shocking his wife at how easily untruths slipped from his tongue. But after Sam hung up, he developed a miserable headache, and Renee spent much of Saturday night nursing her husband.

On Sunday morning, Sam and Renee went to an early Christmas Eve mass, where both lit candles for Eric and Lynne, also reciting a rosary for that couple. Now Sam was showing anxiety, although he said little to his wife. But Renee saw how he wrung his hands while he prayed, and how aged he appeared, the same wrinkles Lynne had worn late on Friday now evident on Sam's face. Renee begged her husband to drive over to the Snyders, but Sam refrained, going straight home.

At noon Pacific Time, Laurie Abrams called the Aherns, wishing them a merry Christmas, and asking about Eric. Sam finally permitted a crack in his armor, explaining that Eric had come home a few days ago, but had contracted a bad cold. Renee was glad some of the truth was out. She considered that only half of the story because for all they knew, Eric might very well have died, although some part of Renee felt he was still fighting, otherwise Lynne would have called. But Renee wasn't certain that even if Eric was still battling would he claim a victory.

She based her doubts on practicalities. She had never seen such an emaciated patient; had Eric even eaten during those four weeks? His fever, peaking at one hundred five, had been the worst symptom. Even if he came out of it, permanent mental impairment could be a result, seizures sometimes a side effect. Lynne knew all of this too, but for some reason she was eschewing normal medical procedures. Renee gripped her water glass, then stared at the window above the kitchen sink. Perhaps Lynne had picked up whatever Eric had; maybe she was in as bad of shape as her husband.

Sam stepped into the room and Renee stood, embracing him. "Are you okay?"

"If we don't hear from them by three, I'm going over there."

Renee nodded. "Well, thank the lord. How'd Laurie sound?"

"Worried as hell. I could hear Stanford in the background, not sure if they were at Laurie's place or what, but I suppose that was best. Laurie doesn't have to call him and repeat it over the phone."

Sam sat down and Renee did too. They held hands, sharing squeezes. Then Sam sighed. "Look, I can't wait until then." He stood, then glanced on the counters for his keys.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"Yeah, I do. I don't care if she's mad. It's been a day and a half and...."

The phone rang, causing Renee to jump as Sam answered it. "Hello?" He nodded, mouthing It's Lynne to his wife. "Uh-huh, well, okay. Are you sure?"

Renee watched as Sam didn't seem any younger, those lines etched deeply into his forehead like he would have those wrinkles the rest of his life. His voice lowered and again Renee felt sick to her stomach. "All right, well, if you change your mind, we'll be home all day. Well yeah, we'll be at mass tonight, but we'll go straight home after that. Uh-huh. Okay Lynne, sure. Give him our love."

As Renee heard that, she inhaled deeply; Eric was still alive. But Sam's tone had seemed appropriate for a funeral; why wasn't Lynne taking her husband to a hospital? As Sam closed the call, Renee itched to get into the car, then head to the Snyders regardless of what Lynne wanted. Or Eric, if he was conscious enough to make decisions. They certainly wouldn't be rational and that was the first thing Renee said to her shaken husband.

Sam nodded, then motioned toward the living room. Renee led him there and both sat on the sofa. "I agree, but Lynne asked us specifically to stay put. I think she must've assumed we were about ready to drive over and...."

"This's crazy Sam!" Renee started to cry. "Eric needs proper medical care. I don't give a hoot how Lynne thinks she can nurse him back to...."

Sam stroked his wife's trembling hands. "Honey, we have to respect her wishes about this."

"No and I mean it." Renee stood, stomping her feet. "If you won't drive over there, I will."

Sam stood, grasping his wife's hands, which were balled into tight fists. "Renee, this's about more than Eric's health."

"What else is there?"

Sam opened Renee's left fist, then laid her palm against his heart. "I could hear it in her voice. She's being asked to trust and we can't impede."

Renee's eyes went wide, her coloring ashen. "Oh Sam, no, not now! She's pregnant and, and...."

"And we have to just seek his will honey. That's what she said she was doing, or was in the process of doing, and we can't interfere with that. But there is something we can do."

Renee was weeping so hard, she couldn't stand. Sam led her to the carpet, where on their knees he held her. Once she had calmed, he clasped her hands, then bent his head to where their brows nuzzled. He began reciting The Lord's Prayer, followed by the Nicene Creed. The Aherns remained in those prayerful positions until Renee mentioned she had to use the toilet. Sam helped her up, then waited his turn. When he emerged from the bathroom, Renee was sitting on their bed, rosary beads in her hands. Sam collected his and they returned to their prayers until it was too dusky to see. But the dark didn't dissuade them; they ran their fingers along familiar beads, seeking God's mercies and healing.

Stanford and Laurie spent that afternoon in bed, alternating lovemaking with discussions, some of which touched upon how many times Stanford had tried ringing the Snyders to no avail and Laurie's one successful call to the Aherns. Stanford wanted to try Eric again, but what good would it do, he railed. Laurie countered that at least they knew Eric was home, although unwell. Thank God Sam had answered his phone, Laurie said softly, tracing the crows' feet along Stanford's eyes.

Then Laurie broached more intimate notions and Stanford allowed that distraction. It was easier to make love than consider why Eric was being so cagey, or Lynne for that matter, although if Eric was so ill, perhaps she had been too busy caring for him to pick up the phone. Yet, how many times had Stanford rung, and every single call had been ignored. Disregarded, Laurie had countered, as if he was in Stanford's head, again contradicting Stanford's dismal mood. Then Stanford forgot all about the Snyders as a wave of pleasure engulfed him. "Merry Christmas," Laurie murmured. "I love you."

Stanford couldn't halt a deep chuckle. "Happy Hanukkah. I love you too."

"That was weeks ago," Laurie laughed.

"Still counts when you do things like that." Stanford released a pleased sigh. "I hope...." He paused, then shook his head. "Why did I let myself get this attached to him, to both of them? I broke a cardinal rule and now...."

"Rules are made to be broken Stan."

Laurie's tone was light and Stanford smirked. "Some, but not all. And that was a biggie. If my father wasn't such a pushover about grandchildren, he'd, well, he'd...."

"He liked them from the start. And he was close with some of his clients too, if I remember correctly."

But not this close, Stanford didn't say. Not that he was in love with Eric; it had nothing to do with romantic notions, only the deepest platonic friendship that Stanford had ever permitted to develop with any of his clients. And contrary to Stanford's usual reticence around women, those feelings extended to Lynne, and what now truly irritated Stanford was how he had started to fret about the couple's baby. Stanford wasn't close to his own nieces and nephews, but for the last week, he had pondered how Eric's absence would affect the series he was painting of Lynne, or that was how Stanford initially considered it. Then two nights ago, he had dreamed about visiting the couple, who was no longer only a couple, but to Stanford's horror, the baby clung to Sam Ahern, as if Eric's time away had created a gulf between father and.... Stanford hadn't remembered the infant's gender, but he had been so relieved to stir, finding that drama was only a figment within his head. But again last night the dream returned, only now the baby seemed especially fond of Uncle Stan, as Laurie had christened him, and Stanford was equally smitten with an infant who cooed in Stanford's able grasp. Stanford had rarely cradled babies. Children had never been a consideration; he wasn't like his grandfather in that respect.

From the beginning, Stanford had been up front with Laurie about that issue. Laurie hadn't cared one way or another, and their sisters' offspring had sufficed when Laurie was feeling paternal. Now Stanford couldn't get that baby from his mind. He sat up in bed, wringing his hands together; was Eric truly all right? Stanford hadn't been able to discern Sam's voice through the receiver, but Laurie said he seemed okay. If something was dreadfully wrong with Eric, Sam would know. Or more rightly, Sam wouldn't have been home; he would have picked up the phone at the Snyders' house. But no one was answering there; maybe Lynne and Eric were in exactly the same place as Stanford and Laurie, but not because Eric felt poorly.

"What're you thinking?" Laurie broke the quiet. "Stan?"

"Maybe they're just, well, you know."

"Maybe," Laurie smiled. "If he'd been away a while, a weekend in bed together isn't the worst place to be."

"But why wouldn't he have called me, I mean...." Stanford rolled onto his side, staring at Laurie. "He knows we know, I mean, okay, maybe he's tired or sick or both. But I'm sure Lynne told him I wanted to speak with him. I just don't get it."

Laurie took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. "Why didn't Seth call me before he tried to kill himself?"

Stanford flinched. "That's not the same and you know it."

"But how you're feeling is just like how I felt, left behind, even if logic dictates differently. We know they're not thinking straight, I mean, that man made Eric's childhood a living hell, something you and I could never understand. Yet, that man was also his father. We can't begin to comprehend how Eric or Seth are supposed to react to those sorts of...."

Stanford bolted upright. "They are not the same situations Laurie. Seth was an adult when he went to Korea and Eric was just...."

A wave of nausea caused Stanford to clutch his stomach. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out how a little boy had been so brutally abused, but the images didn't go away. Stanford never imagined what Seth had seen or done in Asia, nor did Stanford project any of that horror onto Sam Ahern. "Laurie, I cannot talk about this, all right?"

"I know, I'm sorry. It's just that we love them and...."

"I do not love Eric Snyder!"

Laurie's chuckle was gentle at first, but as Stanford got out of bed, grabbing his robe, Laurie began laughing. "You do too, you big softie. You love Lynne as well, not that I'm jealous of either one of them."

Stanford wagged his finger in Laurie's direction. "I don't know what you're talking about, damnit. I love you, although sometimes I do wonder why."

Laurie also got out of bed, but didn't bother with clothes. He stood in front of Stanford, caressing his face. "I've never seen you look so old, but in the last two weeks, you've gained several new wrinkles here and here and...."

"Stop that."

Laurie smiled. "Thank God it doesn't look like you've lost any more hair, just added these lines. What you wanna bet Sam has some of the same?"

Stanford glared at Laurie. "Oh, is he in love with Eric too?"

Laurie had a belly laugh. "Nope. You both just admire the hell out of him, but not for the same reasons. Sam and Eric are like brothers, close brothers. God, if I didn't know better, I'd say they were like Seth and me."

Stanford had been ready with another retort, but he stopped himself. "Oh Laurie...."

"It's true. That's how I know Eric's all right, I mean, that he's not dead. Sam wouldn't have been able to keep something of that magnitude from his voice. Not that Eric's perfectly healthy. Sam sounded...." Laurie paused, then kissed Stanford.

"He sounded what?" Stanford asked after ending the kiss.

"He sounded concerned, but not depressed. There's a difference, God knows I've heard it enough from Aunt Wilma and Mom. And I hear it from you, over Eric. You've been worried about him since the beginning of the month, not the way I am with Seth, or how Sam is over Eric. But don't stand there and tell me you don't care about Eric, or Lynne, or their baby. Don't do that Stan because I won't buy a single word of it."

Stanford trembled, but Laurie steadied him, then led him back to bed. Stanford remained in his robe, but Laurie lay close to him as Stanford nodded, but didn't speak. "It's okay," Laurie crooned as Stanford continued nodding, tears slowly rolling along his cheeks.

The Aherns left for midnight mass much later than they usually did. That was due in part to a phone call from Laurie Abrams, which caught both Sam and Renee by surprise. Yet, they only managed to take the call because they had been lingering at home, hoping to hear from Lynne.

That Laurie had rung still stunned Sam, who sighed as he locked their car three blocks from St. Anne's. The parking lot had been full as it seemed that on this particular Christmas Eve every Catholic within twenty miles had decided to attend mass, for not a single open space could be located. Sam said aloud that he was grateful it wasn't raining, or God forbid, icy. In fact, he mused, nearly jogging with Renee at his side, the frigid temperatures of the last few days seemed to have abated. Laurie had again wished them a merry Christmas, laughing softly that New York was being encased by a blanket of snow. Sam had wondered why the art dealer was awake so late at night, but perhaps a New York Jew, even when noting the holiday, remained on metropolitan time.

As Sam expected, no seats remained, but a gentleman their age offered his folding chair to Renee. She sat next to the man's wife as Father Riley began the liturgy. Sam didn't recognize any of the parishioners who stood reverently, but all were welcome for their hearts were akin. Sam wished that Eric was nearby, Lynne seated beside Renee, but he put them from his mind, concentrating on the reason for this gathering, so many wishing to rejoice under one roof.

It was a carol service as well as mass and Sam sung loudly, matched in tune by the newcomers. Renee's voice blended well with the women near her and Sam closed his eyes, letting their tones soar to the top of the church. The music overhead mixed with various fragrances; the fellow next to Sam reeked of cigarettes, reminding Sam of the VA hospital, which then led him to consider Seth Gordon. Sam didn't let that name bother him, for soon Seth would be on his way west, getting the best care Sam thought possible.

As the readings commenced, Sam tried unsuccessfully to push Seth from his head. Had Seth attended Sabbath services during his tour? Laurie didn't seem like a pious Jew; he loved Sam's pork chops and had he bothered celebrating Hanukkah earlier that month? Sam had seen something about it on the news, but at the time he'd been too consumed with Eric to ponder a Jewish holiday. But that night Laurie Abrams had made a point of wishing the Aherns a merry Christmas, and no, Laurie hadn't sounded drunk. He had sounded rather peaceful to Sam, if not a little embarrassed for ringing at that very late hour.

And he hadn't mentioned Eric, or Seth. Now that Sam thought about it, the call was quite odd, but then the last few days had been strange, or maybe just depressing. Eric had come home, but Sam didn't have a good feeling about it.

He wasn't sure why, other than maybe he wasn't trusting God as much as he should be. Perhaps that was the biggest niggle; Lynne seemed to be allowing Christ to do his work, but now Sam felt at loose ends. When Lynne had told them to leave on Friday night, Sam had accepted it, maybe because he had assumed Eric wasn't going to make it and Lynne needed privacy to let him go. But hours ago Lynne had finally made contact and Eric was still.... Maybe he was in that odd state that Sam had witnessed over a year ago when Eric came home. For a few days Sam wasn't sure if Eric would turn back into a man. A whole year ago, Sam mused, lost to the proceedings around him. Instead he was back in the Snyders' bedroom, staring at someone who wasn't close to being human.

In the last twelve months, Sam had accepted Eric's bizarre transformations as if he'd always known somebody that distinctive. He hadn't blinked when seeing Eric step through the icy thicket, except for how thin Eric was. The feathers were nothing, then Sam shivered, yet, the church was warm from bodies pressed closely, from lit candles, from.... Hope, which Sam had always known deep in his heart since he could remember. And that hope had sprung directly from this place, well, his first church, but now any Catholic sanctuary provided Sam with that sense of optimism. It was like a second home, even in Korea, temporary quarters adorned with religious articles that traveled as easily as a field hospital or the mess hall. Every time Sam had stepped into what sufficed as a chapel he knew Christ's presence, along with inordinate calm. Well, most times. After Josh and Larry had died, Sam had to search for the peace. He'd found it eventually, on his knees, when calm had seemed most elusive. No matter what Sam had endured, God always brought him through.

As a brief sermon was delivered, Sam was lifted from his reverie. He glanced at Renee, who blinked away tears. His heart felt momentarily pinched, then a flood of warmth permeated his chest, and he smiled at her, allowing her to again face the altar. Even for what their marriage lacked, they had each other, she hadn't left him. He hadn't expected her to stay, although he'd never told her that. He'd never told anyone until last year, when Sam remarked upon it to Eric. But maybe Eric had been asleep when Sam said it, or not able to pay attention. Maybe that was why Sam had spilled as much as he had, assuming Eric wasn't cognizant enough to process language.

What was Eric able to understand now, Sam wondered, as lines began forming for communion. What time is it, Sam mouthed to Renee, who was on her feet, although it would be ages before they needed to head that direction. She looked at her watch, then mouthed back Eleven forty-five.

That wasn't possible, but glancing at his watch, Sam found it was so. Midnight mass had never gone so quickly, but then even last year Sam hadn't carried so much on his mind. Eric and Lynne had accompanied the Aherns to this event, arriving in one car at ten thirty, taking their usual seats. Sam thought Lynne was getting very close to choosing this faith for her own, which pleased him, for the baby should receive a proper baptism and that would be much easier to arrange if Lynne was Catholic, or on her way to becoming Catholic. Then he sighed as Renee stood beside him. This time last year Sam had thought the worst was behind them. Now he wasn't sure of anything.

"Honey, you okay?" Renee whispered.

Sam nodded, although that was as much of a lie as what he'd told Laurie hours ago. "We're gonna be waiting another ten minutes at least. You can sit down again if you want."

She shook her head. "Been sitting all day. Besides, you looked like you needed me."

He smiled, then kissed her cheek. "That I do. Merry Christmas honey."

"Merry Christmas Sam." Renee snuggled against him and Sam put his arm around her. Then he closed his eyes, hearing hushed murmurs, the buzz of youngsters asking if mass was over yet, and crying babies. That sound pierced Sam, but he remained dry-eyed, even if he wanted to burst into tears. Lynne and Eric should be there, they should be....

"Any room at the inn?"

"What?" Sam turned around, then almost screamed. "My good God, what're you two doing here?"

He had thought he'd spoken softly, but over a dozen people turned around, all asking what was wrong. As Renee left Sam's grasp to help steady a painfully thin Eric Snyder, Sam remained frozen, gaping at Lynne, standing on Eric's other side. "What, I mean, why aren't you home in bed?"

"I'm not quite dead, you know." Eric's voice was as weak as he seemed, although his smile was broad. "I told Lynne that either I was gonna get to church or die trying. And if I kicked the bucket here, at least they'd know what to do with me."

"Sam, help me," Renee huffed. "He's thin as a rail, but he's still too much for just me."

Sam went to where Eric leaned against Renee as Lynne also stepped back. Sam led Eric to an open seat, but Eric shook his head. "If we go up with you guys, what'll Father Riley do?"

"Other than take a good look at you and send you back home, well...." Sam wanted to touch Eric's face, but he didn't look flushed. "He'll bless you, I suppose. God knows you need it."

A few people glared at Sam, but none of the faces were familiar, and he wouldn't have cared even if they were. "Eric, what's going on?"

"His fever broke this morning. But he didn't wanna tell anyone, I mean...." Lynne's voice quivered. "We wanted to make sure he was all right first."

"I finished the pumpkin pie and your soup," Eric grinned. "I think I'll be just fine."

Now those around them were heading toward the altar. Renee started urging Sam that way, but Sam had a hard time moving forward. He stared at Eric, who seemed to have once again changed in a way Sam hadn't dreamed. Two days ago he had lain near death. He was still very underweight, but as Sam placed his hand against Eric's brow, no trace of fever remained.

"Let's go get that blessing Sam." Eric grasped Sam's hand. "I've got so much to be thankful for."

"We both do," Lynne chuckled through tears. "He's all right Sam, it's gonna be okay."

Sam stared at Lynne, then he blinked. Looking again, a radiant peace shone in her eyes. She reached for his hand, setting it on the bulge under her jacket. A steady thump beat against Sam's palm, making him a little dizzy. Sometimes they come home rang in his head, but he wasn't sure about the source of the message, other than of course it resonated from where he stood. But the voice was vaguely southern in tone, or was it that of a New Yorker, a Jewish New Yorker, Sam couldn't help but wonder.

"Let's go Sam. I want that blessing, then Lynne's gonna take me home. You and Renee come over on Tuesday, 'cause I think after this I'm gonna sleep all day tomorrow."

"We'll celebrate the feast of St. Stephen," Renee said in a teary voice.

"St. Stephen, sure." Eric nodded. "As long as St. Stephen likes boysenberry pie. Sam, whatdya think of that?"

With Eric's arm linked within the crook of Sam's elbow, Sam stepped to where the last person waiting for communion stood. Renee was right behind Eric as Lynne flanked Sam, who didn't need to speak to Eric's query. When they reached the priest and his assistants, Sam didn't kneel, keeping Eric upright. The men's wives also remained on their feet as two blessings were given, communion taken. But the Aherns didn't stay for the rest of the service, escorting the Snyders to their car, parked in front. A space had opened up, Eric remarked, just as Lynne pulled into the lot. Sam wasn't surprised and as he helped Eric into the front passenger seat, Sam wondered if anything could shock him now.

But before Sam could shut Eric's door, Eric motioned for Sam. He knelt in front of Eric, who still wore that bright smile. "If you see Father Riley, ask him if he takes couples, you know, in catechism classes, or if Lynne and I need to sign up separately."

Sam's heart raced. "Are you serious?"

"Well, I'm here, aren't I? I shouldn't be in a rational man's world, but what the hell?"

Sam glanced over at Lynne, who nodded. Then Sam found Renee squatting beside him. "Am I hearing what I think I'm hearing?"

"Go get some sleep Ahern. We'll see you day after tomorrow."

Eric sounded exhausted but certain. Sam stood, then helped Renee to her feet. Renee closed Eric's car door, then she led her husband onto the curb. Lynne waved goodbye, backing out of the space, while the Aherns watched, still stunned by Eric's presence, and his news. It was Renee to tug on Sam's hand, asking if he was waiting for the crush of parishioners. They could leave it to Eric and Lynne to approach Father Riley. At that moment all Sam wanted was to go home, have a whiskey, and fall into bed. Prayers would be said as those events occurred, and probably within Sam's dreams too.
Chapter 48

On the day after Christmas, Eric woke to an empty bed. His stomach rumbled, which he appreciated, for unlike how his entire flight home had been undertaken without sustenance, all he had to do was ring a bell that Lynne had set on his bedside table. He was also to ring that bell if he needed to use the toilet, for he was still too weak to walk unaided. He did manage to sit up on his own and just as he reached for the bell, Lynne stepped through their bedroom doorway, a tray in her hands. "Good morning," she smiled, stepping toward him.

"Oh my God, good morning." He grinned, patting the middle of the bed. "How long've you been up?"

"Maybe an hour. Someone was ready for me to be out of bed." Lynne chuckled, placing the tray on her side table. "What would you like first? I have toast, a banana, juice, tea...."

"Just you baby, just you."

She giggled, bringing a cup of apple juice and the banana. "First these. Then you can have me."

Eric smiled, taking small sips of juice. He wanted to gulp it, then gobble the banana, not to satisfy his belly, but to more quickly get his wife back into their bed. But food was being ingested in small portions, for Eric's stomach was shrunken. He hadn't eaten anything on the flight home because there had been nothing for him to kill. Yet he hadn't stopped to rest, pushing himself harder than ever before. He was fully cognizant of himself as a man trapped inside the body of a hawk, also aware of his pregnant wife waiting for him. He hadn't stayed to see his father die; Howard Snyder had fallen ill shortly after Eric arrived, kidney failure, a doctor had said. Eric had perched on the windowsill of the prison infirmary, listening through a cracked pane. He watched as his father had gone from being conscious, then falling into a coma, all the while surprised at the level of care offered to a condemned man. Then he learned that prison officials had been trying to locate Howard's next of kin, but again to Eric's shock, no one had realized that Howard had any living family remaining.

That was why Lynne hadn't been contacted, although Eric hadn't been stunned to learn that Stanford had informed Lynne to Eric's probable whereabouts. Eric had called Stanford yesterday evening, speaking for just a few moments. Stanford had sounded unduly grateful for the call and Eric relayed that to Lynne, as if Stanford had taken Eric's disappearance as hard as the Aherns. Or maybe it was worse on Stanford, for at least Sam and Renee knew why Eric was gone. Eric would speak to his dealer in the new year, although thinking of Stanford as his dealer seemed too detached. Stanford and Laurie were Eric's family, but they weren't part of Eric's inner circle. Eric couldn't wait to see the Aherns later that day. And he couldn't wait to watch Lynne open her Christmas presents.

She still didn't know about them, although she had given him one, an inadvertent treasure that was only for them. After the fever had broken, Eric had noticed the pendant, dangling between her breasts. He wept at that necklace, but hadn't needed to explain that breakdown to his wife. She mentioned that she'd worn the opal for a few weeks and wouldn't take it off until.... Then Eric had kissed her and while they hadn't yet been intimate, one warm kiss had been enough to calm his heart, then bring to mind the gifts he had purchased for her in early November. He had even wrapped them, when she'd been napping, hiding them in the back of their closet. They weren't large and only a few had been tucked away, however he would have to wait until the Aherns arrived for Lynne to open them, for Eric was too weak to collect them. Sam could place them under the tree.

Eric finished the banana and Lynne set the peel on the tray. She mentioned the mug of tea and the toast, but didn't offer them immediately. Instead she walked to the other side of the bed and got in next to him. Eric pulled back the blanket and she nuzzled along his side, the baby resting against his right hip. Eric had been amazed at how large their child had become and how beautiful Lynne appeared. He wasn't sure when he could paint again, but as soon as it was possible, he had in mind his next canvas. "I love you so much, both of you," he murmured, stroking Lynne's belly. "Merry Christmas baby, you too baby."

Lynne didn't speak, but her right arm was draped across Eric's torso, gripping his other side. He wondered if she was crying, for now his upper chest felt slightly damp, but he didn't add any more words, inhaling her warmth and her scent like it was all the food he needed. She sat up, tears rolling along her cheeks, but her smile was so wide that Eric knew those tears weren't from sorrow. Relief shone in her eyes, also a beatific peace that he had never seen in all of their years together. She had been tested severely, Eric thought, but the result was a balm not even he could offer.

It wasn't only that he had returned, or that she carried his baby. Eric reached for her face, wiping away the remnant of her tears. In that liquid he too knew a deep peace; that peace had healed him last year, but this year it had saved his life. He had known, even in that feverish state, death was approaching. He'd heard his wife's prayers, also her response to those prayers. She'd had to trust, and to love, but not in dutiful, sad resignation. Lynne had changed in the last year, Eric had seen it, painted it too. The baby had been a huge step in accepting what might seem impossible. But an even greater trial had loomed; in sending Sam and Renee home on Friday, Lynne had followed the dictates of her soul, which was not bound by usual human expectations. She had been willing to go somewhere she had never been, as if she was the bird of prey, soaring through the skies, led only by instinct. And that instinct had been borne of faith. Eric stared at her, wondering why they had been chosen to experience these miracles, certainly not on the scale of what Mary had been given, but unique to modern man.

Lynne placed her husband's hand upon their baby and Eric closed his eyes, not ruing the days he had missed, paintings that would never be created. The idea he wished to explore on canvas would begin a new series, for this was the day they had been given, this was the life they now would share. He wasn't sure what becoming Catholic would do to his career as an artist, but for the first time since he had realized his talent, that gift wasn't paramount. Nor was it second to his wife; it came third, and soon enough fourth, behind this burgeoning faith, Lynne, and their baby. Eric laughed, feeling freer than he had this time last year, and he'd assumed that was as liberated as he ever would be. Then he stared at Lynne, her eyes wide. Did she feel the same? "Our lives will never be like before." Eric spoke softly, then he smiled as his stomach again rumbled.

She nodded, reaching over him for a piece of toast. She gave it to him and he nibbled on it, then Eric set it back on the plate. "Or maybe I'll always be hungry," he chuckled. "But other things...."

"I know. Maybe you'll always be starving, or maybe one of these days you'll gorge yourself on one of Sam's fabulous dinners. But as for the rest of it...."

"Yes, that's changed. I can't even begin to explain it all, but...."

She put a finger to his lips. "You don't have to explain anything." Then she placed her palm over his heart. "We're not the same people Eric, not inside."

He nodded, gazing into her eyes. Long brown hair spilled over her shoulders and he wanted to make love to her, but didn't have the strength. He laughed, setting his hand over hers. Faith was pure, but human love was intertwined with it, affection that at times was romantic, platonic, paternal, brotherly. As a man, Christ had sustained deep friendships not only with his disciples, but those he met, even women. Maybe there was no proof that Jesus had ever been in love with someone, but he fully understood that element of human beings, for he had created them with that capacity. Then Eric laughed. "I must believe there's a God."

"Yeah?" Lynne smiled.

Eric nodded, then leaned forward, giving her a chaste kiss. "Lynne, when I paint you next, it's not gonna be a nude, I mean, it's not gonna be a field of flowers either, but I wanna express everything, or some of it, in a different fashion. Is that all right?"

"Of course honey. Why do you need to ask?"

He traced her belly, then sighed. "Because I painted so much of you and her in the early days, but I can't say if I'll paint another of you two like this. I mean, oh hell, I probably will." He smiled. "I wanna depict you like this, so beautiful. You are so beautiful right now, oh Lynne...."

Eric might not have enough stamina for intercourse, but he accepted that wasn't the only way a couple could be close. And now with Lynne so large, usual relations would have to be modified. But as Lynne proffered her love, Eric didn't need to do any more than lay right where he was. Stroking her hair, he called her name, inwardly thanking God for the gift of this woman, for his life, and for a newly forming faith to better appreciate such treasures.

The Aherns arrived at three, bringing food and a few presents. They had heard from both Stanford and Laurie that morning, asking if Eric was indeed okay. Sam chuckled, noting that Stanford had sounded rather flustered while Laurie was more relaxed. But Sam hadn't revealed Eric and Lynne's decision to join the Catholic faith. He said that with raised eyebrows, as if he wasn't sure the idea still stood.

Renee and Sam prepared an early dinner while Lynne sat on the sofa beside her husband. Eric had napped for much of the late morning and early afternoon, then he had taken a bath, and with his wife's assistance, he'd managed the stairs, but would have Sam help him back up at the end of the evening. As a fire crackled, the two couples ate in the living room, jovial banter exchanged.

When the meal was finished, Sam and Renee cleared the plates. Then Sam built up the fire as Renee fetched gifts from under the tree. Trinkets were exchanged first, then Eric opened the larger presents from Lynne. The clothes seemed huge, although Eric said that with such good food available, he'd be back to his normal weight in no time. He smiled at the stationary, noting he had plenty of correspondence waiting, then he laughed. Stanford would expect nothing less than phone calls for a while, and that their phone bill would reflect it. Renee scoffed; let that New Yorker make the calls. But Eric said that within a few weeks he expected Stanford would visit, weather permitting. That would put the art dealer's fears to rest.

Then Eric motioned for Sam, whispering something in his ear. Sam smiled, then headed upstairs, causing Lynne to pepper her husband with questions. Eric remained stoic, but Renee was intrigued, then she was called upstairs. Both Aherns returned with gifts and Lynne nearly burst into tears. "Don't cry till you see what I bought you," Eric teased. "Maybe you'll be making lots of returns."

"When did you do all this?" Lynne mumbled as several gifts were placed on the coffee table.

"All those times you napped." Eric sat up, then pointed to three presents. "Open these first, then the others."

Lynne did as she was told, finding two new scarves, which Eric had seen in New York. The scarves were silk, in spring hues, and Lynne draped one around her shoulders, handing the other to Renee. The men rolled their eyes as the women ooh'ed and ahh'ed for several minutes. Then Lynne opened the other package, which was a pair of opal earrings. She burst out crying as Eric briefly explained the significance. Then Lynne pulled out the pendant from under her sweater, making Renee weep and Sam sigh. "Now how am I supposed to match this Eric?" But Sam's voice was light as Lynne put on the earrings. Renee adjusted the scarf, then she patted Sam's leg as Lynne took a deep breath. Two large packages remained.

Lynne stared at her husband, her lower lip trembling. Eric stroked her damp face, then pointed to the larger present. "Open that next."

She nodded, picking up the gift. Carefully she undid the paper, revealing a leather-bound Bible with her name embossed in the lower right corner. Eric smiled as she gently leafed through the gilt-edged pages, then he watched as she found the inscription near the front. She nodded, then gazed at him, reaching for his hand, squeezing softly. "Thank you honey." Then she smiled, looking at Renee. "Guess I can give you back the one you loaned me."

"Or maybe Eric would like to use it." Renee folded her hands in her lap. "This one's beautiful."

"I thought, even though I had your name put on it, that it could be our family Bible. I mean, at that point, I wasn't so sure about what I wanted to do, but now...."

"Now I know what I can get you for Easter," Lynne giggled.

"Oh, I'd love that," Eric smiled.

Renee examined the Bible as Eric embraced his wife. Then Sam cleared his throat, making the other three chuckle. "There's still one more present," Sam said.

Eric grinned. "There is indeed. Go ahead honey."

Lynne unwrapped the last package, finding a small canvas. She held it aloft, but her hands shook. Eric steadied her as both Sam and Renee asked to see it. Slowly Lynne turned it around. Cherry trees bloomed against a bright blue sky while emerald green grass edged the bottom of the painting, as large as a standard sheet of paper. It wasn't framed and Sam and Renee wondered the meaning.

Eric explained. "When we were in college, we hiked near an orchard that looked just like this in springtime. I hadn't thought about it for ages, but after we learned about the baby, I couldn't get it out of my head." Eric gazed at his wife, tears pouring down her face. On those walks, they had discussed their future, hers as a nurse until they had their first child. That had been in the earliest days of their marriage, before they had found themselves unable to conceive. Eric had considered painting that orchard many times, but never had, the memories too painful. As Lynne studied the canvas, Eric's heart pounded; all their dreams had come true, but in ways they hadn't imagined back then.

Handing the painting to Renee, Lynne then nestled beside her husband. She didn't cry, but clutched him, and Eric grasped her, feeling the same memories flooding them both. He wasn't sure how he sensed it, but if they had thought they were close before, now he wondered if they could sense each other's most private musings. Then Sam and Renee stepped from their seats, leaving the Snyders alone in the living room. Eric kissed the top of Lynne's head, then stroked her back. The baby thumped along Eric's body, making him laugh. "Someone wants attention."

"Soon enough it'll all be about her."

Eric tipped Lynne's face so their eyes met. "Do you think it's a girl?"

"You said it earlier." Then Lynne smiled. "A woman at church said she thought it was, although then she said she was wrong half the time. Oh Eric, it doesn't matter. You're right here and this is, oh honey...." She motioned to the painting, propped on Sam's chair. "This's the most precious piece you've ever done."

"More of those to come," he smiled, placing his hand on the baby.

She nodded. "I suppose there are. Thank you Eric, for, oh my goodness, for...."

His kiss silenced her words, but the sentiment continued in their actions. If not for the Aherns, probably preparing dessert in the kitchen, Eric would have removed Lynne's new scarf, then let her do the rest, but as his stomach rumbled again, Lynne pulled away, laughing as she did so. "That's a lovely sound, you know."

"I can feel it." He patted his gut. "Sam, how's that pie coming?"

"One piece or two?"

"Two!" Eric called.

"One thin one," Lynne hollered.

Eric laughed as Renee emerged with a tray of plates, all with varying sizes of slices. Sam followed with another platter of coffee cups, although Eric's held tea. Renee set her tray on the coffee table, then cleared a spot for Sam's. As dessert and drinks were enjoyed, the conversation centered on what might unfold in the coming year; catechism classes for the Snyders, a new series for Eric, perhaps a visit from Stanford. No one mentioned the baby, who forced Lynne to her feet, then to the bathroom. The three who remained grew quiet in her absence, consumed by their own interpretations of Eric's return and what 1962 held in store not only for them, but those far away.
Chapter 49

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 have preferred 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 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'd 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 her 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."

"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 though 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 but Eric looked to have dropped twenty pounds. Yet 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 of 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 he 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, 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 become 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 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. Should 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 50

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?"

Just to the lower left of the canvas' center, a circle of the brightest yellow caught Stanford's eye. 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 which 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 though 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. Gently he 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; Lynne had posed in a seated position 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."

"That's an odd question," Eric laughed.

"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 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 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 being that again Eric had been so ill. Why hadn't Lynne put him into the hospital, even Renee had thought it was best. Then Stanford shuddered. He had never considered Lynne 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 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 bubbled within 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 tell 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 now rested on 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. "Oh 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, 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 transform 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 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 with 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.

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 are both adamantly against that sort of treatment. Then he had a long talk with the physician in charge of Seth's care. Sam 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 fit 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 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?"

"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 Lynne 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 canvases 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 calmed her heart every time she saw it. Lynne set her fingers right over her 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 51

One week after Stanford left, the paintings were shipped to Minneapolis. Stanford and Laurie had arranged the details, for Stanford hadn't minced words with his partner. Eric had nearly died in December and Lynne was on some bizarre religious tangent, not having admitted him to the hospital. Laurie wasn't as taken aback by Lynne's actions as Stanford was, but Laurie was surprised that both Snyders were considering the Catholic faith. Stanford had sneered at that wording; the Aherns had finally succeeded in dragging two more converts into the church, although Stanford held out hope that Eric's misgivings about the pope would ultimately keep him from.... Then Stanford had sighed. He didn't know what, if anything, that people had to do to become Catholic. Laurie had teased that it wasn't akin to being Jewish; in all probability, Eric wouldn't need to be circumcised. Stanford had blanched as Laurie laughed. Then Stanford had called Eric, confirming that the paintings had indeed been shipped to the Caffey-Miller Institute.

Much of early February Eric spent painting portraits of his wife, but he was back to his previous technique. The impressionistic portrait, as Sam and Renee called it, was drying in an upstairs storage room, but when Lynne napped, Eric was on the phone with the contractor from last year's renovations. In May, after some of the thicket had been cleared, Eric wanted a small outbuilding constructed for his artwork. All the upstairs bedrooms would be needed, Eric and Lynne had discussed, and actually, the guest room closest to the master bedroom would be where Lynne would give birth. Renee had requested that in order for Lynne to have a separate place to recuperate. Lynne balked at first, then agreed; Eric could sleep in their bed for the first few nights, and it would take no time to rearrange that room, currently designated as the nursery. Eric and Sam replaced the crib with the double bed Eric and Lynne had previously used and by the middle of February, Nurse Ahern was satisfied with the arrangements.

Lynne saw Dr. Salters, who was pleased for Renee's foresight. Not that Lynne would need to be in bed for as many days as hospitalized new mothers, but that it would be handy to use the nursery as a labor room of sorts. Dr. Salters had smiled, noting that if a home birth worked out well, Eric and Lynne could consider delivering their next child in that same room. Eric had laughed while Lynne had quietly giggled. The couple had decided to use birth control for the first few months, once they could again make love. Neither felt guilty about it, for Lynne wanted to enjoy their first child's babyhood, and while she held no qualms that Eric would leave, who knew what might happen in Minnesota? The last that Laurie had written, Seth was pleased for the paintings, as were other patients. Perhaps Eric's gift would extend a wide measure of healing.

The weather remained dismal, but Eric and Lynne rarely ventured out except for church and catechism classes. Eric finally addressed his papal concerns with Father Markham and to Eric's surprise, the young priest acknowledged that he too, at times, wondered the same. The men had a long discourse on the subject, easing some of Eric's fears. Lynne seemed to have no such worries, but then all her thoughts centered upon the baby. Yet Eric had started to question his choice of a Catholic faith. He also wasn't comfortable with how Mary was so venerated, but to that, Father Markham was unyielding. As the Mother of God, Mary was without sin, and had not engaged in any marital relations with Joseph. Jesus had no flesh and blood brothers, as some translations of the Bible attested. Eric left that meeting feeling torn, but he kept those thoughts from his wife, and from the Aherns too.

Renee had wanted to host a baby shower for Lynne, but Lynne had said it wasn't necessary. To Eric, she claimed that many of the women Renee would have invited were those who had talked behind Lynne's back when Eric had been away. Lynne's pull to Catholicism had nothing to do with those gossips, and a shower would have seemed hypocritical. One evening in late February, after a long painting session, Eric and Lynne cuddled on the sofa. As the fire crackled, Lynne spoke her heart; her growing faith in God was far removed from church social circles. She didn't want to join any of their societies and if it made her appear aloof, even snobbish, she wasn't bothered. "I want to learn about Christ's life and sufferings and how that relates to my life, to our lives." She sighed. "Maybe we're too old to immerse ourselves in something that the rest are born into."

She smoothed her blouse over the baby. "I mean, I want her to know Jesus." Then Lynne smiled. "My goodness, that sounds archaic. But it's the truth. The peace I've found in going to mass, and all you endured, I can't discount that as fantasy. God is real, I know that in my heart. Maybe that's all I need to say on the subject."

Eric kissed her head, then stroked her hair, which now fell just past her shoulders. "You wanna take communion, but that'll only happen if...."

She nodded, then sighed. "I do, and yes, only if I'm a member of the church will that occur."

"And you want her to be baptized." Eric gently patted the baby. "I want that too."

"But you don't think everything Sam and Renee believe is kosher."

Eric laughed as Lynne chuckled. "No, I don't. But honey, I also don't think that God puts a huge emphasis on these sorts of delineations. The Jews are his chosen people and as Gentiles we've just been brought into the fold relatively recently. To them, we're still wet behind the ears."

Lynne struggled to sit up, chuckling as she did so. Then she stared at her husband. "You sound like, well, not like the man I married. What's happened to us Eric?"

He caressed her face. "We're older now." Then he smiled. "Lynne, people change, and sometimes it's not slow at all. The last two years have been tumultuous to say the least. They've also been the best years of my life, even when I was far away from you." He softly kissed her cheek, then wiped away a few tears that had fallen. "I wanna share our beliefs with our son or daughter, but maybe we need to fully explore what those beliefs mean to us."

"Do you think we've rushed into our decision?"

"I wouldn't say that, but I will say that you're right, perhaps it's harder for someone not born into a certain faith, any faith, to accept without question established tenants. To us, the pope has always been a figurehead of a religion and Mary a symbol. Now we're being asked to believe they have, well, supernatural aspects to their human characters. I have no problem believing that Christ is God, and was a man." Eric laughed. "But then why am I so bothered by other details? Faith is faith, is it not?"

Eric expected her to smile and shrug. Instead Lynne laid her palm along his cheek. "I've watched you change into a bird Eric, I've seen it happen with my own eyes. And that you come back home, and return to this form." She placed her hand along his chest. "Miracles happen, I know that as sure as sitting beside you. Our baby's a miracle, your healed foot is another. You lived through that fever, Sam nursed you last year. I know what I feel here, in my heart." She set his hand between her breasts, then she wept. "I wanna take communion and I want our baby baptized, I believe in the validity of those sacraments. I also believe you turn into a hawk, does that make me crazy? But I also have a few, well, doubts." She sighed, but kept Eric's hand on her chest. "And while you might change again, I'll never have undisputable truth about the pope or the Virgin." She smiled. "Sometimes I think about Mary, she was half my age thereabouts. An angel appears, telling her she's gonna have a baby, but not just any baby. And she accepts it without question."

Eric smiled. "Well, she had one question."

Lynne nodded. "But that was just to assess exactly how it would occur." Then Lynne giggled. "I don't think she was sinless and I don't think that Joseph remained married to her without being with her." Lynne shook her head. "Good grief, that's strange to consider. But they were human beings; he was gonna be her husband before this even happened. Maybe the pope and priests make the decision to maintain celibacy, but Joseph was just a man and...."

Lynne began to cry. "I wanna step into church with the full acceptance of all these tenants. I want to belong to that, I wanna...." She took a deep breath. "It's like when you told me what happened to you. Until I saw it, I was so disturbed, not by what you'd said, but that I still loved you, and wanted you to tell me it was a lie, that for some inexplicable reason you'd fabricated this bizarre falsehood. I loved you so much, oh Eric, I've never told you this, but I just ached inside, wondering why you spoke those words. I thought to myself, is he crazy, why would he hurt me like this, tear us apart? Because for those few days, I wasn't sure I could stay with you, I really didn't know at all."

A brief silence filled the living room. Then it was broken by a cracking piece of firewood. Lynne took a deep breath and continued. "The day it happened, I was freed. Watching you scared me to death, but then suddenly all my previous fears were gone. You'd been telling the truth, it wasn't some elaborate lie. I watched you fly away and all I could think was thank God." She laughed. "That's the truth. I didn't have any faith, but that's what I said to myself. Thank God he actually turned into a hawk, because now I can stay with him, how crazy is that?"

Lynne looked at her large belly. "There it is baby, the biggest secret about your parents. Daddy turns into a bird sometimes and Mommy thought he was a lunatic until she saw it occur." Then Lynne met Eric's gaze. Tears fell down his cheeks and she spread them along his skin. "Maybe all our questions about these curious religious beliefs are just straws in the wind. Maybe it doesn't matter at all, because what's real is what's inside us, in our hearts and in my womb. This baby isn't any more than any other baby, but it's very special to us. And to God; I think he wants us to raise our child with faith, a Catholic faith perhaps, or maybe not. But with some sense of beauty that isn't related to tangible items, not even your paintings." Lynne smiled. "Or not the ones most will see. Eric, the canvases you sent to Seth, I know you won't paint anything like those again. But that's the beauty I'm talking about, something so esoteric that only certain eyes can view it. I hope Laurie sees them, but other than him, that's all who I know of that matters. You realize we've never even met Seth, yet he's a huge part of our lives. I pray for him every day, and I know you do too. And maybe one day you will meet him, I suspect that's inevitable." She sighed. "You'll meet him perhaps as a hawk, or maybe he'll get better and we'll both be introduced to him. But at this moment, he's as real to us as God is; we take it on faith that he's in Minneapolis. Many parts of our lives are accepted on faith. Some are just easier to understand than others."

Eric grasped her hands, then used them to dry his face. "I'm sorry I hurt you so badly."

"You had no other way to tell me. If I'd seen it without that warning, I don't know." She kissed the backs of his hands, which were still damp from his face. "That angel warned Mary, or maybe it wasn't a warning at all. It was a test of her faith. You tested me and I passed and in December, God tested us. And every time you change, maybe God is testing you. You always come home Eric, you've never, you've never...."

"What Lynne?"

She swallowed hard, trying not to cry. "You've never allowed yourself to be harmed. Even when it nearly killed you, you still fought to come home in one piece. How many times could you've been attacked or shot or...." She cried, then wiped her face. "What you endure, what you suffer is brutal. Yet you're here Eric, and here." She patted the baby. "What does all that mean?"

He didn't answer with words, but pulled her close to him, stroking her head as finally a dam burst. Lynne cried hard, praying as she did so. She asked for guidance, and for more faith. And she thanked God for a multitude of blessings as her husband rocked her back and forth, telling her how much she was loved.
Chapter 52

Due to fatigue, Lynne skipped a catechism class, but attended the next, Eric at her side. The baby was expected at any time, but the couple didn't want to miss their usual functions, in part that there were so few of them. The Aherns came for dinner, bringing the meal with them. Otherwise Lynne and Eric spent their days in the sunroom, Lynne seated in the large chair that Eric and Sam had moved in there for her comfort. If Lynne wasn't posing for her husband, they were walking very slowly through the garden. Eric wanted three acres of scrub cleared and Lynne noted the daffodils and barely emerging tulips. By the time the baby arrived, spring would have as well.

When the Aherns visited, the Snyders didn't speak about their few Catholic misgivings. The two couples yakked about the baby, but as the discussion turned slightly awkward in Sam's hearing, Eric asked Sam to join him outside if the weather was accommodating, or into the kitchen. Once Lynne was seated on the sofa, she would only move to use the toilet. Plus, Eric smiled, the kitchen was like Sam's second home.

On Saturday, the tenth of March, Eric and Sam had retired to the kitchen, and while their wives' voices could be heard, the conversation was drowned out as Sam started washing dishes. Eric offered to assist, but Sam waved him off. "You sit and tell me the latest on Seth."

That was a subject Renee preferred to miss and Eric sighed, standing but not stepping to where Sam dunked plates and utensils into soapy water. Eric walked to the front door, separated from Sam by the kitchen counter, but his voice wouldn't be discerned by the women. "Seth's about the same as when he arrived. Laurie says that if there's no distinct change soon, the doctors will probably inaugurate shock treatments."

Sam nodded while rinsing dishes. Steam rose from the plates and Eric watched how Sam kept right on washing, rubber gloves protecting his hands.

"Laurie says that one of his great-aunts had it done in the late forties and she was never the same. That's why his mother and her sister are resistant. He'll lose memories, probably." Eric had read up on the procedure and while some patients suffered even worse afterwards, not all were so adversely affected. Memory loss was a common side effect, but Eric didn't fear that Seth would forget how to sculpt. It was imbedded deeply within that man, just as painting was another manner in which Eric breathed. Painting Lynne's portraits over the last few weeks had become so necessary; he wondered if he was trying to make up for those lost weeks in November and December, or was this a new phase solely related to impending fatherhood?

When he and Lynne weren't busy in the sunroom or their bedroom, they spoke of Eric's recent creative spate, along with their musings about church. Now Eric wasn't so sure about actually becoming Catholic; he felt it would be hypocritical to enter into that realm with doubts that still hadn't been eased. But Lynne wasn't quite as reticent and he was glad for that, not wishing to color her decision with his hesitations. In their last catechism class, Father Markham had slyly mentioned St. Matthew's Lutheran Church; he knew the pastor there, Marek Jagucki, a Polish emigrant and from Father Markham's cordial tone, a good friend of the Catholic priest. Eric hadn't done any more than drive past St. Matthew's the last time he went grocery shopping. The church looked similar to St. Anne's and was on Lynne and Eric's end of town.

Eric hadn't broached that issue with Lynne, although she had probably overheard Father Markham's suggestion. It was just that, for Eric hadn't been able to keep his reservations to himself during the class. He thought it was radical of Father Markham to suggest that Eric consider another church. More important to Jeremy Markham was that Eric found peace, regardless of the doctrine, yet Eric wasn't so sure Father Riley would have been as accommodating.

But to Sam, Eric only noted that if the doctors felt Seth would benefit from electro-shock therapy, perhaps that was the best course of action. Sam might frown upon Eric's misgivings toward Catholicism the same way Seth's relatives cringed at the idea of shock treatments. Sam finally said that whatever they decided, they shouldn't wait around. Every day that Seth spent in hell was torturing his soul. No one deserved that kind of pain.

Eric agreed, sitting at the table as Sam started a pot of coffee. Sam stepped to the doorway, asking the women if they wanted a cup. Both said yes and Sam returned, smiling at Eric. "Renee doesn't even ask any more if it's decaf. She drinks it no matter what."

"Lynne and I do too. But she doesn't like it with a lot of milk. I tried that once and she didn't finish it."

Then Eric grew quiet, thinking of what they had spoken of at that time; he'd promised he would be there for their baby's birth, and God willing, Eric would keep that vow. Then he chuckled quietly, thinking of all the alterations since Lynne had conceived, warmth flooding Eric's heart. He'd felt no sense of impending change, then he shook his head. Change was coming, but the only manner it might separate a husband from his wife was if Eric decided Catholicism wasn't for him.

"What?" Sam asked. "Something's on your mind."

"What do you think of Lutherans Sam?"

Sam stared at Eric. "Where'd that come from?"

Eric smiled, then glanced at the coffeepot. "The joe ready yet?"

Sam stood, reaching the counter. Then he gazed back at Eric. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

Eric nodded. "Pour us some coffee and I'll tell you what I know."

When Sam and Renee left that evening, Sam wasn't sure he wanted to tell Renee all that he and Eric had shared. Part of it was that she would be deeply upset that Eric wasn't sure about becoming Catholic. The main part was that Sam wasn't at all surprised by Eric's misgivings.

Quietly Sam had spoken his mind, that he felt all soldiers, regardless of their faith or lack thereof, were children of God. Eric nodded, then had gripped Sam's hands. They said nothing about Seth, or about Josh and Larry. Sam felt better with that truth aired; he knew it like he knew his name. Any man who had braved a battlefield was in Christ's care, save those few whose hearts were truly overtaken by evil.

Sam had known few adults converts to Catholicism. Not that he questioned his beliefs, but having grown up steeped in the rituals, they were a part of his character. If asked to describe himself, Sam would first note that he was a man, then a Catholic. Then he was Renee's husband, a vet, with other labels falling accordingly. But for all the facets that made up Samuel Ahern, his faith was only topped by his gender. Or maybe they were intertwined. Had Christ felt that when alive, Sam had wondered, as Eric sipped his coffee, the women's voices warming Sam's heart. Those feminine murmurs reminded Sam that Jesus had spent much of his time on Earth among women. They had comforted him and had watched him die. And they had all been Jewish. Sam had smiled upon that realization, but not alluded to it with Eric.

What difference did it make whether Eric became Catholic or Lutheran, or Baptist for that matter? That Josh was a Protestant mattered not when Sam held him that last time. It hadn't mattered that Larry wasn't of Sam's faith when that man died just weeks later, and it certainly wasn't a concern every night when Sam said a rosary for Seth Gordon. Nor had it come into play when Sam had prayed for Eric, before that man had any sort of spiritual leanings. Yet Sam knew that within his faith his thoughts were far from acceptable. He had smiled that it was Father Markham to suggest St. Matthew's to Eric. Jeremy Markham was a relatively young priest, his younger brother also a Korean War vet. They weren't of the older generation who permitted no queries toward church teachings. Or maybe Sam was an anomaly. His family wouldn't be pleased if he told them his views. Renee would understand, eventually. But at first she would roll her eyes, making him flinch. Those stoplight eyes would be trained on him for ages, trying to comprehend such irreverence.

As Sam parked in their driveway, he tried to come up with some Biblical passage to support his position. Other than Gospel edicts that Christ came for all, nothing reinforced his idea, which he'd not held prior to going overseas. He probably hadn't realized it until in the thick of battle, when suddenly God was the only notion Sam could conjure. God had saved his life, albeit with a caveat, but Sam had come home in one piece. He stared at his hands, wondering how Seth felt, unable to sculpt. Maybe it was akin to how Sam often times ached, not being able to make love to his wife.

If Eric chose to be a Protestant, it wouldn't matter to Sam which denomination. Lutherans were nearest to Catholics, Episcopalians a close second. Renee would squawk, but ultimately it was better that Eric had faith than not. And Eric did have faith; Sam carried no hesitation about that. Eric and Lynne both, which made Sam smile wryly. Two years ago, Sam had thought Lynne was an insane liar. Now she was almost a mother who ached to have her baby properly baptized. But would that sacrament occur at St. Anne's or within another church?

"Sam, we're home." Renee grasped his hand. "Or am I here alone?"

He smiled, her eyes like a warning. "Yes, we're home. I see that honey."

She squeezed his fingers. "Are you all right?"

He nodded, gripping her hand. "Just thinking. Shall we go inside?"

Renee rolled those stoplight eyes, then nodded. "Well yeah, I think we should."

Sam smiled, getting out of the car. They had insisted the Snyders keep the leftovers, so there was nothing to take into the house. Sam locked the vehicle, then escorted his wife to the porch. Before putting his key into the door, he embraced Renee, kissing her cheek. "I love you honey."

She permitted that exchange, then pulled away, staring at him. "Samuel Ahern, what's going on?"

He grinned, wondering if Lynne had mentioned anything related to what Eric had revealed. Probably not, or Renee would be more suspicious. "Nothing. Can't a man tell his wife he loves her?"

She eyed him up and down. "A man can tell his wife that, but don't expect her to take it without wondering what's gotten into him. Is Eric gonna...."

Sam shook his head, then unlocked their door. Stepping inside, he spoke quietly. "Eric's not going anywhere." Or he wasn't for a while. Sam knew that as well and was thankful for it. "Seth's about the same, if that's what you're wondering."

Renee turned on lights, then sat on the sofa, not removing her jacket. "Sam, Lynne seemed different tonight. I don't know if it's related to Seth, or maybe that she's finally gonna have...." Renee smiled, then looked into the room. "Sam, just tell me, because I know something's on your mind."

Eric hadn't made Sam take a pledge of silence, for Eric hadn't even visited St. Matthew's. But if Sam had to make a wager, he imagined that Eric wouldn't become a member of the Catholic faith. Lynne still might, Sam had no idea to her feelings. But too many intangibles stood in the way for Eric. "I don't think Eric's gonna join us tomorrow at church."

"Well, I know that. Lynne said she's too tired to go and she felt bad about it, but I told her not to worry. That baby's gonna pop any day now."

The lightness of Renee's tone eased Sam. "Yeah, that's what Eric said. I'm not sure they're gonna go to any more catechism classes either."

"Well, they'll be so busy. I just hope Father Riley won't make them wait on the baptism. That's important."

Sam nodded, stroking his wife's soft hands. Suddenly he felt the urge and he smiled, leaning toward Renee, pecking her earlobe. She giggled, then turned to him, her arms outstretched. They necked for a few minutes, during which time Sam was overwhelmed with desire. This happened so infrequently that for a moment he wasn't sure if he shouldn't just make love to her on the sofa, not wishing to lose the opportunity.

But Renee had other ideas; she stripped off her coat, then her sweater and blouse. Sam gaped at her, then gladly stood as she did. They hurried to their bedroom, where a very pleasant love was made. Afterwards, Renee said nothing more about the Snyders and Sam didn't ponder them other than by offering a prayer; regardless of which faith they chose, they would celebrate it as a family. Sam grew hard again, then once more made love to Renee, both falling into a deep, peaceful sleep nestled against each other.
Chapter 53

The following Monday, Eric told Lynne he was going to stop by the Lutheran church. She smiled, but didn't ask questions, only reminding him they were low on eggs and bread.

He wrote down those items, adding a few more; he wanted to visit a florist, to pick up a bouquet. These last days of it being the two of them were long, even if they kept busy. A spray of flowers bought now might be the last Lynne received before she became a mother.

Eric left, aware that if Lynne did go into labor, she could call Sam and Renee. Plus, Eric didn't wish to be gone long, he wasn't even sure if Pastor Jagucki would be available. Father Markham had written down the man's name, but the pronunciation was distinctive: ya-gutz-ski was stuck in Eric's head. Father Markham had said that the pastor had emigrated from Poland after World War II, most of his family having been killed in that conflict.

That was all Eric knew, but as he parked across the street from St. Matthew's, he smiled, seeing a man his age standing on the front steps, speaking with an older lady wearing a heavy coat, the day cool and gray. The pastor was gesturing toward the ground, but the lady vehemently shook her head. Killing the engine, Eric observed the proceedings. The pastor had a thick beard and brown hair in need of a trim. The woman, in a dark hat, carried a beige purse at her side, still yammering something while pointing at empty flowerbeds to the sides of the steps. Finally the pastor soothed whatever were her worries, for he gently patted her shoulder, also gesturing toward the plots of bare earth. The woman nodded, then took waddling steps to the sidewalk. She stared at the ground, then back to the pastor, nearly wagging her finger. Then she made her way along the pavement, turning left at the next block. Eric watched her until he couldn't see her anymore.

Eric chuckled as the pastor, now standing alone, peered over the steps, gripping the sides of the railing. Eric got out of his car, tightened his scarf, then zipped up his coat. He was still a little thin, and the day was breezy. Yet, the pastor only wore a long sweater, and as Eric approached, he saw several holes in it, a bright blue shirt underneath showing clearly. "Good morning," Eric called as he crossed the street.

"Well, good morning!" The pastor waved, his smile cheery. "Have you come from city hall?"

Eric looked around, seeing no one else. "No. Are you expecting anyone?"

The pastor shrugged, then rolled his eyes. "From the way Mrs. Harmon goes on, you'd think I'm breaking several laws. She wanted to know why the daffodils hadn't yet come up and I told her that I didn't know, and she accused me of removing the bulbs last winter. And she's not even a member of this parish!"

Then the pastor laughed heartily. "She's a funny one. I hope the flowers do come up." He gazed over the right side. "She'll be here daily to give me, how do you say, the what-for."

Eric nodded. The pastor's English was very good, his accent distinctly European. Eric offered his hand and the pastor shook it. "I'm Eric Snyder. I've got nothing to do with city hall."

"Ah, Mr. Snyder, the painter. I read about you last fall, the exhibit in New York. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Immediately Eric liked this man, who did wear a collar, but in no other way looked like a religious figure. "Well, to be honest, Father Markham mentioned you. My wife and I've been taking catechism classes, but I'm just not sure about some of the teachings."

Eric didn't want to waste the man's time, or be away from home any longer than necessary. Perhaps the market might have fresh flowers for sale; Eric hadn't planned on buying roses, he would wait until the baby arrived. Then he gazed at the pastor, whose large brown eyes strangely reminded Eric of Sam. Pastor Jagucki was about Sam's height and weight, but he had a shock of medium brown hair, and a carefree manner. Yet, if what Father Markham had said was true, this man, who was probably the same age as Sam, had seen as many, if not more, atrocities. His family had been killed, but at that moment Eric felt the pastor's chief concerns were Mrs. Harmon and the missing daffodils. "Well Mr. Snyder, that's quite an introduction. Might you have time for a cup of coffee? Best that we get inside, before Mrs. Harmon does call the authorities."

Eric looked at his watch; it was nearly ten thirty. Lynne had mentioned eating an early lunch, which was her way of noting a long afternoon nap was probably in store. "One cup would be lovely. My wife's due with our first baby, so I don't wanna be away from home too long."

"Oh congratulations!" Pastor Jagucki patted Eric's shoulder as kindly as he had Mrs. Harmon's. Eric felt a soothing warmth in that gesture, then wondered if it had eased the cranky woman. "Come, one cup, then you must be on your way. Please, follow me."

Pastor Jagucki opened the large church doors, then stepped inside the vestibule. Eric was right behind him, but they didn't go straight ahead into the chapel. The pastor led Eric to the left, down a corridor, then he stepped into an open doorway, which was that of the kitchen. It was dotted with various decorations, a few of them European in appearance. "Mrs. Kenny was here earlier, she's the secretary. I know she left some biscuits somewhere."

"Oh, just a cup of coffee would be fine," Eric said.

"Please, sit down. Coffee's no good without a cookie."

Eric stared at the man, who looked at home, rummaging through cupboards. "Um, a biscuit or a cookie?"

The pastor shook his head. "Do forgive me. I lived in Great Britain before coming to America. Biscuits are cookies over there, I'm always making Mrs. Kenny a little crazy, mixing British English with American English."

"Well, you speak both very well."

"Thank you. Ah, here's the tin." Pastor Jagucki set the container on the counter, taking out a handful of cookies. He put them on a plate, then poured two cups of coffee. "Milk or sugar?" he asked Eric.

"Black's fine, thank you."

"Lovely. I take a little sugar, I've got a sweet tooth you see, why I looked so hard for the biscuits. Cookies, I mean." He smiled, bringing everything to the table. "All right Mr. Snyder, so you have been taking catechism classes from Father Markham. Jeremy and I are good friends. He's a sharp penny poker player, but you didn't hear that from me."

Eric laughed. "I believe you. He knows I have issues with a few Catholic teachings and just offhandedly he asked if I knew about St. Matthew's."

Now the pastor laughed out loud. "That's Jeremy, as subtle in faith as he is playing cards. That man bluffs like you wouldn't believe. I've lost over four dollars to him in the last six months."

Eric chuckled, taking a cookie, but thinking of it as a biscuit. He dipped it in his coffee, then ate the whole thing. "Well, I had to pick up a few groceries and while I was out, I thought I'd investigate."

"Ah well, you picked a very auspicious day to do so. Now you know that even the locals keep me on my toes."

"Mrs. Harmon certainly seemed protective of those flowerbeds."

"Well, she's lived here all her life, and I'm just this foreign interloper, you see." The pastor's eyes twinkled. "But I think I convinced her that the daffs are merely late this year, or these ones are. Do you have daffodils in bloom, Mr. Snyder?"

"I do, and please call me Eric."

"All right, Eric. Well, congratulations on those too. A first baby and spring flowers, such blessings. Now, when is your wife due?"

"Anytime in the next two weeks."

"Two weeks, two weeks." The pastor stood, then studied a calendar on the wall, near the doorway. "All right, well, I imagine your household will be full of activity once the baby arrives. But in the meantime, you and Mrs. Snyder are probably going a little stir crazy, well, unless you're busy painting."

"I've been doing a bit of work lately, but yeah, especially on days like this. Lynne doesn't like to go out when it's chilly."

"Oh, I understand. Might I be so bold as to ask if perhaps you might enjoy a visit before Mrs. Snyder finds all her free time has been usurped?"

Eric smiled; this man's English, be it British or American, was very good. His manner was genial, but not cloying, and he gave Eric a warm sense of belonging, even if it was only in this kitchen. What would Lynne think of him, Eric wondered. There was only one way to find out. "Pastor Jagucki, we would love a visit. Could I be so bold as to ask if sometime this week would be acceptable?"

"This week, let me see." He studied the calendar again. "Wednesday? Would that be all right?"

Eric nodded. "Morning or afternoon?"

"What would be better for Mrs. Snyder?"

Eric laughed. "Oh morning, definitely. Any time after ten."

"What about ten thirty?"

"Ten thirty it is." Eric wanted Lynne to meet this man, who scribbled the appointment on that square.

"Lovely. I'll put that in my book and we can have a chat. Just leave me with your address before you go." Pastor Jagucki rejoined Eric at the table, taking another cookie.

"I can do that now, if you have a scrap of paper."

"Certainly." The pastor was on his feet again, reaching into a drawer. He retrieved a pad and pencil and passed them to Eric. Eric wrote the address, also directions. "Park just outside the gate. My car will be in the driveway, you can't miss it."

"Wonderful." The pastor drank his coffee, then smiled. "So we can continue, or actually start a proper conversation then. May I ask one question, Mr. Snyder?"

"Of course."

"Does your wife attend catechism classes as well, or is she Catholic?"

Eric grinned. "We've been attending them together. She's not as bothered as I am."

"Bothered, hmmm." The pastor smiled. "Well, we can chat about that on Wednesday."

"I'm looking forward to it." Eric finished what remained in his mug, then gently pushed the cup toward the center of the table. "Thank you so much for the coffee. We've been drinking decaf for months, but that was the real thing."

The pastor smiled, then stood as Eric did too. "I can't get by without caffeinated coffee. Or tea, I drank plenty of that in Britain."

Pastor Jagucki led Eric back through the hallway, stopping at the vestibule. He extended his hand and Eric shook it warmly. "So nice to meet you," Eric said.

"The pleasure was mine. And I will see you, and meet your wife, in two days."

"Ten thirty," Eric said.

"Ten thirty it is."

Together they walked outside the church, then Eric stopped at the sidewalk. He gazed at the right flowerbed, then walked over to the left. Then he wore a puzzled look. "You know, our daffodils have been up for a while. Maybe a gopher ate these."

"Well, I'll proffer that explanation to Mrs. Harmon the next time I see her, which might very well be before I again see you."

Eric smiled. "Well, good luck, whenever it is."

"Oh thank you," the pastor chuckled. "I'll most certainly need it!"

Eric hurried in the market and did find an acceptable spray of flowers, which made Lynne cry. But she wept so easily now that Eric wondered what she would make of the bouquet he would present her with after the birth. He wanted dozens of roses, white, red, yellow, and pink, amassed in one enormous vase, or more than one, depending on what the florist recommended. Once Lynne was calm, they sat on the sofa, and Eric noted their upcoming visitor. Lynne sighed, then smiled. "I wonder if I could make a pie that morning."

"Oh you don't need to do that. I bought some cookies, seems he has a sweet tooth. He did ask if you'd been taking the classes with me or were you already...."

"What'd you say?"

"I told him we'd been taking them together, but nothing more than that. He's a very amiable fellow, and his English is impeccable. Not sure if he learned it in Poland or Britain, but he used several words I don't even say." Eric chuckled. "I like him very much. Looking forward to getting to know him better."

She nodded. "Are you hoping I'll like him too?"

"Whatever you wanna do Lynne is what I want." He kissed her cheek, then patted the baby.

"Eric, are you sure you don't wanna be Catholic?"

Her tone was plaintive and that hurt him. "Yeah, I'm certain. I'd be a hypocrite, feeling the way I do. Not that I wanna be a Lutheran necessarily. Maybe I'll be one of those non-denominational types and...."

"But where will we have her baptized?"

"Wherever you want Lynne, I mean that." Eric sighed inwardly, not wishing for this to stir any chasm. "I want her or him to be baptized too."

She stared at him. "Yeah?"

"Of course honey. That means a great deal to me."

"Oh Eric...." Lynne dissolved into tears and Eric cradled her, setting his left hand upon the baby, who made slight movements. Then Eric smiled. "Hardly any room left in there. Hope she doesn't decide to make an appearance before Wednesday."

Lynne giggled. "If she does, that's fine with me."

"You ready to have her?"

"Or him, and yes I am." She sighed, then smiled. "It won't be easy, no matter what. But I am finally tired of being pregnant. This part of it can end any day now."

"Well one of these days that's actually gonna happen, believe it or not."

She smirked. "Right now, I'll tell you I find that hard to believe." Lynne placed her hand over Eric's. "Sometimes when I wake up, for a few seconds, I forget. You probably think that's impossible, but I do. Then I go to move and oh yes, I'm having a...." Her voice trembled. "Oh Eric, we're really gonna be parents."

"No way to get out of it now."

"No, I suppose not." Lynne gripped his hand, then smiled. "Maybe if I'm feeling good tomorrow, I'll make a pumpkin pie. That's not very spring-like, but it sounds yummy, or right now it does." Slowly she scooted away. "You said he has a sweet tooth, right?"

"Yes I did," Eric smiled. "But I don't think he'd expect you to go to all that trouble."

"What if I told you I'm dying for pumpkin pie right now, call it one last craving."

"Dying huh?" Eric teased.

"Well, nearly. I'm dying for that and for...." She laughed wickedly. "You haven't made love to me yet today Eric."

"I think I did before I left."

"I think you did not."

He stared at her, remembering with ease how they had stirred, practically making love in their sleep. The thought of six weeks without sex had started to grate on Eric, and they hadn't even reached that point. "Lynne, I think I woke up halfway inside you."

"Hardly," she laughed. "I think you own me some morning lovemaking. It's nearly noon now, time's running out."

He shook his head, then stood from the sofa. Using two hands, he hoisted her aloft, then held her close, stroking her hair, lost in the feel of this rather large version of his wife. She would only look this way for another week or ten days, but Eric coveted these moments, not considering those he had missed. "Shall we go upstairs?" he murmured.

She smiled. "That's the only place left for us." She patted the baby, then gazed at Eric. "I love you so much. If you don't wanna be Catholic, we'll work out whatever makes you...."

Eric had no wish to consider faith, except that in faith, he and Lynne had married, loved, suffered, and now were on the cusp of the biggest blessing imaginable. "Sweetheart, whatever happens, God has it under control."

His tone was light, but Lynne began to cry. Yet her tears lasted only as long as it took Eric to kiss her. Religion and pies were forgotten as Eric led her up the stairs, into their room, closing the door behind them.
Chapter 54

Early on Wednesday, St. Matthew's secretary rang the Snyders, apologizing profusely for disturbing them at that hour. Pastor Jagucki had been called away on church business and wouldn't make their appointment later that morning. Lynne was pouring the pie filling into the crust as Eric spoke to Mrs. Kenny, and he was off the phone just as Lynne set the timer. "Well, no Lutheran pastor this morning," Eric said. "Guess that pie will just be for us."

"Oh well, I suppose another time." Lynne sighed, then looked around the kitchen. The flowers from Monday were still fresh and Eric had swept last night, uncertain as to where they would gather. Then Lynne smiled. "Actually, I was looking forward to meeting him, but that does mean more pie for us."

Eric stepped to where she stood, then stroked her face. "Well, it could. Or I could call Sam, see what he's up to today."

Lynne laughed. "Oh you're tricky. Go on, I'll make a pot of coffee, and we can celebrate, oh, I don't know, an early St. Patrick's Day."

Eric chuckled, then kissed her cheek. "I think Sam's already bought the corned beef. Do you remember if Renee has to work that day?"

"I barely remember my name, thank you." Lynne started the coffee, then leaned against the counter, grinning. Then she caressed her belly. "Someone's taken all my brain cells. I'm surprised I made the pie without reaching for the recipe."

"The day you need a recipe for pie is the day I'll start to worry." Eric stepped to the phone. "Shall I tell him to come in an hour?"

"Oh, he can come over now if he's free. I'm gonna sit on the sofa. You men can tend to the rest."

Eric chuckled as Lynne headed out of the kitchen. By the time she reached the couch, she heard her husband offering the invite, which seemed to be eagerly accepted.

That morning Lynne didn't do more than sip decaf, then nibble on pie. The men carried the conversation, which centered on Eric's introduction with the Lutheran pastor. Sam didn't know him personally, but had seen him around town. Marek Jagucki had been leading the Lutheran worship for nine months and even did a service in German. Eric and Lynne were stunned by that, although Eric noted the pastor's fluency in English, and not only American English. Sam laughed, then went for more pie. When he returned, he stared at Lynne. "What's wrong? You've hardly touched yours."

She shrugged. "I don't feel that hungry, although earlier, I thought I'd make a pig of myself in front of the pastor, which wouldn't have been a good first impression."

Eric grasped her hand. "Honey, are you okay?"

Lynne nodded, then sighed. "I don't know. I feel a little tired, well, more tired than usual. Maybe I'll take a nap and leave you two to chat."

Eric stood, then helped her from the sofa. "Well, that's a good idea. You might've been excited for our guest, but a nap now wouldn't hurt either."

"And what am I?" Sam asked in mock indignation.

"Family," Lynne smiled. "You know my kitchen as well as I do."

Sam chuckled as the couple took the stairs. Eric came down a few minutes later, then sat on the couch. He gazed at Lynne's half-eaten pie, then picked up her plate, finishing the slice. Sam smiled, then sighed. "She's nearly due, you know. She's got this look I've seen plenty of times. Frannie always seemed exhausted right before and I always wondered how in the world she was gonna have enough strength to have the baby, but she always did."

Eric nodded. "How're they doing?"

"Oh fine, I mean, okay." Sam sat up, then spoke quietly. "Between you and me, I wouldn't be surprised if Fran calls to tell us she's, well...."

"In the family way," Eric grinned.

Sam rolled his eyes. "She's in her mid-forties, bless her. But I guess if God wants them to have another baby, so be it. Louie won't be able to complain because I'll tell you, one immaculate conception is all this world's getting."

"Well if she does, tell her I'd be happy to do another painting. She was so beautiful that day, I'll never forget it."

Sam smiled. "Frannie's the best looking out of us Aherns. Sally's grown two or three inches since you saw her last, looks like she's nineteen instead of fifteen. And Helene, my goodness, she's just like Fran, big wide eyes and...."

Sam's voice trailed off, then he cleared his throat. He gazed at his empty plate, then picked up his coffee cup, but it too was depleted. "More joe?" he asked Eric.

"Yeah, thanks."

Sam nodded, then stood, retrieving Eric's mug as well as his own. Then Sam headed into the kitchen, whistling an unknown tune as he went.

By the time Lynne woke, Sam was gone. She was surprised he hadn't taken pie with him, but Eric said that while he had pressed, Sam had refused. The men had made innocuous small talk after Sam had returned with their refilled coffee cups, but Eric didn't note to Lynne the conversation's distinct change. As she got out of bed, Eric only mentioned that Renee did have Saturday off, Sunday too. The Aherns would bring corned beef and cabbage for Saturday night's meal and maybe some shamrock-shaped sugar cookies. Eric laughed as Lynne used the bathroom. "I think Sam's got a sweet tooth too, any excuse to make dessert."

"We'll probably still have pie then, did you mention that?" Lynne called.

"I did and he didn't seem bothered in the least." Eric loitered outside the mostly closed bathroom door. It was just past one o'clock; Lynne had slept soundly, but he assumed she would now be hungry for lunch. "Shall I cut you another slice or do you want something more savory first?"

She didn't answer, but the toilet was flushed, then the faucet ran. Eric stepped back from the door, but Lynne didn't immediately come out. He waited a few seconds, then approached the door. "Honey, you okay?"

"Eric, come in here please."

He opened the door, then looked at his wife, who stood shaking. Then he gazed at the floor, where a large puddle waited. "Lynne, are you...."

"My water just broke, right after I washed my hands. When I was peeing, I felt something, I think it was a contraction." Lynne's voice had trembled, but now she smiled, glancing at the floor, then back to Eric. "I think you better call Dr. Salters, then Renee, then Sam."

Avoiding the puddle, Eric stepped close to his wife, stroking her face. "Oh Lynne, oh honey!"

She nodded, tears falling down her cheeks. "I think that's why I wasn't hungry this morning. Or...." She giggled. "Maybe last night was our last time."

They had made a slow and gentle love right before falling asleep. Eric nodded, then smiled. "Maybe it was. But it was very good. Hopefully it'll last us until May."

"Oh my goodness, don't say it that way." She giggled, then winced. "Oh Eric, that one hurt!"

Now he laughed. "Well, you knew it wasn't gonna be a walk in the park. Here, let's get you back into bed and...."

She shook her head, but did step over the puddle. "I do not wanna get back into bed. That's one of the reasons I wanted to have this baby here. As soon as a woman comes into the labor ward, she's shaved, then made to lie in bed for hours on end. I wanna take a walk Eric, it's a beautiful day outside."

"A walk, are you crazy?"

She smiled, gripping his hand. "I'm having a baby, not dying. Let's call Dr. Salters, then the Aherns. Then you take me for one last walk around the garden. I won't be getting out there for a few days once this baby joins us."

Eric nodded, then kissed her. Lynne responded with vigor, then she pulled away, chuckling. "Too late for that now," she whispered. "But Eric, I love you so much, I love...."

He set a finger to her lips, then nuzzled against her brow. Then he helped her into dry clothes for one last walk for two around their garden.

Dr. Salters arrived a few hours later, by which time Lynne was having regular contractions. She checked Lynne, finding she was a third of the way dilated, which pleased the Snyders, but also gave Eric pause. "Renee won't be off till eight tonight," he said. "Will that be too late?"

The doctor smiled. "Probably not. I wouldn't expect this baby before tomorrow at the earliest. As long as Renee's here for the rest of the week, there shouldn't be any trouble."

The doctor advised Lynne to remain in bed and that she would stop by in another couple of hours. Once Lynne's contractions were five minutes apart, the doctor would stay, but by then, Renee would in attendance as well. Eric wasn't so sure, but Lynne smiled, patting his hand, or squeezing it if in the middle of a contraction. "It'll be fine honey. My mother was in labor for two days with me. Hopefully this baby won't take that long, but she's not gonna be born before Renee gets here, I can assure you of that."

Eric walked the doctor to the kitchen door, then headed right back up the stairs. "Hey," he said to Lynne. "You're supposed to be in bed!"

Lynne was standing at her dresser, brushing her hair. "I am not gonna lie down for the next several hours. Labor will progress more quickly if I'm up and around."

"The doctor said you needed to be in bed honey."

Lynne smirked. "Well, if she wants me in bed, she'll have to tie me down. Now, I want you to help me downstairs. There were plenty of daffodils out there and I want a vase of them where I can see them when I have this baby."

Eric threw up his hands. "For God's sake Lynne, you need to take it easy!"

She approached him, stroking his face. "Now, what kind of bohemian are you? Don't you want your first child to enter this world to the scent of freshly cut daffodils? Goodness Eric, we probably conceived this baby in the studio. All the more reason to bring some of the outdoors inside."

"Who are you and what've you done with my wife?" His voice was soft but teasing.

"I'm the wife of a brilliant painter, if case you've forgotten. I may not be having this baby in our bed, but I'm gonna have spring as close as I can get it. Eric, this was why I didn't wanna deliver in the hospital. I wanted as natural of a setting as possible."

"You're crazy, you know that?"

"I get it from you." Lynne giggled. "But don't tell Renee or she'll throw a fit. Now, downstairs we go. You cut the daffs while I get some pie."

They had reached the landing, but Eric stopped abruptly. "You want pie? I thought you weren't supposed to eat anything now that labor's started."

"There's some very healing properties in that pie, if I remember correctly," she smiled. "Besides, I'll probably be in labor for hours still. Sam's bringing soup, isn't that what he told you?"

"Well yes, but...."

"Once he's here, he'll be spooning soup into me, which also has special propensities. But in the meantime, I'm craving pie. I knew I made it for a reason."

Lynne started down the stairs, pausing as she reached the last step. Eric was right behind her as a contraction hit, but it was minor. After it was over, she shooed him outside, telling him their baby was waiting on the daffodils.

Sam arrived at four, a steaming pot of vegetable beef soup in tow. He gently chastised Lynne for being out of bed, then laughed as she had a long contraction. After that, she was escorted upstairs by Eric, who returned to where Sam stirred the soup. "Well, I think that one did it. She's lying down in the nursery, says she might take a little nap if she can."

"Good. Babies should be born in hospitals if you ask me." Sam turned the flame to low, then put the lid on the pot. "Renee said she'd try to get someone to come in early. If she can, she'll call. Otherwise I'll go get her at eight."

Eric nodded, looking at the clock. "Dr. Salters said she'd be back around now, but if Lynne's asleep, I'm not sure if she'll be able to check her."

As Eric said that, Sam coughed. Eric laughed. "What, too much information?"

"A little," Sam said.

"Are you gonna stay for the duration?"

"Well, I was, but hmmm...." Sam looked at the phone. "You called the New Yorkers, right?"

"I did. Laurie said he's gonna look into the next possible flight. Not sure if Stanford'll be with him, but...."

"He's gonna fly?" Sam had lifted the lid to stir the soup. Instead he placed the lid back on the pot, then stared at Eric. "Are you serious?"

Eric smiled. "He is and Lynne was happy to hear it. Of course, I'm thinking Laurie means the next available flight once she's had the baby. But my guess is he'll be here in time for corned beef, which might be his actual plan."

Sam rolled his eyes, then cracked his knuckles. "Eric, I don't mind staying, I mean, you might need, well, you will need the extra body. But I just don't know, I mean, I'm not sure."

Eric stepped toward Sam, leaving a foot between them. "Lynne understands. She wants you here because you and Renee are family and we don't have too much of that. That's why she doesn't mind if Laurie comes sooner rather than later. If he's willing to brave the skies and a crying baby, what the hell?"

Eric laughed, then patted Sam's shoulder. "Lynne's a little, well, wary, for you and Renee. We don't wanna, you know, make this an imposition."

Eric said that slowly, then cleared his throat. "Whatever you wanna do Sam is fine with us. We both wanna share this as much as you and Renee wanna take part. Don't feel you have to be here continuously. You did that for me and I'll never forget it, I mean that. This with Lynne's a little different and...."

Suddenly Sam grasped Eric. The embrace was reciprocated, then Sam stepped back. "I'd love to be here when that baby makes his or her appearance. I might be outside, unless it's the middle of the night, but Eric, it'd be an honor."

Eric smiled, then pumped Sam's outstretched hand. The men embraced again, but it was halted by a loud shriek. Eric tore up the stairs as Lynne let out another scream, making Sam chuckle. A knock on the kitchen door caught Sam's attention and he opened it to Dr. Salters. "You're just in time," Sam smiled as Lynne's loud groan resonated throughout the house.
Chapter 55

By nine that evening, Renee's nursing uniform had been traded for slacks and a long-sleeved blouse, but she was just as busy as if she'd stayed at work. Lynne's labor was progressing faster than Dr. Salters had predicted, although it did appear the baby would be born after midnight. At ten thirty, Lynne was almost fully dilated, but it took until after eleven when she began to push. Eric found the process fascinating, the first time he had ever been present for the arrival of a human being.

During his time as a hawk, Eric had witnessed plenty of animal births, be they mammals or fowl. In the wild, birth seemed a fleeting but necessary step in the circle of life; it carried no resonance of joy for the parents, although sometimes Eric wondered if certain creatures cared more than others. But as Lynne panted and groaned, wept and even occasionally giggled, Eric became aware of just how differently people were from animals. Within his own heart tumbled brand-new emotions that he pondered in brief snatches, like when Lynne was between contractions, or when he spoke to Sam downstairs. Laurie had called before Sam fetched Renee, and Eric had been told that both Laurie and Stanford wanted to be waked from sleep whenever someone had a minute to pass along the good news. Sam had blanched at calling the New Yorkers in the middle of the night, but Eric insisted, and Sam was to call Stanford's number, for Laurie was staying over. Sam didn't question that detail and Eric was relieved. Then Lynne had hollered for her husband and Sam smiled, sending Eric back up the stairs.

Now hours later, Eric sat behind Lynne in the double bed, supporting his wife. The love he felt for her couldn't be measured; it sprang from every pore, churning through each vein. His heart pounded as from deep within herself, Lynne exhibited a massive strength, her body on a course with only one ending. As she began to push, her tones altered from high-pitched squeals to low, powerful grunts, and her frame had altered as well; the baby was well down in Lynne's pelvis, ready to emerge into the world.

Eric wondered if he could ever paint this scenario, which included Renee and Dr. Salters. There was Lynne's changing physical condition, as the baby waited at the final precipice, also how Lynne had transformed from a woman wracked by pain to one preparing for the hardest work. Renee reminded Lynne that regardless of anything else, labor was the most demanding job any woman would ever perform. Eric felt no envy from Renee, only a grateful joy that she was a part of this occasion. And from the physician, Eric noted a different sort of thankfulness; perhaps Dr. Salters was reminded of the simplicity of childbirth, far removed from a hospital's sterile surroundings.

On the dresser across from the bed stood three vases of daffodils, their fresh scent wafting throughout the room. Lynne had asked that the main overhead light be turned off, it hurt her eyes. Instead, the room was lit by large standing lamps that Eric and Sam had brought upstairs. That had been the last time Sam saw Lynne and he had kissed her sweaty forehead, then laughed as she moaned in pain. Deep love had been passed between them as Sam gently grasped her hands, wishing her the best, noting that custard would be waiting when all this was through. Lynne had smiled, tears falling down her cheeks, and Sam brushed away a few as he left the room. Eric wasn't sure if Sam was inside the house or roaming the garden, although Eric suspected Sam wasn't far, for now that Lynne was pushing, it could be any time.

Eleven o'clock turned into eleven thirty. As all of Lynne's bulk rested against Eric, he whispered that he loved her, and how well she was doing. Then he gazed at the doctor, who nodded. "Lynne, you're doing just fine. How do you feel?"

"I'm so tired." Her voice was weary. Then she stiffened and Eric bolstered her forward. As if they were one body, he sensed the oncoming contraction, also her fatigue. Yet, she bore down, her pain voiced in guttural moans that reminded him of animals. She panted hard, then elicited a faint cry. Then she slumped back into Eric's arms, trying to catch her breath.

Lynne hadn't wanted any gas, but a canister waited on the floor, and in Renee and Dr. Salter's anxious eyes, Eric knew their thoughts. A first baby sometimes took upwards of an hour or more to push out. Lynne had napped that morning, but twelve hours later, she was thoroughly exhausted. "Honey, why don't you take some gas?"

"No," she grunted, sitting upwards. "Oh my God, oh Eric!"

"Push now Lynne, right now," Dr. Salters ordered. "Bear down until I count to five."

As the doctor counted slowly, a tremendous force moved through Lynne, making Eric shiver. Lynne kept pushing and as Dr. Salters said five, Lynne continued, then stopped. Again she slumped backwards, then Eric wiped her face with a damp cloth. "That's great sweetheart, oh Lynne, that was wonderful."

"How much longer?" she asked.

"Not long. The head's emerged just on that push." The doctor smiled at Eric, then nodded to Renee. "Lynne, the next few pushes I want you to do exactly as I say. I don't want you to tear significantly, so no matter how badly you need to push, just follow my orders, all right?"

"Uh-huh, but will it be soon?"

"Yes, in fact...." The doctor stared at Eric, mouthing Hold her steady. Eric nodded as Lynne lurched forward, that massive pulse right on the cusp. "Now Lynne, remember, not until I tell you."

"But I need to!"

Eric set his face alongside his wife's. "Lynne, let the doctor do her job. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, it's gonna be all right."

Lynne nodded, grasping Eric's hand. He gripped back. "I love you Lynne, I love you so much. Just trust the doctor."

As he spoke, Lynne reared back, but did not push, although Eric felt how badly she wanted to. She cried loudly, calling his name, which pierced his heart. Yet, she did exactly as the doctor said.

"Oh Lynne, that was wonderful." Dr. Salters smiled. "Now on the next contraction, I do want you to push, and keep pushing until I tell you to stop. You're almost there Lynne, the next one might be it."

"Really?" Lynne said, in tears.

"Really," Renee answered as the doctor readied her instruments. "Just hang in there Lynne. That baby's just about here."

"Oh Renee, I wish you could...." Lynne began to cry. "Eric, it hurts, I don't know if I can do it, I don't...."

Suddenly Lynne arched back, then she curled forward. Eric followed her movements while glancing at the doctor, who nodded. Then Eric gazed at Renee, who didn't meet his eyes. She was watching Dr. Salters, who now looked right at Lynne. "It's time. On my mark, and keep pushing until I stop counting. One...two...three...."

By three Eric realized this was the last contraction. Clutching his hand, Lynne groaned loudly and the sound resonated all through Eric, who trembled from the magnificent force. The doctor's voice slowed, but then she spoke. "Four...five.... Keep pushing Lynne, you're almost...."

"Argh!" Lynne shouted, then fell back against Eric. As she did, a rush of liquid emerged as did a sharp cry, that of a newborn. Eric stared ahead, seeing a plump, wet infant in Dr. Salter's secure grip.

"What is it?" he asked, kissing his wife's sweaty cheek.

"A girl, you have a daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Snyder. Congratulations!"

"Oh Lynne, you did it! Our baby, our baby girl." Eric laughed, then wiped Lynne's tears. "Honey, I'm so proud of you."

Lynne didn't speak, but she nodded, looking toward the doctor and Renee, who were inspecting the infant. Renee then smiled at the new parents as the cord was cut. Then the squalling child was wrapped in a blanket.

"By the looks of her, I'd say she's eight pounds at least. She's in perfect health and none the worse for wear." The doctor stood, then handed the baby to Renee. "Lynne, you did so well, so well."

"Can I see her?" Lynne's voice was barely a croak.

"Of course sweetie." Renee smiled, stepping to where Lynne rested in Eric's arms.

Lynne and Eric stared at their baby, who squinted, then flashed deep blue eyes at her parents. Dark brown hair swirled in damp curls on her head, but she seemed rather displeased for having been uprooted from her previous surroundings. She let out another loud cry, then quieted, gazing at her mother and father.

"Oh Lynne, she looks just like you." Eric couldn't wait to hold her, but for now, he grasped his shaking wife. He stared at the doctor, who was pressing firmly on Lynne's belly. The fundal massage was necessary; Eric had studied up on all the procedures involved. Yet, it was only the four, or rather five of them, in a familiar room within his house, and Sam was just downstairs. Lynne had been so right to want to deliver at home, then Eric smiled as footsteps were noted outside the door.

"It's a girl Sam, Lynne and Eric have a daughter," Renee called to her husband. "But don't come in yet."

"Don't worry, I'm not," he hollered.

As the doctor continued pressing on Lynne's abdomen, the new mother had a weary chuckle. "Sam, soon I'll want some custard. Is that okay?"

"That's fine if Dr. Salters says so."

"Custard in about an hour would be wonderful for all involved." Dr. Salters smiled, then walked to the end of the bed. "Lynne, you did so well. I'm going to wash you up now. Do you feel like you could nurse?"

Eric stared at the doctor. "Is she all right?"

"She's bleeding a little more than I'd like. If she nurses now, her uterus will start to contract. It might hurt some, but if you feel able."

"Oh yes, please." Lynne sat up, then took a deep breath. "I wanna hold her."

Renee nodded, placing the quiet baby in her mother's arms. Eric looked over Lynne's shoulder as Lynne stroked the baby's face. "Renee, can you help me?" Lynne asked softly.

"Of course honey." Renee positioned the baby against Lynne's breast. "Just stroke her cheek with your nipple. It won't take her long to get the idea."

Eric chuckled, wondering if Sam was still outside the door. Then footsteps were heard heading downstairs, but Eric didn't speak, watching as his daughter latched on. "How does it feel?" he whispered.

Lynne was quiet for a moment, then she began to weep. "Like the most perfect thing. Oh Eric, oh my lord."

"I love you honey, I love you both so much." Eric kept his voice low as Lynne repeated her words, uttering a few groans in between. Then he gazed at Renee, who wiped her eyes, but he detected no sorrow in her tears. He nodded at her and she smiled, then blew him a kiss. Then Renee turned to the doctor as both women tended to their patient.

Lynne and Eric had wanted to name their first daughter for his mother, but those plans were altered, for now Lynne wished to honor another woman and Eric was in complete agreement. They had a minute to discuss it while Renee went to use the bathroom. Upon her return, they announced what they wanted to call their first child. "Jane Renee," Eric said proudly, bringing Renee to quick tears.

Sam had been standing outside the room and he coughed loudly. "Did you say Jane Renee?"

"Yup," Eric called. "Miss Jane Renee Snyder. Too important of a moment to call her anything else."

"But I thought you were naming her for your mother," Renee sobbed. "You can't do that."

"We most certainly can. Mom would completely understand. The next one will be an Emma, well, Emma for her middle name. Jane Renee has a better ring to it than Jane Emma anyways." Eric smiled, then kissed his wife. "Here Renee, give me hand. If I don't get up soon, I'm gonna be a pretzel."

Renee helped Eric from the bed as Lynne was checked by Dr. Salters. The baby rested in a bundle against her mother, a knit cap on Jane's head. Lynne smiled as Eric embraced Renee, then he headed to the doorway. "Sam, I think it's safe enough. You wanna meet Miss Jane?"

Sam peered around the corner. "Uh, are you sure?"

"We've gotten the big mess mopped up," Renee croaked. "Get in here Samuel, I need you."

He stepped inside, then was grabbed in a bear hug by Eric. Eric then led Sam to Renee, who trembled in her husband's embrace. Eric rejoined his wife and daughter, sitting on the other side of the bed next to Lynne, the baby snuggled against her.

Sam kissed Renee, then gripped her hand as together they approached the bed. "Here, sit down." Renee pointed to the chair a foot away from the mattress. Sam sat and was glad for a seat. His knees knocked and his heart raced. Lynne grinned at him, but he didn't want to stare at her. She looked pale and weak, but her smile was too beautiful to ignore.

Then he gazed at the baby, or what of her he could see; her facial features were squished, but her skin looked like silk. A few brown strands of hair curled out from under her cap and she seemed asleep, or just resting. "She's so little," he finally said, trying to maintain his composure.

"She's not that little," Lynne said. "Eight pounds two ounces, right?"

"Indeed." Dr. Salters came to Eric's side. "Ten fingers, ten toes, and a good strong jaw. I'll be right back, just going to make a few calls."

"We'll be here," Eric smiled.

Once the doctor was heard taking the stairs, Sam let out a small cry. Then he smiled, wiping his eyes. "Well, she looks great to me. And you weren't too loud Lynne, not too loud at all."

She giggled, then winced. "Don't make me laugh Samuel Ahern."

"Is she okay?" He gazed up at Renee, who stood behind him.

"She didn't need any stitches, if that's what you're asking."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, that was more than I wanted to know."

"Did you call Stanford?" Lynne asked.

"I did. They were happy to hear it, he and Laurie both. Laurie said he'd try to get here by Saturday if that was okay with all of you."

Lynne nodded, then closed her eyes. "Saturday, St. Patrick's Day." Then she smiled. "You'll need to get another piece of beef."

"Probably," Sam said softly.

"You wanna hold her?" Eric asked.

Sam stared at Eric. "What?"

Eric chuckled. "You look like if we don't put her in your arms soon, you're gonna go on a kitchen strike. No time for that now Ahern. We're depending on you to feed everybody for the next several days."

Sam wondered if Eric could read minds; Sam ached to hold the baby, partly named for his wife. He wondered how Renee felt about that; she was probably as stunned as Sam, sitting so close to a new mother and her sleeping infant. But this wasn't just any baby; this child had only been born an hour ago. Sam had sat on the bottom step as Lynne entered this new realm, Eric too, but it was far more work for Lynne. Now she seemed ready for a long sleep, which Sam felt she sorely needed after all that work, and he'd been privy to every audible part of it. And here he was, less than two feet from the culmination of.... Sam trembled as Renee squeezed his shoulders. "Honey," she said to him, "shall I hand her to you?"

He nodded, unable to speak. Then he glanced at Eric, who also nodded. But Eric understood Sam's heart, for it wasn't that this baby was freshly out of her mother, or that she was Eric's firstborn child. She was.... Then Sam inhaled, letting it out with relish. She was a gift, not only to her parents, but for all who were blessed to know her.

He'd held little babies before, ranging in age from a few days to a couple of weeks old. But Jane Renee Snyder was different; as Renee set the sleeping infant in Sam's grasp, Sam trembled only for a moment. Then he closed his eyes and took another deep breath. The scent was vaguely familiar, from when he'd cradled the tiniest of those children, but upon Jane the fragrance was powerful, also healing. It was that of a newborn, unable to be captured anywhere but in these earliest moments. By the time Laurie and Stanford visited, Jane would have been bathed once, perhaps twice, and the scent would be lost. But in Sam's arms, she emitted the most beautiful aroma, and it wound into him with every inhalation he took.

Opening his eyes, he stared at Jane's, which were tightly shut; they were blue, from what Eric had said right after her birth. Neither Lynne nor Eric had blue eyes, but most babies did, changing color later. Sam had seen enough wee ones to recall that fact. Her cheeks were puffy, as was the skin under her eyes, her nose a little smidgen poking out between rosy lips and those concealed peepers. She didn't look much differently from any other baby, but with every second that passed, Sam felt overtaken by how new she was, how incredibly pristine. Nothing had sullied her, nothing had harmed her, nothing had....

She weighed eight pounds, but felt light as a feather, nestled in the crook of his elbow. He stared at her, then ran a finger along her forehead. She didn't notice, but his whole hand tingled. Then he smiled, closing his eyes again while inhaling that soothing scent. Scales fell off the walls of Sam's rib cage, but he hadn't realized those layers existed. But with every breath, Sam knew a permanent alteration deep inside him. For over a decade he had carried those deposits, the remnants of Josh and Larry, of all those Sam had watched die.

Jane mewed like a kitten, making Sam smile. "I think she's waking up," he said quietly, opening his eyes.

"Well, she knows she's in very good hands," Lynne said. "Her Uncle Sam has her, nothing else matters."

Jane yawned, then released a little cry.

"Oh, I don't know about that. She wants something I can't give her." Sam motioned to Renee, who took the baby, setting Jane back against Lynne. Sam stood, then leaned down, kissing Lynne's cheek. "I've got custard to dish up. It's your job to feed her."

Gentle laughter emerged as Dr. Salters returned. "And how is everyone?" she asked.

"Good but hungry. I'll be downstairs if anyone needs me." Sam hugged his wife, then headed to the doorway.

He was to the bottom of the stairs when he heard steps behind him. Eric smiled, then met Sam in the living room. "She really wanted to see you, so thanks for being so accommodating."

"Well, it was more than my pleasure." Sam smiled, then patted Eric's shoulder. "Jane Renee, huh?"

Eric nodded. "Emma will be for the next girl, if we get that lucky." Then Eric motioned for the kitchen. Sam led the way, but Eric only went as far as the door. "The doctor said she'll stay here all night, but if you wanna catch forty winks, feel free."

Sam shook his head. "I'm too wound up to sleep. Besides, I have custard to warm up."

Eric chuckled. "Thank you, for everything."

"Oh, no need to thank me."

Eric stared at Sam, then squeezed Sam's left shoulder. "I owe you...."

"Eric, no. I owe you, you and Lynne and Miss Jane." Sam looked away, then smiled at Eric. "Listen, get back up there. I'll make some real coffee and bring it up. If I get sleepy, I'll crash on the sofa, but for now, you belong up there."

Eric nodded, but didn't speak, for which Sam was grateful. As soon as Eric left the room, Sam gripped the nearby counter. He breathed deeply, still finding that healing scent within his nostrils. Then Sam started a pot of coffee, his heart floating around untethered inside his chest. By the time he poured three cups, setting them on a tray, he felt years younger, whistling a tune that Josh had often hummed on their way back to camp.
Chapter 56

During the night Lynne slept on and off, stirred when either Dr. Salters or Renee checked her, but at seven a.m. Lynne detected the distinct call of her newborn daughter. Jane's whimper quickly turned into the wah-wah-wah of a tiny baby who knew nothing more than she no longer rested in a warm, wet womb.

Lynne also felt somewhat displaced, finding herself in what eventually would be the nursery. Eric was sleeping in the chair and it was Dr. Salters who collected Jane from her cot. Then Lynne began to sob, which woke Eric, who asked if everything was all right. The doctor smiled, handing the baby to Lynne. "Everything's fine. Little Jane was just reminding us that she's here."

As the baby began to tug on Lynne's nipple, the new mother tried to calm herself, but many emotions swirled within Lynne's heart. Yesterday seemed like a blur, from making the pie, to napping, to her water breaking in the master bathroom. "What time was she born again?" Lynne said. "Or have I already asked that?"

The doctor took Lynne's pulse, then chuckled. "Eleven forty-three, Wednesday the fourteenth. And no, you haven't asked yet. You were sort of busy at the time."

Lynne nodded as Eric stood, stretched, then slipped from the room. Lynne smiled, looking around. "Is Renee here?"

"She's resting downstairs. I'll be back later tonight, assuming there aren't any complications. But your pulse is fine, your bleeding is normal, and you don't have a fever. I don't foresee any problems and Miss Jane seems to understand her main role."

Lynne wanted to giggle, but her whole body ached. "Yeah, she seems to know what to do."

"We're mammals, deep down, no different from other creatures when it comes to this." The doctor gently touched Jane's cap. "I've delivered hundreds of babies and I'm always amazed how they seem to know what's important. She'll lose a little weight over the next week, but if she keeps up like this, she'll be back to normal in no time. Now Lynne, as for you...."

Lynne smiled; the doctor would tell her to stay in bed, let everyone wait on her for days on end. The typical hospital stay for new mothers was one week, two if a cesarean had been performed. While Lynne didn't feel at all like moving, she wanted to sleep in her own bed that night, with Eric beside her, Jane close by in a bassinette. This room had been fine for the birth, but that part was over. "Dr. Salters, I know. Get plenty of rest and...."

The doctor sat on the bed, then patted Lynne's hand. "What I was going to say was that if you felt able, you should try to walk, just a bit, later this morning. Maybe to the bathroom, with someone beside you, of course. And if you want to sleep in your own bed tonight, as long as you have a durable mattress protector on it, that should be fine as well."

Lynne stared at her physician. "Really? I didn't expect you to say that."

Dr. Salters smiled. "I don't think new mothers need to be turned into invalids. You'll heal faster if you're up on your feet, although not immediately. Plenty of rest, yes. Chained to bed, no."

Lynne nodded. "Oh that's wonderful to hear!"

"What's wonderful?" Eric said, returning to the room.

"Just that in a few hours, I want your wife on her feet, but only as far as the house bathroom, and with someone right next to her. And if she's looking well when I return, I think it would be fine for her to sleep in her own bedroom. You have a bathroom in there, correct?"

"Yes we do," Eric smiled. "I can sleep in there with her, right?"

Dr. Salters chuckled. "Absolutely. She can't be left alone for at least a week and no driving for three weeks. But Lynne knows all those rules, I don't need to belabor them."

The doctor did one more check, but Jane was nursing well enough to aid in that part of the healing, the doctor said as she grasped Lynne's hand. "I'll be back around six, but do call if you feel anything's amiss. Renee knows what to watch for and Lynne, when the baby sleeps, you sleep, no if's, and's, or but's."

"Yes ma'am," Lynne said.

"Wonderful. All right, I'm off to catch forty winks before work calls. Hopefully you'll be my only new mother today." The doctor grabbed her bag, then left the room, Eric on her heels.

Lynne stroked Jane's soft face, but the baby wasn't disturbed. Lynne couldn't remember how much she had nursed during the night; it seemed every time she woke, Jane was in this same spot. But as a former nurse, Lynne knew that was best. Nature had its own way of facilitating a mother's healing, as well as a baby's nourishment. As footsteps resounded along the hallway, Lynne hoped it was only Eric. Then she wondered if Sam had gone home.

"She said to call if anything's wrong, especially if you get feverish." Eric pushed his chair close to the bed, then sat down. "I'm supposed to check your temperature every hour. My goodness, this nursing gig's a lot of work."

His voice was light and Lynne smiled. "I'll trade you."

Eric leaned toward her, then kissed her nose. "I bet you wouldn't."

Immediately Lynne shook her head. Despite the discomfort and exhaustion, she was ready to have another baby, which made her chuckle, then grimace.

"What?" Eric asked.

"I'm crazy, that's what."

"You'd have to be a little touched to remain my wife."

Lynne gazed at her husband, then she glanced at their baby. She had borne Eric a daughter, who seemed only to care about her mother's breasts. Lynne smiled, which didn't cause any pain, nor did Jane's gummy little mouth, although the lower half of Lynne's body throbbed. But this wasn't similar to yesterday's agony, which at times had scared Lynne for its level of intensity. Childbirth had hurt terribly. But the sweetness she now felt somehow overruled all that anguish, to the point that she could consider doing it again. "Eric, if I told you that I can't wait to have another baby with you, what would you think?"

He flinched, then stared at her. Then he smiled, chuckled, then had to restrain himself, but laughter spilled from him, making Jane jerk from Lynne's breast. The baby looked around, blinking in the light. Lynne pressed her nipple against Jane's cheek and within seconds the newborn went right back to work.

"Lynne, I think last night you altered as much as I have in the past. It was unbelievable feeling how strong you were, even when the pain was extreme. So for you to tell me that now, I guess I have to shrug and say women, they're nuts!" He grinned, throwing up his hands. "Thank God I love you."

"I prayed last night, when it was really bad." Lynne stared at the baby, who had started to slow down. "I wasn't sure if I could do it, and I don't mean with the gas or if Dr. Salters had needed forceps. I just didn't know if I had the strength, but then I'd pray, and suddenly there I went, and now, oh Eric, I just wanna...."

She wept a little, then wiped her eyes. "She's so perfect, so beautiful, so everything I ever thought motherhood would be. And this's only the first day!" Lynne spoke quietly, then she looked at the door. "Renee's asleep right?"

"Out like a light, and Sam went home a few hours ago, that's what the doctor said."

Lynne nodded. "Eric, I wanted to tell her, Renee I mean, that I wanted her to come with me. It felt like a journey, like a train ride, but only for women, although now it feels like you're there too." She reached for his hand and he gently grasped hers. "But last night it was me and Renee, but she couldn't come along, no matter how much I wanted her to."

Eric sighed, then squeezed his wife's hand. "She was so happy to be there honey, Sam too. Something happened when he held her, something changed in him."

"Well, she's done now, so you can hold her, see if you get a burp from her." Lynne took a deep breath. "I just felt so far away from Renee, it's strange. Even though she was right there, we've been separated somehow, but not like when I quit work. This's different."

Yet, Eric was correct; Lynne had detected no hint of jealousy from Renee or Sam, only a tremendous sense of bliss. Still, Lynne wanted Renee to climb aboard the Mommy Train, how she thought of it. For the rest of their lives, Lynne and Renee would travel on different paths no matter how many times Eric transformed or if they had named Jane for Lynne's best friend. Lynne was now a mother, but Renee never would be.

That was the only dark part of what was otherwise a fabulous day. There was nothing Lynne could do about it, other than ask for peace, for all of them. Then she smiled as Jane released a rather large burp, then another. Eric had perched the baby over his shoulder, but the sound resonated. Then quiet emerged as Eric placed Jane in the crook of his elbow. "Now that was a burp," he smiled. "She's not gonna let us forget she's here."

Lynne nodded, then observed how tenderly Eric held their daughter, and how much love poured over that baby. "No, she won't let us forget for a moment. But Dr. Salters told me to sleep when she does and I'm so tired, I could nod off now."

"Well, you go right ahead. She's got a full belly and I'll be happy to just sit and hold her and watch you. You are so beautiful, Mama Snyder."

"Oh Eric...." Closing her eyes, Lynne cried, those words music to her ears. The next thing she knew was Eric softly telling her how much he loved her and their baby. Then Lynne was fast asleep, dreaming she was back on that train, but with a guest in tow.

Jane Renee Snyder's first day was spent mostly within the arms of others. If Lynne wasn't feeding her, Jane was being snuggled by her father or her Aunt Renee. When not cooking, Uncle Sam took his turn, and by the time Dr. Salters stopped in, Jane was asleep in Eric's grasp. Lynne was napping too, but she stirred for the doctor, who pronounced the new mother in fine health. By then Lynne had moved into the master bedroom, where she found herself inundated with fresh flowers. Eric had ordered several dozen roses, which were scattered in vases all over the house. Sam had added a large bouquet, plus Laurie and Stanford had sent batches of tulips. Even Stanford's father Michael had made sure an arrangement arrived with his name on the card, but not that of Stanford's mother. Eric was the only one to notice as the rest were too taken with the baby, or too weary to inquire.

The doctor noted that she would be back tomorrow around lunchtime, and that by then Lynne would probably enjoy a bath. Renee nodded to that while Sam asked if Lynne had any dietary restrictions. "None other than anything which seems to bother the baby. But you'll know if Lynne's eaten something that Jane doesn't approve of. I'll also stop in over the weekend. By then you'll all be used to the new schedule."

"And what's that?" Eric asked.

The doctor smiled. "Whatever Miss Jane decides. But you'll learn that soon enough." The doctor patted Lynne's leg, then headed toward the landing. Then she turned around, facing everyone. "Did I hear you're having guests this weekend?"

Eric nodded. "My art dealer and a friend of his. They'll be here on Saturday."

The doctor shook her head. "That might be a bit much for a new mother."

"Actually, they wanna be put to work," Eric chuckled. "They're only staying through Tuesday, unless Jane gets feisty and sends them on their way early."

Dr. Salters nodded. "Well, that might be the case. Time will tell." She smiled, then left the room.

Renee walked her out, then returned, finding Jane in Lynne's arms. "I assured her that Laurie and Stanford won't be a problem. Actually I'm looking forward to seeing them. I'll catch up on sleep while they're here, then be rested for next week."

"Oh Renee, you don't need to do that." Lynne stroked Jane's cheek, then smiled. "I'll be feeling much better by then and..."

"And nothing! I've already taken the days off. You're gonna be my patient, thank you very much."

The men smiled as Lynne gaped at Renee. "Nonsense! You can't take that much time from work."

"What else do I have to do? Besides, you're forgetting one thing."

"And that is?" Lynne smirked.

"That Eric's gonna be very busy next week."

"Doing what?" Lynne asked.

"Painting the two of you. I can see it now, he'll have an easel set up in here and you'll be napping or nursing the baby, and who's gonna make sure you're well fed and the house's in order and...."

Eric laughed as Sam rolled his eyes. Lynne smiled, then patted the middle of the bed. "C'mre Auntie Renee."

Slowly Renee walked to the open side of the bed. But she remained standing, crossing her arms. "What?"

"Sit down Renee," Lynne said softly.

"Go on honey, park your behind a minute."

Renee glared at Sam, then she huffed. "Lynne, there's plenty for me to do."

"But the most important job is right here," Lynne said softly.

Renee flashed those stoplight eyes, then sat on the edge of the mattress. Again Lynne patted the middle. "Please Renee?"

The room was quiet as Renee nodded, then scooted next to Lynne. Lynne handed the sleeping bundle to Renee, who grasped the baby, then placed her over her shoulder. "If you're gonna be here," Lynne smiled, "it's not to clean my house or warm up whatever Sam makes." Lynne smiled at him, then gazed at Renee. "It's gonna be to hold this little girl, or help me take a bath. You're right, we will need you, because I can see Eric's already thinking about what he's gonna paint next." Lynne nodded at him, then patted Renee's leg. "But we'll also need you so Jane learns all about her Auntie Renee. Because sometimes I'm gonna fall asleep when she's not sleeping. And Eric will need to paint you and your namesake, I can see that in his eyes too."

Lynne didn't mention Sam and Jane in a painting, but it was implied as Renee began to cry. Eric took the baby from Renee, then the women embraced, both weeping hard. Jane Renee never stirred from her mother and aunt's tears, nestled in her father's secure, loving arms.
Chapter 57

Stanford and Laurie stepped from their taxi on Saturday, marking the third day since a baby entered Lynne and Eric's lives, as well as Renee and Samuel's. It was also St. Patrick's Day, which Laurie had noted a few times, licking his lips in anticipation of corned beef and cabbage. Stanford had rolled his eyes; what did a Jew want with Irish fare? Then Laurie had laughed; anything Sam Ahern made had to be delicious.

The men had taken a cab from the airport, not wishing to bother anyone for a ride. Stanford was still skittish about arriving so soon after Jane's birth, but Eric had called on Thursday, assuring his art dealer that both were still very welcome. An infant's sharp cry had emerged in the background, which Stanford found both odd and strangely inviting. What was the baby doing in the Snyders' kitchen, and might she still sound that newly born on Saturday? None of Stanford's nieces and nephews' small cries had seemed that novel, as if Jane Renee was a new form of infant. Stanford said nothing about this to Laurie, for Laurie would have teased that Stanford had a soft spot for babies. Stanford felt that wasn't at all true, but he didn't discount that perhaps as Eric had found a chink in Stanford's armor, maybe Eric's daughter might do the same.

The men grabbed their cases, then Stanford tipped the driver, who responded with a broad smile. Maybe the cabbie hadn't expected such an extravagant gratuity, then Stanford smirked at himself. This wasn't New York City, merely a small western town that Eric called home, but Eric Snyder was the most cultured part of it. Stanford followed Laurie through the gate as the taxi headed back to town. Stanford didn't even know the population, probably not more than ten or fifteen thousand, although since late Wednesday night it was home to one more.

The house looked large to Stanford; it would take him ages to adjust to the renovations. And alongside those changes would be the presence of an infant. Stanford had mulled over what that baby might do to Eric's paintings; she had already made a marked change in them, although Stanford didn't expect the two canvases in Minnesota to make inroads with Eric's future works. Those paintings hadn't seemed to affect Seth much, or at least not enough to cancel the proposed electric shock therapy that was scheduled to begin next week. Stanford was glad to have had an excuse to take Laurie out of the city and away from his mother and aunt. All his family could talk about was Seth's impending course of treatments, and that afterwards he would never be the same.

Laurie's steps were vigorous and Stanford was glad for his partner's excitement. They reached the kitchen door and Laurie knocked softly. "Come on in," Sam said, which Stanford could hear standing behind Laurie. Then Stanford inhaled the savory fragrance of corned beef as Laurie opened the door, entering the Snyder kitchen.

Greetings were exchanged; Stanford received a hug from a very jovial and somewhat tired-looking Sam Ahern. Sam wore a chef's apron and a few days' worth of stubble. Stanford smiled, then set down his case as Laurie took off his jacket, placing it over a kitchen chair. "Well, how is everyone?" Laurie said quietly.

Sam grinned widely. "Everybody's exhausted, but it's a giddy fatigue. Well, all except Jane. She's probably asleep and I hope her mother is too."

Laurie laughed quietly, then pointed to the coffee pot. "Are you all living on the proper fuel?"

"That and pie," Sam said. "I think I'm finally getting the hang of making pie crust, but it doesn't compare to Lynne's."

Stanford said nothing, letting Laurie carry their end of the conversation as from the start Laurie had gotten on better with both Aherns. Then footsteps could be heard and Stanford inhaled, hoping it was Eric. As that man entered the kitchen, Stanford let out a long breath, but then immediately he took another, for Eric didn't look as before. He had filled out, for which Stanford was grateful, but weariness was more evident on Eric than on Sam. Yet, it was mixed with an inexplicable bliss that negated lethargy's more debilitating aspects. Eric looked like he could live forever on coffee, Sam's pie, and a newfound energy that Stanford knew was solely related to fatherhood.

"Laurie, Stanford, you made it, wonderful! How was the flight?" Eric embraced Laurie first, then hugged Stanford, patting that man's back. Then Eric pulled away, chuckling. "We were starting to wonder if you'd had second thoughts about getting on a plane."

"It was running late, but here we are, in plenty of time for supper." Laurie laughed, then hugged Eric again. "Michael sends his congratulations, as do Mom and Aunt Wilma and the rest."

Stanford had wondered if Laurie would mention them; the women had taken small relief from the news about Stanford's client's new addition. But it hadn't stemmed their glut of anxiety. Still, a baby was something to celebrate, especially for Eric and his wife, for how long they had waited. Then Stanford glanced at Sam. That man seemed unaffected by this event, or maybe he was so tired, it didn't matter.

How would Renee seem, Stanford wondered, as Laurie asked about Lynne and Jane. Eric noted that both were asleep in the master bedroom. "If you want, feel free to make yourselves at home upstairs. Lately when Lynne naps, she only seems to stir when Jane cries." Eric smiled. "Human instinct's a funny thing, but it's kept us going all these years, so I'm not gonna argue with it."

"Well, only if you're sure. Stanford and I rested on the flight. I don't wanna wake either the baby or the new mother."

"Eric's right," Sam smiled. "Go on up and make yourselves comfortable. Lynne won't hear you at all."

"But what about the baby?" Stanford said quietly.

Eric chuckled. "Believe me, if Jane needs to wake, she will. She sure loves to sleep though."

"Well, I'd love to change out of these clothes. I'll grab the room next to Stanford's. Seems those will be our accommodations from now on, what with the new arrangements." Laurie gently slapped Eric on the shoulder, then headed toward the stairs. "But I'll be back down in a jiffy. Sam, put me to work when I return."

"Will do. Should the first order of business be a celebratory whiskey?" Sam smiled.

"Absolutely," Laurie nodded. "Stanford, are you in?"

For a second, Stanford blinked, wondering if Laurie meant the drink, or something else. They had decided for this short trip that separate bedrooms were a must, what with the Aherns coming and going. "I could use a drink, yes please."

"Terrific. Eric, are you with us?" Laurie asked.

"I'll pass for now. Maybe tonight." Eric smiled at Laurie, then at Stanford. "Renee's catching forty winks in the nursery, but if she wakes, she might want a shot. Sam, I'll leave that up to you."

Sam laughed as Stanford followed Laurie out of the kitchen, going right up the stairs. As Stanford reached the landing, he smelled fresh paint, then looked back at the closed master bedroom door. Had Eric already started depicting his new family? Stanford then saw the mostly closed door to what now was the nursery, faint snores wafting through the crack. He smiled to himself, only men were awake at that moment. He was glad for it, or that Renee was asleep. Then he found himself at the end of the hall, two open doors waiting.

Laurie stopped at the first, on the left. "I'm just gonna change clothes. I'll unpack later, but feel free to...."

Stanford grasped Laurie's hand. "Are you going to be all right?"

Laurie's smile eased Stanford's mind. "I'm not gonna think about him here. Here Stan, all is new and very right with the world." Laurie set his lips to Stanford's, leaving an intimate kiss. Stanford tried to back away, but ultimately he permitted it, aware that Laurie needed it as much as he did.

For the next hour, the gentlemen enjoyed whiskeys and quiet conversation in the kitchen. Then the tender cries of a newborn were discerned and Eric left the group, returning with a wrapped bundle. Sam watched as Jane was introduced, first to Laurie for he was seated on that side of the table. Laurie's eyes misted over, then he smiled. "Why Eric, my God, she's beautiful. Hello Miss Jane. I'm Uncle Laurie."

Sam felt a brief flash of envy, which surprised him, then it floated away as Laurie stood to wash his hands. Laurie returned to his chair, then accepted the gift Eric was eager to bestow. Sam had wanted to ask about Seth, but the chatter had been so lighthearted, he hadn't mentioned him. But Laurie seemed weakened by the quiet baby, as tears formed in his eyes. Laurie stroked the baby's hat, careful not to touch her cheek. Sam had wondered if either Laurie or Stanford might commit that faux pas, for if Jane wasn't hungry, best to let Lynne stay asleep.

Laurie stared at Jane, then chuckled. "I haven't held a baby in a long time. I'd forgotten how little they are, but you said she was eight pounds, correct?"

"She certainly was. Don't tell Lynne you think she's small, she'd beg to differ." Eric smiled, then winked at Sam. Lynne was still in some discomfort, but she had taken a bath that morning, saying afterwards she felt almost human again.

Eric sat down as Laurie cooed to Jane, who seemed happy to be admired. Sam loved holding her, every time realizing a healing balm being poured over his head. He and Renee had discussed it, both noting that soothing sensation, which neither had experienced when holding any of their siblings' infants. Not even with any of Frannie's kids had Sam ever felt so.... Restored was the best way to describe it, but the couple hadn't spoken of any more than those feelings. Although last night Sam had dreamed about that blue barn, but no longer did it house a gelding and brood mare. Just ponies, several of them, but Sam hadn't given it much consideration.

Now watching Jane weave a similar spell on Laurie Abrams, Sam wondered about Seth. As Laurie spoke quietly, his tone also relayed unwinding tension as if Laurie was taking deep lasting breaths. Sam had felt that way too, but he knew what was being unearthed. He'd told Renee about that as well, speaking of Josh and Larry when Eric and Lynne were fast asleep. It was just to protect Lynne, for Sam had spilled his guts about those dead men when Eric was in a similarly lost state well over a year ago. Yet, it wasn't for Lynne to know, or Jane, in the same way Laurie didn't breathe a word about his cousin, although Seth Gordon was in that room, Sam felt him in every sentence Laurie uttered. Sam gazed at Eric, who seemed to agree. Eric looked worried, as if now that Jane had safely arrived, her father was no longer bound to remain.

Then Sam glanced at Stanford, but as usual, that man was hard to read. He did seem excited to hold the baby as soon as Laurie relinquished her, but that would be time in coming, for Laurie was besotted with Eric's daughter. Then Sam peered at Stanford, who was staring at Laurie, but not wishing to rush Laurie's time with Jane. Stanford's face carried different sentiments, those of highly personal feelings. Sam quickly looked at the table, then stood, stepping to where the beef simmered. He'd been waiting for the New Yorkers to arrive to add the cabbage, then about half an hour before everyone was ready to eat, he would throw in the potatoes. Sam didn't like to overcook the spuds, it made the dish gooey. He concentrated on the cooking because if he looked again at Stanford....

If Sam took another glance at that man, he would see exactly what bound him to Laurie, and it wasn't the New York art world. It was love, which prickled the hairs on Sam's neck. Sam had seen instances of that in Korea; a few guys hadn't been adverse to.... Sam tried not to shiver, but he couldn't help it. Quickly he turned around, finding Jane still in Laurie's competent hold, Stanford chuckling with Eric. Perhaps Sam had gotten it wrong, maybe it was merely Stanford's guard falling. But why had Laurie been at Stanford's apartment on the night Jane was born? Why not stay at his own place, why....

Then Sam swallowed hard as Laurie reluctantly handed Jane to Eric, who then placed that baby in Stanford's unpracticed grip. As Stanford tried to fit her in the crook of his elbow, Eric assisted while Laurie laughed quietly, but love edged his tone. It shined in Laurie's eyes as he gazed at Stanford, who seemed slightly stiff, but not as formal as before. Love then was exchanged as the men gazed at one another, glances then sent Eric's way, but not with the same intensity. Then Sam turned back to the stove; Eric knew, but didn't seem bothered by it one bit.

Stanford didn't coo to Jane as Laurie had, but he asked Eric if he'd been painting in the last few days. Eric laughed, admitting that a mostly finished piece was in the nursery, maybe that was why Renee was still sleeping, paint fumes knocking her out. But it was only a small canvas of mother and daughter and once Renee was awake, Eric would be happy to share it. Other new paintings were accumulating in the sunroom, the last pictures of Lynne before Jane's birth, but none of them were similar to those that had been sent to Minneapolis.

The gentle hum ceased, then Sam stared at those seated at the table. Laurie's hands were clasped in front of him, then Eric patted those hands. "How is he?" Eric said softly.

Laurie shook his head, then released a long sigh. "They're starting shock treatments next week. Stanford and I will stop there on our way home. Mom and Aunt Wilma felt it best that since I was gonna be out here anyways...." He shook his head. "Your paintings helped a little Eric, but not enough, or not to Seth. Supposedly other patients have found great comfort in them."

Sam stepped toward Stanford and the men gazed at one another. Sam didn't have to ask to take Jane as Stanford readily handed her in Sam's direction. Then Stanford stood, but didn't approach Laurie, although Sam could tell that was what Stanford wished to do. If it had been just Eric and the New Yorkers, Sam imaged that Stanford would be kneeling beside his....

"We've been praying for him," Eric said. "How long will you stay in Minnesota?"

"We're not sure yet," Stanford said. "If Laurie can see him, maybe a few days, but if they don't think he's up to visitors, we might just speak with the doctors and head home. To New York," Stanford added with a cough.

Yet Sam knew what Stanford meant; home wasn't merely a city to these men, but a shared apartment. They weren't only friends, and probably had been that way for a long time as now Stanford pulled up the chair Sam had used, beside Laurie. Stanford sat down, but didn't touch Laurie. Yet he stared right at Laurie Abrams, whose hands were now firmly grasped by Eric.

Sam wanted to flee, he wanted to protect Jane, he wanted to.... But he couldn't move, watching how Laurie began to weep, removing his hands from Eric's, then placing those hands over his face. Now Stanford leaned toward Laurie, whispering something Sam could barely discern. Yet, the words weren't important; more to matter was the tenderness expressed. Sam quietly slipped from the room as Jane began to fuss, her cries barely audible over the sorrow drifting from kitchen.

Eric found Sam in the nursery, seated beside his sleeping wife. The men shared a glance, then Eric motioned for Sam to follow him.

"Is Laurie all right?" Sam asked, once he had closed the nursery door.

Eric nodded. "They went for a walk, it's not too cold out. But I think supper would be helpful. How long will it take?"

"Forty minutes," Sam said. "I just need to throw in the vegetables. Jane still with Lynne?"

Eric smiled. "Yeah, thanks for taking her in there."

"It was my pleasure. Did you learn any more about Seth?"

Eric sighed, then led Sam to the end of the hallway. The guest room doors were still open and Eric could see Stanford's unpacked suitcase on his double bed. Eric assumed that for this short trip, the men would use both rooms, but Eric also wondered if perhaps Sam had discerned the nature of the men's relationship. That would have no bearing on where Stanford and Laurie slept, for Renee would still be in and out. But Eric had been watching Sam, as well as trying to comfort Laurie. "They didn't know much more than what Stanford said. But Seth's family really didn't want it to come to this. One of Laurie's aunts had shock therapy and it didn't go well at all."

Sam nodded, then stared at his shoes. "Well, we'll keep praying for him. I'd better go get the cabbage in the pot."

As Sam started to walk away, Eric reached for his arm. "Sam, they're together. I hope that won't be a problem."

Sam stopped, but didn't immediately face Eric. He took a deep breath, then shrugged. "Their personal life isn't any of my business."

"No, but while they're here, I hope it won't be any sort of hindrance."

Sam met Eric's gaze. "What do you mean by that?"

"Lynne knows." Eric stepped Sam's way. "But it'd probably be best to keep this from Renee."

Then Sam sighed heavily. "Yes. Yes it would." Sam paused, started to speak, then stopped himself. Again he glanced at his shoes. "Gotta get the veg started. Does Lynne need anything?"

"I'll get her some juice. When they come back, tell them she wants to see them, but that she's not quite ready to take the stairs yet."

"Sure, will do." Sam's tone was aloof as he walked the length of the hall, not slowing by either where his wife still slept or where Lynne nursed Jane. Eric sighed, then followed Sam as far as the master bedroom. He peeked in, finding his wife happily breastfeeding their daughter. Lynne looked up, her face with a quizzical gaze. Eric entered the bedroom, but didn't speak until the door was closed behind him.
Chapter 58

Lynne spent much of that weekend in bed, still recovering from an experience that had changed her completely, but other than Eric, she had no one with whom to compare it. And with Eric, she couldn't gauge more than their emotional states. Countless times he had turned into a hawk, but birth was a different ability.

To her surprise, she had chatted with Laurie about some of the aspects, what he had garnered when his sisters, and Stanford's, had their children. Not that Laurie had done more than visit those women in the hospital, then gone to see them once they were home, yet, Laurie shared his few insights, making Lynne smile, then inwardly sigh. Sam knew about Laurie and Stanford and he wasn't at all comfortable with the news. But the New Yorkers didn't seem aware their secret was out and Lynne didn't think about it unless she was surrounded. Only then did she note Sam's stiffness, and how quickly he would excuse himself for kitchen tasks.

On Tuesday morning, Lynne easily walked downstairs, although Renee followed right behind her. At the bottom of the steps Eric stood next to Laurie, who cradled Jane. Stanford stood beside him, a beaming smile on his face. Lynne blinked, then wondered if Eric saw that trio; the men looked like a family, although Jane was starting to whimper. Lynne knew what her daughter wanted, a mother's tender breasts feeling full. Lynne hadn't wanted to nurse Jane around so many others, although she had fed her daughter with Renee and Sam nearby. Then Lynne smiled at herself. If Laurie and Stanford felt awkward, they could go to the kitchen. Jane wasn't going to be deterred from a mid-morning meal.

"I think she wants you," Laurie chuckled as Lynne took the last step. "I certainly don't have anything to give her."

"You could put your finger in her mouth, she'll suck on that for ten seconds," Eric grinned. "But then she'd start crying again."

"Honestly Eric, my God." Stanford huffed, then stepped toward the kitchen.

Renee giggled and Laurie did too as he handed the baby to Eric. Lynne took slow steps to the sofa and Renee helped her to be seated. Lynne's bottom still ached, but it felt good to be dressed and fully mobile. She inhaled the aroma of her home, which smelled a little differently than before. Roses mixed with guests and firewood, also spring, even if doors were closed. Lynne could see her garden, daffodils waving in a slight breeze. She started to cry, wondering how much her world had altered. Then she smiled as Eric placed their daughter in her arms.

Jane was getting close to erupting in full throttle and Lynne smiled as she didn't even bother to see if Laurie and Stanford were close. She unbuttoned her blouse and within a minute the baby quieted, Jane's bright blue eyes fluttering closed. Then Lynne peered at her husband, kneeling in front of her. Eric's gray eyes were misty as were Renee's pale irises. Lynne nodded at them, wanting to thank them for everything. Instead she smiled, then motioned toward the kitchen. "You better check on our guests."

"Sam's in there, they'll be fine," Renee said.

But Eric stood, gently patting his wife's shoulder. "I'll go facilitate. Besides, I think they're gonna need a ride to the airport soon."

Lynne nodded, her heart torn. She had wanted to spend Laurie and Stanford's last moments in conversation. Jane, however, had altered that plan. Renee sat beside Lynne as Eric headed to where the men had gathered. Lynne wished Renee knew the truth; she probably wouldn't take it any worse than Sam had.

When Eric reached the kitchen, Sam was just stepping out. Stanford and Laurie were seated at the table, each with a cup of coffee. "Sam said he forgot something in his car." Laurie's tone was resigned. "But he did ask if we needed a ride to the airport."

Eric sat between his guests, but wasn't sure what to say. Sam's usual friendliness had been replaced by a nervous kindliness and Eric hoped that Stanford and Laurie didn't regret their visit. "Well, I can take you to the airport too. It's not a problem."

"I'll call a cab," Stanford sighed. "Has he said anything to you?"

Eric shook his head. "Nothing more than it wasn't his business."

Laurie nodded. "It's not a surprise, well...." He shrugged. "Stan's right. We'll just take a taxi."

"Will you stop in Minnesota?" Eric had wondered about that detail and he longed to change the subject.

"For at least one night. But we won't know any more till we get there." Stanford stood, then stepped to the telephone. "Laurie, when should I tell them to come?"

Laurie looked at the clock. "The flight's at two. If they're here at a little past noon, that should be fine."

Eric nearly chuckled, for Stanford preferred being at the train station a full hour ahead of time; how much earlier would he want to check in at the airport? Eric stood, then made an excuse, heading back into the living room, not hearing what Stanford said to Laurie in reply.

"Well, what's the plan?" Renee looked at Eric as he approached.

"Stanford's calling a cab. Sam offered, but...."

"Well, that's probably best." Renee stood from the sofa. "Lynne, you need anything?"

"Some juice please."

Renee nodded, then left the couple. Eric took Renee's place on the sofa, then peered at his daughter. "How's she doing?"

"Fine. How're they doing?"

Eric sighed. "Sam poured them some coffee, then stepped outside. They're not surprised, well, not overly upset. I guess I should've told him, but...."

Lynne cleared her throat. "Eric, Renee knows too."

He stared at her. "She does?"

"Mmmhmm."

"Did she tell you that she knows?"

"Mmmhmm."

"Lynne, what?"

Lynne glanced at Eric, then gazed at their baby. "She said that Sam must've figured it out and she's gonna give him an earful later."

"How long's she known?"

"Just this trip. She said she'd asked Sam why he was being so...." Lynne stifled a giggle, lowering her voice. "So prickly around them. Said he wouldn't give her a straight answer and that after she watched them, Laurie and Stanford, well, she realized, um...."

Laurie cleared his throat, causing Lynne to pause. "Stanford's got the taxi arranged. They'll be here in about twenty minutes, too soon if you ask me, but he never does." Laurie smiled. "I'm gonna finish packing, but I left him with Renee." Laurie smirked. "That'll teach him."

Eric chuckled. "Did Sam come back in?"

"Uh, no. Listen, I'm sorry about the awkwardness this weekend."

Lynne met Laurie's gaze. "Don't be. We love you both. That's Sam's issue."

"Well, it's gonna be once we're gone." Laurie rolled his eyes, heading to the steps.

"Whatdya mean by that?" Eric called softly.

Laurie peered around the edge of the banister, a huge smile on his face. "Renee basically said that she's very happy for us, she actually made Stan cringe. And that the next time we visit, things would be back to normal."

Lynne and Eric broke into quiet giggles as Laurie chuckled, heading up the stairs.

By the time the New Yorkers were waiting for the cab, Jane was asleep. Laurie held her while Stanford softly kissed her forehead. Then Stanford embraced Lynne. "Congratulations," he whispered, trying to maintain his composure.

Lynne nodded, her tears falling. Renee relieved Laurie of the baby, then Laurie gripped Lynne. "Thanks for putting up with us," he said, kissing her cheek. "I can't tell you what it means to have seen all of you this weekend."

Lynne clasped Laurie's hands, but she still couldn't speak. Stanford had promised to call them tomorrow night with whatever news they had learned. Then Lynne stepped back as Eric hugged both men. No words were said, but Renee offered her goodbyes, then stood beside Lynne as Eric walked the men outside. Sam had gone home not long after returning from his brief walk, leaving just females in the kitchen. But Lynne didn't stay there for long, returning to the sofa while Renee set Jane in a small cot on the other end of the couch.

"Do you need anything?" Renee asked, coming to Lynne's side.

Lynne shook her head. "Too many things to think about. Only a glass of wine would start to unravel it all."

Renee giggled. "I doubt a half glass would do any harm."

Lynne stared at her friend. "Nurse Ahern, I can't believe you said that."

"Believe it. But no whiskey certainly."

The women smiled as Renee patted Lynne's hand. "Listen, if you don't mind, I think I'll go home for a bit. Nearly forgot what my house looks like, but I do recall it's smaller than this one. You and Eric seem to have things under control and Dr. Salters is stopping by this afternoon, correct?"

Lynne nodded. "Sometime after three, I think she said. Yeah, you go home. And if I don't see you for a day or two...."

"If you don't see me tomorrow it's because I've murdered my ridiculous husband and I'm still trying to dispose of the body."

"Now Renee...."

Renee shook her head, fiery red hair blowing across her face. "Lynne, it's nonsense for him to be so upset. I should've realized it ages ago, but they hide it well. Then we were so worried about Seth and...."

A long quiet hung in the room. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring that up." Renee sighed, then gripped Lynne's hands. "Anyways, tomorrow I'll call before I come over. But I will be here tomorrow, so no playing Twister or gardening or anything of the sort."

"Do you mind if I make a pie?" Lynne teased.

Renee rolled her eyes. "Well, as long as you're not on your feet too long. Once it's in the oven, let Eric keep an eye on it."

When Eric returned, Renee was in the kitchen, putting on her jacket. "What, you have a taxi waiting too?" he said.

"Nope. I've called my husband, gonna give you three some time to yourselves."

"Now Renee, you don't need to rush off."

"I most certainly do. Someone needs a rap up the head and I'm the woman to do it."

Eric inhaled, then leaned against the counter. "Renee, you need to give him time."

Renee wore a wry smile. "Eric, when you were gone two years ago, rumors weren't kind to Lynne and me, and Sam never had any problem with that. Well, he was a part of it too, and that certainly didn't bother him. This with Stanford and Laurie's no different. Why he's acting so bent outta shape is beyond me." She crossed her arms, then tapped her foot. "They're happy, they're not hurting anyone, what does it matter, truthfully? My goodness, it's 1962, but then, look at what's still happening in The South. Doesn't that speak volumes? Christ told us to love each other and he didn't make any differentiation about race or faith or...." Renee shook her head. "Or about who else we love. I'm sure Father Riley would have my head if he heard me speaking this way, Father Markham too. But I'll tell you right now Eric Snyder, it's not for me to judge any man or woman. And it's sure not Sam's job either."

Renee stepped around Eric, softly calling goodbye to Lynne. Then Renee kissed Eric's cheek, squeezing his hand. She sniffled, then stepped from the house, gently closing the door behind her.

Dr. Salters stopped by at half past three, finding Jane at her mother's bosom and Lynne recovering well. The doctor said she would return on Friday and that as far as she thought, if Lynne wanted to take a brief walk in the garden, tomorrow's forecast was for a sunny afternoon. Jane would probably benefit from being introduced to the outside world, as long as she was well wrapped. Eric walked the doctor to her car, then returned to a fairly quiet residence. Jane was asleep in her bassinette and Lynne was still in bed, looking ready to nap.

Eric lay beside his wife, considering his talk with Renee. Her views had surprised him and he hoped she would remain that open minded when he told her he wasn't joining the Catholic Church. Pastor Jagucki had called not long after Renee had left, giving Eric and Lynne his congratulations on the baby. The pastor hadn't mentioned anything about a baptism, but Lynne and Eric had discussed it when finding themselves alone, or if it was only them and Jane. Lynne wanted their daughter baptized soon, but had found herself leaning toward the church of Eric's choice. Eric hadn't quite decided if St. Matthew's was for him, but he certainly liked Pastor Jagucki, and in another week, he would inquire if perhaps that pastor could stop over for the visit that had been postponed.

Lynne started to snore and Eric smiled, but didn't move away from her. Their daughter was a week old, a whole week of Jane's life that had passed far too quickly for Eric's liking. But the first painting of his wife and daughter was drying in the sunroom and had been admired by all. Eric had depicted Lynne shortly after Jane's birth, from where he had been sitting right behind Lynne in bed. Her profile was in slight shadow, but Jane's face was illuminated, how Eric remembered that moment when Renee handed them their baby. Jane's blue eyes were hidden; Eric would paint them soon enough. But in his mind, as Renee set Jane into Lynne's arms, Eric's life had restarted. Yes, he did want Jane baptized as quickly as it could be set into motion. But the more he considered it, the more he wanted Pastor Jagucki to do the honors. Renee seemed to have liberal views about homosexuality; hopefully her ideas about Lutherans would be equally accepted. There were too many quandaries in Catholicism for Eric and while his own life was sometimes an aberration, he wanted Jane's spiritual beginnings to be as unencumbered as possible. If later she wanted to explore a more mystical faith, Eric wouldn't argue with her. But now he ached for simplicity. Maybe it was the quiet house, only the three of them. Then he nearly burst into laughter; for how long had he wanted to say that, the three of them. No longer was it merely Eric and Lynne; for the rest of their lives it would be Eric, Lynne, and Jane. And if God was good, more children would follow.

Eric left his sleeping wife and daughter, then headed downstairs. He stoked the fire, placing the grate in front of growing flames. Then he put on a jacket and scarf, going out through the French doors. The sun was shining over the top of the studio, but a cool breeze blew. Eric walked around the bare patio; soon enough he would drag out the table and chairs. He rubbed his upper arms, then gazed at the yellow daffodils and the short green stalks that within another few weeks would be tall, colorful tulips. Then he glanced further into the garden, finding the bird bath, his studio, then the forest. But some of that thicket would be gone by the time summer arrived.

Then Eric shuddered; he didn't want to leave, yet he'd fulfilled his pledge to Lynne. Jane was healthy and beautiful and once she was baptized.... Eric stared at the mostly clear sky, only a few high clouds, which quickly blew past. He turned back to the house, then walked to the French doors, cracking one open. He heard nothing, his family still fast asleep.

Eric stepped inside, closed the door, then removed his wraps, rubbing his upper arms again. His weight was back to normal, his energy levels were good. Well, he was a little tired, but that was due to a new baby who didn't understand that everyone else preferred sleeping at nighttime. Dr. Salters had said that while it wouldn't be easy, they could now start to adjust Jane's schedule, keeping her awake in the early evenings. Late afternoon baths would be helpful, the doctor had smiled, for Jane had put back on the weight lost during her initial days. She was nursing well, no worries there, but unless Eric and Lynne wanted to become night owls, it was best to introduce the concept of evening slumber to an infant that didn't seem to care what time of day it was. Then Eric chuckled. If he was smart, he'd retrieve Jane from her bassinette and begin that process.

Within a few minutes, Eric and his daughter sat on the sofa. Jane was attempting to maintain unconsciousness, but Eric was determined, tickling her, gently blowing on her face, even taking off her tiny socks, running his fingers along the bottoms of her feet. Finally she stirred, those blue eyes blinking in the light. She stared at her father, looking rather displeased. Eric grinned. "Hello sweetheart. The doctor tells us it's best to keep you awake now. I'm sure you'll make it difficult, but let's give it a try."

Jane tried closing her eyes again, but Eric removed her hat, brown curls springing up from slight static shock. That made Jane fuss and Eric picked her up, cradling her against his chest. She quieted and he pulled her away, finding those eyes trying to close. "Huh-uh," Eric smiled. "I wanna sleep some tonight little girl, doctor's orders."

Eric replaced Jane's socks, then he wrapped the blanket around her, putting her over his shoulder. He had no fear in supporting her fragile head and neck; only seven days had passed, yet he felt as if he'd always had this knack, and he smiled at himself, then set the baby in the crook of his arm. Now her eyes were wide and while she didn't smile, she gazed intently at him. "I love you Jane, my God, so much. Just a little less than your mother, but I'll tell you, it's darn close."

Jane yawned, but didn't close her eyes. Eric chuckled, placing a kiss on the top of her head. Then he took a deep breath. "Jane, I do love you and your mama. But I have to be honest; sometimes I might go away. I don't mean too, I can't help it. But it's not because I don't love you or Lynne. It's because...."

Eric turned toward the landing, finding his wife gripping the railing, smiling down at him. "Are you trying to keep her awake?"

He nodded. "So far, so good. Shall we come up there?"

Lynne smiled. "Please. I'd lay bets that she'll wanna eat soon."

Eric laughed, taking the stairs. "Or that you want her to eat soon."

"One of the two," Lynne said as Eric reached the landing. He stroked his wife's face, then followed her into the bedroom. Once Lynne was in position, Eric handed her their baby, and indeed, Jane did seem hungry. Eric wanted to paint this scene next, perhaps he'd start it tomorrow; there was nothing more beautiful than watching Lynne feed their daughter.

He stared at Lynne's chest, that opal pendant lying along her skin. But a new chain sparkled in the light; Eric had given that to her on Sunday, making Lynne cry and raising questions from Stanford and Laurie. Eric told that necklace's tale and Stanford had chided him that Lynne deserved a diamond, not merely a new chain. But Laurie had corrected Stanford, that sometimes the best keepsakes were those from ancient days, which to Eric those first years of marriage now seemed. They weren't infertile, for a daughter tugged at her mother's breast, and maybe soon little hands would reach for that opal. But a stronger chain would keep it in place.

"I love you," Eric murmured. Then he smiled. "I'd like to be more profound, but that's all I can think to say."

"Those are the most perfect words. I don't think you need any others."

He nodded. "What would you think about a baptism in say, another month? Would that be too long to wait?"

Lynne met his gaze. "No. Do you have a place in mind?"

"I do."

She glanced at the baby, then at her husband. "And that's...."

"St. Matthew's, if Pastor Jagucki doesn't mind that we're not Lutherans."

"Or that we're not yet Lutherans."

"Or that I'm not yet a Lutheran and you're not yet Catholic."

She nodded, then stroked Jane's head. "Eric, I don't wanna worship separately from you."

"I'd prefer us to share the same faith, but Lynne, I just can't...."

"Eric, I've been thinking about it, dreaming about it too." Lynne looked at her husband. "I wanna meet the pastor, then attend some services. But I want Jane to be baptized. Now if that means she starts off life as a Lutheran, then changes her mind, well...."

"Are you sure honey?"

Lynne nodded. "This might sound strange, but over the last week, well, the last five days or so, I've had time to think." She smiled. "The first couple of days after she was born, I wasn't sure who I was anymore. Maybe that's typical, I don't know. But after that, when it was just her and me, I had to ask myself what I'd found so appealing when I went with Sam and Renee, for it was something and what it was, well, it was...."

She started to cry, then looked at her husband. "I felt like I had a family there, but now I have that family right here. I haven't had that sense since I was a little girl, not like this. When my parents died, I'd already left for college, and maybe because I was an only child, by the time I was a teenager, I was starting to pull away from them. But going to church with Renee and Sam brought that back to me, even if some of the things they believe are harder to accept than others. But Lutherans take communion, a friend of mine in grade school was Lutheran and I went to church with her a few Sundays after spending the night. I'd forgotten all about that, goodness, it was over twenty years ago. But that's what matters to me, communion and Jane being baptized now. And sharing that with you. I want it to be a part of our family, which I guess does exclude Renee and Sam in a way. Maybe they won't be able to be her godparents, not that I know anyone else I want, but Eric, my life's complete now. I have you, our daughter, and I wanna celebrate that together." Lynne inhaled, then placed the baby over her shoulder. Jane released two sleepy burps, but didn't seem interested in any more supper.

Lynne gave the baby to Eric, then adjusted her brassiere. "Honey, ultimately whatever denomination we choose, we're still seeking the same God as the Aherns, or Laurie's family. I guess I don't see any difference. What matters most is that we share it together. Maybe that doesn't make me the wife of a bohemian painter anymore. But Eric, I'm almost thirty-two." She shook her head, giggling. "I'm a mother now, oh goodness, that's so strange to say. But it's the truth. I'm a mother and I wanna be a Christian and raise our daughter with the knowledge of all that faith entails. Not that I understand much of it, but...."

Eric had laid Jane on the mattress, then leaned toward his wife. "Let's meet him, see what you think. If he doesn't want to baptize her until we've made a decision, I'm sure Father Markham would do the honors."

"And if he is willing to baptize her?"

"Then for the time being we'll have a Lutheran daughter with heathen parents." Eric smiled. "Lynne, I love you. However we do this, I want us to be together."

She nodded, then placed her left hand on Jane's small head. With her right hand, Lynne caressed Eric's face, then she eagerly accepted his gentle kiss.
Chapter 59

As Lynne rolled out a pie crust, Eric cuddled Jane. This wasn't Lynne first full day on her feet, nor her first pie made as a mother, but it was another realization of what life now entailed. Since Stanford had called with the news that Seth had started shock therapy, Lynne's world had vacillated between the simplicity of her baby and the complications of reality. Also that of a jovial-voiced Lutheran minister with whom she had spoken over the phone. Pastor Jagucki assured both Snyders that it would be no problem baptizing their daughter, and that he would be pleased to perform that task whenever Eric and Lynne were ready. And, he added, it wasn't required that Jane's godparents be Lutherans.

A new mother mulled over those points as she placed the crust into the tin. Eric talked to the baby, who had eaten her fill, leaving her mother somewhat depleted. Lynne decided to make the pie then, needing a job that was useful but didn't require much concentration. Her mind was teeming, for there were still the Aherns to consider. Neither Eric nor Lynne had talked much to Sam since Tuesday, and while Renee was chatty, either over the phone or in person, the Snyders hadn't told her of their decision to forgo the Catholic faith. Lynne had told Eric that perhaps Renee's goodwill toward Stanford and Laurie would dissipate once she learned all three Snyders were probably going to join St. Matthew's. Eric had agreed it was possible, but he wasn't as wary as Lynne when it came to Renee.

Eric had wondered when Sam's carefree nature toward the New Yorkers would return. Maybe Sam hadn't been bothered by the salacious rumors during Eric's long absence, but it was one thing to hear your wife was a lesbian when you knew it wasn't at all factual. It was entirely another to learn two men who had been assumed as friends were actually in love with each other. Inwardly Eric knew that in a perfect world there should be no difference, but then the world they inhabited wasn't at all flawless. Eric had been holding Jane when pondering these ideas and while parents could raise their daughter in an idyllic setting, eventually Jane would go to school, encountering other points of view and the random cruelties of life. Yes, it was unfair that Sam seemed bothered by Stan and Laurie, but was his reaction totally unexpected?

After Lynne spooned apples into the crust, she gazed at her husband. Eric's wide grin and soft voice poured over Jane, then he looked up, smiling at his wife. "What?" he asked, setting the baby over his shoulder.

"I love you, both of you. You're so good with her."

"Finish that pie Mama and come join us."

Lynne chuckled, quickly completing her task. Placing the pie in the oven, she set the timer, then walked to where Eric sat at the table. Lynne looked at her daughter, eyes wide open. "I wonder what she sees," Lynne said, stroking the baby's head.

"The best things in the world; you making pie in this kitchen. What more is there?"

"She won't always have this view."

"No, but by the time she's old enough to know differently, she'll be fortified with all the love necessary."

Lynne sat down, nestling against Eric's other shoulder. "We need to tell the Aherns. I wanna plan the baptism and we can't do that until we know if they'll be there."

Eric laughed quietly. "They'll be there, I bet you ten dollars."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because regardless of differing faiths or any other disagreements, Sam's my brother and Renee's your sister. There's no way in the world they'd miss it."

Lynne pulled away, gripping Eric's hand. "Are you sure about that?"

Eric nodded, then placed Jane in her mother's arms. "Sam and I shared things that week he took care of me. He did most of the talking, I guess my contributions were more on a metaphysical level." Eric grinned, caressing his wife's face. "Honey, Sam knows I'm not gonna become Catholic, and I'd bet another ten bucks that he suspects the same about you. He might be cool toward the New Yorkers for a while, but eventually he'll come around. Laurie's too personable and Stan's too, well, too hard to ignore." Eric wiped away his wife's few tears. "Plus, Sam's connected to them through Seth, whether he wants to be or not. As for Renee...."

Lynne sighed, then kissed her daughter's face. "Renee really wants us to be a part of St. Anne's."

"But more important to Renee is being a part of this." Eric twirled one of Jane's short curls around his finger. "She loves this little girl as much as she loves you. And Lynne, Renee does love you. Not anymore than as her closest sister," he teased, "but the bond of Jane's birth will never be broken. I watched her that night when I wasn't talking to you. She changed, although I'm not sure she realizes it yet."

Lynne stared at her husband. "What do you mean?"

Eric lifted the drowsy baby from Lynne's grasp. He stood, then motioned for Lynne to follow. Eric led her into the living room, where he placed Jane in her cot. Then he sat on the sofa and Lynne joined him. Eric put his arm around her, setting his hand on her slightly plump belly. "Honey, if there had been any way Renee could have made that journey with you, she'd have killed to do so. But that doesn't mean she's left behind."

"Do you know something I don't?" Lynne asked.

"Only that yeah, you stepped on the Mommy Train, and right now she doesn't have a ticket. But maybe someday, maybe."

"Oh Eric, did Sam say something to you that week, do you think they'll adopt one day?"

"All I can tell you is what I feel here, in my gut." He moved his hand away from her, placing hers on his abdomen. "And it's not painful, only a notion, but it's strong Lynne, it's, oh my God, something I've been tempted to paint just because I can't get it out of my head."

Yet Eric refrained from speaking his mind. Lynne didn't press, relieved that Eric didn't feel an imminent departure was near. She only prayed that Seth would respond to therapy and that both Aherns would still be willing to stand as Jane's godparents.

To the Snyders' surprise, Sam stopped to visit after lunch. Lynne teased that he realized she had baked and Sam smiled, noting that he had wondered when that ritual would be resumed. But instead of taking a slice, he held Jane as Lynne had just finished feeding her. Lynne gave Eric a knowing glance, then announced she was going to take a shower. The men had baby duty, but she asked them to please save her one slice of pie.

Eric poured coffee, then cut two generous pieces as Sam spoke softly to Jane, who was again awake. "She's got the bluest eyes," Sam said absently. Then he looked at Eric, who set a plate in front of him. "What, you want your baby back already?"

"A piece of pie for twenty minutes of rocking my daughter seems like a fair trade." Eric brought mugs to the table, then his pie, sitting across from Sam. "I think she gets her eyes from you."

Sam flinched, then chuckled. "Well, they probably won't be blue for long, not with all this dark hair. Betcha they'll be brown in a year's time."

"Maybe." Eric blew on his coffee, then ate a bite of pie. "Listen, I've got something to tell you."

Sam met Eric's gaze. "No, I need to tell you something first."

"Okay," Eric smiled. "Shoot."

Sam sighed, then kissed Jane's face. Then he set her over his shoulder as if to shield her. "It's about those New Yorkers."

Eric sipped from his cup. "Sam, I'm sorry I didn't mention it before."

Sam shook his head. "No Eric, I'm sorry I was so, so...." Sam stood, then handed Jane to her father. Then he stalked about the kitchen, finally stepping to the open space along the far wall. He stared out of the window, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I had no idea, I mean, I really didn't get it until last Saturday. God, how blind was I?"

"They don't make it obvious."

"No, they don't." Sam looked back at Eric. "How long've they been together?"

"Since before Stanford took me on. I think not long after the war."

Eric didn't mean Korea; from what he had gathered, Stanford and Laurie met in 1946. Both had managed to steer clear of the fighting; Stanford's father used his considerable clout to keep his only son from serving. Laurie hadn't turned eighteen until late 1944, and while he'd been conscripted, by the time he was ready to be sent overseas, Germany had surrendered, only Japan left to battle. The men had been introduced at a party for one of Michael Taylor's clients. Laurie had arrived with a young woman, but by the end of the evening, Stanford had made his intentions known. Within weeks, they had fallen deeply in love, and while Michael and Constance weren't enthused about Stanford's choice of partner, it had nothing to do with Laurie's personality. Now Michael treated Laurie like another son, and Eric expected Constance had too until she had lost the cognitive power to do so.

Sam returned to the table, taking a chair next to Eric. "A few guys in Korea, they were...." Sam shook his head. "We called them fruits, not to their faces of course, but...." He sighed. "I never understood it, I mean, it just seemed so...." Then Sam smiled. "Didn't affect how they were in combat, that had nothing to do with it. But Eric, I just don't understand what they see in each other. I sure don't know what Laurie sees in Stanford."

Eric chuckled. "Stan's a tough egg to crack and I'm sure that plays a big part of it. He's gotta hide who he really is, which is easier to do when you wear a shell few can tolerate."

Sam nodded. "Renee made her views pretty clear. And that it didn't seem to bother me when her co-workers were accusing her and Lynne of, well, the same damn thing."

Sam said that softly, but Jane's eyes were closed. He leaned back in his chair, then gazed at his pie. "Coffee's probably cold by now."

"Maybe," Eric said. "Pie's still good though."

Sam nodded, then stood, returning to his place at the table. He tried the coffee, then made a face. "It's not even regular. Eric, I do love you, and I mean that in a strictly brotherly sense, but I'll tell you this; no use drinking luke-warm decaf. Might as well drink luke-warm water for all the good it'll do me."

Sam pushed the cup into the center of the table, then forked himself a large bite of pie. He ate it slowly, then smiled. Then he reached for his mug. "My goodness, even luke-warm coffee's passable with Lynne's pie."

Eric nodded, then set Jane over his shoulder. Then he took another bite of pie, followed by a drink of coffee, while Sam hummed a familiar tune.

When Lynne returned, Jane was in her cot, and a cup of hot tea waited alongside a slice of apple pie. Lynne sat between the men, the conversation having turned to Jane's baptism. Sam seemed unbothered that it would most likely be held at St. Matthew's and he told Lynne not to worry about Renee's reaction. "I'll break the news, don't worry about it."

Lynne cleared her throat. "I don't wanna hurt her Sam, or you either. I just want to worship with Eric."

Sam smiled, then grasped her hand, giving it a friendly squeeze. "Lynne, all that matters is that Jane Renee will be a child of God, and we'll be holding her as it happens."

"Are you sure?" Lynne asked.

"Yup. When's it gonna be?"

"Don't know yet," Eric said. "Pastor Jagucki's coming over sometime next week, I should call him and set a date. But the baptism will be on a Sunday, I'm sure."

Sam smiled, then released Lynne's hand. "Well, that I expected. So I guess we've seen the last of you at mass. Well, it was nice while it lasted."

Lynne noted Sam's tone, which wasn't quite annoyed, but a small dig was implied. She inhaled, then exhaled slowly. "Sam, I hope it'll be all right if I invite Stanford and Laurie. I doubt they'd come all the way for a baptism but...."

Sam stared at Lynne, then he had a small cough. "Well, uh, whoever you want to be there, I have no arguments."

"It's just that we have so few that I'd want to share that day with."

Sam stood, taking his empty plate and mug to the sink. He retrieved Eric's plate, but his cup was half-full. Sam loitered near the sink, then slowly retook his chair. "Lynne, I'm sorry for how I reacted last weekend. It was kind of them to visit and I hope I didn't aggravate the situation too badly. You and Eric have every right to invite anyone you want to Jane's baptism. I just hope they'll overlook my boorishness."

"Does that mean we can ask your sister and her family to come?" Eric smiled.

Sam stared at Eric. "Frannie you mean?"

"That's the one. That little stuffed bear she sent Jane is adorable. I'd love to share that day with them if you think it'd be okay."

Sam's smile was slow, then lit his face. "She'd be pleased to attend. You invite Frannie and you'll have a pew and a half filled."

"Well, that'd be splendid." Eric scooted close to Lynne, putting his arm around her. "In fact, tell you what. I'll call Pastor Jagucki right now, set up a date for him to visit next week. Then we'll make a date for the baptism, say in another month. Jane'll be six weeks old by then, that should be fine. Lynne, whatdya say?"

She nodded, then sipped her tea. "But we still need to tell Renee."

Sam patted Lynne's free hand. "Leave that to me. She gave me an earful about those New Yorkers. My turn to give her one right back."

"Oh Sam don't, I mean, I don't want her feelings to be hurt."

Sam leaned toward Lynne, squeezing her hand. "You leave Renee to me. Don't you worry about anything other than feeding Jane and maybe making another pie." Sam chuckled. "Eric said that pastor's got a sweet tooth. You square a date with him and I'll take care of Mrs. Ahern."
Chapter 60

On Sunday, the twenty-second of April, Renee stood next to her husband near the baptismal font at St. Matthew's Lutheran Church as Jane Renee Snyder was ushered into the Lutheran faith. The day was auspicious for more than just one infant's entry into baptism; Easter Sunday had brought several families to St. Matthew's that ordinarily wouldn't have attended, but a host of infants, and a few adults, were baptized that day, making for a longer than usual service. Although to the Aherns and Canfields, a Catholic Easter mass would have been even lengthier.

Jane was a placid baby and she was no different in her Auntie Renee's grasp, although Renee wondered, as soon as they stepped away, if Jane would stir, then howl for her mother. Yet Jane remained asleep as holy water was sprinkled on her forehead. Eric and Lynne stood to the side, their smiles wide, Lynne's eyes cloudy with tears. Renee's eyes grew damp, but she blinked that away, staring at her goddaughter. It was her first non-Catholic godchild, but probably not her last, and no longer did Renee feel any trepidation about Eric and Lynne's decision. After a long talk with that very personable Polish pastor, Renee's fears had been erased, although an earlier chat with Father Markham had laid the groundwork for Renee's peace of mind.

Yet now, what was there to worry about? Jane was five and a half weeks old, had been accepted into God's family, and Renee would leave the rest with Christ. As Jane's turn was over, Sam led Renee from the font, then Renee handed the baby to her mother. Lynne's moist eyes and bright smile conveyed her gratitude for Renee and Sam's presence, and an even stronger thanksgiving of salvation, which Renee felt deeply within her. Eric and Lynne would be baptized later in the year, perhaps in summer, and Renee would attend that service as well. But this morning carried a great gift for Jane's christening and for those in attendance. As Renee followed the Snyders back to their pew, she looked for Fran and Louie's clan, who had made it, albeit after the Aherns and Snyders had been seated. Renee smiled, spotting Louie and Sally on their feet, but Frannie and the younger children had managed to find empty chairs. Then Renee wanted to giggle; Stanford and Laurie were seated right where Eric and Lynne were heading.

The church was packed, but the Aherns and Snyders had arrived early, Laurie and Stanford as well. Renee knew why the Canfields were late and it had little to do with a family of nine getting out the door on Easter Sunday. Fran was pregnant, due in late September, but she hadn't been well. Renee was surprised that family had come at all considering how sick Fran was with this confinement, but Sam had said that she so wanted to be present for Jane's special day. Frannie seemed nonplussed that the Snyders had decided to forgo the Catholic faith, but maybe that was due to a certain Catholic tenant that Fran and Louie just couldn't ignore.

Renee sat next to Lynne, hoping for another chance to hold Jane. She looked angelic in her long white gown and delicate hat, which was now back on her head, having been removed for the actual baptism. Thin white ribbons had remained tied, but loosely, so that Pastor Jagucki could push the cap just from Jane's brow to offer the sacrament. Renee had slipped the hat back on once that was over, and Jane looked like a sleeping angel, those dark blue eyes still closed, soft brown curls peeking out from under lace trim. Sam often remarked that those blue eyes weren't going to last much longer, but Renee snorted when he said it, for she'd seen plenty of brown-eyed infants born to mothers with lighter coloring than Lynne's. If Jane was meant to have eyes the same hue as her Uncle Sam's then she would, but let Sam find that out on his own. Then Renee smiled as Lynne motioned for her to take Jane. "I need to use the restroom," Lynne whispered to Renee.

Renee nodded, then asked if Lynne also needed her daughter. Lynne smiled, shaking her head, moving past Sam to the end of the pew. Renee shrugged slightly, then scooted a little closer to Eric, only because the pew was tightly packed. Renee ignored the service, gazing over at Laurie, who smiled at her. Stanford seemed bored by it all, but he met Renee's gaze, then grinned, rolling his eyes. Renee nearly chuckled, then remembered it was Easter.

While Lynne was gone, communion was announced, but Renee and Sam weren't going up for it. Renee had asked Father Markham about it, and while he was progressive on some points of church doctrine, he was firm that the Aherns should only take the Eucharist in a Catholic setting. But then Eric and Lynne wouldn't go up unless they wanted a blessing, and Renee didn't think they would, so many people already in line. Laurie and Stanford weren't going anywhere, then Renee glanced to the back of the church; Louie and Sally remained on their feet, having been joined by Sally's next two siblings, Will and Jaime. Those boys were as tall as their sister, but not quite to their father's height. Then Renee craned her neck, finding their younger sister Denise with Helene on her lap. The last two boys, Brad and Johnny, flanked their older sister, but Fran wasn't among them.

Renee poked Sam, then handed Jane to her father. "I'm gonna go find Fran. She's not back there anymore."

Sam nodded. "She's probably...." Then he frowned. "Maybe Lynne's with her."

Renee squeezed his knee, nodding her head. She made her way along the pew, then went right. At the end of the pews, she went left, then saw the restrooms. She entered the women's, where someone was gagging. Then she saw Lynne, pointing to the open stall, where Fran was quite sick.

"She didn't want me in there," Lynne whispered. "It's such a tiny stall, there's barely room for her."

Renee nodded, then cleared her throat. "Frannie, you okay?"

"Uh-huh," Sam's sister said, then gagged again.

Renee shook her head, then muscled her way into the little space. "Fran, you are not okay. Fran?"

"Water Renee, please?"

Renee backed out, then looked around the small room. "She needs some water. Do you see any cups?"

Lynne glanced at the meager furnishings. "I'll run to the kitchen, be right back."

Renee nodded as Fran continued to cough. "Frannie, Lynne's gone for some water. Honey, are you gonna be okay?"

"Renee, don't go. Just stay here."

Fran's tone was ragged and Renee shivered. "Maybe we should run you to the ER. You don't sound good."

The gagging stopped, then the toilet was flushed. Fran staggered out, her face ashen, blue eyes stripped of their color. "I just need to sit a minute."

"You need to be in bed. Why'd you come today?"

"God told me to."

"Oh Fran, for goodness sake." Renee helped her sister-in-law to a chair, then knelt beside her. She brushed aside graying blonde hair from Fran's beleaguered face, then grasped her clammy hands. "Honey, you need to see a doctor."

Fran sighed, then wore a weak smile. "Renee, I'm so sick because...."

Lynne returned with Sally on her heels. Lynne held Jane, who was starting to cry, and Sally carried the water. "Here Mom. Are you okay?" Sally asked.

"Fine, just lemme have a drink."

While Fran sipped the water, Lynne sat in the other free chair and started nursing Jane. As the two mothers made eye contact, Renee felt out of the loop, but she remained on her knees next to Fran as Sally backed away. "Mom, Dad's just outside, what should I tell him?"

Fran took a deep breath, then wiped a few tears from her face. "Tell him, oh my lord. Tell him I'm gonna tell your Aunt Renee the truth and that Mrs. Snyder's in here too."

Renee glanced at Sally, who at fifteen looked how Fran used to years ago. Sally shivered, then stared at the floor. "Are you sure Mom?" asked the frightened teenager.

"Tell me what Fran?" Renee gripped Fran's free hand. "What's wrong honey?"

"Go on Sally, and tell him I'll be out in a few minutes."

Sally nodded, then slipped from the room.

"Fran, oh honey, is something wrong?"

Fran shook her head, but she wept. "We didn't wanna tell you and Sam yet, we wanted to wait till after little Jane here was baptized, which I guess we did, sort of. Mrs. Snyder, I'm sorry about this, I didn't mean to upset Jane's special day."

"Mrs. Canfield, all that matters is that you're all right. And please call me Lynne."

Fran nodded, then smiled, but it was weary. "Only if you'll call me Fran. Or Frannie, whichever you prefer."

Lynne reached out her hand and grasped Renee's, which still clutched Fran's. "Frannie it is."

Fran nodded, then stroked Renee's face. "Honey, Louie and I are having twins, or I hope we're gonna have them." She paused, then wiped the tears now pouring down Renee's face. "The doctor said it happens to older mothers and well, hopefully they'll be fine, and then I'll tell you, this really is it. If God wants me to have another baby, he's gonna do it himself."

The news flowed through Renee like a burning fire. She hadn't felt this way when Eric broke the news, nor had she felt it when any of her siblings, or Sam's, had shared similar sentiments. But then none had been expecting two babies and not one of them looked as exhausted and sick as Fran did.

Renee wanted to ask why, but not to Fran or Lynne. Renee wanted to run from that room, head straight to that Polish pastor and shake the answer from him. And if no reply was forthcoming, she would march straight over to St. Anne's and corner both priests. And if they couldn't give her an adequate response, she would camp out right in front of the altar and petition God with her query. Why of all things was forty-five-year-old Frannie, mother of seven, now pregnant with twins?

"Are you sure?" Renee mumbled, still grasping Fran's hand. "I mean, how do you know?"

"We heard two heartbeats Renee. I'm sick as a dog and I'm already in maternity clothes. If it's not twins, it's a Martian."

Fran's tone was still drained, but the small joke lightened the mood. "Oh my God," Renee said, then she crossed herself. Then she gazed at Lynne, who nodded and smiled. Renee stood, then sighed. "Well, I hope nine kids makes him happy."

"Are you kidding?" Fran shook her head. "Louie's anything but happy."

"Not Louie. God. If this doesn't satisfy him, I don't know what will."

"Renee, watch what you say." But Fran smiled as she spoke.

Renee gazed at the ceiling, jamming fists into her sides. "God forgive me, but you can see this woman, she's tired, she's already got seven kids. If she's gonna have two more, then please just let her not be so sick. Amen."

"Amen," Fran and Lynne said in unison.

"Amen," Renee repeated. Then again she fell to her knees, embracing her sister-in-law, both women in tears.

All the guests for Jane's baptism loitered outside St. Matthew's as Eric and Lynne again thanked Pastor Jagucki. Eric mentioned they were having lunch, followed by dessert, if the pastor wished to join them, but Pastor Jagucki declined, although he said he was tempted by Mrs. Snyder's pie. The threesome shook hands, then Eric escorted Lynne to where their friends gathered. Eric hadn't expected the pastor to accept, he was probably invited to many homes that afternoon. But Eric had wanted to extend the invitation for he was thankful to have had Jane's baptism occur at this church, a place where Eric felt much peace. He looked forward to his and Lynne's baptisms later that year, but more on his mind was what had happened in the ladies' room during communion.

Lynne hadn't said anything concrete and as they reached the rest, there wasn't time for her to speak now. Eric noted how Laurie easily made small talk with Louie while Stanford chatted with Sam and Renee, the awkwardness of March forgotten. Eric smiled, pleased for that. Then he gazed at Fran, who still looked unwell. Sally toted Helene while the other children milled around their mother.

"Shall we head home?" Eric asked Lynne. Then he stroked Jane's cheek, making the sleepy baby stir.

"Don't do that or I'll be nursing her in the car. Yes, we should go." Then Lynne leaned close to Eric. "I'll tell you when we get there."

He nodded, then cleared his throat. "All right everyone. Food and drinks are waiting at our house. We'll see you there."

The Canfield children cheered, some asking if they could ride with Aunt Renee and Uncle Sam. Louie shooed the four boys in Sam's direction as the two older girls followed their mother, Sally still carrying Helene. Sam hollered for Louie to follow him while Stanford and Laurie headed to Eric's vehicle. Stanford got in the front, Laurie, Lynne, and Jane sitting in the backseat.

If they had been alone, Eric knew that Lynne would have already told him the scoop. But with Stanford and Laurie's presence, that news would remain under wraps. Eric wasn't worried, for right after the service, Renee had pulled Sam aside and he hadn't seemed overly troubled. He'd looked surprised, but Eric had a few guesses. Yet, the Canfields were coming for lunch, so Fran couldn't be that ill.

"What's wrong with Louie's wife?" Laurie asked once they had cleared the church parking lot.

"Louie's wife?" Stanford smirked. "Good God, you're on first name basis with them now?"

Eric chuckled as Laurie clucked. "Why yes I am Stan. He's even got me thinking about converting."

Stanford didn't offer a reply, but Eric laughed out loud. "I'll be sure to attend that baptism."

"My father would roll over in his grave," Laurie smiled. Then he paused. "Lynne, is Mrs. Canfield all right?"

"Why is it Louie and Mrs. Canfield?" Stanford asked, turning back to face Laurie.

"Because Louie asked me to call him by his first name and I've not yet had the pleasure of speaking with his better half."

Eric listened to the men's gentle banter, noting that Stanford clearly did not want to learn the nature of Mrs. Canfield's ill health. The New Yorkers jousted with each other all the way to the Snyders' home, and Lynne never had to reveal the exact nature of Fran's malady.

Once everyone had arrived, Renee and Sam set up the buffet with Laurie's assistance. Eric kept his eye on Frannie, but she seemed better after lunch was eaten. The day was warm and the children played hide and seek and other games in the garden. Only Helene remained near her parents, or in Sam's grasp if he wasn't cuddling his newest godchild.

Eric rarely held Jane that afternoon, for she was in high demand. Lynne took Jane upstairs to nurse and only then did Eric get a moment with his wife and child. But Lynne kept mum about Fran's health, for often Fran and Renee were seated on the bed, chatting with the new mother.

Eric didn't learn anything until after the last guest had left, which didn't include Stanford and Laurie. Once those men said their goodnights, Eric locked the house, finding his wife and daughter in Jane's favorite position. The baby was filling out and Eric sat beside Lynne, tickling his daughter's plump chin.

Jane pulled away and gave her father a quizzical look. Eric laughed as Jane then returned right to Lynne's breast. "Can't distract her for long," he said. "She knows what she likes."

Lynne smirked, then gave a languid sigh. "It was a beautiful day, but I didn't get enough of just us, although she never went hungry." Lynne smiled at her husband. "I mean, it was great to share her, but every time I came up to feed her, Renee was on my heels, or Fran, or Sally." Lynne laughed. "She doesn't look like a little girl anymore."

"No, she doesn't. Looks like her mother, like an adult." Eric said that softly. "So Lynne, what's wrong with Fran?"

Lynne stared at Jane. "She's expecting twins."

"Oh my God!" Eric shook his head. "Well, that's gonna be a lot of work."

"Uh-huh. She's pretty sick and well...." Lynne hesitated, then set Jane over her shoulder. A sleepy burp emerged, then Jane looked up, awoken by her actions. Lynne placed her to the other breast and Jane continued her dinner.

Eric watched all those movements, his heart bound to these two females more than he thought was possible. Part of the afternoon had been spent sharing his latest canvases, Jane and Lynne in various poses. He only showed those that were family-oriented, but a few nudes were in the studio, paintings that Eric might never show anyone but the Aherns and Jane, when she was older, but not as old as Sally Canfield. Then Eric sighed. That girl was aged because of how many siblings she had to look after, and two more were on the way.

"How'd Renee take it?" Eric asked quietly.

"As well as could be expected. Fran seemed more resigned than anything, and what could Renee say?" Lynne relayed Renee's initial sentiments, which made Eric smile, then he winced. Sam had treated his sister with kid gloves all afternoon, and had walked at her side when the Canfields made their departure. Eric recalled Fran's weariness two years ago, when he'd sketched her, Sally, and Helene. Fran was older now and two babies would take much from an already overworked mother. "It's either feast or famine," Eric said, stroking his daughter's head. Those brown curls were lengthy, although Jane had lost some hair along the sides and back of her skull. Still she had a mass of hair and like Renee, Eric thought those blue eyes were for keeps. Sam tried to distance himself from Jane, but he and Renee were a part of her, and now were her godparents. As the baby finished nursing, Lynne handed her to Eric. He burped her, then set several kisses on her face. Jane stirred, but tried to ignore it. Eric didn't stop until the baby's eyelids fluttered open, making her father smile.

"How long you wanna keep her up?" Lynne asked, reattaching her bra.

"As long as she'll let me." Then Eric gazed at his wife. "I guess God has his reasons."

Lynne nodded, then scooted toward her husband and daughter. "He does. For all things."

Eric wondered if Lynne meant more than the Canfields; Seth was still receiving shock therapy. Laurie and Stanford had been pleased to travel for Jane's baptism and would stop in Minneapolis on their way back to New York. Stanford had hinted about Eric's next show, but Eric wasn't sure what paintings he would exhibit. The nudes of Lynne from last year would be greatly admired, but that wasn't the issue. Eric didn't want to sell them, or any he had made of her while pregnant. Nor did he want to display those at the Caffey-Miller Institute. He didn't need to part with any canvases; money wasn't an issue, but Stanford wanted to keep Eric in the public eye. Eric understood that, but now with the freedom to paint at leisure, his subjects were highly personal. Maybe he would permit another show, if more of his works could be included. A retrospective perhaps, then Eric chuckled. He was just thirty-three years old, was that too young for such an event?

"What're you thinking?" Lynne asked.

He smiled, then gently blew on Jane's face. She glared at him, then made a soft cry. "Stanford asked when I was gonna have another exhibit. I told him it hasn't even been a year since the last one, there's no rush."

Lynne giggled. "I wondered if he was gonna bring that up. So Eric, when are you going to have another exhibit?"

Her voice was naughty and he grimaced. They hadn't yet been intimate, although Eric had been the recipient of Lynne's carnal generosity. She would see Dr. Salters on Wednesday for her six-week check-up. If the doctor gave the all-clear, then that evening Eric would make love to his wife, although not without protection. Eric had purchased condoms last week; maybe the Canfields had quit using birth control, but the Snyders would employ those measures, at least until Jane was several months older.

Not that they wanted to wait too long, but these early days in a baby's life were so precious, and brief. Eric couldn't believe the speed of the last five and a half weeks, his daughter was nearly a month and a half old. Then he smiled as Lynne had started stroking his upper legs. "What're you doing?" he asked in a husky tone.

"If you wanna display the first nudes, I'm not bothered. I've had a baby," she laughed. "No more modesty remains."

A slow smile spread over Eric's face. "No more modesty, huh? What happened to the woman I married?"

Now Lynne caressed Eric's face. "Oh honey, that was lifetimes ago. To be honest, some of those paintings, if you wanna sell them, I really don't care."

"What? Are you serious?"

"We have to eat," she smiled. "And baby clothes aren't cheap. Honey, I'm not even that woman now. I'm a mother, your wife, soon a Lutheran." Lynne chuckled. "My whole existence is altered, sort of like you." She kissed him tenderly, then gazed at their baby. "You changed first, then I did. After having your baby Eric, nothing within me is at all the same."

Lynne took their daughter into her arms. "The only painting I don't want you to sell is the one of me seated on the stool with my arms outstretched. You can display it, but every time I see it, I think it might be the moment she came to be." Lynne set a kiss to Jane's forehead. Then Lynne looked at Eric. "Wouldn't that be funny, me sitting in the studio, naked as a jaybird, and there she was, just starting to settle inside me. But it would be so appropriate. I don't care who sees it, I just want that piece to remain within our family. It'll embarrass her when she's older, but after all we went through and all you've suffered, that painting is all kinds of miracles rolled into one.

"It's like the ones you sent to Seth, those are just as precious. But they aren't for everyone, only for very special people. But the nudes, oh honey. Keep the ones you want, just save that one for me. Maybe if we have another baby, you'll have painted one for that child's conception, or maybe all our kids will be represented by that single picture. Eric, all that matters to me is you, Jane, God, and our family. We do have a family; two of them are sleeping just down the hall."

Eric chuckled, then stood from the bed. "Stay right there, don't move."

"What, you're not gonna paint us now, are you?"

He grabbed his sketch pad, then sat on the far corner of the mattress. "I'll paint you tomorrow, but the light's perfect." Quickly he outlined his wife and daughter, reminding Lynne to keep still.

"But she's falling asleep Eric. I thought you wanted to keep her awake."

He glanced at Lynne. "She's asleep you say?"

"Yes she is."

Eric put the last touches on the drawing; it was rough, but enough detail was noted that tomorrow he could start painting. He set the tablet and pencil back on his dresser, then gently lifted Jane from her mother's arms. Eric stepped from the master bedroom into the nursery, laying Jane in her crib. He left that door cracked, but closed his bedroom door all the way. "She won't wake for hours," he smiled.

"And what'll we do in the meantime?" Lynne asked saucily.

"Practice for later this week." Eric undressed, then got into bed beside his wife. "We have so much time to make up for."

Lynne giggled, then lay down as Eric began kissing her. And while they weren't intimate, they reminded each other of the love waiting to be made.
Chapter 61

Inside the sunroom Eric cuddled his daughter so she could see the garden, not that he thought Jane could actually make out the patio furniture or the fountain and bird bath. Eric and Lynne often wondered how keen was their daughter's vision; it was now apparent that she knew them, and her Auntie Renee and Uncle Sam, her smiles wide. At nearly eight weeks of age, Jane had entered a most precious state of babyhood, or so those four adults thought. She was still relatively tiny, but now animated, and was learning more about the world every day.

In mid-May, the Snyder homestead was again undergoing change as three acres of the thicket were being cleared behind and to the right of Eric's studio. Jane seemed to understand that small building's importance in her parents' lives; when either took her inside, Jane's babblings ceased, her blue eyes open wide. Eric had painted mother and daughter in the studio as well as in the sunroom. He'd also painted them seated on the patio, but wouldn't do that again until bramble had been removed. Eric sighed, kissing the top of his daughter's head. He probably wouldn't again paint their portraits outside until summer was in full swing, for as soon as the thicket was cleared, construction would begin, and while Jane was usually good humored, she wasn't fond of overwhelming noise. Fortunately she seemed impervious when asleep, napping without issue while bulldozers uprooted trees and shrubs. But if Eric stepped through the French doors, Jane would begin to whimper, then whine, then break into a full-blown tantrum. Better to paint her portrait inside the house, plenty of time to capture her outdoors in the months ahead.

After Jane's baptism, time seemed to fly for the Snyders, and Eric wore a sly grin as he set Jane over his shoulder, then turned to face the living room. Lynne was in the kitchen making an apple pie, but their roles as husband and wife had returned in full right after their daughter was christened. Then the gardeners arrived to begin the exterior alterations and now life as a father and husband left Eric with little time to consider much else. He still painted, of course, but it was balanced by a new dimension of commitment to his wife and child that Eric had never considered. Perhaps it had been impossible to imagine the changes one small baby would bring, and not only to her parents. Eric had seen the desire upon Renee's face, motherhood no longer a faraway dream. Eric wasn't certain how much Fran Canfield's pregnancy had to do with it, but he hadn't missed how Renee doted upon her godchild, although dote wasn't exactly the correct term. A new facet of Renee Ahern had been unearthed in the last two months and even Samuel had remarked upon it, strictly in the context of Fran's coming twins. But Eric wasn't fooled by that man's attempts to diminish what Jane had inspired. Even Sam was contemplating the idea of fatherhood.

Perhaps not to an infant, then Eric smiled as Lynne stepped through the kitchen doorway, heading toward him. Jane was still babbling, but Lynne looked in need of mother-daughter time, and Eric nodded, hoisting their child from over his shoulder, then handing her to Lynne. In the last several weeks he had learned when a mother needed to breastfeed, and not always was it when Jane screamed from hunger.

That baby seemed in tune with her mother, for as soon as she went into Lynne's grasp, Jane began to cry, but not the sound when she was wet or lonely. Eric had discerned the various tones of Jane's irritation, three distinct tenors that noted hunger, fear, and discomfort. Discomfort usually meant a soggy bottom, although a few times Jane has suffered from an upset tummy or gas. If she woke from a nap, she beckoned for companionship, and was easily soothed. But when her appetite arose, she could be downright vociferous, although rare were the moments she was made to wait. At night, she was still sleeping in the bassinette in the master bedroom, however during the day she napped in her crib. When a mother and father needed privacy, Jane was either placed in her crib if the sun was shining, or was laid in her bassinette, then wheeled just outside their bedroom. Lovemaking had returned to Eric and Lynne with a deeper intensity, but was now expressed in more muted voices. Often they found it better to make love in the afternoons while Jane slept in the nursery. However, since the gardeners' arrival, those excursions had been eliminated.

Yet, a baby ate whenever she was hungry, even if her parents were trying to display ardent affections. As Lynne took the crowing infant into the living room, Jane noted again it was mealtime, even if she hadn't realized it until Lynne held her. Eric found that relationship the most striking and beautiful of all the changes that had occurred. In a concealed corner, Lynne began to feed their daughter, unbothered to the workers just beyond the patio. Eric sat beside them, stroking Jane's curls, gazing at his wife, inhaling this new chapter of their lives. They were parents after so many years of waiting. And with Laurie's latest news about Seth's continuing recovery, perhaps Eric would never have to be separated from his family again.

Eric tried to keep that in perspective; Seth had been receiving electro-shock therapy since right after Jane was born. During those weeks he had grown calmer and slightly more extroverted; Seth wasn't attempting any return to sculpting, but no longer was he suicidal. Laurie's last letter denoted a hesitant expectation that if Seth continued to proceed in this manner, perhaps he might be moved closer to home. Eric wasn't certain who had requested that, probably Seth's mother. The Abrams were a tightly knit bunch, Eric had learned, and it was distressing on Wilma Gordon to have her only son so far away.

But those thoughts only lasted until Jane burped; Eric stared at his daughter, sitting on Lynne's lap, her smile a beacon. Eric laughed, which made Jane chortle, although she sounded punch-drunk. "You're a little piglet," he said, tickling her chin.

"And thank goodness for that." Lynne put Jane to her other breast. Within seconds the baby was quiet and Lynne sighed. "I never realized all the human body could manage. I'd just gotten the pie in the oven, then before I could set the timer my milk came in. Thank goodness she's so accommodating."

Eric chuckled. "Did you set the timer or should I check the pie?"

"I did, but you can check it. And would you get me some juice?"

Eric stood from the sofa. "Apple or...."

"Orange. And a glass of water too."

He nodded, then headed to the kitchen. It was beneficial that Lynne had been a nurse, for sometimes Eric forgot those requirements. Jane never went hungry, but then Lynne was always eating or drinking something. Or making pie; she had returned to that activity in full, and Eric wondered what sort of homemaker had been lurking inside his wife, aching to be released. Her days as his bohemian spouse seemed to have ended with Jane's birth, but perhaps another soul had blossomed, or two of them. Eric and Lynne would be baptized in July, although Stanford and Laurie wouldn't venture west for that occasion. It might only be Sam and Renee in attendance that Sunday, for Fran was still unwell, although the last time Eric had asked, the babies seemed all right. As Eric peeked at the pie, then retrieved beverages for his wife, he inhaled more than fruit and cinnamon. Their home was no longer the dwelling of merely two people. Jane had made this house a cozy nest, in addition to those whom Eric considered their closest relations.

When he returned to the living room, Lynne's eyes were shut. He put the glasses on the coffee table and she nodded, but didn't open her eyes. He sat beside her and she reached for his hand, her smile wide, even if she looked ready to nap. But he knew sleep wasn't her hope. She was praying and he remained quiet, taking a moment to give thanks for a multitude of blessings. His wife and daughter were two, this spacious but comfortable house another, but lately Eric had found a different topic edging those gifts and he chuckled inwardly, odd to think of faith as something for which to be grateful. According to Pastor Jagucki, faith was a gift, not something humans conjured on their own. The more Eric studied Luther's Small Catechism, the more at ease he felt with having chosen St. Matthew's, then he gently tutted himself; God had led Eric to visit Pastor Jagucki that brisk March morning two days before Jane was born. The daffodils had indeed bloomed, just recently in fact, and Marek Jagucki had smiled at Eric last Sunday after church, noting that Mrs. Harmon had finally stopped harassing him. Strange that those early spring flowers had waited until May to emerge, but now they stood tall alongside fading tulips, their bright orange centers noting the unpredictability of God's handiwork, how the pastor had explained it to both Eric and Mrs. Harmon.

Eric had heard that story as he stood at the bottom of the steps while Lynne nursed Jane in the ladies' room inside church. They had been the last to leave, but the pastor hadn't seemed in a hurry to rush them off. Eric and the pastor also spoke about art; Marek Jagucki hoped that the painter would host an exhibit closer to home, for he hadn't seen any canvases other than the few which graced the Snyders' residence. Most of those were of Lynne and Jane, although Marek had been greatly moved by the orchard in spring, stating it reminded him of his youth in Poland. Eric hadn't heard more than wistfulness in the pastor's voice, but since meeting him, Eric also found that Marek Jagucki possessed a great capacity for subtly. If Father Markham hadn't mentioned that Pastor Jagucki's entire family had been lost during World War II, Eric would have no inkling of that tragedy.

Perhaps Eric would arrange an impromptu exhibit, although not as Stanford had been hinting. Now with Jane's safe arrival and Seth's apparent improvement, Eric didn't feel he would be going anywhere, and why not show this town the talent he possessed. He didn't think about the gossipy nurses who had spoken behind Lynne's back during his previous absences, nor did he considered wealthy art collectors; this would be a small but wide-ranging exhibit of locally owned paintings, from those hanging in the Aherns' living room to the ones Fran and Louie Canfield possessed, and any Aherns and Nolans who would willingly part with their family portraits for a short time. Then there was the painting of Lynne and Renee in their nursing uniforms, which was stored upstairs, along with hordes of canvases Eric had created over the last year. Would he display any of the nudes? Perhaps, depending on what Lynne thought. He gripped her hand, then smiled. She was willing to show most of them, but that was assuming the audience would be well-heeled art lovers in New York City. What might she think if locals saw her so unabashedly depicted?

Where could such an exhibit be held, Eric mused, spying his sleeping daughter and nearly unconscious wife beside him. Eric released Lynne's hand, then tenderly lifted Jane from her mother's arms. He burped the baby, but Jane wasn't stirred from slumber, and Lynne looked very settled on the couch. Eric carried Jane to her crib, covering her with a light blanket. Then he returned downstairs, finding Lynne had reclined along the length of the sofa. He smiled, softly stroking long hair from her face. He left the juice and water on the coffee table, but headed into the kitchen, finding just minutes left on the timer. He checked the pie, which seemed finished, and set it on the stove to cool. Then he picked up the timer, taking it to the far corner of the kitchen, adjusting the dial until it hummed in his hand. While Lynne was fully recovered from Jane's birth, Dr. Salters had admonished the new mother to take advantage of Jane's naptimes for her own rest. Eric had plenty to keep him busy while the women in his life caught forty winks.

An hour later, Lynne found her husband upstairs cataloging paintings. "Eric," she whispered. "What are you doing?"

He looked up, then motioned toward the nursery. "Is she still asleep?"

Lynne nodded, coming to his side. "What's going on? Did Stanford call while I was napping?"

Eric shook his head. "Nope, but I need to call him. I think I'm gonna have a show soon."

"You are?"

"Mmmhmm, right here in town. Just trying to decide which paintings to include."

Lynne stood back. "You're gonna have an exhibit here?"

"Well, Pastor said he wished I'd have a showing closer to home. Then I realized the only pictures he's seen are the orchard and the few of you and Jane that aren't, well...." Eric laughed quietly. "Thought I'd ask Sam and Renee about their three and maybe some of the Ahern and Nolan family portraits and maybe a few of...."

Eric paused, then grinned at his wife. "The nudes, since you seemed unbothered if I sold most of them."

Lynne shivered, then noted her husband's teasing smile. "The nudes, huh? And which nudes were you considering?"

"Oh, the ones you thought eventually would make their way east. And any others you felt like sharing with John Q. Public."

For a second, Lynne wondered if Eric was being serious. Then as he stared at a large vertical canvas, she had no doubt to his intentions. The painting was of her, done in the studio. Lynne's back was to the viewer, her hair much longer than it had been at the time, concealing her buttocks. Yet she wore not a stitch, peering out at the greenery as if searching for.... She knew what Eric had depicted, but other than the Aherns, no one else would guess what the model was looking for through the studio's glass panes. Perhaps she was admiring the garden or daydreaming or.... But while Lynne's husband had been just yards away as she held that pose, it was as if she was waiting for him to return. Lynne approached the canvas, lightly running her fingers along that lengthy mane. Her hair was to her shoulders now and she would probably keep it that length. Soon enough Jane would be reaching for anything to grasp and a mother's tresses would be the first prize. But just over a year ago, Lynne had been a different woman, although in that painting, she was probably pregnant. How much had she changed in the last twelve or thirteen months?

"Will you show my favorite?" she asked, still examining herself gazing out from the studio's back wall.

"If you want. I'll show any and all paintings you think are appropriate."

She faced him. "Will you sell them?"

"Not here or Stanford would have my head," Eric smiled. "This'll be a small exhibit, certainly not a retrospective, but with the Aherns' paintings and the few old ones I've kept, anyone will be able to see a progression."

Lynne nodded, then chuckled. "Like I said after the baptism, whatever you feel is appropriate to sell, then show those pieces. It's too bad the ones in Minneapolis can't be included. That would really shock some folks."

Eric put his arm around her. "I've thought about it, but Seth's doing so well and...."

"And those canvases belong there. But can you imagine what the locals would think?"

"They'd think, well, I have no idea. I think Pastor would like them though."

"He would. That might be reason enough, but best they stay right where they are."

Lynne snuggled against her husband. She didn't care if townspeople saw her nude, although she might blush the next time she spoke to Pastor Jagucki. Yet, his European sensibilities would probably preclude any awkwardness. But what would he think of the two abstract paintings in Minnesota? Maybe once Seth was well and had been discharged from Caffey-Miller, those paintings could be brought back here for a brief time. Lynne didn't want them permanently, just as she didn't need these pictures, except the one of her seated on the stool. Eric had propped that one on an easel and Lynne stepped to where it waited. Her eyes were closed, her arms stretched as far as she could reach. And her smile? It was merely a hint to the woman she was now; indeed she had been pregnant, perhaps just at that very moment. Jane had existed inside Lynne, although they didn't know it was the usually cheerful sprite that now cried across the hall. Lynne smiled, although her milk didn't come in. That whimper was simply to alert parents that someone needed them, and Eric was out the door before Lynne could speak. Then he returned with a placid infant who sported faint tears on her plump cheeks. Lynne wiped away the remnants, then again peered at herself from over a year ago. "Show these Eric, let others know the existence of miracles, the goodness of God." Lynne smiled at her husband, then took their baby from his arms. She kissed Jane, then gently nuzzled against the baby's soft face. "These shouldn't be hidden away, not all the time. Maybe Pastor Jagucki would let you exhibit them in the social room if you can't find another place in town."

Eric's chuckle was slow in coming, then it exploded in the small space. For a moment Jane whimpered, then she smiled at her father's laughter. Lynne laughed too, wondering what their neighbors would say, and just how serious was the Lutheran pastor about seeing Eric's work. As Eric headed downstairs, saying he had calls to make, Lynne expected they would know soon enough one way or the other.
Chapter 62

Renee and Sam stared at a wide expanse, which stretched from the studio far into the Snyders' property. Those three acres loomed much larger than the couple had expected, although Eric seemed to have that space fully appropriated; to the right of the studio would be his new storage facility, which according to Eric would be completed before the Fourth of July. But one outbuilding wouldn't begin to fill the area that remained. "Are you sure you didn't clear too much space?" Renee asked, standing beside her husband. She peered at the broken sod, so much light spilling into the garden, or what would be garden, one of these days.

Eric chuckled, then flanked Renee, motioning to the immediate ground. "I want grass here, so Jane has plenty of space to run. That tree at the edge is gonna be a treehouse. The swing set will go here and a sandbox there and...."

"Where're the boysenberry vines gonna go?" Sam asked.

Now Eric laughed. "Those, my friend, will skirt around the perimeter out of reach of little ones. In part so we get berries from them, and so they don't get scratched up playing here." Eric stepped several feet into the lumpy sod. "It's gonna be a work in progress, but in two or three years, just when Jane's ready, you'll never know all this was once scrub."

Sam chuckled, joining where Eric stood. "All right, just as long as you get the berry vines in first."

"That'll be right after the storage building's done. We've got what looks to be a pretty healthy crop for this year, maybe it was good to prune those." Eric pointed to the mass of vines along the back of the sunroom. "But yeah, get the outbuilding done, then more plants, and some of this put into lawn." He stomped on a few large dirt clods. "I don't want it to be a huge mud hole come autumn."

Renee faced the house, wishing she had stayed inside, where Lynne fed the baby. Renee didn't care what the Snyders did to the backyard, well, she hoped for more berries of course. But it would be two years before Jane was solidly on her feet and as far as Renee knew, Lynne didn't want to try for another child until at least next spring. Lynne had gotten fitted for a diaphragm, for the couple had tired of condoms, and an IUD seemed invasive. The women talked about contraception as if Renee wasn't Catholic, and she wished she could have as easily spoken with Frannie about such issues. Renee was still troubled when thinking about Sam's sister, but she wasn't sure how much Fran's confinement had stirred her now overwhelming desire to adopt. Renee had a hard time not nagging Sam about it, although every time they visited the Snyders, Sam seemed a little closer to at least investigating the possibility.

"Renee, c'mere a minute." Sam held his arm out to her. "Tell us what you think about how far the grass should go."

She turned back to the men, shrugging her shoulders. "Like I have any idea about that. I'm going inside. You guys decide that sorta thing."

Promptly she headed to the house, finding Lynne no longer in the living room. But Renee could hear her softly singing to Jane from what sounded like the nursery. The Aherns had arrived just as Jane started crying for lunch and Renee hadn't gotten a chance to hold her. Now Lynne was putting the baby down for a nap and Renee wanted to slug Samuel for insisting she inspect the backyard. What did she care about the exterior? Far more important things were inside the Snyders' home.

Renee didn't speak, but Lynne's gentle voice tugged on Renee's heart. Renee didn't want to adopt an infant; that would be too much for Sam to cope with. But perhaps a small child, maybe two or three years old, probably three so neither would have to deal with potty training. A three or four-year-old who needed parents and Renee brushed away tears, hearing footsteps approach. Renee smiled, blinking away the last wetness, then she met Lynne at the bottom of the stairs. "She fall asleep?" Renee asked.

Lynne nodded. "Went out before she got to the second breast. I think she's having a growth spurt because she ate like a pig this morning, then needed more, but actually there wasn't much to give her. Good thing she fell asleep. Time for me to replenish."

Renee chuckled, having heard the same thing many times over from her and Sam's sisters. Then Renee thought of Frannie and had to hide her scowl. "Well, let's get you fed. Those husbands of ours are lost to the wonders of landscaping."

"Sorry you got roped into going out there," Lynne said as they entered the kitchen. "I'd have preferred a chat, but Eric wanted to show off what he wants to do."

Lynne sat as Renee pulled cold cuts and cheese from the fridge. "Well, I realize that, but that's man stuff. Babies are far more important in my opinion."

Renee shivered as she spoke, then she gripped the counter, saying a quick prayer. Why was Frannie having yet another child, two children? For what possible reason, then Renee shook her head. She got Lynne a glass of water, then brought the sandwich fixings to the table. "Oh, forgot the bread." She turned back, grabbing the loaf when Lynne reached for Renee's shoulder.

The women shared knowing gazes. Then Lynne led Renee to the closest chair, pulling hers in front. Lynne grasped Renee's trembling hands, then wiped away tears that Renee couldn't hide. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Renee shook her head. Fran was still quite ill and on days when not working with vets, Sam drove to the Canfields to help with Helene and Johnny. That little boy would start kindergarten in the fall, but for now the two at home were more than Fran could care for. Once school was out, she would have plenty of assistance, but that was still a few weeks away. Renee didn't begrudge the time Sam was gone, but she couldn't separate her anger from the reason for his absences, which sometimes coincided with her days off. Renee could have accompanied her husband, but it was just too hard to be around Frannie, Helene, and Johnny. Never had Renee felt any of her or Sam's youngest relatives were unapproachable, and she certainly didn't feel that way about Jane. Renee gripped Lynne's hands, then nodded. But she didn't speak, as if all of her feelings were understood by a woman who for many years had known the full extent of Renee's heartache.

"Have you talked any more about adoption?" Lynne's tone was soft.

Renee shook her head. "He doesn't wanna hear it, although every time we leave here, he brings it up. Then when I try to say something, he shuts down. That's the worst part, I mean...." Then Renee sighed. The worst was thinking about Frannie, two more babies, and no obvious purpose to that blessing. It was a blessing, Renee could admit to herself, sort of like how Eric turned into a hawk, or used to turn into one. He hadn't altered since last November and now Seth was better and.... "Lynne, I need to get something off my chest, but you have to promise you won't hate me afterwards."

Lynne smiled, caressing Renee's damp cheek. "Honey, I love you. You can tell me anything."

Renee wasn't sure about Lynne's earnest tone, but if she didn't speak about this, it would drive her crazy. "It's about Fran and the twins. I just...."

Heavy footsteps halted Renee's next words. "Hey, time for lunch yet, or is someone else still eating?" Eric spoke quietly but enthusiastically. Then he paused. "Uh, should we give you a minute?"

Renee stood, taking a deep breath, wiping the last of her tears. "Nope, otherwise you'll starve. I was just making Lynne some lunch so someone else has food for later."

Sam had entered the kitchen right after Eric, but Renee kept her gaze from her husband. The last thing she wanted was for Sam to know her heart, at least when it came to Frannie. Yet he seemed unwilling to listen to her about other issues, but Renee brushed that aside. "So, what'll it be, ham or turkey or...."

"You and Lynne make yourselves comfortable on the patio," Eric said. "Let us guys make lunch."

Renee nodded, stepping around Sam, not looking to see if Lynne was on her heels. Renee quickly walked through the living room, went out via the French doors, and had plopped into a patio chair before anything else could be noted.

On the drive home, the Aherns said nothing to each other, but many thoughts ran through their minds. Renee continued to berate herself for wishing Fran and Louie weren't having more children and feeling guilty that she had nearly shared that sentiment with Lynne. Sam wondered why his wife was so moody; she'd just had her period, but maybe that had again reminded her of.... He nearly shrugged, but stopped himself, not wishing to stir up anything. Then he sighed. Ignoring whatever was bugging her wouldn't alleviate the situation. "Renee, are you okay?"

For a few seconds she didn't respond, staring out her window. Then she took a deep breath, making Sam shiver. Usually after they left the Snyders, he couldn't help but think about what a child might bring to his and Renee's lives. Not a baby and Renee knew that, but was that the problem? Did she actually want them to adopt....

Sam had considered a slightly older child, well, much older than little Jane, who he had only seen in passing that day. After a stilted lunch was shared on the patio, Renee made their goodbyes, although Sam had wanted to stay longer, but that was probably because once he was alone with Renee this awkwardness would again emerge. Jane had slept all through the meal, which gave Lynne time to eat, and she had, two sandwiches in addition to glasses of milk, water, and juice. Eric mentioned that Jane was growing like a weed, but Sam had barely gotten a peek at her, although she'd flashed those blue eyes his way. At ten weeks old she still had blue eyes. Maybe, like everybody had been telling him, she was going to keep those blue peepers, but Sam wouldn't be surprised if they turned brown after time.

Since Jane's birth, time had been a funny notion for Sam, for within those two and a half months, he had undergone a vast healing, yet it was hedged by Frannie's odd news and Renee's strange irritability. Time either sped far too fast, like when he was with the Snyders, or even at work. He acknowledged that Seth's recuperation was a part of that, as if Seth was one of the vets Sam counseled. But when alone with Renee, time had started to drag, which had never been the case around his wife except for right after Sam came home from Korea. Until Renee had slapped him, her visits had felt like years instead of the brief minutes they had actually encompassed, but then once she let him have it, suddenly they were back to who they had been, or mostly who they had been, before he went to basic training. He'd still had several months of recovery ahead of him, but a wall had been torn down, probably the way Seth felt now that electro-shock therapy had brought him some peace. Laurie sent Sam updates when there was a new development, and the latest news had made Sam's heart leap; Seth's doctor had decided to end the shock treatments. Dr. Tasker felt Seth had made enough headway that traditional therapies could be resumed. Not that Seth hadn't been in counseling sessions for the last two months, but until he had been freed from that paralyzing black cloud, no amount of words or even Eric's amazing paintings could lift that suffocating malaise.

Sam felt it there in the car as Renee kept taking awkward breaths, not saying a word. But what could he offer other than he prayed for them to make the right choice. And for now, Sam wasn't convinced that investigating adoption was the best route. Then he shook his head. He wasn't even ready to get past looking into it while if Renee had her way, they'd drive to the nearest orphanage and bring home....

Sam blinked, then nearly pulled over. Fortunately the light turned yellow and he stopped. Jane was Eric and Lynne's treasure, even if she had blue eyes. Sam knew his limitations and while he adored his latest godchild, an infant as placid as Jane Renee would be too much for him, and that was if Renee did cut back on work. She'd told him that, the last time they drove away from the Snyders; she would only work part time, or less, whatever their budget allowed. They could sell not only the canvas of the three hawks, but the other landscape, just keeping the blue barn. With the profits, she wouldn't need to work more than twenty hours a week, occasionally picking up an extra shift if absolutely necessary. Sam wouldn't shoulder parenthood all on his own, and it certainly wouldn't involve bottles, diapers, and potty training. Neither Ahern was keen on those aspects.

When Sam went to the Canfields, his biggest task was keeping Helene and Johnny quiet so Fran could rest. Sally and the other kids only had two more weeks of school, then Sam wouldn't need to stop in, although he still would to make sure Fran was all right. And depending on how she felt during summer, Sam would drive over there to give Sally, Will, and Jaime a break. Those three eldest deserved some play time, they weren't responsible for running the household. That was Fran's job, but until she was well again.... Then Sam blanched. Fran was forty-five and assuming she was like their mother Marjorie, she might not be done having kids for another four or five years. Marjorie Ahern had delivered Sam's youngest sister Joan just days shy of her forty-eighth birthday. At the time, Sam hadn't given it much thought, other than yes, his mom was pregnant again. But as an adult, it made Sam slightly blush to realize that his parents had been held to the same tenant that now caused Fran so much anguish. Not that she didn't want the babies; Sam knew she did, but how many offspring were she and Louie supposed to have?

Marjorie Ahern had never complained, but then Sam hadn't been listening for those kinds of sentiments. But times were changing, not all of Sam's siblings had hordes of kids. Joan, for instance, had three daughters, but that wasn't because Joanie had a hard time. She and her husband Russell seemed to have more modern views about contraception, but Joanie was sixteen years younger than Fran. Sam's mother had been like Frannie, an older mom, but once she started having kids, she hadn't stopped until nature stepped in. If Sam and Renee did adopt, older children would be better, for Sam was already thirty-five, Renee a year his junior. If he did become a father, and that was still a big if, he didn't want to be an older dad.

The light turned green and Sam accelerated, not thinking about whatever Renee wanted to say, but felt unable to broach. He considered his siblings, all eight of them, and that Joan had the fewest kids. Well, Sam smirked to himself, he didn't have any, neither did his brother Ted, who was a priest. But of those who could procreate, Joanie had just her girls. Russell didn't seem to need a son and what if one of those first two girls had been a boy? Would there have even been a third? Sam would never ask Joan or Russell, that was their private business. But Joan Ahern McCampbell wasn't like her oldest sister, who seemed to get pregnant at the drop of a hat. Why was it so easy, perhaps too easy, for Fran and Louie, while others never experienced that joy?

Sam pondered that, then found himself pulling into his driveway. He thanked God for getting them home safely, for Sam had been so lost in thought he'd driven on auto-pilot. Then he killed the engine, gazing at his wife. Renee's splotchy face was streaked with tears. Guilt overwhelmed Sam and he reached over the gear box, trying to embrace her. But Renee pulled away, getting out of the car, heading for their front door.

Within a minute, Sam was inside their house, hearing her blowing her nose from their bedroom. He waited until she was done, then he walked in that direction as residual sniffles continued. All that time she'd been crying and he hadn't noticed; that had never happened before. Then he wanted to kick himself; she truly wanted to be a mother. He wanted to be a father, so why was he being so reticent? Of what was Sam so afraid?

"Renee, honey, I'm...." He stopped speaking, finding her curled into a ball in the middle of their bed. Immediately he slipped off his shoes, then lay beside her, stroking her long hair. She hadn't cut it in a while and it spread across the mattress like fire. Then Sam shook his head. What she wanted wasn't bad, he was just being a boorish jerk like she'd claimed when she gave him the what-for about the New Yorkers. Renee had laid into Sam about Laurie and Stanford, and he probably deserved another helping. "Renee, I love you. Please, can we talk about this?"

She struggled to free herself from his embrace and Sam shivered, not wanting to let her go. "Renee, I'm sorry baby, I don't wanna fight, oh Renee...."

She had succeeded in escaping from his grasp, but not because Sam had willingly relinquished her. Now she sat on her side of their bed, staring out the window. Sam sat up, but didn't go to her side. "Renee, please forgive me. I'm sorry I didn't see you were upset, I was thinking about...." He bit his tongue. No way could he tell her, although maybe that was their problem. Neither was being honest with the other. "Renee, honey, can you look at me?"

She shook her head, gripping the comforter, turning her knuckles white.

Sam ached to touch her hands, then turn her face his way. Instead he prayed, then took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Renee, can I tell you what I was thinking about in the car?"

She barely nodded.

Sam sighed. "I was thinking about how Joan and Russell just have their girls. I was wondering if they'd had a boy first, or second even, if they would've had Megan. That's what I was wondering. That Frannie's gonna have the twins and with her luck she'll be pregnant again and...."

"She shouldn't even have the twins."

Sam blinked. Renee's voice hadn't been more than a whisper, but the strength of her conviction couldn't be missed. "What'd you say?"

"You heard me Sam. I won't repeat it."

A cold sweat poured over Sam, not for her words, but that instantly he agreed with her. In a perfect world, Frannie shouldn't have those babies, for she already had four sons and three daughters, and why in God's name was she pregnant again? Then Sam's rational mind lost ground, thinking of how beautiful Helene was, and of the painting Eric had made of Fran, Sally, and that adorable toddler when Helene wasn't any bigger than Jane Renee. If God's plan was for the Canfields to have another baby, two of them even, who was Sam to argue?

And if they had more.... Sam wouldn't consider that, or the plausible excuses why it wasn't a good idea. Who was he to assume anything when he'd cared for Eric in the most inexplicable moment, or held that man's daughter just an hour after she was born? Who knew why God did any of the things he did, from new babies to war to.... Sam felt a rising annoyance, which turned into prickly anger. Only once had he been this furious, when speaking with Lynne about.... Yet, she hadn't been lying, Eric did turn into a hawk, or he used to. Then Sam rolled his eyes. Most likely Eric wasn't done transforming, just like Frannie would probably get pregnant again. But those situations weren't bad, not in the grand scheme. Eric's long absence had allowed for Jane's conception, not to mention healing Eric's foot. And while it seemed excessive for Fran and Louie to have more children, who knew what might happen to them? President Kennedy's older brother had been killed in World War II, his sister dead in a plane crash a few years after the war. There was no telling what the future held and babies were lovely. A lot of work, Sam would admit, but....

Renee stood, then faced him. Now her coloring was ashen, but her eyes were so bright that Sam trembled. "The last thing Fran and Louie need are more kids. She's sicker than a dog and can't even care for the ones she's got. All Sally and Will are doing this summer is taking care of their mother and siblings and what kind of life is that for a couple of teenagers? It's not fair Sam, not to Fran and Louie, goodness only knows how they're gonna make ends meet now. It's not fair to them or Sally and Will or to...."

"To who Renee?" Sam said, standing from the bed. "To who?"

She tried not to break down, but strangled sobs slipped from her throat as did words that made Sam cringe but what he couldn't ignore. "To us Sam. Here we are, no kids in sight, and she's gonna have two more! What the hell kinda sense does that make?" Renee stared at the ceiling, nearly raising her fist. Instead she motioned across their bed. "We can barely make love, let alone a baby. I don't begrudge Lynne and Eric, they've been through the hell we've suffered, and thank God he had enough compassion to spare them any more torture. But what about us Sam, what about me? I want your baby, but I can't have it. I'd be happy to adopt a child, but that doesn't seem to matter to you, so all right, fine. I won't bring it up again. I guess I know how you feel, 'cause obviously you don't wanna talk about it, so I suppose that's all you need to say on the subject. So fine Sam, we can't have kids and we won't have kids. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going for a walk. You couldn't see how upset I was in the car, I certainly don't need your pity now."

Before Sam could move, Renee raced from their room, then he heard the front door slam. But he was so shocked by her statement that even if she'd calmly walked past, he still wouldn't have been able to move. Sam tried to breathe, allowing all her words to settle in his chest, which for the first time since she slapped him in the hospital was once again a vast cavernous space aching to be filled.
Chapter 63

For two weeks, the Aherns and Snyders didn't cross paths. Lynne and Eric were either at the mercy of a suddenly unhappy baby, or were attending St. Matthew's with that rather colicky infant who seemed to attract admirers even while screaming at the top of her lungs. Jane's pediatrician told them perhaps it was something Lynne had introduced to her diet or possibly the weather, which had grown unseasonably warm in early June. Lynne still nursed Jane, which hadn't become problematic except for when Jane pulled away in tears. Eric's work suffered as well, for he was stuck in the house, contractors already building the new storage facility. It was no fun painting a whiny baby and her exhausted mother, and Eric gave up trying to capture that twosome. But Lynne didn't complain to Renee over the phone, for other mothers were in far worse straits and at least Eric was around to spell Lynne when Jane grew irritable.

In those two weeks, Eric had spoken to Pastor Jagucki about a local exhibit, pleasing the cleric, who offered the church's social room. Eric declined, only because some of the paintings he wanted to show were nudes, and while Marek smiled, both men agreed the rest of the congregation might not be so accommodating. Eric had spoken to the head librarian about using their large conference room and Marek agreed that would be a better location. Eric wanted the brief show to occur after his and Lynne's baptisms, slated for mid-July. The Snyders had decided to set that date, what with Laurie's latest news about Seth's improving health. That information was buffeted against Stanford's letters concerning his mother, who had been moved to a nursing home on Long Island. Constance's decline was keeping Michael from traveling west, yet the care facility wasn't too far from the couple's Manhattan apartment. Stanford wasn't sure, however, if perhaps more distance might not be a bad thing. It had worked for Seth, and Stanford's mother wasn't getting any better. But there was little Eric could have done for Constance and he felt no impending departure was necessary for Seth. The Snyders would be baptized on Sunday, July fifteenth, but the New Yorkers would send their regards via post.

Their personal congratulations would arrive in August when Eric's local show was slated to open. Stanford had also been apprised of this idea and while he clucked about what was the purpose, there was little he could say to deter Eric from this exhibit. He'd made Eric swear that he wouldn't sell any paintings, which had made Eric laugh out loud. And after the first night, Stanford was allowed to announce the show to the press. Eric didn't want a horde of reporters, other than those in town, covering this collection of his work. He wanted the first few nights strictly for those with whom he interacted, which included the friends he and Lynne were making at St. Matthew's. And lately those people consisted of parents who fully understood the clamor proffered by one small baby.

As Eric laid Jane in her crib, he sighed softly to himself. She had howled for most of the morning no matter in what position they held her or if she was set at Lynne's bosom. Eric tiptoed from the room, closing the door most of the way. He went downstairs, finding Lynne in the kitchen, rolling out pie crust. He smiled at her, then sat at the table. "I wonder how long she'll sleep."

"Hours I hope." Lynne released a deep breath. "I wanna think this's just an aberration. She had that growth spurt, maybe this's the consequence."

"Maybe." He brushed crumbs from the table, then stood, stepping into the living room. His Bible waited on the coffee table; Lynne had chosen it after Jane's baptism, having Eric's name embossed on the cover. They each had one now, but Eric had inscribed their daughter's whole name in Lynne's, right after Jane's birth. That was their family Bible, he still considered. This one was for another purpose.

Eric read this book nightly, well, most nights up until the last two weeks when Jane had started throwing fits. Marek had written out daily readings which Eric followed not to glean spiritual truths, but to begin a study of Biblical teachings, easing himself into the ritual of Christian worship. Like Lynne, Eric had found comfort in the liturgy at St. Anne's, and a similar style at St. Matthew's bound Eric to this form of reverence, cadences and canticles and prayers that spoke for him in his relative infancy of this new journey. He carried the Bible into the kitchen. Lynne was filling the prepared pie tin and he sat at the table, finding her smile on him. "Yes?" he asked.

"Going to do some light reading?" she teased.

"I was just thinking that I'm a lot like our daughter right now."

"And how's that?"

"Well, when it comes to faith, I'm just as uncertain, without the howling."

Lynne reached for the strips of pie dough, then stared at her husband. "Uncertain about what?"

"About a lot of things. It's funny, I mean, I believe there is a God in three persons, which in itself is pretty unbelievable." He chuckled, then gently patted the top of the Bible. "But this book's full of people and events and most of it I'm completely ignorant of, just like Jane. She knows us, Sam and Renee, I think she's even getting to know Marek, but the rest of it confounds her, and right now her whole little world is upended."

Lynne nodded, fashioning the lattice top for the pie. Eric thumbed through the gilt-edged pages, only three bookmarks causing him to pause. One was set in Proverbs, another in 1 John, and the third in Matthew, the current Old Testament, Epistle, and Gospel readings. Eric read them with the eye of a pupil, but a more discerning spirit was emerging, or it had been until Jane's recent change of mood. Now Eric read while yawning, not totally sure of what he'd just digested. But some things were being tucked away, for in the mornings when Eric spent quiet minutes in prayer, the little seeds sown from earlier felt to be making their way from his heart outwards. His last few paintings were examples of a sort. Lynne and Jane were depicted in the garden among flowers and berry vines, although in the most recent, Jane's face was a scowl and Lynne's eyes were tired. But the way Eric had felt while painting them was different. He couldn't accurately describe it, but he hoped those canvases were set by the August show. Parenthood wasn't always bliss, but it was his calling, like art and faith.

Yet, Eric didn't feel his faith had been tested, not in the way Lynne's had last December. He didn't consider Jane's recent tirades as a test, well, maybe they were a small trial. Then he smiled as Lynne put the pie in the oven, setting the timer. It was harder on Lynne, when Jane fought nursing. Lynne hadn't mentioned trying a bottle, although Eric wouldn't argue. Sometimes Jane fussed so much when trying to feed that Lynne wept from the pain of aching breasts. Then Jane would quiet down and get to work. Lynne hadn't been eating anything new; Jane just needed to expend this grief and hopefully return to the chirpy infant of before.

Before.... Eric pondered that word as his wife joined him at the table. He grasped her hand, then leaned close, kissing her. Then he chuckled. "You taste like flour."

"Better than spit-up," she said, brushing her face along her shoulder.

"Well yeah, there is that." Eric stroked her cheek. "I was just thinking about...." He sighed, so many ideas, perhaps too many to tell her. Her gentle nod seemed to indicate she understood.

"Eric, I'm gonna lay down. Can you keep an eye on the pie?"

"Sure. If she wakes...."

"If she does, I'll hear her. I just can't keep my eyes open any longer."

Lynne stood, then smiled. This was the less stellar side of parenthood, but still part and parcel of the whole. As she gripped his hand, then released it, Eric nodded, watching her leave the kitchen. Then he stared at his Bible, thinking about the Canfields. Jane was only one baby; how would Fran handle two more? Eric sighed, then prayed for his wife and child to rest, and for another mother to do the same.

By the end of June, Eric and Lynne had started to worry more about Sam and Renee than Fran and Louie; several times Eric had called the Aherns, but no one answered. Eric had stopped in, often catching Sam just as he was leaving either for the VA hospital or for the Canfields, but the men spoke little. Sam and Renee knew the date of Eric and Lynne's baptisms and Sam assured Eric they would be at St. Matthew's on that Sunday. Lynne wasn't any more successful in reaching Renee, who seemed to be at the mercy of work. When Jane wasn't crying, the Snyders discussed their friends' plights, but more worrisome to the new parents was the distance perceived not between the two couples, but between the Aherns.

While Eric and Lynne chalked it up to the obvious issues, neither knew the depth of discord which had built between that twosome since Renee's comment at the end of May. For nearly a month, Sam and Renee had treated each other with the same eerie coldness that had befallen them right after Renee told Sam that Eric turned into a hawk. Both realized it, but this time, the basis for their split was something less ethereal, and more damaging. Yet, unlike how forced conversation had emerged two years before, Sam didn't know how to breach the chasm stirred by Renee's admission, nor could he bring himself to acknowledge what else he desired; Sam Ahern wanted a family.

The last four weeks spent in the midst of the Canfield clan had altered Sam's heart, steeped in the triumphs and small tragedies of seven kids who Sam knew fairly well. Sally and Will were his godchildren, but the rest had notched distinctive chinks in an armor that Sam had erected upon his return from Korea. Between Jane's birth and the nearly daily interaction with Fran's offspring, Sam's heart was back to that wide, unprotected state right after he had married Renee. Yet, when he was around his wife, an impenetrable shield hampered that muscle, causing Sam deep consternation. Never had he felt his marriage was in trouble, except for right when he came home, but that was more of Sam wanting to free Renee from a life of.... He thought about it when driving from the Canfields', that solid wall building with every mile passed. By the time he reached home, whether Renee was there or not, he felt like a stone plodding into the house, not wishing to cook, clean, or do anything but brood, exactly how he'd felt until the day Renee had slapped his face.

But now Sam didn't let her get anywhere close to him. Not that they slept in separate beds, but a wide gulf had grown in the center of their double mattress. They hadn't made love in.... Well, not that they could just make love, but he hadn't approached her since coming home that day from the Snyders, a day that to Sam had become a demarcation. He hadn't seen Jane since then, or Lynne, only Eric, and merely for moments, reminding Sam about another baptism, but how in the world would Sam and Renee attend that service together? Would he sit on one side of the church, she on the other? Sam sighed, driving home from Fran's, hoping that Renee wasn't waiting for him.

She had started to work double shifts, claiming in the few words they'd exchanged that a staff shortage was the reason. He had nodded, not wishing to hear her speak any more than was necessary, for her words resonated in his head, words she had said she wouldn't repeat. And she hadn't, yet, lately Sam wondered if Renee's words had slipped from him into Fran's head. Fran had lost weight and was now on bed rest. Her blood pressure was dangerously high and while she had expressed a desire to see Lynne and Eric become members of St. Matthew's, there was no possible way for her to travel. Louie had privately expressed to Sam that if, God forbid, something happened during the birth, Louie was going to insist that his wife's health took precedence. It wasn't in line with Catholic teachings, but they weren't having these babies in a Catholic hospital.

Sam parked in the driveway, then gazed at the house. The curtains were drawn, which meant Renee wasn't home. He was glad for that, then he winced as a part of his heart throbbed. He missed her beyond reasonable comprehension; had Lynne and Eric felt this way when he was gone? Their situation had no resolution until Eric returned, but at least that was the answer, yet for Sam, there seemed no manner to reconcile the anger he felt toward his wife, and Sam was angry. How dare she say something so cruel, so.... He shuddered, then got out of the car, heading to the front door.

To his surprise, it wasn't locked. Sam looked around, but nothing in the yard seemed amiss. He stepped inside, finding their living room as he had left it, Eric's paintings hanging on the walls. Along with a number of others, those three canvases would be on display in August, and Sam hadn't thought about that event either, another night he and Renee would have to put on a semblance of.... Sam closed his eyes. "Renee, are you home?"

Speaking her name hurt, not from irritation, only loneliness. Sam missed her desperately, all of her, even that flash of resentment that had built into something insurmountable. She was deeply bitter that his sister could have so many children, but it wasn't Frannie's fault, it wasn't anyone's fault. It was God's will and.... "Renee, you here?"

The silence was punctured by faint weeping. Quickly Sam walked toward their bedroom, a woman's tears increasing in sound as he approached. When he reached their open door, Renee was shaking and sobbing, had she been that upset when he first stepped inside or had his presence caused her outburst? For the first time in four weeks, Sam's heart was open to his wife. She still was his wife, but as he noticed the half-filled suitcase on his side of their bed, a greater fear gripped his heart. She hadn't left him years before when he had willingly told her to, but now.... "Renee, what's going on?"

Only then did he see another change, her hair no longer spread out over the pillow. When had she cut it, just that day or sometime in the last month, and he hadn't noticed. He sat on her side of the bed, the closest they had been to each other in.... He stroked her face, wet from tears, but so warm that his hand felt singed. Then he inhaled her sorrow, but it was also the sweetest scent, that of the woman he adored. He still loved her, for which he immediately gave thanks. "Renee, oh honey...."

She looked at him, her eyes red blobs in her face. "I'm going home Sam. I have vacation time to burn and...."

Home, what did she mean? This was her home, this house, their bed, him. Sam was Renee's home and had been so for over ten years. "Renee, no, that's unnecessary. Look, we just need to talk and...."

She shook her head, then struggled to sit up. She pulled her knees close to her chest, gripping her legs. "I'm sorry for what I said, but I can't change how I feel. I know I hurt you and...."

He glanced at the suitcase, filled with underwear and pajamas. Then he gazed at the closet door, which was usually closed at this time of day, but now it was open. Sam's heart raced and he shut his eyes, wondering if this was how Lynne had felt every time Eric departed. He might not have packed a suitcase, but for all intents he'd left her without any idea of when, or if, he would come home.

Sam grasped his wife and while Renee tried to shake him off, she collapsed into more tears, and Sam wept too. This wasn't how Eric left Lynne, but how Sam had deserted Renee, claiming his country needed him. But America wasn't any better off, nor was Korea, for one man's assertion. And no matter how Renee felt about Fran's twins, Sam loved his wife, his imperfect but honest wife. Renee couldn't hide how she felt, but at least she hadn't lied to him, not the way he had lied to her.

Maybe it had been easier to dismiss his desire for a family by cloaking that hope in fury. The longer he was angry with Renee, the easier it was to deny what offspring meant. He loved Jane, and missed her too, although Eric had mentioned she was suffering from colic and neither Ahern was missing much from their absences. Only then had Sam learned that he hadn't been alone in pulling away from the Snyders. Maybe that was why little Jane was so cranky, she missed both of her godparents. Sam missed Renee, and for as violently as she wept, he continued to clutch her, for she felt so right in his arms. Finally she went slack and he eased her into a horizontal position, lying alongside her. She still wept, but his tears had ceased. The wall was gone, replaced by an aching, tender heart, which scared Sam, just a little. Part of his fear stemmed from wondering how they would move past her feelings about the twins. The other part was from....

"I wanna adopt a child Renee. I really want that." Sam's voice was barely above a whisper. He cleared his throat, then spoke again. "Honey, I love you. You can't leave, I love you and...."

"You wanna what?" she said in a choked sob.

He stroked her face, then ran his fingers through her hair. "I wanna be a father Renee. When did you cut your hair?"

She coughed, then stared at him. "I got it cut today. Sam, are you really serious?"

He nodded, grateful that he hadn't missed her new style. "I am. I love you and I need you and I need...." He closed his eyes, thinking of Helene giggling in his arms just hours ago, or how Johnny had tugged on Sam's other hand, begging him to read a story. The older children were just as precious, but what would a child raised with this woman do to Sam's heart? "I need to ask you to forgive me for being so awful over the last month. And for putting this off. I love you Renee. We're not getting any younger and...."

Now she began to wail, making speech impossible, although Sam thought he heard her say she was sorry. If she'd said she was sorry.... But Sam wouldn't ask, for in her copious tears, he realized her remorse. It was only right to forgive her as she was forgiving him for being so stubborn. He could be rather obstinate, like how he still refused to let Eric paint his portrait, also how he had disregarded what those New Yorkers meant to each other. Sam Ahern possessed a pig-headed streak, but never before had the consequences threatened to separate him from his beloved. He loved and needed Renee and from how she pressed close to him, that sentiment was reciprocated.

As she began to calm, she spoke halting words that Sam didn't want her to say, but perhaps those thoughts were essential to putting this behind them. She had given plenty of consideration to her previous opinions, even having confessed them to Father Markham. That stunned Sam, for he'd felt no awareness of that man's knowledge when the couple went to mass together. Renee knew she had no right to judge God's will, much less think so harshly toward two babies who had been conceived in love. Then Renee grew quiet, but Sam's heart pounded. Frannie had hinted toward that notion, that no matter what happened, at least her and Louie's affections hadn't waned over the years.

Sam kissed Renee's cheeks, then tenderly clasped his hands around hers. "Honey, that's all behind us. And I meant what I said. I wanna adopt a...child." Perhaps an orphaned youngster Johnny's age who longed for parents as much as Sam ached to share a part of his heart thought dead. It had been harmed by Josh's demise, then killed by Sam's own injury. Yet, with Christ, anything was possible. Eric had mentioned that in passing and darn that man if he wasn't correct.

If Eric Snyder could change form, the sky was the limit. And if Sam could forgive his wife.... He gazed at her with new eyes, for she was a broken woman in his arms. Perhaps all this unpleasantness had occurred to prepare them for something new. Sam shivered, then smiled. "I wonder if Stanford is coming out for Eric's show in August?"

"Why?" Renee asked softly.

"Well, if we're gonna adopt, we need to sell a painting." Or two, Sam thought, but at least that of the three hawks. "I'll bring it up with him if he attends the exhibit."

"Are you sure?" Renee's voice quivered.

"Absolutely. Honey, I love you and while we can't make our own baby, we can raise a child together, or I'm pretty sure we can." He smiled, stroking her cheek. "Maybe there's a redhead just waiting for us."

"Or a blue-eyed...." She stopped, but didn't break into tears. She traced around Sam's eyes. "I love you so much and I am so, so...."

"Beautiful Renee. You are the most beautiful woman in the world."

She gasped, then closed her eyes. Sam leaned toward her, setting a kiss to her lips. Renee's eyes remained shut, but Sam didn't halt his actions, which were borne of a relieved heart and a liberated soul. Or a soul mostly calm. A piece of Sam's heart still remained shrouded, but he ignored that, making love to his wife instead.
Chapter 64

As Laurie set empty plates into the sink, Stanford gazed around the kitchen; 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 perhaps 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 issue. 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 Uncle Stanford, and hoping for 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. Stanford gripped Laurie's hand, glad that Agatha was gone, relishing the stillness, or just that without her, 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 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 would 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 discuss."

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. "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. They'll send him home and 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 point, 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 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 supper, 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 magical, and not only because for a month it had disappeared 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 in 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 his wife, 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 she would pine for days when she'd been 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 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 supper 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 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 since colic had 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 drowsy 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 supper.

"What what?" Renee looked at her husband.

"Sam just wants pie," Eric said. "And to see the painting. C'mon Jane, let's 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 table with Sam's assistance. Then Eric spoke. "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 Lynne had 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 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 offspring 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 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 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 a small 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 admired 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 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 the 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 almost 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

On Saturday night, Lynne and Eric once again read through the baptismal service in the Lutheran Service Book. Jane was asleep and while normally parents used that time for cuddles, both Snyders wanted to refresh themselves with tomorrow's events. Baptism wasn't akin to marriage, although Lynne felt she was preparing herself for a further-reaching relationship. Then she looked at Eric, who was silently reading, but still moving his lips. She wanted to caress his face, but didn't wish to break his concentration. The creases along his eyes were similar to when he was deeply into a painting, but another level of attentiveness was being plumbed. A warm surge rushed through Lynne's heart, for she understood that awareness, and quickly she said a brief prayer, thanking God that she and her husband were together on this.

She had wanted to worship alongside Eric and once he announced his doubts with Catholicism, she was briefly pained, for that faith had brokered her into a new world. It was far more binding than motherhood or marriage, and with so much to learn. Jane's bout with colic had introduced to a new mother another side of her beloved baby and Lynne had felt similarly when Eric first told her about turning into a hawk. She had resigned herself to those transformations, but even a life steeped in that uncertainty didn't relate to belief in an unseen, triune God who saved souls after normal lifespans ceased. The afterlife didn't frighten Lynne, but it made her cautious of exactly what she was committing herself to.

The couple reclined in bed, dressed in pajamas, and had been sharing the one service book. Pastor Jagucki had offered them each one, but Lynne had thought a single copy was enough, and in the morning they would return the loaner to St. Matthew's. It was merely to familiarize themselves with the order of service, which was actually for an infant baptism. They knew the questions their pastor would ask, the same ones he had posed to their daughter, answered on her behalf by Renee and Sam. Those sponsors would be present tomorrow, but Lynne and Eric would speak of their own accord, agreeing to queries handed down for hundreds of years by people equally minded that life was more than what could be witnessed within this corporeal realm. Perhaps it wasn't at all strange that Lynne and Eric had come to faith, for Eric's existence was proof that the impossible was indeed attainable.

Lynne's parents hadn't actively shunned the idea of God, but they'd simply had no interest in exploring that possibility. What would they make of her decision now, she wondered, but then, how in the world would she have explained Eric? Human beings did not turn into animals, it simply wasn't possible. Yet, her husband did, or he had; daily Lynne prayed that Eric's transformation last December was the final one. But she wouldn't be surprised if he altered again, although she wasn't sure what would be the impetus. His father was dead, Seth was better. To whom else might Eric need to minister?

As Eric turned the page, Lynne studied his furrowed brow, those wide gray eyes, his lips moving in a rapid hush; he was in another place, but it wasn't to do with art or nature. It was a solitary spot where she often found herself when Jane was still and Eric was busy. Then Lynne could close her eyes, fold her hands, and without fanfare find herself no longer alone. Yet, she was sitting without being distracted, no pie to bake or yarn to knit or weeds to pull. In those contemplative moments, Lynne aligned her soul to a force stronger than the love she had for Eric or Jane, a pull that previously Lynne hadn't realized existed. She adored her husband and their daughter, human emotions tying her to them in ways that were still being fostered. Lynne loved Eric more now that he was a father, but it didn't compare to the sense she found while in meditation with God. Had nursing Eric last December been a part of that, having to trust solely on an entity she couldn't see or hear? Yet, Lynne knew as intimately as breathing that her role was to care for Eric, not relinquish him to medical authorities. Sam had understood immediately, Renee had taken longer. Eric had never questioned Lynne's decision; he'd known that whether he lived or died wasn't up to doctors or treatments. It was all on one woman's faith and one God's choice.

That weekend had crystalized Lynne's decision to become a Christian, although at the time, the denomination was still in flux. But whether they were Catholic or Lutheran or any other denomination mattered little, for those qualifiers were swept aside in the bigger picture. Lynne didn't feel any less close to Renee, in fact, she felt even more bound to her, for the Aherns were going to adopt a child. Lynne blinked away tears, for the joy in her heart over that decision was nearly akin to being baptized. Parenthood was a sacrament of sorts, Lynne felt, then she smiled at herself for such an antiquated idea. Or a Catholic thought, but to a woman who for years had agonized over not being able to conceive, Renee and Sam's impending parental status was worth a few tears. It was worth many, for while Renee had shared in Jane's birth, even realizing how it felt to be pregnant, those were fleeting moments. Motherhood on a daily basis had brought Lynne Snyder to completion.

But then so had marrying Eric, and so would tomorrow's ceremony. Was life fulfilled by one vocation, or did it require more than a single inclination? As Eric closed the service book, setting it on the mattress, Lynne didn't immediately speak, but she wanted his opinion. Art was a consuming passion, but it wasn't her husband's only outlet.

Eric smiled at her, making Lynne blush. They hadn't made love that morning, for Jane had woke early, and throughout the day no time had emerged to sneak into their bedroom and revel in that intimacy. No longer could they simply tumble into bed, for Lynne had to insert her diaphragm. She wasn't ready to think about getting pregnant again, but when that time came, she'd be happy to resume the spontaneous nature of their previous affections, although Jane would curtail some of it. But she was still so little, nursing every few hours, and Lynne coveted those sessions, for she had never expected to experience such moments. Renee and Sam wanted to adopt an older child and that would most likely be best. But Lynne thanked God for having been presented the opportunity to give birth. She had relished it even when Jane had been so miserable.

"What're you thinking?" Eric asked, stroking her face. "You look a million miles away."

"I'm not, you know." Lynne giggled, then nestled against him. "Actually, I wanna be very close to you."

He groaned in desire as she maneuvered herself on top of him. They necked for several minutes, then Eric removed her pajama top. Lynne still wore her nursing bra, but she lay on his bare chest, the feel of their mostly naked skin an added pleasure. Then Lynne broke the kiss, but didn't move away from her husband. "There're so many ways to achieve ecstasy," she smiled.

"This's a very good one." Eric's voice was hoarse. "Why don't you go...."

She nodded, but didn't move.

They kissed again, only their pajama pants precluding further activity. Eric moaned from the pressure, but Lynne didn't stop until he pulled away from her mouth. "Oh God, you win," he gasped. "What, you wanna make a baby?"

She giggled, then sat up. "I really love you."

"Yeah, I figured." Eric smiled, caressing her hips. "Lynne, do you wanna try again already?"

She shook her head. "I just wanted you to know how I feel about you."

He had a husky laugh. "Believe me I know. If I know any more...."

She wore a saucy smile, then got off of him. Lynne went into their bathroom, giggling as she partially closed the door.

An hour later, she was nursing Jane, who had stirred just as her parents lay spent. Eric had fetched the baby as Lynne adjusted her bra, and now a mother felt no other physical release was necessary. She was tucked into Eric's grasp, their child happy at her breast, and it was then Lynne began to speak. "I was watching you, reading the service. You were lost in it like you were painting something so captivating."

"Mmmhmmm. Lynne, I am so excited for tomorrow."

"Tell me."

He had a languid sigh. "I was thinking about December, when I came home. I could barely think, other than whatever happened, I was gonna be all right. And it was strange, because it wasn't like when I'd come back the year before. Then I had no idea if I was gonna be human again, or some half-bird, half-man. Now when I look back on that, I wonder how much of that week was for Sam. Maybe most of it, I can't rightly say. But honey, last Christmas was for us."

"I agree."

"Do you think about it, I mean...."

"I was while you were studying. Never in my life had I given myself up to, to...." Lynne paused, staring at her daughter's busy jaw, those blue eyes occasionally seeking a mother's gaze. Every time Jane made eye contact, Lynne wondered how she had lived without that sort of rapport. And that relationship was solely due to Eric's long absence and his traumatic alteration. Then a year later, she had been transformed, for in that weekend, Lynne learned without any doubt the proof of God, no way to dismiss the feelings coursing through her, only asking for her faith. The outcome could have been disastrous; if Eric had died.... Then Lynne began to softly weep, for the surrounding blessings told her she had done the right thing. The right thing had been to ignore conventional wisdom and to embrace the unthinkable. She had refused to admit her deathly ill husband to the hospital, instead relying on the most ethereal yet powerful personal sense she had ever encountered. Not even falling in love with Eric had infused Lynne with such hope.

But it wasn't hope alone; perseverance was bound to absolute optimism. Lynne understood Abraham's choice to follow God's command to sacrifice his son Isaac, for that was what she had been asked to do. She hadn't said that to Renee or Sam, she hadn't been asked by Pastor Jagucki why becoming a Lutheran was so important, but if anyone inquired, Lynne wouldn't hesitate. God had set upon her heart to let him heal Eric. She had acquiesced to that appeal, fully aware of how sick her husband was. There had been no other possible choice; all that Lynne had been considering about faith was put to the most intense test by that one plea.

Perhaps God had been more forceful with Abraham. That man was, by God's design, the father of many nations. Lynne was merely one woman, so God's entreaty hadn't been overwhelming. Yet the gravity had been the same, the loss of one most beloved. For years Lynne and Eric had lived solely for one another. To lose him would have been as devastating to her as Isaac's death to a very old man who had been promised as the father of numerous descendants. That aged man had trudged up that mountain, fully aware that what God was asking was in direct contrast to what that same God had vowed. But faith was more important than the promise, for if God said such and such would occur, Abraham believed that somehow, some way, it would come to pass. And now months later, the culmination of Lynne's faith rested in her arms, and awaited the morning. She couldn't wait to reply in ringing affirmation of what Pastor Jagucki would inquire. Lynne ached to announce her belief in an invisible but quite real God who in three parts ruled the universe and had saved her immortal soul. But not only hers, Eric's too, and Jane's. Lynne smiled at her now drowsy baby, those blue eyes gently closed, her jaw no longer active. Lynne's nipple sat halfway in Jane's slack mouth, just as ancient Sarah had once sat with baby Isaac in her arms. Lynne tightly shut her eyes, but tears escaped; that woman had waited until she was ninety to bear what God had pledged, and not only to Abraham. Sarah would be the mother of many nations, even if she was a shriveled old woman.

How many children would Lynne and Eric have? Lynne smiled, then leaned against her husband. "I love you," she whispered, closing her eyes. She had said that to him several times during that December weekend, not because she was afraid of losing him, but to remind him of her presence, and to give thanks for him, and for that trial, although at the time she might not have realized the need to be grateful for such a test. More she had been awed by the presence of joy, but not merely for Eric's return. The joy had been borne of the unshakeable awareness of Christ, manifest in his request for trust. Until that point, Lynne hadn't understood the comfort or reliance upon God that seemed inseparable in how Renee and Sam believed. She had assumed that level had been achieved by their life-long relationships with Jesus, their baptisms as infants. Maybe Sam was blessed by his time in Korea, Renee by her work as a nurse. Yet, it probably had nothing to do with those events. It was a very personal moment, or a gathering of them, during which God made himself known either by a quiet voice, a touch upon one's soul, or whatever was necessary. In Lynne's case, it had been the firm but loving tapping on her heart to not take the expected course, but to simply minister to Eric by mopping the sweat from his brow, spooning into him whatever he could swallow, and holding his hand as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Had she slept during those few days, Lynne wasn't certain. But when the fever broke on Christmas Eve morning, his eyes cloudy but affixed on her face, Lynne knew her prayers had been answered, as well as God's petition for her confidence. At no time during those long, dark hours had she become discouraged. The year before, frustration and loneliness were all she had known. But her life, as well as Eric's, had been changed during his lengthy absence, and not for the worse. Lynne opened her eyes, setting Jane over her shoulder. Two subdued burps reminded a mother and father that yes, miracles happened, often in the most unlikely manner.

"Is she ready to go back to sleep?" Eric's tone was soft.

Lynne nodded, scooting forward, so Eric could get out of bed. He stood, taking the baby from Lynne's grasp. Within a minute, he returned, but didn't immediately get in beside his wife. "What?" Lynne asked.

Eric stroked her now damp cheek. "I love you. I love her. I love...." He paused, then chuckled. "God. All these blessings are his doing."

Lynne gripped his hands, bowing her head. But the prayer she said was silent, although she felt Eric's missives coursing through their entwined fingers. They released each other at the same time, then Eric slid under the covers. Soon they were wrapped close, again making love. No words emerged, but teeming hearts sent many thanks heavenwards.
Chapter 66

A warm breeze blew on the back patio, but Jane wasn't bothered. At four and a half months old, she was an even-tempered but active baby, that sole month of colic a faded memory. Dark brown hair was thick on the very top of her head, but thin on the sides where she had rubbed much of it off. Yet her smile was wide, her blue eyes as well, for she was surrounded by those she loved best; her parents, godparents, and one Polish pastor of whom she was particularly fond. Marek Jagucki was like another godparent, and he was teaching her Polish. Whenever the pastor held Jane, he only spoke in his native tongue.

It had been Eric's idea, in that it would give Marek someone else to converse with in his own language. No one nearby spoke Polish and Marek had smiled, then taken Eric's suggestion as a challenge, not sure if a baby could pick up another dialect when she only heard it sporadically. But since Eric and Lynne had been baptized, Pastor Jagucki had found himself almost adopted by the couple, or perhaps it was due to how much time Eric and the pastor had spent together arranging the exhibit, which was slated to open that Friday, August tenth, at the town library. Marek had been amazed at the quality of Eric's work, also the range of his imagination. From hawks and other natural settings to family portraits and the nudes of Lynne, Marek had been treated to a fairly complete retrospective. The first nudes, under the guises of farms and coral reefs, weren't represented, but Eric had given the pastor one of the brochures from that show. Eric also briefly explained the two paintings in Minnesota and why they had been sent to the Midwest. In those confidences, a bond had been established between a painter and minister, although Marek Jagucki did not offer Eric Snyder details of his past.

Marek knew that for many years Eric and Lynne had been unable to conceive and that it had been Eric's fault. He knew that Laurie Abrams' cousin was receiving psychiatric treatment at the Caffey-Miller Institute. And he knew that Eric and Lynne's decision to adopt the Christian faith had been solidified by an unfortunate illness Eric suffered right before last Christmas. Eric hadn't told Marek how he became so ill, only that Lynne had followed God's call, and now here they were, baptized Lutherans. Marek hadn't probed deeply to ascertain these facts; they had spilled as paintings were admired, then placed in the best arrangement for the show. Even over pie a few particulars had been shared, but those were of a lighter nature, how glad Eric was that the pastor had proposed this idea, and how eager Eric was to hear his daughter speak Polish. Jane Snyder would carry a mix of her heritages, from her Catholic godparents, New York uncles, and a Polish Lutheran transplanted to America's West Coast.

Those New Yorkers, as Eric still referred to the men, were due to arrive on Wednesday, and Marek was keen to better get to know Mr. Abrams and Mr. Taylor, how he referred to them, for other than a brief introduction at Easter, little had been spoken between that trio. Marek prayed for Laurie's cousin Seth, for from all Eric said, that man needed God's protection and healing. From how Stanford was described, Marek wondered how Eric had been accepted by such a highly respected art dealer, for Marek had seen some of Eric's early canvases. They were rough compared to his later paintings, but Stanford Taylor must have seen something that held promise. Then Marek glanced at the Aherns, Renee's bold eyes appealing for a chance to hold her goddaughter. In Polish, Marek whispered that he loved Jane, then he softly kissed the baby's cheek, handing her to a woman with no children of her own. Marek also knew the reason behind that, but since the Snyders had been baptized, rumors had wafted that perhaps by 1963 that situation would be altered.

Marek spoke several languages; in addition to his native tongue he was fluent in German, Hungarian, and Ukrainian as well as English and Italian. He could get by in French and Spanish, but his Portuguese was limited. He was useless in the Scandinavian tongues, but could bluff his way through Dutch, especially Flemish, which was similar to French. He'd been a polyglot in school before the Nazis had invaded, and his mother had been hopeful that her middle child would reach university. Becoming a pastor hadn't been considered, although Marek's Uncle Alex had been a Lutheran minister. Marek hadn't pondered a life in the church until he'd been taken in by a small Lutheran parish spared by German troops. He was only sixteen, but the clerics told the soldiers that Marek was slow and wasn't worth taking to a labor camp. Marek hadn't spoken more than his name to the pastors, for his name was all he could fathom. For over a year, a young man who at the time had already mastered German and Hungarian could barely utter a single word.

Marek had understood everything the soldiers ordered, but acted as dumb as the clerics made him out to be. His life had depended upon that pretense, but it wasn't solely a deception. Events had rendered him mute, also dense, but when the troops left, some of Marek's intellect had been stirred, as well as his heart. He was alive because of his mother's foresight, and again providence had saved him. In the summer of 1942, Marek Jagucki dedicated his life to God in whatever service pleased his holy will. At the time, he wasn't sure for how long that life would last. Twenty years later, Marek smiled, realizing just how unsuspecting he had been.

He'd never thought he would live long enough to even become a pastor, then he had wondered how he would manage under Soviet rule. Not that life in Poland under the Soviets was miserable, but it was repressive, especially for Lutherans, which compromised a tiny minority in the mostly Catholic country. In 1954, during the political thaw that followed Stalin's death, Marek had fled Poland. He was an ordained minister by then, and had moved to London, serving at St. Luke's Lutheran Church. For several years he had presided over the German services as well as a tiny Polish congregation, taking the English services when necessary. But living in post-war Europe wasn't fulfilling; too many compromises to the Soviets made Marek uncomfortable, and while he was active at St. Luke's, he recognized that his gifts were needed elsewhere, much to the consternation of the church council and his longtime girlfriend. Margaret Piller didn't want to leave her family or her nation, and at the time Marek wondered if his desire to flee the United Kingdom was a test of their relationship. Maggie had been hesitant when Marek spoke about marriage, but that was due to becoming the wife of a pastor. She wasn't Lutheran, but Anglican, not that those differences were problematic, only the duties attached to being the spouse of a busy cleric. When Marek floated the subject of leaving England, Maggie vacillated, finally breaking off their relationship. That cemented Marek's decision, and by the spring of 1961, he was on a boat for New York, his ultimate destination the western side of the United States.

That was the story he'd shared with Eric, who had nodded in all the appropriate spots, not asking the more probing questions that Marek rarely had to offer. Few who knew him truly realized everything, not even his beloved Maggie, whom he still missed, but mostly for her physical companionship. His last letter to her, written at Easter, hadn't been answered, and Marek allowed it was probably for the best. At Christmas, she had mentioned having met someone, and while she had made the official break, Marek had been the one to leave the country. Yet, England wasn't his native land and returning to Poland wasn't a consideration. None of Marek's relatives remained and communism was abhorrent. He didn't mention that to Eric either, better to talk about art and other pleasant aspects of life.

He did enjoy speaking Polish to Jane; he told her stories of growing up in a somewhat poor but happy household, his older brother and younger sister two of his best friends. Marek hoped the Snyders would have several children, only in that Marek had thrived in his large extended family, cousins on both sides contributing to the sense of belonging that prevailed no matter how meager were the living conditions. Marek permitted the better memories, eschewing those so traumatic they had silenced him for over a year. Speaking Polish to Jane hadn't caused any sorrow; somehow that baby was a magnet for the delight that had infused most of Marek's childhood.

Or maybe it was the joy she offered those with whom Marek sat. There was no disguising their communal bliss; Eric's broad laughter was matched by Sam, the women's chuckles tender and affectionate. Marek was of their age and he relished their pleasures despite their differences. But tragedy had marked them all; Sam's tour in Korea was behind that couple's childlessness, and something had kept the Snyders from having a family. Marek hadn't been able to discern what that might be from Eric's paintings, perhaps it was merely a fluke. Yet, those canvases did reveal a man torn by some demon, Marek hadn't missed that. The pictures of Lynne, nudes and from everyday life, told stories as well, that woman having suffered a long trial. Yet, it wasn't simply connected to infertility. Marek observed the adults, who seemed to get on very well. However, these friendships weren't tied to Jane or to the Aherns' lack of offspring. Something else bound these people and Marek wondered if he would ever learn the reason.

Then he chuckled as Eric asked if it was time for pie. Sam stood, announcing that it most certainly was, and the gentlemen headed into the house. "Do you need any help?" Marek asked.

"Only in the eating," Eric grinned. "Just stay put, we'll be right back."

Marek nodded, then gazed at Lynne. "I must say, your pie is the best I have ever had. Not even my mother could beat it."

Lynne giggled. "Well, thank you. My dad was fond of pie and Mom was a very good cook."

Marek smiled. All of Eric and Lynne's parents were deceased, Eric's imprisoned father the last to have passed in December. Eric had spoken about him while paintings were admired, his tone somewhat flat. Marek had been surprised by the news, but not for Eric's lack of emotion. It was similar to how Marek had felt when he learned Hitler had committed suicide. Relief had been tempered by uncertainty. Monsters were replaceable, but no one had been waiting to lead the regime. He'd felt the same when Stalin died, yet, that man's demise had brokered Marek's departure from his homeland. Had Eric known any peace when his father passed away? Perhaps the coming baby had usurped any sense of closure.

Marek stood as Sam approached, followed by Eric, both with trays in hand. Marek assisted in serving, then asked if Renee wanted to be relieved of Jane's care. Reluctantly Renee nodded, and Marek took Jane, setting her over his shoulder. She was warm from the sunshine, and cooed softly. Parenthood hadn't been a deep desire for Marek; serving his parish was paternal enough. Although if God had other ideas, the pastor wouldn't argue.

While pie was consumed, Marek hummed a lullaby from his childhood, snippets from his past eased by this American infant. Jane didn't remind Marek of anyone from those days, but maybe her mother was similar to his Aunt Agi, in Lynne's dark brown hair and her beaming smile. Marek then set Jane in the crook of his elbow, she was fighting sleep. Agi Tusk had brown eyes like Lynne's, but Jane's blue irises were stunning. They were the same color as Sam's eyes, which were the exact hue of the barn in the Aherns' painting. Marek had noticed that as soon as he saw that canvas, also the frightened mice, and he wondered what had inspired Eric to create it. It had reached deeply into the Pole, causing him a few poor nights' sleep, but he hadn't said anything to Eric or anyone else. He'd prayed extensively, unsure why now God was stirring up memories from over twenty years in the past. To Marek, that barn was a copy of one from his hometown, a structure that had been burned to the ground by Nazi troops. Marek wouldn't consider the contents, but it was as if Eric had read his mind. Yet, Eric had painted that barn before Marek even came to this country.

Marek gazed at Jane, her eyelids still fluttering. He nodded to Lynne, who smiled. "Seems you have a touch with babies," she said softly.

"Well, Jane's a special girl." He grinned, then stared at Lynne. "Shall I take her inside or...."

"You can stay right there." Eric stood, heading to the house. "I need my sketch pad."

"Oh now you've done it," Sam said. "Be ready to star in the next Eric Snyder canvas."

Marek chuckled. "Well, that would be a pleasure."

Eric returned, pulling his chair to face the pastor. He sat, then quickly drew the man's image, as well as the bundle now stirring in Marek's grasp. When Eric finished, he showed it to the pastor. Marek was amazed at the speed of Eric's abilities and how precisely he had captured his subjects' likenesses. Perhaps Jane's was easy, for Eric knew her face well. But Marek felt he was looking into a mirror, one that displayed a person's best features. Marek appreciated Eric's talent, and his discretion. For even in a drawing, Eric had discerned several new facts about the pastor, all within a matter of moments.

Marek looked at the artist and Eric nodded. Then Eric smiled, setting the pad on the table. Immediately Sam picked it up, sharing it with his wife. Lynne leaned their way, but Marek continued to study Eric's face, those gray eyes with a fascinating capacity to see far into a person. Then Marek wondered what Eric had suffered in return for that gift. His late father had been an unsavory character, but that alone wouldn't account for the skill Eric possessed, nor would infertility explain it.

Jane yawned, then began to fuss. As she did, Lynne looked toward her daughter. Then a mother stood, stepping around her husband, approaching Marek. "Shall I take her?" Lynne said.

"Of course." Marek handed over the baby, who was now starting to cry. Lynne spoke softly to Jane, heading into the house. She was followed by Renee, leaving the men to themselves.

Marek ate his pie as Sam still studied the sketch. But Marek felt eyes upon him and he looked up, finding Eric's gaze. As Sam remarked at how quickly Eric had produced the piece, Eric didn't answer, still peering at Marek. Then Sam noted how rapidly Eric had drawn his sister Fran and two of her children. And how, from that initial sketch, a whole series of portraits had emerged. Then Sam stopped speaking. He excused himself, moving from the table. When Marek looked in Sam's direction, that man was already inside the house.

Then Marek again faced Eric. "He's right, you have immense talent. I'm so looking forward to Friday."

"Me too." Eric smiled, then sat back. He glanced at the sketch pad, then toward Marek. "Thank you for letting me draw that."

"I should be the one thanking you. I don't think I've ever been the subject of an artist before."

"Will it be your last time?" Eric smiled as he spoke, then picked up the pad.

"Probably not," Marek chuckled. He finished his pie, wiped his mouth with a napkin, then inhaled deeply. "I have a feeling our paths were meant to cross. What else is a Lutheran Pole doing all the way in America's wild west?"

Eric laughed. "Not that wild anymore."

"Perhaps after Friday, the locals won't agree."

"Perhaps not." Eric put the sketch on the table. "Would you mind if I painted this?"

"Not at all. Would it require additional sittings?"

"Probably, but not more than a few. I could get my pencils and add the colors now if you want. Then I probably wouldn't need another sitting."

Marek gazed at the house, hearing the voices of three adults. Then he faced Eric. "No, I don't mind another afternoon like this. Very little in this world is better than a baby falling asleep in one's arms, followed by your wife's boysenberry pie."

Eric nodded. "I completely agree. Would you like another slice?"

Marek laughed. "Oh no, one is plenty. But more coffee, if you don't mind?"

"Of course. I'll be right back." Eric stood, then retrieved both men's cups. But he left the rest, which Marek didn't miss. While Eric was gone, the pastor inspected the drawing, then he said a brief prayer. If God wanted further truths revealed, Marek wouldn't argue. And in exchange, perhaps Eric Snyder might concede a few details.
Chapter 67

By the time Stanford and Laurie had arrived, the shocking news of Marilyn Monroe's death had just started to seem real. Not that the Snyders or Aherns were big film buffs, but Monroe's persona had been larger than life, and she was just a year older than Sam, and Marek Jagucki, which Eric learned on Tuesday when he met with the pastor for one last inspection of the paintings. The Pole had been just as stunned, but when the New Yorkers arrived, their take was less alarming. Stanford had actually met the actress several years ago; she had seemed frail then, and not far from her onscreen guise of a dumb blonde. Laurie spoke of how tragic was her brief life, but with a babbling infant in his grasp, he moved to other subjects as Stanford and Eric discussed opening night. Lynne sat with Laurie in the living room while the other two spoke in the kitchen. Laurie looked exhausted, Lynne thought, but Jane had rejuvenated him some. He smiled brightly, speaking in a gentle voice, yet Lynne heard an underlying tension. She didn't inquire; the men would be here until Monday, plenty of time for Laurie to unburden his heart if he so desired.

Lynne wasn't sure she wanted to know, but she assumed it had to do with Seth. Stanford's mother was still in the nursing home and if something was seriously wrong, one of the men would have written about it. All Laurie had noted concerning Seth was his improved condition. But for how drained Laurie appeared, Lynne accepted that certain facts hadn't been shared.

"She's gotten so big." Laurie set Jane over his shoulder, nibbling on her cheeks. She giggled in response, making Laurie sigh. "I keep telling Stan we need to get out here more often. He just rolls his eyes at me."

Lynne had never considered Stanford as a soft touch, but Laurie possessed a more paternal heart. "We'd love to see you as often as your schedule permits." She grinned, but bit her lip. Laurie didn't like leaving the city and of course this trip would make a detour through Minnesota. Yet, Laurie looked peaceful with Jane in his grasp. His eyes were closed, crow's feet eased. Then Lynne winced. She had never seen lines around Laurie's eyes, but he had visibly aged since May, a few gray hairs springing along his temples.

He was a handsome man, a year Sam's elder, but there on the sofa, even with Jane cuddled close, he looked older than Stanford. Lynne's pulse raced, only one reason for Laurie's weariness. She didn't want to disturb him, yet she ached to know the truth. His letters hadn't been completely honest; something was still wrong in Minneapolis.

She grasped Laurie's hand and he squeezed tightly. Then he sat up, hoisting Jane into the air, smiling at the gurgling baby. "It's so good to be here." His tone was soft. "I've missed you all so much."

Then he gazed at Lynne, nodding his head. "I'll be back," he said, handing Jane her way. He stood from the sofa, then walked to the stairs, taking them two at a time. Jane watched him go, making sounds as if calling after him. Lynne blinked away tears, then whispered that Uncle Laurie would be right back.

Laurie didn't return until supper was ready and his eyes were red. Lynne and Eric said nothing about that, but Eric spoke about Friday's events, then Stanford asked when he could see the gathered canvases. "Tomorrow, bright and early." Eric smiled. "I told Mrs. Stravinsky we'd be there probably before nine."

Stanford stared at Eric. "Stravinsky?"

Eric chuckled. "No relation, but she gets asked all the time. Marek and I hung the last painting yesterday and they had a nice little chat in, God, I have no idea what language it was. He speaks about a dozen of them, could've been Swahili for all I know."

Stanford shook his head, but Laurie laughed. "I'm looking forward to meeting him again. Sounds like quite an interesting fellow."

"He is and Jane's got him wrapped around her finger." Eric motioned to the sunroom. "I drew a sketch of them on Sunday, going to be my next project. He's teaching her Polish, so he'll have at least one person to speak it with, unless that's what he and Mrs. Stravinsky were speaking."

"He's teaching her Polish, is that what you said?" Stanford held his fork in mid-air. Then he took the bite, chewing thoughtfully. "My God, what's next? Are you giving her painting lessons?"

Lynne giggled as Eric nodded. "Why certainly Stan. Right after Lynne shows Jane how to roll out pie crust, I take her into the studio and we spend the next few hours going over the color wheel."

Laurie burst out laughing, but Stanford rolled his eyes. "Why is it every time I come here you seem a little more touched than the last time? I think you're trying to drive me...."

A brief silence wafted, only broken by Jane's chirpy laughter. Laurie added his, but a small sorrow edged his chuckles. "C'mon Stan, a little insanity's not a bad thing."

Eric reached for Stanford's hand, patting it gently. But the artist said nothing as his daughter's continued giggles filled the room. The meal was finished in quiet, save for Jane's outbursts, which lifted Eric's heart, although he wasn't sure what her joy did for the New Yorkers.

After pie, everyone gathered in the sunroom as the drawing of Jane and the pastor was admired. Stanford said it would make a captivating portrait, but as Laurie studied it, Stanford wondered what his lover thought, for Laurie was unusually hushed, and had been since Stanford had nearly said that Eric was trying to make him crazy. Then Stanford gazed at Eric, who had one arm around Lynne's shoulder, the other toting his daughter. Fatherhood had settled Eric in a manner Stanford wouldn't have imagined. His physical bearing was good; no longer did he seem thin. He sported a healthy tan, his hair a lighter shade of blonde than in May. Then Stanford sighed. Laurie used to look that carefree, but since their conversation alone in the kitchen, a lingering sadness had afflicted him, although it had abated some since arriving here. Stanford gazed toward the garden, finding a small building beside the studio, another alteration to this property. To the left of the studio was a vast space that previously had been forest. Now it was upturned earth, but what was Eric going to do with all that land?

As Jane began to whimper, Lynne excused herself. Stanford wondered if she would remain in the living room, or take the baby to the nursery. He hoped for the latter, because he wasn't ready for her to learn what Laurie needed to tell the Snyders. Eric could hear it first, then he could relay the basics to his wife, not that Laurie had proof, but a letter he had received, just days ago, seemed to confirm all of Laurie's reservations. Seth would be coming home in autumn and while the rest of the family was thrilled, Laurie harbored suspicions. He didn't blame Dr. Tasker or other staff at Caffey-Miller. He blamed Seth for not being honest, a trait Laurie's cousin had previously possessed in abundance.

Yet, what could Laurie offer to refute the gains Seth had achieved since shock therapy had been initiated? He was even sculpting, which should have thrilled Laurie. Instead he had shivered in Stanford's arms, for something wasn't right, although Laurie couldn't pinpoint exactly what was wrong. It was Seth's words in the letter, as if they had been written by someone else. Maybe Stanford would suggest that this Polish linguist give it a read. Maybe his clerical background could discern exactly what Seth was trying to convey, or better yet, what he was still wishing to hide.

And to further irritate Stanford was the news about Marilyn Monroe; why did people think suicide was an answer? That was what the papers reported and Stanford believed it in part from their one brief encounter, and that he knew many fragile souls who depended on drugs, some legal, some not, to maintain their grips on reality. Stanford wasn't naïve; several of his artists were addicted to one narcotic or another, or were alcoholics. At one time Stanford had thought that perhaps Eric was a similar sort, his strange absences giving the dealer pause. Yet, all Stanford saw now was a healthy, happy husband, but more, a father. In this idyllic albeit often changing setting, Eric thrived, as did his wife and child. Jane was a delight, no evidence of her month-long colic, much to Stanford's relief. He'd held her while Lynne and Eric set the table for dinner, before Laurie rejoined them. Stanford had enjoyed bobbing her up and down, for she didn't cry, she actually smiled at him. She also left smudges all over his glasses, which before had annoyed when his nieces and nephews had done the same. But before he wiped off the marks, Stanford had observed how delicate were Jane's tiny fingerprints. Would she be an artist like her father or a nurse like her mother or a chef like Sam Ahern? Might she actually speak Polish, or perhaps she would grow up appreciating art to the point where she followed in the footsteps of....

Her soft babbles caught Stanford's attention, had Lynne been nursing her all that time just around the corner? Then Stanford found he was alone in the sunroom, where were Laurie and Eric? Stepping toward the open French doors, Stanford peered into the dusky evening. Squinting, he saw Laurie standing beside Eric just past the patio. Laurie motioned to the studio, then to the sky. Stanford wanted to join them, for he knew what Laurie had shared. Again it was one man's supposition, yet, no one in this world knew Seth better than Laurie did.

Footsteps made Stanford shudder, then Lynne stood beside him, Jane in her arms. Lynne didn't speak, yet her presence eased Stanford's racing heart. Then she gripped his hand as Jane giggled. Stanford clutched Lynne's fingers, both watching their beloveds as evening fell around them.

In bed that night, Eric shared Laurie's misgivings. Lynne nodded, snuggling against Eric. Neither mentioned what this could mean to them, but ideas were hard to ignore. The couple made love, then sleep overtook them until Jane started crying at two a.m.

Eric fetched her and she slept between her parents for the rest of the night. When Eric stirred, it was nearly seven, and the bed was empty. He got up, used the bathroom, then put on his robe. The guest room door was closed, but the nursery door was open, then he heard voices downstairs, his wife, daughter, and.... Eric couldn't tell which New Yorker was awake. He took the stairs, finding Laurie seated at the table, Jane on his lap, Lynne fixing breakfast. "Good morning," Eric said, walking to his wife, giving her a kiss. "How long've you been up?"

"Since six," Laurie smiled. "Stan thought about joining us, but instead rolled back over. Did you hear him snoring?"

"Only heard this girl here." Eric sat beside Laurie, but didn't try to take Jane. He tickled her chin, then reached for the coffee Lynne brought to the table. It was the perfect temperature to drink and he took several sips while noting his company. Laurie looked rested, but last night he had given Eric plenty of food for thought. Eric didn't feel overly troubled; if Laurie's assertions were true, Seth would probably be fine for the rest of the year. However, a cloud now hovered over 1963, but on that day, Eric wouldn't contemplate any what if's. He drank more coffee, then turned toward his wife. "You need any help?"

"Hardly. All Laurie wanted for breakfast was pie."

"Pie?" Eric gazed at his guest. "Well, did you get some?"

"Of course. I think Jane wanted a bite, but I wasn't sure if pie had been added to her diet. And while I love her very much, she can have pie anytime."

Jane giggled as if fully aware of Laurie's sentiment.

"Well, that girl has to wait a few months before she gets anything resembling pie." Lynne brought Eric's breakfast to the table, then sat beside him. "She's just getting the hang of cereal, thank you. Perhaps we'll try pie at Thanksgiving."

"That sounds like the perfect time to introduce it." Laurie smiled, then handed the baby to her mother. "All right, if Stan sleeps much longer, he'll be a bear the rest of the day. I'm going for a shower and we'll see you both in about an hour. But," Laurie chuckled, reaching the kitchen doorway, "don't tell him what I had for breakfast. I wanna see if he asks for the same."

Lynne made a zipping motion on her lips while Eric nodded. "It's our secret," he said as Laurie stepped away.

Eric waited a minute to speak, then he sighed. "How was he this morning?"

"Not too bad." Lynne cuddled her baby, then as Jane whined, Lynne set her daughter to nurse. "He apologized for bringing it up last night. But honestly, I don't think he could've waited until today."

Eric nodded, then took a bite of toast. He drank more coffee, then stroked his wife's face. "I wish there was something we could do now, try to head this off at the pass." He smiled, then shook his head. "Maybe Seth'll surprise all of us. Maybe he'll be all right."

Lynne didn't meet Eric's gaze. "Maybe."

Eric finished eating, then put his plate in the sink. He stood behind his wife, gently grasping her shoulders. "I wanna tell you I won't leave again, but that wouldn't be any more honest than Seth."

"We'll be all right, I mean...." As Lynne leaned back, Eric caressed her face. Then he stared at his daughter, settled against her mother's bosom. How many times had Eric painted this scene, but not from this angle. The closest he had depicted this particular image was that first painting of Lynne and Jane right after the baby's birth. But Eric had been seated behind his wife, at eye-level with their newborn daughter. Now Jane was so changed, making Eric cringe at even the possibility of being separated from her. He had never wanted to leave Lynne, but she was an adult. What might happen to a baby if her father went missing?

Perhaps she wouldn't realize his departure, or at least it wouldn't affect her. Then Eric thought about the faint trauma that lingered in his pastor's brown eyes. How had that man's family perished and how had Marek survived? He'd been a teen at the time, what Eric deduced not from anything Marek had revealed, only by a general knowledge of dates and assumptions. When Seth was a teenager, he'd fashioned two detailed sculptures, then felt compelled to join the army. But Jane was only an infant and if Eric had to leave sometime next year, hopefully she would have enough of him stored in her brain to compensate for even a lengthy sojourn.

Of course that was a big if; if Seth suffered a relapse, if Eric transformed at all. In the last two years, he had changed three times, although for much longer stretches than ever before. Neither he nor Lynne could predict when or the length of any subsequent flight and Eric closed his eyes, asking to be spared from another departure. Not for himself, but for his daughter, then he opened his eyes, finding Jane staring right at him.

Would she remember him, or was she too young? It had taken her a few minutes to warm to Stanford and Laurie, but she was an amiable girl, and soon it was like she saw them on a daily basis. Yet, she definitely knew the Aherns and Marek Jagucki. Of course she'd remember her father....

Eric sat next to Lynne, then placed his hand along Jane's cheek. He wanted to will into her how much he loved her, that this was out of his control. Then he shook his head; he was grasping at possibilities, nothing was certain. One day Marek had been wrapped in the warmth of his family. The next day....

"If you have to leave, we'll manage." Lynne's voice was firm. "Besides, it wouldn't be until next year, if it happens." She turned to face him. "And that's if, Eric. We don't know the future, we have no idea what's gonna occur."

He nodded, for just that week a famous actress had died without warning. Life didn't remain static, Eric knew that fully well. But now that his life was stable, he wanted it to remain that way. But didn't everyone, or most people? Most happy people, Eric assumed, but not everyone was content. Eric leaned against his wife, who was back to admiring their baby. He had no control over the future, or himself. Taking a deep breath, Eric kissed Lynne's cheek, then again closed his eyes. His prayers were many; for Seth, for Frannie and the twins, and for the men upstairs who were just as confused as he was.
Chapter 68

On Friday evening the Snyders, Aherns, and two New Yorkers were treated to supper at St. Matthew's courtesy of Pastor Jagucki. The fare wasn't Polish, but English; roast beef and Yorkshire puddings, roast potatoes and an assortment of mixed vegetables with Brussels sprouts dominating. Sam asked for the recipe to the puddings, which were of the large variety, nearly six inches in diameter and filled with delicious savory gravy. Marek said he would make copies for anyone interested and Laurie inquired as well, on Stanford's behalf. Agatha Morris would hear this meal requested every time Stanford entertained.

Supper was devoured amid jovial chatter, most of it in English, although Marek spoke Polish to Jane. Often she was in his arms, or in Laurie's, as those men were seated next to each other with Stanford between Eric and Sam. Lynne and Renee were on the other end, but a common thread wound between the conversations, the buzz of excitement for that evening's activity. Jane would be watched by Mrs. Kenny, St. Matthew's secretary, until Lynne needed to feed her baby, or if the glare from the local public grew too bothersome. Many of the paintings were nudes and while Lynne didn't mind their inclusion, how they were accepted was beyond her control.

None from this series had ever been shown other than to family. Lynne gazed at those gathered in the church kitchen, finding all of these people were now related to her. She smiled as Marek handed Jane to Laurie while Eric and Stanford chatted with Sam. Only Renee was quiet, but Lynne knew part of that was Renee's eagerness to hold Jane, yet Laurie would be gone on Monday. Lynne patted Renee's leg and the women shared wide smiles. Renee felt as Lynne did, that Laurie would make a wonderful father. Yet, he seemed very happy in his role as an uncle, as did the pastor. Marek never referred to himself as Jane's uncle, but from how tenderly he spoke to her, in a tongue none of them understood, love was the underlying sentiment. It didn't matter what Marek said to Jane; all Lynne heard was earnest affection.

Marek then apologized for the absence of dessert, but a part of that was due to the shortage of time. The show was slated to start at seven, but this group needed to be at the library by half past six. It was now five thirty and as Marek stood, gathering plates, Lynne and Renee went to their feet. "Now you ladies sit right back down," Marek said. "This's the least I can do for cajoling Eric to share his incredible art with those of us unable to travel to New York City."

Renee didn't sit and Lynne smiled. What tussle of wills might emerge between the Polish pastor and a fiery redhead? "Pastor Jagucki, over my dead body will you clear this table alone," Renee huffed.

"Now you've done it, Pastor," Sam laughed.

Marek smiled. "Mrs. Ahern, as Christ washed his disciples' feet, please allow me to put these dishes in the sink."

Renee's jaw went slack and she humbly nodded, retaking her chair. But Eric stood, rolling up his shirtsleeves. "And then as Peter said to Christ, wash all of me Lord." Eric gathered his plate, Stanford's, and Sam's while Marek laughed loudly, shaking his head.

Sam joined them and quickly the table was cleared. As Sam started the dishes, Laurie handed Jane to Renee, then went to assist. Renee was placated and she leaned back in her seat, cooing to her godchild. Eric returned to the table, speaking with Stanford as Marek put away the leftovers. Lynne was struck by the altered dynamics, although that Stanford hadn't moved a muscle was expected. Yet Marek had facilitated the women's exclusion from what were their standard tasks. Lynne met his gaze and his grin was telling. Then he winked at her as Sam and Laurie seemed caught up in the washing and rinsing. Marek told them not to worry about the drying; the dishes could sit overnight. Sam wouldn't hear of it, telling Eric to get off his duff. Then Laurie said the same to Stanford and Lynne had to bite her lip as that man truculently stood, a dishcloth thrust into his unpracticed hands.

While Renee cradled Jane, Lynne considered that evening's activity. The paintings would be exhibited for two weeks, but Stanford and Eric had discussed a European show, possibly for next spring. Stanford had been surprised that Eric was willing to part with many of the nudes, but Stanford hadn't spoken about it with Lynne. Yet she truly didn't care, for other than the one of her seated with arms outstretched, those depictions were of another woman. Her life as Jane's mother had thoroughly altered Lynne to the point that unless a canvas meant something to Eric, all of them could be scattered to the winds. Only Renee had asked Lynne, discreetly of course, why she felt as she did. Lynne had smiled, then clutched Renee's hands. Those paintings had been a way for Eric to express his love and to assist Lynne in accepting those affections. Then Jane had been conceived and Lynne hadn't been able to continue speaking, not for herself or for Renee. The women had brushed away tears and Renee had nodded, but her smile shone, for since that conversation, the Aherns had begun to seriously investigate adoption. And much to Lynne's joy, they had also spoken to Stanford about selling the painting of the three hawks. It would be offered alongside the nudes in a brief New York exhibition before the canvases were shipped to London. Stanford had told Sam that he expected the Aherns' picture to fetch at least what the nudes would earn, a rare chance for a collector to snap up one of Eric's earlier pieces. And that it was of hawks made it even more valuable, for among those who most coveted Eric's work, hawks now commanded top prices.

Lynne never thought about the money. While she had teased Eric that baby clothes weren't cheap, that wasn't the impetus behind selling the nudes; they simply didn't need to keep them. Lynne was privy to the idea Eric still wished to explore, but that series would be too precious to sell, and they did need to eat. Eric itched to start painting the sketch of Marek and Jane, plus he wanted to coax Laurie and Stanford into a sitting, if time permitted, before they left. Too many lovely moments of those men with Jane had convinced Eric to try to get them to pose, even for a rough sketch. Laurie wouldn't balk, but Stanford might, yet, Lynne had found him enamored of a little girl who smeared his glasses, drooled on his shoulder, and laughed in his arms. Plus Eric had complained of not painting Renee and Jane lately, but he never mentioned Sam and Jane. Lynne wondered just how long Sam could avoid becoming one of Eric's subjects.

She had managed for years, even as the artist's wife. But as his spouse, Lynne hadn't been able to say no forever, and she imagined that eventually Sam would allow Eric to start a series that would never be for sale. It wouldn't sit in their storage shed either, but be sent on a world tour, needing to be seen by as many as possible. And for that series alone, Lynne would permit the sale of the nudes. If Sam would ever give his consent, Lynne might even consider parting with her favorite canvas.

But she knew that wouldn't be necessary; there were paintings aplenty for those interested. Eric had been prolific last year; more nudes of Lynne existed than were needed, but not all were waiting in the library. The first few would never be shown publically, the intensity of the couple's love requiring discretion. Stanford had been pleased with those chosen for this local show, almost a teaser for what would be sent to New York and onwards. Lynne's favorite would accompany and continue to Europe, but only to be admired. The orchard in spring was going too and like that of Lynne on the stool, it would find its way back home, although while it would return to its place in their living room, the painting of Lynne would probably dwell in the storage building. Lynne smiled, thinking of what tonight's reaction would entail. For years she had worked cloaked in a white dress, hat, and stockings. But another side of that same woman would serve notice that uniforms were often deceiving.

Then Lynne winced as Marek joked with Laurie and Stanford that they made a surprisingly adept team. Laurie laughed, but Stanford rolled his eyes. The pastor probably thought Stanford's contempt was solely related to where he stood, at the end of an all-male line of dishwashers. Did Marek have any idea of the New Yorkers' true connection? It hadn't taken Lynne very long to discern it, although the Aherns hadn't been aware until much later. But Marek was a European and while he was also a clergyman, perhaps his past permitted greater opportunities of love. Lynne thought it sad that Marek was alone, wondering if he had left a girlfriend in England, or maybe even in Poland. She had told her husband that if Marek ever revealed what had happened to his family, she didn't want to know. All sorts of inhumane atrocities had been perpetrated, and not only to Jews; nearly a fifth of Poland's population had been killed.

Yet, to see him now, one would never guess Marek had lost not only his immediate kin, but his entire extended clan as well. Eric had promised that he wouldn't share those details and Lynne expected he was still ignorant, for she never saw any secrets between her husband and their pastor. Other confidences swirled within St. Matthew's kitchen, but not those facts.

As Jane began to squawk, Lynne smiled, then grimaced, as her milk came in. Renee handed over the baby and Lynne stood, catching Eric's grin. Better to feed Jane now than have her crying in another hour. Lynne stepped from the kitchen as Marek said she was welcome to use the small church library, just to the left. Renee followed and turned on the light for Lynne, who immediately sat down, putting Jane right where she wanted to be. Renee didn't stay, but soon Eric joined his family. "You need anything?" he asked.

Lynne shook her head, a great warmth coursing through her. She had fallen in love with this church mostly due to the endearing pastor, but also in how much this place meant to Eric. He smiled, kneeling beside her, stroking their daughter's wild strip of brown hair. Her curls were unruly and the hair along the sides of her head was starting to thicken. She was trying to hitch and once she was on all fours, no longer would she be rubbing off the hair near her ears.

"We don't have to leave until she's ready," Eric smiled. "Marek and Sam can take Stanford and Laurie over there. I'll show up whenever Jane's done."

Lynne giggled. "Now that wouldn't be proper."

"Well, this isn't New York."

"No, I suppose not. But don't wait on our account. Renee can bring us over in their car."

"Absolutely not. I won't enter that library without my favorite ladies."

Jane moved away from Lynne's chest, staring at her father. She smiled, then chuckled, then acted as if she was finished. Lynne tried to entice her to return to nursing, but Jane seemed to have only needed a little snack, what Eric said as he stood. "We don't have to leave for another fifteen minutes. I'll be back in a few, see if she's really done."

Lynne nodded as Jane laughed, then burped. She didn't seem to want more and as Eric stepped away, Lynne stroked her daughter's soft cheek. Jane only wanted to be held and when Eric returned, both Snyder females were ready to depart for the exhibit.

Two and a half hours later, Lynne sat with her baby in one of the library's smaller conference rooms. Mrs. Kenny had been sent home, for now Jane was indeed hungry, and Lynne hadn't needed to remain at Eric's side. The crowds had been bigger than any of them had considered, people traveling from larger cities a few hours away. Some lamented that none of the canvases were for sale, but Stanford had been adamant; he wanted Eric's work to receive the maximum prices, which would only happen in New York. Yet, many people were content to finally see Eric's output, or a smattering of his endeavors. The blue barn was the main focus, until a patron reached the collection of nudes. Then a thoughtful hush was encountered, in part for the honesty Eric had painted, and that the model was right in the room. Lynne didn't make eye contact with anyone except her family, but she felt many gazes upon her. When Mrs. Kenny came her way, noting that Jane needed her mother, Lynne was happy to leave the makeshift gallery. That had been twenty minutes ago and Jane showed no signs of relinquishing Lynne to the waiting crowds.

Eric and Pastor Jagucki had arranged the canvases in order of completion, the blue barn and the three hawks some of the first to be seen. The nudes had been last, with many Ahern and Nolan family portraits sandwiched between, including the one of Lynne and Renee in their nursing uniforms. Eric had asked the women's permission and both had acquiesced, but Lynne's appearance as a starchily dressed health professional had only made the nudes more captivating, and somewhat scandalous. And shocking they were, for Eric hadn't concealed his wife's beauty, nor his love for her. Her portrait on the stool garnered the most attention, for she looked nothing like the woman in that white dress and cap, her brown hair hidden, a no-nonsense look on her face. In the nude, that hair flowed past her shoulders, Lynne's smile wide and free. Her closed eyes invited the viewer to wonder what secret she was keeping, for despite her far-flung arms, a great mystery remained, and few within the crowds realized it was the couple's infant daughter to elicit such bliss. But then, Lynne had smiled to herself, at the time she hadn't been aware either.

When Mrs. Kenny approached Lynne, Jane wailing in the secretary's arms, a mother had been happy to step away from furtive stares and a few outright motions of recognition. Renee had offered to accompany, but Lynne had shaken her head, wanting a few moments alone with her baby. Eric had popped in, but Lynne shooed him away too. His place was center stage, while she was happy to remain in the background.

This night had also revealed to Lynne that she wouldn't need to attend the opening festivities when many of these canvases were displayed back east. She would probably travel with Eric, wanting to see Laurie and Stanford, and Michael Taylor too. And Agatha would likely insist that Lynne came, if only to meet Jane. Depending on when that exhibit was planned, Lynne would accompany solely for family's sake. Then she winced as Jane tugged forcefully. Perhaps they would also be introduced to Seth.

Lynne wanted to meet him, but on appropriate terms. She wished to shake his hand with Eric at her side, both of them greeting Seth at the same time. Yet, a New York showing wouldn't occur until early 1963 and by then Seth would have been home for a few months. Might he need Eric before then, and not as one artist advising another? Then Lynne shook her head. She couldn't worry about that, it was out of her hands.

She smiled at her baby, who wasn't teething yet, but soon enough. Would Lynne keep nursing if Jane started biting? Maybe that would usher in trying for another child. Lynne giggled, then brushed soft curls from the baby's face. Jane stared at her mother, then pulled away, a huge smile on her face. Lynne's heart felt to bursting and she hoped that by next spring she wouldn't be the only mother she knew.

By then Fran would have delivered the twins, but more on Lynne's heart was Renee. Not that Renee would know this sort of connection, but while this time was precious to Lynne, it wouldn't last forever. Time sped so quickly; here it was August already, but Lynne wasn't ready to wean her daughter. She would let Jane dictate a sibling's arrival, or actually God would make the decision.

Jane seemed finished and Lynne hoisted her over her shoulder, two burps released. Lynne didn't immediately set Jane to her other breast, instead nuzzling against her daughter's face. While she wished Renee could experience this sort of bond, perhaps Renee didn't need this kind of connection with her offspring. Then Lynne wondered how Frannie would do with the twins; thank goodness there were enough Aherns and Canfields to assist when those babies arrived. Fran's due date was for late September, but twins had their own timetable, and while the longer Fran carried them the better, they might come early. Daily Lynne prayed for that family, especially for a mother who must have mixed feelings about her predicament. As a Catholic, Fran had been raised with the notion that a large family was God's blessing. But as a woman caring for all those children, the sentiments could be somewhat altered.

Lynne set Jane to her chest, but the baby showed no interest in nursing. Jane's eyelids were starting to droop and Lynne smiled. Renee had offered to take them home once Jane was ready for bed. All Lynne would have to do is return to where the paintings stood, then catch the attention of any of her most loved. Even Stanford would know what Lynne needed, which was to take her baby home and end this day. Lynne stood, placing Jane in the Moses basket, waiting on the floor. Lynne rearranged her blouse, then slung the baby bag over her shoulder. She gripped the basket's handles, then left the room, heading for where crowds still gathered.

She saw Laurie first and he didn't need more than the nod of her head. He fetched Eric, who wore a broad smile. "You two ready to leave?"

"We are. How's it going?"

"It's been quite a night. Stanford's getting tired of being pestered to sell any canvases, otherwise, I think he's quite pleased. And he's been subtly badgering me to let him put together an impromptu show for November."

"Well, I'll leave that to you gentleman," Lynne smiled. "So who's gonna take us home?"

"Renee was just here, asking when you might be ready. I told her to go ask you, didn't you see her?"

"No, just been me and the girl here." Lynne smiled down at her sleeping baby. Then she scanned the room. "I don't see her or Sam. Maybe they both needed the restroom."

"Hmmm, well, why don't you wait in the conference room and I'll hunt them down. They can't be far."

Lynne nodded, then returned to where she had been moments before. The door had been closed for her privacy, yet the light had been on, but perhaps Renee had forgotten to check on her. Lynne waited for several minutes, then Jane stirred. Lynne patted the baby's back, speaking in soothing tones. Jane calmed and returned to sleep.

But still no one came for them. Finally Lynne stood, stepping to the door, opening it a crack. The light in the hallway was dim, but she could make out a figure running her way. It wasn't until the man was nearly upon her that she saw it was Pastor Jagucki. "What is it?" she said softly.

Marek was out of breath and he gripped Lynne's hands. "Sam's sister's gone into labor. One of his brothers was just here and the Aherns have left for the hospital."

Lynne shivered from Marek's anxious tone. "Oh my God, is Fran all right?"

Marek shook his head. "Not from the sounds of it. Eric said he'd be here in a few minutes. I told him I would close up the show and Laurie and Stanford offered to stay as well. I'll take them to your house, but I think Eric wants to take you to...."

"Yes, I mean, at least to see if they're...." Lynne started to cry. "Oh my goodness, she's not due for several weeks. Oh Pastor, this isn't good at all."

Marek squeezed Lynne's hands. "It might not look that way, but God is with Sam's sister and those babies. We'll keep them in our prayers and trust that his will is good."

Lynne looked back, her daughter asleep in the Moses basket. She nodded absently, for the pastor was right. Yet, a mother's heart ached for what Frannie, Louie, and their family must be considering. As Eric ran the length of the corridor, Marek released Lynne's hands, and she stumbled into her husband's grasp. Eric hugged her tightly, then kissed Lynne's damp cheek. "Let's go. I told Sam we'd get over there as soon as possible."

All Lynne could do was cry while the men collected the Moses basket and diaper bag. Marek followed the couple to their car, helping Lynne get seated while Eric put Jane in the back seat. Lynne's eyes were teary as Eric started their vehicle, and her vision was still blurred as he backed out of the parking lot, Marek seeing them off into the dark night.
Chapter 69

When the Snyders reached the hospital, they found a contingent milling about the main lobby. Most of those gathered were older men, but a few younger fellows recognized Eric. He spoke to two of them as Lynne cradled Jane. She caught the eyes of a few women, but she didn't know them, probably Louie's relatives. Eric returned to his wife, leading Lynne near the gift shop. He took a deep breath, then grasped her hand. "They don't know much, seems Louie was down here about half an hour ago. The rest of the family's up in the maternity ward lobby, but I think that was just too close for these folks."

Lynne nodded. "Do you think it's all right if we go up there?"

"Yeah, I spoke with Russell, Joan's husband. He said Sam told him to tell us to head up there if we wanted." Eric stroked Jane's head. "I'm sure it'll be fine to take her up there."

"Oh Eric, I don't know. It might seem in poor...." Taste, Lynne wanted to say. "Maybe you should go up. We'll wait down here."

"Tell you what. I'll run up and see what Sam and Renee think. Won't be more than a few minutes."

As Lynne nodded, Eric led her to some open seats, but not far from where other ladies were speaking in somber tones. Then Eric sprinted to the elevator and within seconds he was gone.

Jane was nearly asleep and Lynne set her over her shoulder. Patting the baby's back, Lynne crooned a soft melody, occasionally peering up, finding gentle eyes upon her. Lynne smiled back, then a woman who looked in her sixties stepped Lynne's way. "I'm Nancy Canfield, Louie's aunt. Is your husband the painter?"

"Yes. I'm Lynne Snyder, Eric's wife. It's nice to meet you."

The woman nodded. "I've seen that painting of Fran and the girls, it's beautiful." Nancy paused, then sighed. "We really don't know more than Fran went into labor, but it's so early." She gazed at the elevator door, then back to Lynne. "Louie was down here for a while, not much for him to do, but then a nurse came for him and we haven't heard anything since."

Lynne's heart raced and she tried not to think of what could have kept Louie, and the rest of those upstairs, from coming down to inform those waiting here. Then Lynne considered Pastor's words, that God was with Frannie and the twins. "Well, Eric went to see what he could find out. He'll be back as soon as he speaks with Sam and Renee."

Nancy nodded, then clasped her hands together. Then she gazed at Jane. "How old's your baby?"

"She's almost five months. Her name's Jane."

"That's a lovely name." Nancy's face brightened. "Is she your first?"

Lynne nodded. "Yes. We'd been at...." That night's activity now paled in importance. "We'd been out with Sam and Renee and I didn't have a sitter."

Nancy shook her head. "You don't need to explain. She's a doll. Jane you said?"

"Yes, Jane Renee."

Nancy's eyes widened, then she smiled. "Well, that's a fine name. I don't know Sam and Renee that much, well, I did see Sam over summer, helping out with the kids." Nancy's tone quieted. "Poor Fran was so sick, just not that easy when you get older." Nancy glanced at the elevator again. "We've been praying for her, I hope he's listening."

"We've been praying too."

Nancy gazed at Lynne. "Oh, that's wonderful. Goodness knows they're gonna need all the help they can get."

Lynne nodded, but wasn't sure if the woman meant now or later. Both, Lynne was certain, regardless of the outcome.

For five minutes Lynne and Nancy Canfield sat in silence while hushed murmurs floated through the dimly lit lobby. Finally the elevator opened and Lynne stood, seeing her husband and Renee step out. Renee's face was red, her bearing shaky, and Eric supported her as soon as they were clear of the doors. Lynne met them and others joined her. "How is she?" Lynne asked.

"She's, oh my God, she's...." Renee burst into tears, turning to Eric, who grasped her.

"She's alive, but it's touch and go right now." Eric looked at Lynne as he spoke.

"And the babies?" Nancy asked, standing beside Lynne. "How're the twins?"

Eric blinked away tears. "She's had two boys, but they're very small and weak."

Lynne gasped, as did others. In her husband's gray eyes, Lynne saw a painful truth; those tiny infants wouldn't survive the night. But Fran was alive and Lynne said a quick prayer, then stepped toward her husband, who was still shielding Renee. The Snyders nodded at each other, then Eric took Jane as Lynne embraced Renee, who started to sob. Lynne led her to the lobby seating as Eric followed them. The others gathered together, tears shed and more prayers offered.

Renee cried hard and Lynne eased her into a chair, sitting beside her. Eric sat to Lynne's left, bobbing Jane, who had stirred from Renee's outburst. Lynne had several questions, but didn't wish to further upset Renee. Then Lynne gazed at Eric. When was the last time he had looked so stricken? Was Fran's health that precarious, yet, Lynne didn't inquire, speaking softly to Renee, who continued to wail.

Then Lynne looked up as the elevator doors opened. Sam and his sister Joan stepped out, Joan looking as disheveled as Renee. Her husband Russell came to her side and Sam walked toward the Snyders and Renee. Sorrow was evident on Sam's face, also bitterness. Lynne wondered about that emotion as Sam sat near them, leaving one vacant seat between himself and Renee.

"Well?" Eric said.

"They still won't say if Frannie's gonna make it. But the priest hasn't given her last rites, so that's a good sign."

"And the twins?" Lynne said slowly.

Sam glanced at Eric, then motioned to the rest. "Did you tell them?"

Eric shook his head.

"Sam, what?" Lynne said, still gripping Renee.

Sam trembled, then stared at his wife. To Lynne, the look was more of a glare, as if somehow this was Renee's fault. "Sam, actually, you don't need to say anything." Lynne knew the risks and while she wished for the truth, it seemed a great chasm separated the Aherns. She squeezed Renee, but didn't ask Sam to embrace his wife. Renee had calmed a little, but Sam wore an angry countenance.

"You guys should go home," Sam said. "I'll call you in the morning, let you know what's going on."

"Will you be here all night?" Eric asked.

"I'm not leaving till I know Frannie's outta danger," Sam said.

"Well, all right then. Shall we take Renee with us?"

"Yeah, do that." Sam stood, not making eye contact with anyone but Eric. "I'd appreciate it."

Eric stood as well, stepping near Sam. "We'll take her to our house. Listen, please don't hesitate to call, I mean...."

Lynne observed how Sam never looked at his wife; what had happened, Lynne wondered, for Renee never tried to meet Sam's eyes.

"I'll call you first thing in the morning, let you all get some sleep." Sam shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm gonna talk to Joanie and Russell, then see what the rest of Louie's relatives are gonna do. They might as well go home too, no use waiting around here anymore."

As Sam stopped speaking, Renee jerked away from Lynne. Renee stared at her husband, then almost stood, but she was too wobbly to get up. Sam didn't pay any attention to her, but he patted Eric's arm, stroked Jane's head, then walked away without any goodbye. Lynne was reminded of when Sam had visited her during Eric's absence two years ago, that same seething fury. Only now it wasn't directed at Lynne. This time Sam wanted to throttle Renee.

By the time the Snyders reached home, it was nearly midnight. Renee hadn't spoken more than to thank them for the ride, but she had been surprised that they didn't drive her to her own house. Eric wondered if Renee had been listening to her husband, not that Sam had said much to her, or had he directed any conversation Renee's way? Lynne carried Jane inside while Eric led Renee, but she balked at going upstairs, said she would sleep on the sofa if that was all right. Eric nodded, retrieving some blankets and a pillow. The room next to where Stanford and Laurie slept was open, but for some reason, Renee preferred the couch.

Eric didn't tarry, making sure the doors were locked. He said a quiet goodnight to Renee, but she didn't answer other than by the slight nod of her head. Eric took the stairs, finding the nursery door mostly closed, the guest room door at the end of the hall shut. His bedroom door was also nearly closed, only a crack of light underneath. He stepped inside, firmly shutting the door behind him. Lynne was already in bed, her Bible in hand. She looked to have been crying and Eric kicked off his shoes, then got in beside her.

Lynne began to weep and Eric moved the Bible aside, cradling his wife. He wondered what she assumed from her time as a nurse and concerning the great gulf now present between the Aherns. Eric had found them on opposite sides of the maternity ward lobby, Sam speaking with his brother Ted and Louie while Renee stood with Sam's sister Joan and the rest of their female relatives. None of the Canfield children were present; Eric learned that Sally was keeping an eye on her siblings, but he wondered if Sally knew about the tragedy which had occurred. Probably not, unless Louie or someone else had called the teenager.

"Renee's on the couch," Eric said. "Jane fall asleep okay?"

Lynne nodded, then reached for a tissue on her nightstand table. She blew her nose, then looked at him. "What happened?"

Eric swallowed, but his mouth was dry. "She had a hysterectomy. They couldn't stop the bleeding after the babies were delivered. She lost a lot of blood, that's why her condition's so tenuous."

"And the twins?"

Eric sighed, tracing his wife's damp eyes. "You probably know more about this than me, something about a twin-to-twin transfusion? Not to mention they were so premature. Sam said they were born alive, but last rites had been administered right afterwards."

Lynne nodded. "I wondered if that was it. They must be identical then, that's the only time it happens."

"Yeah, Sam said something about that." Eric cleared his throat. "Honey, something's very wrong between him and Renee. When I got there...." Eric explained those details, then felt a lump in his throat. "I've never seen Sam so mad, that's what he was, he was simply furious."

"That's what he was like when he visited me when you were gone. Eric, I have no idea what's wrong between them, but it's serious."

Eric nodded. "Well, we'll pray and try to facilitate as best as we can. Maybe she said something or...."

Eric stopped speaking due to the horror on his wife's face. "Lynne, my God, what is it?"

"Oh Eric, that day they came over and you were showing off the garden. Renee wanted to tell me something, but she prefaced it with she hoped I wouldn't hate her, something about Fran and the twins. Oh my lord, I wonder if she was gonna say...."

Lynne's tears restarted and Eric pulled her close in part to muffle the sound, which was as painful as Renee's deep sobs shed in the hospital's lobby. He also didn't wish her to say another word, which would have been impossible for how hard Lynne wept. She didn't need to tell Eric what she thought, for Eric had seen that truth when he'd painted Renee alongside Lynne and Jane earlier that summer. Eric didn't judge Renee, for he and Lynne had gently spoken about the same: why again was Fran pregnant? But now the worst had occurred, not that Renee's feelings were the cause. It was no one's fault that the babies had been born so early, or so ill. Even if the transfusion hadn't happened, they were tiny infants, well, one was smaller than the other. But even the larger twin was far too little to survive. Eric had caught a few pertinent facts; born at just over thirty-two weeks gestation, they had weighed less than six pounds combined, and weren't expected to live through the night. Eric had seen the priest, not from St. Anne's, but from the Canfields' local parish. He'd been comforting various family members, but neither Sam nor Renee had been the subject of his consolation. Eric then wondered about Louie; when had he been told of his wife's condition? Eric was grateful to have shared in Jane's birth, but that rarely occurred. Men were expected to remain in the waiting room, then the good news was brought to them by a nurse. Louie had been in the downstairs lobby for a while, did he not realize how serious was Fran's condition?

Maybe he'd felt like Renee, or maybe his older relatives had needed his presence. Not that Louie could have done anything for Fran, and now there would be no more concerns about further Canfield offspring. Hopefully Fran would pull through with no lasting physical debilitation. Her heart, however, would take ages to heal.

Lynne had calmed and she slowly pulled from Eric's grasp. They stared at each other, similar thoughts coursing through their minds. Eric kissed her softly, then as she laid down, he took back the bedding, removing his clothes. He left on his briefs in case Jane stirred or Renee needed something, or if Sam did call. But Eric didn't expect to hear from Sam for several hours, unless Fran's condition took a severe turn. It would take Samuel that long to feel like speaking, not that he was angry with the Snyders, only that Sam's wife was in this house. And for now, Sam wanted nothing to do with Renee.

Eric couldn't change that, but he was exhausted, and his bed was warm. He snuggled against Lynne, who wrapped her arms around him. The couple wasn't intimate, but they held hands as Eric began The Lord's Prayer. He spoke for them both, but Lynne's quiet Amen made Eric blink away stray tears. Then they turned on their left sides, more prayers leading them into unsettled slumber.
Chapter 70

On a warm August afternoon, Eric and Lynne stood near the back of mourners as one small coffin was lowered into the ground. Family surrounded Louie, who stood among his older children, as Simon and Andrew Canfield were laid to rest. Fran was still in the hospital, but the rest of the Canfields and Aherns had assembled, except for Frannie's mother. Marjorie Ahern had spent most of her days at her daughter's bedside and this one was no different. The Snyders had left Jane at St. Matthew's in Mrs. Kenny's care, wanting to pay their respects to the Canfield family as well as act as a buffer for Sam and Renee.

That Ahern couple stood side by side, but unlike most others, they didn't hold hands; Sam's arms hung limply while Renee gripped her rosary, both dressed in black, as was just about everyone in attendance. Eric clutched Lynne as she wept. A week after the twins had been born, then passed away, the Snyders had experienced a range of emotions, but not all were due to Fran and Louie's tragic loss. Sam had collected his wife from the Snyders late on Saturday afternoon, but his face had still sported anger, although it was muted. Eric felt that was due to Stanford and Laurie's presence. If the New Yorkers hadn't been there, Eric wouldn't have been surprised if Sam verbally attacked his wife.

Eric had spent much of that week trying to talk to Sam while Lynne attempted to soothe Renee. Neither Snyder was successful, for while the Aherns stood together, their hearts were far apart. Normally Sam wasn't overly demonstrative, but that day he didn't even try to console his wife, who cried throughout the brief funeral. The weather was pleasant and Eric had learned that Louie hadn't wanted a full mass in their church. He needed sunshine and a soft breeze alongside the warmth of his family. Eric had spoken to Sam's sister Joan, as she, Russell, and their three young daughters arrived at the same time as the Snyders. Joan was easy to talk to and she hadn't minced words, pulling Eric aside and asking if he had managed to get through to Sam.

Perhaps the Snyders and McCampbells were the only ones to realize the turmoil between Sam and Renee. The rest were too shocked by the awful loss of twin sons, although their deaths were considered as God's will. That Frannie would eventually be all right was a bigger blessing, in that Louie wasn't also mourning his wife or seven children their mother. The priest had committed Simon and Andrew's bodies to the ground, their brief lives God's gift, although the priest didn't try to give an explanation. Eric had spoken to Pastor Jagucki during the week, so had Lynne. They didn't tell Marek about the Aherns, only seeking spiritual support at a time of immense sorrow. Marek had assuaged their hearts in his kind but honest words; many of God's actions were far beyond human comprehension. The babies were safe with Christ and soon their mother would return to the bosom of her family.

As white roses were gently tossed into the open gravesite, Eric considered Stanford and Laurie's reactions; neither man had before encountered such heartbreak. Laurie felt for Louie, with whom he had spoken at Easter, while Stanford was awed by Fran's condition, a mother of many, but now two of her children were dead. Eric hadn't expected Stanford to be so shaken, but he had grown teary as Eric broke the news, then left the kitchen, spending an hour upstairs. Part of that time Laurie had accompanied, but when Laurie returned alone, Eric had only nodded. Perhaps these were the first children's deaths Stanford had faced, and maybe they were exacerbated by his mother's ill health or Seth's dubious recovery. Until the New Yorkers left on Monday, Stanford was particularly subdued, and he held Jane at every opportunity. Neither man had noticed the frost between the Aherns, for which Eric had been relieved, one fewer issue that required an explanation.

Other than Joan and Russell, maybe no one else realized the level of discord between Sam and Renee. Larger sorrows loomed, although Eric was exceedingly grateful that Fran would be all right. Both Eric and Lynne had expressed their hesitant but truthful relief that Fran and Louie wouldn't have to consider another pregnancy, although who were they to say that another baby would be a burden. Eric had no doubt that notion was the cause of friction between the Aherns, but Eric had never seen Sam so incensed. Lynne had, so he took her word that a typically jovial man could so easily lose his even temper. Then Eric tutted himself; who was he to judge anyone? Perhaps this was tied into Sam's tour overseas, or maybe Sam felt guilty what with having just decided to adopt. Fran and Louie had lost twin sons and would never have another child. Maybe it was easier for Sam to shun his wife than accept his own feelings.

That was what Sam had done two years ago when Eric was gone. Sam had blamed Lynne and even after Eric returned, Sam had taken time to let Lynne back into his heart. It wasn't until Sam watched Eric change that he no longer thought Lynne was.... Eric kissed his wife's damp cheek, then led her several yards from where related clans comforted each other. As Lynne burrowed against Eric's chest, he spied Renee being calmed by Joan as Sam sought out others. While Lynne struggled to stem her tears, the Aherns drifted further apart until they stood on the opposite fringes of the entire group.

A reception was being hosted at the Canfields' church, but Eric and Lynne had decided to forgo that event. Jane was part of the reason, but in truth, the Snyders were there solely as acquaintances of the Canfields. Eric wondered if Sam and Renee would attend, probably, Eric thought, more from their expected presence. But maybe they would beg off, not wishing to hide their dispute. Eric didn't want to know and softly he stroked his wife's hair. "Shall we go?" he whispered.

Lynne looked up, then gazed to where Louie stood with his parents and children. "Don't you wanna say goodbye?"

"I don't think we'll be missed. You need some mother-daughter time."

Lynne nodded, then sighed, scanning the assembly. "Where are Renee and Sam?"

Eric motioned to one side of the gathering, then to the other. "Honey, let's go."

Lynne didn't answer, but she followed Eric's lead. Slowly they walked to their car and Eric helped his wife into her seat. As he stepped to his door, he glanced toward where most remained. Joan McCampbell motioned for him and Eric nodded. Then he opened his door. "Lynne, I'll be right back. Joan wants to talk to me."

"Give her my love."

"I'll do that." Eric shut the door, then headed toward Joan. They met a few feet from where both had parked. Joan's cheeks were damp, her eyes red. She looked a little like Sam, but her blue irises weren't as bright. Short blonde hair blew around her face and she tucked some strays behind her ears. "Are you coming to the reception?" she asked.

"No, Lynne needs to feed Jane. Please give Louie our love."

Joan nodded, grasping Eric's hand. "Of course. Um, Eric, can I ask you something?"

"Certainly."

Joan released Eric's hand, looking back to the group. Then she gazed at Eric. "I just tried talking to Sam, but he's being pretty obstinate right now. We're gonna take Renee with us, he said he was driving Louie and Fran's kids home. I don't know if he'll come back for Renee, but Russ and I can get her home."

Eric sighed. "I wish there was something I could say to him, I mean...."

"He's usually not so darn, oh goodness, intractable." Again Joan glanced back, shaking her head. Then she looked at Eric's car. "Listen, you go, I'm sure that baby's crying for her mother." Joan gave a small smile. "He'll get over it, just like he did when he came back from Korea. Sometimes though he has that Irish temper, even if we're not all that Irish." Then she sighed. "Thank you, both of you, for being here today. Fran talks about you and your wife quite often. I know she's heartbroken right now, but between us...."

Joan looked around, then whispered in Eric's ear. He nodded, then sighed. "We'll be praying for everyone. If Renee doesn't wanna go straight home, drop her off at our place. We don't have any plans."

"Thank you. We might do that if Sam's still being a...." Joan stopped herself, then shook her head. "He's my big brother, but sometimes he's a pain in the neck."

Eric wore a wry grin. "Well again, we'll be home all day."

"Maybe we'll see you later then." She gripped Eric's hand, then let go. Joan waved at Lynne, then turned back toward the large contingent of mourners. Eric tried looking for Sam, then for Renee. He did find them, but they remained far apart.

The Snyders didn't see either Ahern that afternoon. On Sunday at St. Matthew's, only Marek knew what had happened and he asked about the Canfields and the Aherns. Eric and Lynne didn't know much, although Joan had called right as they were stepping out for church; Fran would be in the hospital for another week, but had noted visitors were welcome. Eric and Lynne had talked about it on the drive; perhaps Lynne would go alone, leaving Jane at home with her father. Not that Eric didn't want to see Fran, but in these early days of grieving, it might be easier on Fran to chat with another woman.

The Snyders brought this up with their pastor while standing in front of St. Matthew's after the last parishioners had left. Marek told them to give Mrs. Canfield his best and that she and her family were in his prayers. He also offered that if the couple wished to visit Mrs. Canfield together, he would be happy to keep an eye on Jane. Eric nodded, shaking Marek's hand, saying that he would let the pastor know.

On the way home, Eric considered stopping by the Aherns, but Jane started to fuss. Instead he drove his family back to their own house, but to their surprise, Sam's car was parked in front of the gate. The vehicle was empty and as Eric pulled into their driveway, killing the engine, he quickly glanced at Lynne, who seemed just as astonished. Which Ahern was waiting behind the wall, probably seated at the patio table?

Lynne collected Jane from the back seat, the baby having fallen asleep. Lynne quickly walked to the gate, then slipped inside. Eric was right behind them, but Lynne didn't go around the house to learn the identity of their visitor. She let herself in through the kitchen door, closing it behind her.

Eric kept walking, rounding the side of the house. Sam was seated facing the garden, but he turned around as Eric came near. Sam nodded, then went back to staring at broken sod.

"Good afternoon." Eric pulled up the nearest chair and sat beside Sam. Loosening his tie, Eric undid the top buttons of his dress shirt. "How long you been here?"

"Just a few minutes. I dropped Renee off at home, said I needed some air. Didn't know where else to go though, I hope you don't mind."

"Don't mind at all. Although Jane's getting fed first, hope that's okay."

Gazing at Eric, Sam looked a bit sheepish. "Oh, I didn't mean to imply, I mean...."

"Have you had any lunch?"

"No."

"Well, neither have I, or Lynne. As soon as Jane's full, I'm sure we can rectify that situation."

Sam sighed, then stood. "Look, I didn't mean to intrude. Tell Lynne I said...."

Eric went to his feet. "I'll let you tell her."

Sam looked around, but it was still the two of them. "No Eric, really, I should be going and...."

Eric grasped Sam's left shoulder. "Where will you go?"

The words were said deliberately. Sam shrugged, then shook his head. "Hell, I have no idea."

"All right then. Park your behind Ahern while I'll rustle up some grub."

Eric waited until Sam retook his seat. Then Eric headed back around to the front of the house, calling to his wife that Sam was staying for lunch.

Jane was in a pleasant humor, but that didn't stir her uncle to a similar mood. They ate outside, which Lynne had thought would be better than being cooped inside. Nor did she again want to experience Sam's anger within her kitchen.

While his tone wasn't harsh, his words were hollow, and he didn't ask to hold his goddaughter. Even in bright sunshine Lynne felt a chill, just as she had when Sam came to see her on that rainy, cold day in 1960. This time, disbelief didn't foster his wrath; it was all too clear what had driven a wedge between him and Renee.

Yet, he didn't speak about his wife, only that he'd spent much of yesterday evening with Frannie, who as Joan said, was feeling a little better, and that she would probably appreciate a friendly face. Sam looked at Lynne when he spoke, the only time he met Lynne's gaze. Eric noted that Joan had said the same and Sam looked surprised. "Joanie called here?"

Lynne had never heard Sam use that nickname, but she kept quiet as Eric nodded. "Yeah, right before we left for church. She mentioned that Fran was improving and that she'd appreciate a visitor. Said she was still gonna be there another week."

Sam sighed, then slumped in his chair. "Yeah, God, we're lucky she's alive. She lost so much blood and...."

Lynne didn't flinch from that detail and Jane had no idea of what her uncle revealed. Yet Sam paused like he'd been indiscreet. Then he sighed again. "Shit, lucky isn't even the way to describe it. She nearly died damnit! But thank God he let us keep her."

A mother didn't recoil then either, but Sam immediately glanced at Lynne. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to swear in front of the baby."

"It's all right. She has no idea what we're saying." Lynne reached for Sam's hand, but he hesitated. Then he clutched hers, nodding his head.

"How was she last night?" Eric asked.

Sam let go of Lynne, then looked at Eric. "Weak, tired. She, uh, talked about, well, about...."

"You can say it." Lynne bobbed Jane in her arms. "She talked about the boys, didn't she?"

It was easier for Lynne to say boys instead of babies, and maybe that was also good for Sam, who nodded, wiping his eyes. "Yeah, although I have no idea how she can talk about them so soon after, after...." He used his napkin to blow his nose, then took a deep breath. "She says they're with Mary, that Mary's looking after them, so what more could she want? When she said that I nearly choked, I mean, she just lost them a week ago, and yet she wasn't sad, I mean, she wasn't crying. She was, God, I've never seen her so, so...."

"So what?" Eric said softly.

Sam stood, then gripped the back of his chair. "So convinced." Then he stared at Lynne. He didn't speak, but she knew his thoughts. Frannie had been as certain of her sons' whereabouts as Lynne had been about Eric's two and a half years before. Not that Lynne knew exactly where he was, but that he was a bird, which at the time Sam couldn't possibly comprehend.

"Well, I'm sure that's where they are too." Eric kept his voice even. "I can't imagine how hard it must be for her, wishing they were in her arms, but Sam, your sister's an amazing woman. She has an incredible heart and very strong faith. I knew that as soon as I started sketching her, what with a thirteen-year-old on one side and a baby at the other. God's asked her and Louie to bear a great sorrow, but he won't burden them with more than they can take."

Sam glared at Eric, then Jane began to squawk. Lynne watched how Sam longed to say something harsh, yet Jane's increasing wails lessened Sam's irritation, and he sat down as Lynne stood, trying to soothe the baby. Lynne didn't step toward Sam, staying near Eric, who reached over for Sam's hand.

"I told Lynne that she should go see Fran, not sure if she'll get around to it tomorrow, maybe on Tuesday." Eric glanced at his wife, then he looked at Sam. "What's Renee's schedule this week?"

"What?" Sam asked.

"Your wife, when's she working this week? Maybe she and Lynne could go together."

Sam seemed stumped by Eric's question. "I, uh, have no idea when she's busy."

Lynne's heart lurched, for Sam knew Renee's schedule sometimes better than Renee did. As Jane quieted, Lynne excused herself, not wishing to know any further just how divided the Aherns had become.

An hour later Eric returned to the house alone. He carried the remnants of lunch, which Lynne took from his hands, placing the dishes in the sink. Eric caressed her cheek, then kissed her. Then he smiled. "Jane asleep?"

Lynne nodded. "Sam leave?"

"Just a few minutes ago. Renee call?"

"No, but I called her. She sounded awful, but was glad to know where he was. Did he say anything?"

Eric shook his head, then led his wife to the kitchen table. Both sat down, gripping each other's hands. "He's furious with her, he finally admitted that, but what he can't yet say is that he, well, not that he agreed with Renee, but that for whatever reason, this is what God had in mind." Eric paused, then lifted Lynne's hands, kissing her knuckles. "He did say they're not gonna adopt, said it pretty bluntly."

"Oh no!"

"Yeah, he was in quite a mood. So I asked if he still wanted Stanford to sell their painting."

"Oh Eric, did you really?"

"Yes I did. If he's gonna be so...." Eric shook his head, then released Lynne's hands. "Joan said it best, intractable. I surprised him though, I don't think he'd thought about those hawks. He was flummoxed for a minute, then looked right at me and told me to tell Stanford that it's no longer for sale. I just nodded, maybe he thought I was gonna try to talk him out of it, but that's something only he and Renee can decide."

"You mean Sam alone. No wonder she sounded so distraught, oh Eric, what're we gonna do?"

Tenderly Eric grasped his wife's hands. "The only thing we can." He gazed around the room, focusing on the older part of the kitchen. "I can see him standing here, giving you hell. He does have a tough streak, probably what saved his life in Korea, his life and his sanity. But this's something only he and Renee and Christ can work through. But we'll do our small part and leave the rest in God's hands." Eric squeezed Lynne's fingers. "I came back to you twice under very perilous circumstances. I gotta believe that Sam and Renee will...."

Lynne burst into tears. Eric stood, then knelt beside her, wondering how she had lasted all those cold weeks, then throughout a long summer and autumn. For the very first time she'd had support, yet no faith, or merely a burgeoning spark. And in this very room, Sam Ahern had basically called her a liar, wordlessly accusing her of mayhem. Sam's heart had been softened, he hadn't remained angry with Lynne forever. While soothing his wife, Eric had to believe that Renee would eventually be on the receiving end of Sam's mercy. But for how long, Eric wondered, would Sam continue to reproach himself?
Chapter 71

Fran returned to the care of her family, her steps slow, her heart weary. Only to her mother and Louie did she reveal the depth of her sorrows, and to Fran's surprise, Louie was equally disconsolate. He hadn't wanted more children and throughout summer his mood was often that of a frustrated and overburdened father. Yet, perhaps those feelings had been to shield himself from the reality of two more offspring, twins of all things. And maybe, Fran told only her mom, that the babies had been sons, identical even, had reached into Louie far more deeply than he had imagined was possible. All of Fran's family was touched by this loss, from nearly each of her children to her siblings and their clans. Only little Helene was unaware of the tragedy's magnitude, but the two and a half year old was very happy for her mother's return. Fran spoke about that with her mom, also with Lynne Snyder. Helene would never know the pain the rest suffered and for that Fran was grateful.

The first time Lynne went to see Fran alone was also the last time Lynne went by herself. That was while Fran was still in the hospital, and while Jane wouldn't have been allowed into Fran's room, Fran insisted that when she was home for Lynne to call and to bring the baby with her. At first Lynne had hesitated, but Fran was insistent, and two weeks later, Lynne and Jane spent an afternoon at the Canfields', Helene the only child at home. The rest, even little Johnny, were in school, and Fran seemed much better to Lynne, her coloring healthy, her steps nearly to her usual pace. It had been almost a month and Fran was mostly recovered, what she said to Lynne as Helene jabbered at Jane. The mothers sat in Fran's kitchen, Helene in her high chair, Jane in Fran's arms. When the Snyders arrived, Fran had wept only because Jane was crying, needing to nurse. But quickly Fran's tears dried as Jane settled at her mother's bosom. Lynne had felt an initial awkwardness, but it dissipated quickly, for Fran seemed to harbor no resentment towards Lynne, even grasping Lynne's free hand while Jane settled. The women shared tender gazes, for Fran knew it had taken Lynne and Eric years to conceive, although the reason for that hardship was to Fran yet another mystery.

After Jane was finished, Fran spoke about that element of faith, how God's works were often too much for humans to ponder. Then she spoke honestly, that at times she was relieved the babies were with Christ, for she had seen them, only for moments, and they had looked nothing like her other newborns. They had appeared fleeting, then Fran admitted to Lynne she had felt that way during most of her pregnancy. That particular confinement had carried an ominous sensation as soon as it had been confirmed by her doctor. Not that Fran had expected this outcome, but having been back in her own domain now for a number of days, even with most of the kids at school, Fran had wondered what sort of toll caring for two more offspring would have exacted, especially babies that would have been so frail.

Simon had been born first, and was the smaller of the two. Andrew had been the recipient twin of the transfusion, and while nearly double Simon's size, Andrew's heart had been weakened by the strain of receiving so much placental blood. Even if Fran had gone to term, neither baby would have survived, in fact they probably would have been stillborn. Lynne knew these details, yet she didn't deter Fran from speaking. Fran needed to share these facts verbally and only with a select few could she be so forthright. She had talked to her mother and had shared a little with Louie. But with Lynne, who had been a nurse, Fran could open her heart to the more disturbing pieces of her sons' brief lives. For some reason they had been born, but their existences weren't destined for a corporeal significance. That tenant had helped Fran to accept their deaths, which she said through tears. Perhaps she would never know why Simon and Andrew had rested in her womb, then breathed for only minutes. But some aspects of this life, Fran sighed, wiping her cheeks, were only relevant to God.

Fran kissed Jane's head, then she smiled at Lynne. "I remember when Sam told me you were expecting. I was so happy for you and your husband. I remember the day I met him, how kind he was, and how when he asked to sketch me and Helene...." Fran chuckled, then stroked her daughter's face. "I could see in his eyes what a good father he'd make, then when Sam told me that you couldn't have children, I was so sorry for you both. I've been praying for you since then and well, Jane's such a beauty." Fran hugged her, then smiled. "Thank you for bringing her today. It really does help. Maybe some people might not understand, but I think you do."

Lynne nodded, although a part of her felt slight remorse, for she hadn't been as open-hearted when working. Renee had never been bothered when called to the maternity ward, but Lynne had only gone when absolutely necessary. Then Lynne inwardly cringed; was Renee's temperament still that magnanimous now that Sam had decided they weren't going to adopt? Not that Sam and Renee were on speaking terms; the frost from August hadn't abated in September, and there seemed no end in sight. Lynne wasn't sure if Fran knew the extent of her brother and sister-in-law's troubles, but Joan called the Snyders every few days, hoping for better news. Neither Eric nor Lynne had any to give her.

The Aherns had pulled away from each other, and from their friends, but Jane seemed unaware, for which Lynne was grateful. Jane had become fond of Mrs. Kenny and a few other older ladies at St. Matthew's who admired her growing hair, bright smile, and teasing laughter. She was nearly six months old and if Fran set her on the floor, Jane would be up on all fours, peering around the room as if she could speed away. She couldn't quite crawl, but Eric said it would happen any day. He never added how unfortunate it was that Sam and Renee would miss it.

Lynne understood their absences; Sam didn't want to be cajoled into forgiving his wife and Renee would cry in Jane's presence for the child she and Sam no longer would adopt. Stanford had been greatly surprised that Sam didn't want to sell their painting, but Eric hadn't said more than the Aherns had changed their minds. Only Sam had become obstinate, both Snyders knew, but they too were shocked at the depth of his antagonism. Lynne wasn't sure if other Ahern siblings were aware besides Joan, and Lynne hoped Fran had no idea.

It wasn't Fran's fault, just as it wasn't Renee's. Lynne grasped that some things occurred without a single shred of purpose, yet later a few reasons were evident. Jane happily babbled in Fran's arms and Lynne blinked away tears, both for the joy of her daughter and the loss of Fran's sons.

"She's gotten so big since I saw her last," Fran said. "Is she crawling yet?"

"Nearly. Eric keeps saying it's gonna be any day now."

"I bet she'll be walking early. Most of mine were, it happens before you expect it."

Lynne nodded, hearing a hint of wistfulness in Fran's tone. "I remember Renee and Sam saying how fast Helene had grown. I suppose it all happens before we're ready for it."

Lynne spoke carefully, not wishing to insinuate what Fran would miss, also not wishing to note any more about the Aherns. Yet, as Fran stood and nodded, then handed Jane back to her mother, Lynne wondered if Fran was alert to other issues. Fran released Helene from the high chair, then set her on the floor. Helene ran to where Lynne sat, the toddler trying to reach for Jane. "Baby, baby," Helene said.

"Sally mopped a few days ago, the floor's not too dirty." Fran's tone was shaky, then she gazed at Lynne. "Or we could go in the living room. But I'll tell you, Helene will try to get Jane moving."

"Let's go to the living room," Lynne said. "More comfortable chairs in there."

Fran smiled. "That sounds good to me." She led the way as Helene remained at Lynne's side, trying to reach for a playmate.

That evening, Jane wobbled on her knees as she put one hand in front of the other, then another, followed by a few more. She crept two feet, then crashed onto her belly, crying profusely. Yet parents were thrilled for her attempt, although Fran had warned Lynne that once Jane realized she could get away, there was no going back. Lynne had shared those sentiments with Eric and now it was true, for as soon as Jane was placated, she wanted out of her parents' arms and back on the floor. For half an hour she crept, crashed, cried, then crept again. She fell asleep at Lynne's bosom, not finishing her last nursing of the day.

It was only seven thirty, but they wouldn't call Stanford and Laurie that night, although Eric said he would try them first thing in the morning, if only to tell Agatha the news. Lynne knew who else would be thrilled to hear about Jane's achievement, but to call the Aherns would be equally hurtful, or at least Renee would weep. Lynne wasn't sure how Sam would respond, for now her feelings toward him were back to over two years ago when she was sure he would hate her forever. Her fears hadn't been borne out, yet Lynne had no idea about that man. Fran hadn't spoken overtly about her brother and Renee, but she seemed mindful of the chasm, for she said she hoped they changed their minds about adoption, her tone as uncertain as how Lynne felt. Lynne hadn't added her opinion, for she truly had no sense of how Sam and Renee would solve this problem, and what would occur if and when they did.

Eric had assumed Sam would get over it, but weeks had passed with no notion of reconciliation in sight. Eric had never seen Sam in this state, but Lynne's memories were as though only yesterday he had dripped water on her kitchen floor, his eyes lifeless, his temper fiery. Recently she had run into him a few times at the grocery store and while he was outwardly cordial, Lynne ached to grasp his hand, offer a gentle touch. Sam needed a very tender balm on his soul, but he wasn't allowing anyone to provide that healing. Not even Eric had made any headway, and while the men's friendship wasn't as lengthy as some Sam shared, it was profound. Sam was avoiding all of the Snyders, yet how did he live day after day in the same house with his wife?

Lynne couldn't consider that, too painful. It was actually easier thinking of her conversation with Fran, which Lynne recounted to Eric, although not every detail. He was glad to hear she was feeling better and that Jane had brightened her day. And Helene's, Eric smiled, as the couple snuggled on the sofa. Then Eric sighed. "Do you think she knows about Sam and Renee?"

"Yeah, but she didn't wanna talk about it. She has enough on her plate."

"That she does. I suppose it's better now that the kids are in school, well most of the kids."

"I agree. And probably good for the kids too. I think routine's important, helps to keep one from dwelling too much on unpleasantness."

Routine had saved Lynne's sanity when Eric was gone, but his departures weren't like what Fran and Louie had suffered. And was it harder on Renee, what with Sam so close, yet a million miles away? Lynne took a deep breath, but it felt caught in her chest. She choked and Eric roughly sat her up, then patted her back. "Honey, you okay?"

She nodded, inhaling, then exhaling, but the heaviness remained. "Eric, this can't go on much longer. It was one thing when you were gone. But I just can't imagine how she's feeling what with him in that house but not giving her the time of day."

"I know. I went over there today, but no one was home. The house looked different, so lonely." Eric sighed, then kissed Lynne's head. "I thought about driving over to the VA hospital, I knew that's where he was since you were at Fran's. But instead I drove home, talked to Stanford. He said all I had to do was give the word and he could set up a November show."

"Really? Why didn't you tell me when I got home?"

"Because it just doesn't seem right." Eric sighed. "Between the Canfields' loss and this with Sam and Renee, I just don't feel, oh hell."

Lynne turned to face him. "Honey, what?"

Eric stroked her cheek, then closed his eyes. When he opened them, Lynne gasped, for a deep sadness edged his gray irises. "I'm sure Seth'll be home by then and to be honest I'm a little wary of meeting him. Don't get me wrong; I wanna meet him, but not if he's...."

Lynne nodded. "I understand. Is that all?"

Eric smiled wryly, then shook his head. "It's funny, because the show here started so well, but after that first night, I couldn't feel the usual joy. Most of that was from, well, you know. But a little of it was, and this makes me cringe even saying it, but...."

He paused, then gripped Lynne's hands. "Eric, what? You can tell me anything."

He nodded, then spoke. "I've gotten used to paintings selling out." He clucked, then sighed. "I was really looking forward to whatever the hawks went for, I wanted Sam and Renee to make a bundle off that painting, maybe she could quit work altogether. Now it's like, so what? I never cared what the nudes would earn, you know that never matters to me. And now that they're not thinking about having a family...." He slumped against the back of the sofa. "I know you've seen him like this and I'm sure Renee has too, but never was she the reason for his anger, or should I say the one he's taking it out on. He's pissed, okay. But he won't talk to me, he won't even acknowledge that he's so damn mad. Maybe if I suddenly turned into a hawk and flew over to his house...."

Lynne smiled, then burst into a fit of giggles. "That might be what it'll take. Too bad you can't will yourself into being a bird."

Eric grinned, then chuckled. "For Sam and Renee, I'd do it. But I don't wanna do it for Seth and that's the main reason I don't wanna schedule a show in New York. If the paintings could just be sent straight to London, great! Let them traipse all across Europe. The one of Marek and Jane is just about set, and believe me, I've been glad to have that to work on. I'll tell you honey, other than painting you and Jane, I don't know what I wanna work on next. I wish I could've sketched Stan and Laurie."

"You could do that in New York."

Eric nodded, then shook his head. "No, they'd have to be here, in front of some rather fruit-laden boysenberry vines." Eric smiled. "But that's for next summer. God Lynne, I almost feel like I did when I came back in spring of '62, like I just don't have it in me right now."

"Well, it's been a pretty hard time lately."

"Yeah, but not as bad for us as for others."

Lynne set her palm against Eric's cheek. "No, but you're very intuitive. The painting of Marek and Jane is, oh honey, that piece says more about Marek than he's told you. Does he know it's finished?"

Eric nodded. "After I left the Aherns, I drove over to St. Matthew's. I didn't wanna come back here, I knew you'd still be at the Canfields. He asked how the work was going and I said I had a new painting to show him. He seemed excited to see it, also a little...." Eric leaned forward, setting a gentle kiss on his wife's lips. "He's a little wary, because now he's seen...."

"He knows what you're capable of. That's why Sam's avoiding you, you know."

"I guess."

"It is. Sam knows if he spends too much time with you, he'll have to face what's really bothering him. And maybe a chunk of it's Renee, although that's qualified, because Sam must realize how guilty she feels, he's not an ogre. But Eric, how long've you been hinting about painting his portrait and he never says yes. Pastor did, without hesitation, and that man's past, oh my goodness." Lynne shivered. "But maybe it's different being a victim of war and being a perpetrator of sorts. Not that Sam was an aggressor, but he fought, he enlisted even. We have no idea what he was driven to do over there just to survive. Yet, he chose to serve, he volunteered. He could do that then, but there's no way he can sit for you now, not even holding his goddaughter. Or maybe especially not with Jane in his arms."

Eric nodded. Lynne expected him to speak, yet he gazed off, not catching her eyes.

"Honey, Eric, what is it?"

"Oh, just something you said, that Sam enlisted. That Marek was a victim, although I never see him that way. Maybe because it's been twenty years, he said that today, I don't know how it came up. Twenty years ago his family was...."

Now Eric paused due to Lynne's tremors. He said nothing more, grasping her close, quietly crooning her name. Lynne tried not to cry, but many sorrows lingered. She wept softly for Eric's touch was soothing, as were his words, that he loved her and that God was in control. Those sentiments eased her aching heart, although she wondered how many scars other hearts still carried.
Chapter 72

One week later, President Kennedy gave a speech at Rice University announcing that by the end of the decade the United States would put a man on the moon. Eric and Lynne rarely watched television, but by chance they had turned it on that evening, hearing Kennedy's proclamation, what Eric called it. Neither Snyder was particularly political, although Lynne had voted for Kennedy. Eric said he would have had he been home, and they joked about their lack of involvement in the world around them. Eric focused on art, Lynne on homemaking, but even those pastimes had been curtailed since the deaths of the Canfield twins and the terrible rift between the Aherns.

The next day, Eric called Stanford, telling his dealer that if a November show was scheduled, Eric wouldn't argue, but he wouldn't attend either. Stanford threatened to put Agatha on the telephone, which made Eric smile, but not even for her would Eric travel east. Yet, the paintings could, all those which had been shown there in town, even the blue barn and the three hawks. Eric had bumped into Sam at the grocery store two days before and Sam had brought it up. Eric wasn't sure how to take Sam's query; Sam was implicit that the hawks weren't for sale, but that if Eric wanted to send them to Europe, that was fine. Sam seemed surprised that Eric wasn't sure what he wanted to do and their conversation ended awkwardly. But that made Eric take stock; he'd received yet another letter from the other side of the Atlantic, this time from a Finnish museum, which would love to display his paintings on the proposed European tour.

Yet, Eric's heart wasn't into traveling to attend their send-off party, how Stanford had originally coined it months ago. Now Stanford was more reverential, although small glee had crept into his tone, for the nudes would still be sold. Eric reminded Stanford that no matter how much they went for, the buyers had to agree that those paintings would be permitted into the European show, and Stanford agreed, noting that he had secured the inclusion of several of Eric's older canvases. The exhibition would be retrospective in nature, even if it was the first time Eric's work would be seen outside America.

Then Stanford had casually asked about Sam and Renee's paintings. Eric had sighed, that yes, they would be included, but that no, the hawks weren't for sale. Stanford hadn't questioned him, calmly replying that he was pleased the blue barn would again be displayed. Eric didn't ask about Seth and Stanford didn't volunteer anything. The call ended with Eric slightly more at peace, at least in not having to go east. But there in town, Eric knew little respite. He and Lynne hadn't said anything to Marek about the Aherns, but now Eric wondered if perhaps he should at least ask the pastor for advice. Eric felt he needed to do or say something if for no other reason than Jane was crawling all over the place, her godparents missing the show.

That evening after dinner, Eric called the Aherns, but no one answered. Lynne was keeping an eye on the couple's freewheeling daughter, what Eric said as Jane crept or crawled under the dining room table, between chair legs, even into the sunroom. Eric had to move the easel which displayed the canvas of Jane and her pastor, not wishing to have that painting crash to the floor. On Sunday Marek was coming over for lunch and to view the canvas. Then, like the rest that were destined for New York, it would be moved into the storage building, waiting to be carefully packed, then shipped east.

Eric was restless, then told his wife he was going for a drive. Lynne asked no questions, but did have Eric kiss their daughter goodnight. Eric smiled, Lynne's subtle way of saying take your time. Eric felt that Sam was home, but wasn't answering his phone. Eric thought that might work to his advantage, or at least he would give Sam a reason to answer the telephone next time.

In the car, Eric pondered the president's expectations, a man on the moon in the next seven and a half years. Jane would be eight by then, which made Eric wince, for he would be over forty. How many children might he and Lynne have, and would they be finished procreating? Eric smiled, for since learning to crawl, Jane had been nursing less, too busy discovering her new world. She ate whatever Lynne fed her and had already tasted her mother's pumpkin pie. Lynne felt boysenberry or apple would be too sweet, and not smooth enough. But over the weekend, Eric had shared a mushed bite with his daughter, much to Lynne's chagrin. Then Eric found himself being forced to share, for instantly Jane had developed a taste for her mother's signature dessert. Eric hadn't added any custard, over which Lynne had teased him, yet it was said in a cautious tone. Jane should be learning that custard was an Ahern specialty. However, since Fran went into labor, Jane hadn't seen either of her godparents for more than moments, only when the two families happened to bump into each other around town.

Or was it one family and a couple, Eric mused. If things had been different, the Aherns would be in the process of adopting a child. Eric would have understood if Sam and Renee had taken a slower approach to that event, but Sam had been on a cloud those few weeks when it was all they could talk about. And Renee had been.... She had been where Eric had seen her so wishing to be, long before Jane was born. When he'd painted her in the summer of 1960, motherhood had lingered in her stoplight eyes like a faint dream, one that no matter how much time passed could never be extinguished. When Jane was born, that idea was crystalized, although Renee would never admit to it, or not to Eric. But she had made her husband see the light and they had been so close to....

Then the worst had occurred. Yet, Eric and Lynne were starting to talk about another baby, albeit a subject now hedged in mindfulness. But Eric didn't think it would be much longer before Lynne conveniently forgot her diaphragm, and while she hadn't gotten her period, Jane wouldn't breastfeed forever. When he got home, Eric would have to ask if Jane had nursed that evening. Maybe Lynne might let Jane wear herself out, then put their footloose offspring to sleep. Eric smiled; Jane wasn't the same baby as a month ago and Eric would make that point to Sam among other issues that Eric wished to air.

Reaching the Aherns' street, Eric parked in front of their house. Sam's vehicle was in the driveway and lights shone in the living room. Eric quietly got out of his car, then approached the porch. Renee was probably at work and Eric wondered if God had arranged these details, then Eric smiled. Of course he had.

Eric knocked, then stood back. Several seconds passed, then footsteps could be heard. Then they paused and Eric fought a grin as if he was watching Sam vacillate. Finally the front door was opened, Sam looking somewhat sheepish. "Oh hello Eric."

"Good evening Sam. Might I come in?"

"Uh, sure." Sam stepped back, then he looked out. "Just you?"

"Yeah. Jane's run off and Lynne's trying to find her."

As Eric stepped over the threshold, Sam coughed. "What'd you say?"

Eric laughed. "Oh, just that now with Jane crawling, it's hard to keep track of her. She nearly knocked over the painting of her and Marek, had to put it in the storage building. She rules the roost until she falls asleep, sometimes right in the middle of the room."

Sam didn't speak, but he closed the door. The men stood in the living room, then Sam cleared his throat. "Well, sounds like she's really going to town."

"She is, or she would be if we left the front gate open. You should come over. It's been ages since you've seen her."

Eric knew the last time Sam had visited, that day Eric found him seated at their patio table. Weeks had passed in the interim, but those days felt much longer to Eric. Sam looked older, or thinner, or had he lost what little hair had graced his head? Eric wanted to shake this man so the demons resting on Sam's shoulders would fall away. Instead Eric smiled, then looked around the room. "So, Renee working tonight?"

"What? Oh, uh, yeah she is. Been getting a lotta extra shifts lately."

Eric nodded. "Lynne's tried to set up a time for all of us to get together, but I'll tell you, hard to arrange even lunch for those ladies."

Sam grunted, nodding his head.

Eric gazed at the paintings, back in their usual spaces on the wall. "So I talked to Stanford recently. There's gonna be a New York show in November. I told him you said the barn and the hawks were still good to go. I'm sure he'll give you a call in another day or two."

Sam stared at Eric. "Did you remind him the hawks aren't for sale?"

"Yup." Eric walked to where those three birds gazed into the sunset. He didn't remember painting them, too many canvases had come since. And he wasn't the same man anymore, his faith, Jane, and the friendship with Sam absorbing much of what remained of Eric's unused gray matter. But Eric would never forget painting the blue barn and he peered at it, looking past the structure, into the mice's frightened eyes. Eric nearly shivered for how the father mouse standing at the barn's front left corner beseeched his family to join him. Get over here, he seemed to say, before those two birds realize supper is just yards away.

But at the time those mice were scurrying into the barn, Eric was battling a falcon, and he recalled that too, his heart racing as he'd ripped into the falcon's back, trying not to be injured himself. Then after the falcon had fallen and limped away, Eric had taken stock; no prey remained. The mice were safe, so was anything else Eric could have eaten. Later he found an unsuspecting squirrel, and somehow he could taste it as if his memories as a hawk were permanently imbedded in his brain. Or maybe it was that one instance so later he could paint the barn, then come to Sam's house to try to reason with him. Eric turned to face that man, who was indeed his brother. "Sam, I came here tonight to...."

Sam waved him off. "Eric, it's none of your business."

Eric smiled. "Oh really? It's none of my and Lynne's business that our best friends are having a marital crisis."

Sam glared at Eric, then shook his head. "Oh for God's sake, don't sound so...."

"What?" Eric stepped Sam's way. "So truthful? I haven't seen you in weeks and Lynne hasn't seen Renee and Jane hasn't seen either one of you. Thank the lord she hasn't been colicky, I know that's why she was miserable in June, but this time...."

"Stop it Eric. Look, if you're gonna start this, you can just leave."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me why you're so mad."

"I'm not mad!" Then Sam clucked. "I am not mad. You're just trying to make me...."

"I'm just trying to save your marriage, you pig-headed idiot!"

Sam sputtered, then shoved hands into his pockets. "I don't need you coming over here and telling me what's what. You can just leave Eric and I mean it."

"Well unfortunately, I'm not going anywhere Sam. I'm your brother and I want an answer."

"An answer to what?"

"To why you've turned into such a, a, a crab." Eric had considered other adjectives, but crab perfectly described Sam. "You're an absolute crab these days. I called here not half an hour ago and no one answered. What, you step out, take a walk, or just not wanna talk to anyone?"

"I, I was in the bathroom, if you must know."

"Well, I guess next time I'll call back. And I'll keep calling every five minutes till you get off the pot and answer the damn phone."

"Look here Eric, I don't need...." Suddenly Sam stopped speaking, yet he trembled. Eric approached him, but didn't reach out, although Sam looked as if he would buckle. Eric led him to the sofa where Sam fell into the end with a heavy plop. Then Sam put his face into his hands. He still shook, but didn't make any noise.

"Sam, you want a drink?" Eric spoke softly. "Sam, you okay?"

A minute later, Sam looked up, his face drained of color. He nodded, then mumbled water. Eric stood, heading to the kitchen. He returned with a mostly full glass and Sam sipped from it, then placed it on a coaster on the coffee table. He cracked his knuckles, the sound like shots. Eric sat two feet away, aware that while Sam needed space, a barrier had fallen.

"Sam, I'm here, you can tell me anything. I wanna help both you and Renee. Please, you can't go on like this much longer."

"Renee's not here Eric."

"Well, she'll be home soon enough."

Sam shook his head. "Renee's at her parents' house. She left early last week."

"Oh God, no!"

Grasping the glass, Sam drained it. Then he threw it across the room where it crashed into the far wall, pointy shards landing on the carpet like daggers. Eric glanced that way, then he looked at Sam. That man no longer appeared angry, but as fragmented as the glass that was now lying in pieces.

"It's over Eric, or it will be. It's my fault, I drove her away." He had a sardonic laugh. "Literally. I took her over there, told her I didn't wanna see her anymore. But she'd packed a bag, maybe it's a mutual separation. She told her mother she needed time to grieve for...." Sam choked, then looked at the empty coaster, then to the mess on the other side of the room. Then he stared at Eric. "To grieve for babies she didn't think deserved to live. Well, too damn late for her to care now, huh? Fran's twins are dead and so's my...." He took a deep breath. "I should've let her go when I came back, no use making us both suffer all these years. She could've made a new life for herself, had everything she wanted, she could've...."

"Easier to push her away, I guess, than be honest with her."

Sam's cheeks were on fire and his blue eyes seethed. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"That's what you two were fighting about in June, why Jane didn't see her godparents for a whole month, instead making my and Lynne's lives miserable. But you worked it out then, even decided that a family was something you wanted. Then the worst thing possible happened. And that's the truth. But I guess it's not the very worst, or God wouldn't have let it occur, now would he?"

Sam stood, shaking his fist at Eric. "Get outta my house right now Snyder. I never wanna see you again!"

Eric went to his feet. He was a few inches taller than Sam, although Sam weighed more. Still, Eric threw up his dukes. "You're gonna have to throw me out Ahern. I dare you."

"Why you bastard!" Sam pulled back his right arm, but before a punch could be thrown, he dropped that limb to his side, tears falling down his face. "Leave Eric, just get out. She's gone, nothing means anything now."

Eric grasped Sam's shoulders. "She loves you, you know that. And you love her, don't tell me you don't."

Sam shook his head. "It doesn't matter what I feel. I can't give her what she wants, I can't...."

"She wants you, your forgiveness, she wants to...." Make a family sat on the tip of Eric's tongue, but he didn't say it. "Call her now Sam. Call and tell her...."

"What, that I'm sorry? What am I supposed to be sorry for Eric? Yeah, I'm sorry I got shot, but as for the rest of it...." Sam shook Eric's hands from his shoulders. "She's the one who said those babies shouldn't even be alive and I guess God was listening. That's why Fran nearly died, that's why Simon and Andrew are...." Sam shoved a pointed finger into Eric's chest. "I lost two nephews Eric, two beautiful little boys all because...."

"Because that was God's will. The twins aren't dead because of your wife."

"God's will huh? Well, I guess you know all about God's will, doncha? What, you talk to your Polish pastor about this? That make you some kinda expert on the subject?"

"All I know about forgiveness I learned from my wife. Every time I come back home, no matter how much she's hurting, Lynne always forgives me."

Sam had been ready to speak, but his jaw dropped, then he shook his head. "Well, that makes you luckier than me and Renee. Good for you Eric to have a saint for a wife. Not everybody's so damned blessed."

"No Sam. You are blessed. Because sometimes you can be a real jackass and Renee forgives you anyways."

The men stared at each other. Then Eric spoke. "Lynne told me that right now you're just like you were two and a half years ago, wondering what the hell was going on. Had she murdered me, hidden the body, what exactly? You were certain something nefarious had taken place, then I came home, told you the truth, which you didn't really believe until the Fourth of July. I'll never forget the way you called after me, wishing to God that wasn't actually happening. But it was, I did turn into a hawk right before your eyes. Lynne told me how contrite you were afterwards and when I came home you were the one to take care of me. You have a great capacity to love Sam, a tremendous empathy. You also have one of the most stubborn streaks I've ever encountered. But like I told Lynne a couple of weeks ago, that probably saved you in Korea. You're here biting my head off today because you're such an obstinate son of a...."

"Did she tell you what Renee said?"

"What? Uh, no she didn't. What'd Renee say Sam?"

Sam glanced at the broken glass, then to the blue barn, keeping his eyes there. "She said that you loved Lynne so much and couldn't believe she stayed with you. That you'd do anything to stop changing, but you couldn't, yet, Lynne stayed. Renee said why'd these things happen to us, to all three, or four, of us. That all she and Lynne wanted...." Sam turned back to face Eric. "They wanted our children and Lynne had yours. You came home and she had Jane. But that'll never happen for Renee and me and now she's gone and...."

"She's gone because you sent her away Sam. You made it impossible for her to stay."

"She should've let me go when I came home. I wasn't any good to her then and all I am is a bastard to her now. A jackass, I think you said."

"An obstinate son of a gun." Eric cracked a smile. "No offense to your parents intended."

Sam nodded. "Well, I guess I sure as hell am."

"Sam, let me call her. It's not that late. I'll drive over and bring her here, I'm sure she wants to put this behind you both. She loves you; she must to have put up with you all this time."

Sam rolled his eyes, then walked to where glass shone in the light. "I need to clean this up, shit, what the hell was I thinking?"

"You clean that up and I'll call Renee. By the time we get back, I'm sure you'll have every single piece outta the carpet."

"Eric, don't. It's late and...."

"Is it too late Sam?"

Sam squatted near the glass, carefully picking up the biggest pieces. "I dunno."

"Well, only one way to find out." Eric walked toward the kitchen where the phone rested on a table. He didn't know Renee's parents' number, but he could call Lynne to tell her he wouldn't be home for a while. As he grabbed the receiver, Sam stepped into the room, broken glass in his hand. He carefully set it into the trash, then glared at Eric. "You don't know the number, so how're you gonna call her?"

"Well first I was gonna call my wife and tell her not to wait up for me."

Sam sat at the table, but didn't clasp his hands together. "Eric, it's useless. I can't, I mean...."

"Do you really not love her anymore? Can you sit there and honestly tell me that Sam?"

"I don't deserve her Eric. She's better off without me."

Sam's voice wasn't more than a whisper, but those were the words Eric had been waiting to hear. "Sam, for years I felt I didn't deserve Lynne. Why'd she stay, what on God's green earth did she see in me? But I adored her and I needed her. And for better or worse, she took me as her husband and I realized, seeing her after you took care of me for that week, that I'd hurt her more by keeping her away than all those months when I was gone. I will never do that to her again Sam, no matter what. Even if, God forbid, I end up not turning back into a man one day, I will never deny her like that again. I can't Sam. I love her, I need her. Just like Renee loves and needs you."

Eric knelt in front of Sam. "For whatever reason we found the right person and so did they. No, it's not easy, sometimes it's downright miserable, but love irons out the roughest edges. Lynne's put up with all my crap over the years and I can say the same about Renee, but then you've had to endure some pretty tough times too. Marriage isn't easy Sam, but I believe it is for life, regardless of religion or the lack of it. I'll call Lynne, then you call Renee. You're right, I don't know the Nolans' phone number. But I'd bet the worth of that barn painting she's waiting for you, whether she's there or at work. She's just waiting for you to...."

"She's not at work. She took a sabbatical."

Eric felt sick to his stomach. Then he swallowed and went to his feet. "Well then, tell you what. You call Renee first. That'll give her time to get her bag packed. I'll call Lynne, then I'll drive you over there. You're in no shape to get behind the wheel and she's probably not either."

Sam sighed, staring at Eric. "And then what? You got a magic wand, gonna wave it over us, make everything all better?"

"I wish. No Sam. Then it's the hard part, where you talk to her and listen to her too. And then you forgive her and she forgives you and after that, well, I'll be at home asleep, unless Jane wakes."

"It's not that easy Eric."

"No it's not, but then me changing back into a man after living in the wild blue yonder for five months wasn't exactly a picnic. But I did it somehow. Well, I know how. Because you stood beside me and God wanted it that way. God doesn't want you and Renee apart, Sam. That's the last thing he wants."

Sam stood, then motioned to the ceiling. "But God wanted Fran's boys to die, is that what you're telling me? He wanted those babies dead and Frannie nearly dead and me and Renee together, is that what I'm getting from you Eric?"

Eric stepped toward Sam, leaving less than a foot between them. "Yeah Sam, that's it. I know I'm new at this faith stuff, but he didn't spare his own son. Why shouldn't we expect some heartache along the way?"

Sam started to speak, then fell silent. He glanced at the phone, staring at it for more than a minute. He took several deep breaths, then gazed at Eric. "Call Lynne, tell her you'll be home later. Then wait in the car while I call Renee."

Eric nodded, not asking any questions. He spoke briefly to his wife, who also didn't inquire beyond Eric's expected time of return. He wasn't sure and told her so. Then he closed the call and headed to the living room, seeing himself out. Eric waited five minutes, then watched as Sam exited the house, locking the door behind him. Sam got into the passenger's seat, then nodded. "She'll be ready when we get there."

"Sounds good. Just tell me where to go."

"Drive to the interstate and go south. I'll let you know once we're that far."

Eric started the car, turning on the headlights. He made a three-point turn on Sam's street, then headed for the highway.
Chapter 73

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 eyes, or sometimes he gazed through that unruly mane, trying to discern 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 those objects weren't what he truly needed to sculpt; those pieces 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 men with whom he resided. They had 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 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, toxins bubbled in the pit of Renee's 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 like 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 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 with 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. Renee hadn't lived at home since Sam returned from Korea, and before packing a bag in June, she 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 that Renee's sister-in-law had lost twin sons and had nearly died. Hardly a moment passed 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 onto 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 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 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 in Renee's mind seemed 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 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 and 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 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 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 the final assault; Sam would fling her away in disgust, ordering her to leave as soon as it could be arranged. Yet, his kisses were 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 and 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 a 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 no longer was Sam 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 grant them both his peace.
Chapter 74

Jane Renee was six months old right after the Aherns reconciled. That couple visited the Snyders on September fourteenth, not that Lynne threw Jane a party, although pie was served, custard too, so it felt like a celebration. Unstated was the biggest reason for the festive mood, although Jane traveled across the living room floor unaided. Yet, once having displayed her latest accomplishment, she spent the rest of the evening in her godparents' arms, receiving bites of pie and custard to her feverish delight and Lynne's slight annoyance. But to Lynne' pleasure, Jane didn't whine to nurse, collapsing against her Uncle Sam's shoulder. Eric took Jane to bed, leaving four adults with the first quiet moment of the night.

The conversation had been jovial until Jane's absence; over a month had passed since the couples had seen each other all together, the last time being at the twins' funeral. None of the Canfields had been mentioned that evening, but each knew the latest news; Fran was much improved, the children adjusting to the altered arrangements, which meant that no longer was their mother debilitated, at least not physically. None were certain to the state of her emotional health, but all would admit that Fran was a strong woman, her faith at the core of her being. Yet those sentiments remained unspoken as Eric settled on the sofa beside Lynne, Renee on the other side, and Sam in the recliner. The foursome glanced at each other, cracking their knuckles or fidgeting.

Lynne wanted Eric to initiate the dialogue, but his last words with Sam had been quite heated, or the last words spoken by them alone. All night the Snyders and Aherns had made a point of not pairing off, watching Jane or standing together in the kitchen. Or they had been seated at the dining table, enjoyable chit-chat the rule. Lynne inhaled deeply, then her hand was clasped by Renee. Tears rested in the corners of Renee's eyes and Lynne gripped back. "It's so good to see you," Lynne said.

Yet it was Sam who spoke. "We feel the same. Sorry it's taken me so long to...."

"No apologies are necessary," Eric smiled. "We're just happy to share Jane's adventures with someone in person. I think Stanford's getting tired of hearing about it."

Sam grinned. "But not Laurie?"

"Oh Laurie would listen all day, Agatha too. But I'm on her list right now, so she speaks mostly to Lynne."

"Why?" Renee said, trying to remain calm.

"Well, the show's scheduled for late November, sort of an odd time of year for new paintings to be revealed, but the whole exhibit will go to London in January, a fairly brief showing in New York relative to the last exhibits. We're staying here but Agatha wants to see Jane. I told her we'd be there sometime in '63, trying to make the peace."

"You nearly promised we'd be there in spring." Lynne smiled, but inwardly she shivered. For Eric to make such a declaration was like tempting.... Lynne wasn't sure if one actually tempted God, but no longer did she consider fate as an arbitrary twist of circumstance. Seth was going home next month; they had just learned that in Laurie's latest letter. That Laurie had chosen to send that information via the post was also telling. While he loved hearing about Jane over the telephone, he hadn't wished to speak about his cousin.

"Well, spring in New York's supposed to be pretty nice." Sam smiled, but it seemed forced. Lynne wondered if that was due to the somewhat trivial nature of their conversation or if he too worried that Eric had pledged more than was appropriate.

"Supposed to be," Eric said, grasping Lynne's hand. "I guess we'll see."

No one responded and the silence grew awkward. Then Renee stood, excusing herself to the bathroom. She had been sniffling, the only sound to stir the air, but it had exacerbated the quiet, which had never before intruded between these couples. Yet, the Aherns had put their sorrows behind them, or most of the sadness. Lynne ached to know if they were again considering adoption, but she wouldn't ask, for that was indeed too personal.

Eric cleared his throat, then motioned toward the French doors. "So Sam, you never saw the painting I did of Jane and Marek. Wanna take a look?"

Lynne wanted to observe Sam's reaction. Instead she picked at invisible fluff on her skirt while Sam rustled in his chair. "Uh, well, sure. Shall we wait for Renee?"

"The last time I made Renee go out to the garden, I could tell she wanted to kick me." Eric stood, then smiled. "C'mon, before the light's gone."

Now Lynne glanced up, finding Sam reluctantly moving to his feet. The men headed for the closed French doors, one of which still sported that newer glass pane. Eric hadn't replaced those doors when the room was renovated, as if that single windowpane was a silent marker of their past. No longer did those memories make Lynne wince, but not because it had been over ten months since Eric had altered form. Even if he changed again, Lynne was now a mother, and a Christian. And, God forbid, if something happened to derail a proposed trip to New York, perhaps it would hasten the truth being shared with another couple, then Lynne giggled. Laurie might be able to contemplate Eric as a hawk, but what would Stanford think?

As Renee returned, Lynne was still chuckling. "What is it?" Renee asked, looking around. "Where'd the guys go?"

"They went outside; Eric wanted to show Sam the painting of Jane and Pastor Jagucki." Lynne joined Renee in the middle of the room, both women gazing toward the closed French doors. Then Renee walked that way, stopping right as she reached the exit. She peered at the right door and Lynne wondered if she too was staring at that single pane.

"I still see it, this one." Renee pointed, then traced her fingers along the wood grain. "I notice it every time I come over here, funny huh?"

"I see it sometimes, not sure what that means."

"It means...." Renee shook her head, then turned back to Lynne. "Is it good, the painting?"

"Oh yes." Lynne smiled. "It's beautiful actually, makes me want him to paint another of you and her. And of...." Lynne took a deep breath. "Laurie and Stanford with Jane. One day he'll get those fellows to sit for a portrait."

Renee nodded, then gazed back to the French doors. "He'll never get Sam to pose for him."

The words hung heavily, but Lynne wasn't as convinced as Renee. "Well, let's get the New Yorkers first, maybe Agatha too. If we go next spring, it'll be for longer than a few days."

Renee faced Lynne. "How long?"

"A month if Agatha and Laurie have their way."

"A week if Stanford plans it," Renee smiled.

"Well," Lynne giggled, joining Renee at the doors. "A week in their apartment. Then we'd stay at Michael's and maybe Agatha would invite us to her home."

"Stanford really does love Jane." Renee sighed. "He can't deny it, not that he wants a family, but he's very fond of my goddaughter."

"He is." Lynne noted the possessiveness in Renee's voice. Had the couple decided not to adopt? "He hates admitting it, I think in part because he's not close to his sisters' children. Perhaps he feels a little guilty."

Renee looked at Lynne. "And the other part?"

"He never imagined feeling that way. His life's always been about work and Laurie, but not anything remotely paternal. I remember the first time I met him...." She smiled. "He wasn't contemptuous of me, but Eric was all that mattered. I don't think he disregards women, but he doesn't have much use for us either."

"No, I suppose he doesn't. Are any of his artists female?"

"No. I think his mother's health has also changed his attitude. He loves her very much, probably the only woman he's ever felt that strongly about. Now she's, well, she can't love him back. It's terribly sad." Then Lynne paused, for worse events had occurred.

But Renee gripped Lynne's hand. "I can't imagine what that must be like, that she's alive, but doesn't know him, or her husband." Renee gave a small gasp, squeezing Lynne's hand with force. "Michael must be beside himself."

"I do feel a little guilty that we're not going out for the show. I know Jane would brighten his day."

"I'm surprised he didn't come out with Laurie and Stanford."

"Constance's health has worsened and I don't think he felt comfortable being far from home."

Renee released Lynne's hand. "You haven't said anything about that."

Lynne nodded. "We haven't had much time to talk lately."

Renee grew teary, then again grasped Lynne's hand. "I thought it was over, I really did. I'm still surprised he took...." She inhaled deeply, then let it out in jerks. "He said he was sorry, but wouldn't let me say those words. He still hasn't. Every time I try, he...."

Sobs formed between Renee's words and she wept, then quickly composed herself. "I love him so much, I really do. And he loves me, I know he does, it's just that sometimes he...."

"Turns into someone else."

Renee smiled at Lynne. "I guess you know all about that, huh."

"Eric's got a corner on the hawk market, but Sam has his own issues. We all do Renee. No one's perfect."

Renee nodded, then smiled, which turned into laughter. "Good grief, you're right." Then she gazed through the French doors. "Where are they?"

"Probably in the studio."

"Did he capture Pastor Jagucki's eyes?"

"Well, they're brown." Lynne smiled. "And Jane's are still blue."

"Yes they are." Then Renee gazed at Lynne. "But haven't you noticed how brown they are? They're like the richest chocolate, like the fields Eric painted of you, you know, in that first portrait."

Lynne chuckled. "That brown huh?"

Renee nodded. "I've never seen eyes that brown, I mean, yours are dark, but his, they're not black, but so deep. I wonder what happened to him over there."

Renee spoke as if she was lost in the past, making Lynne wonder what Sam had endured in Korea. Of course it wasn't to the same scale as what Marek had suffered, although who was Lynne to judge? One man had lost his entire family while another had killed.... Lynne shivered, never having considered Sam's tangible actions in Korea, other than his injury. Yet, Sam hadn't been an innocent bystander. Lynne shut her eyes, not wishing to think about this. She gripped Renee's hand, then opened her eyes, finding Renee still gazing at the garden. "More coffee?" Lynne asked.

"What, oh sure. Decaf, right?"

"All we drink. Marek says he's even grown to like it more than regular."

Renee smiled. "Well, as long as it's hot enough, tastes all the same to me."

Lynne nodded, leading them into the kitchen.

While Lynne started another pot of coffee, Eric watched Sam study the painting of Marek and Jane. Sometimes Eric thought of it as Jane and Marek, but from how Sam stared at the pastor, this was all about the one happily holding Eric's daughter. Jane was a bystander in this canvas, even to her father. Would Eric ever see her as the primary focus again? Perhaps not. This piece would be titled Pastor and His Charge, not that Eric often labeled his paintings. Yet, this one had altered; Eric would never look at Jane first, but to a man who on canvas had the brownest eyes Eric had ever seen.

Not even Lynne's were this sumptuous, like majestic tree branches hanging high over the earth, or luscious fields waiting to be sown. Eric had depicted Lynne's hair in a similar fashion, but the hue he'd employed for Marek's eyes was more opulent. Eric wondered if Sam would ask; of course he'd noticed, for he gazed right at Marek's face. It was the face of a man having suffered tremendous heartache, but the only hint to it was in the depth of Marek's cocoa-brown eyes.

Sam stepped to the left, trying to take advantage of a new spot, but the light was nearly gone. Eric wondered if what Marek had endured was on par with Fran's heartache, or the weight Sam still bore. Part of his anguish had been alleviated by Jane, Eric wouldn't deny that. But Frannie's losses had reignited some of Sam's agony, or had reminded him of it, and maybe it was too wound within Sam to set aside, regardless of the joy new life had stirred. Jane's birth was now balanced by two deaths, although the Aherns' marriage hadn't been lost. Throughout the evening, Eric had witnessed how Sam was never more than a few feet from his wife, holding hands or their arms wrapped around each other. The Aherns had never been so demonstrative, but they had also never been so far apart. The man Eric had seen just nights ago was the man Sam had left in Korea, or who he'd thought he'd cut out upon his return home. But a person's past was woven through them no matter how far away they traveled from it.

Eric had painted the pastor's eyes just as he saw them, a warm but intense brown that couldn't hide what he had seen. Yet, even for the darkness of the shade, the sense was of goodness, healing, and hope. Marek had encountered a horrific catastrophe, Eric had no doubt, but those events hadn't tarnished his soul. They had enriched it, albeit over time. Eric supposed he was the same, not permitting his father's brutality to ruin him, but he'd been so young, a child's tender mind erasing the violence, retaining some necessary innocence. His mother had been a bastion of warmth and affection; Emma Snyder was the reason Eric wasn't a sociopath. Emma and Lynne and.... Eric smiled. "So Sam, whatdya see?"

The sound reverberated throughout the studio, but Eric had spoken softly, keeping his voice light. He wondered if Lynne and Renee were discussing more than trivial matters; they probably were, but it had been brokered by words of a certain weight. Not that Renee would tell Lynne everything, that wasn't necessary. But the women hadn't threatened to do each other bodily harm. Eric smiled, then crossed his arms over his chest. "Light's about gone, but I wanted to show you what'll be the newest painting in the show."

Sam whipped around, staring at Eric. "You're not selling it, are you?"

Eric laughed. "Marek would have my head, Lynne too. No, once it finds its way back here, I'll give it to him." Eric pointed at the pastor. "He can do with it what he likes. When I sketched them, I was mostly concentrating on him because I know Jane's face like I know her mother's." Or yours, Eric wanted to say. "When I started painting, it was about Jane, I guess that's a father's prerogative. But eventually it was about Marek. And now looking at it again, it's all about him. This might be the first and probably only one of my paintings where my daughter doesn't get all my attention. But," Eric chuckled, "we'll keep that between us."

Sam nodded, but again he was distracted. Now he squinted at the painting, but it was nearly too dark to properly see. Eric would leave this in the studio, for he wanted to inspect it again in the morning. He wouldn't see it for well over a year once it was packed with the rest and that made him a little sad. This painting and that of the orchard were two of his favorites and both would be missed. The nudes had been in storage since he'd completed them, plus most of them wouldn't return. But this one, the blossoming trees, and of course Lynne on the stool; those Eric would be glad to see come home once they had been fully appreciated by all who cared to view them.

When painting hawks, Eric had never been bothered if he retained those pictures, they were a means to an end, both in expunging his alterations and possibly earning back what he'd spent on supplies. When he first depicted Lynne busy with her hobbies, he hadn't expected those pieces to get too far away, and he'd felt the same when painting the nudes. Yet nearly all of those pictures were already out of his hands, even if some were merely yards away in the storage room. Of course he was very proprietary about those of Lynne heavily pregnant, and all of her with Jane would stay right on this property. Well, maybe in several years he might exhibit them, or perhaps he would still feel overly protective. Some paintings were highly prized by the artist, but not all.

Not even the two abstract pieces in Minnesota; Eric had informed the Institute that even after Seth was discharged, they could keep the canvases. The man with whom Eric had spoken was greatly relieved, noting how much patients admired them. Eric did wish for Marek to see them, but if that never happened, at least Marek was pleased with this portrait. He had hugged Eric, then patted his back, laughing that he had never seen himself portrayed so boldly.

Eric didn't think of his pastor with that adjective; Marek seemed at peace, yet the past lingered in his eyes. Perhaps that was what he'd meant, that Eric hadn't shied away from hinting to the Pole's youth. Marek's English was superb, his accent not noting any particular European nation, but somehow his Polish heritage was present, or the waste and misery left behind on Polish soil. Most concentration camps had been erected in that country, as though Hitler thought he could conceal that evil. But Marek's family hadn't perished in a labor camp.

To only Eric, the pastor had confided that his mother would have wept at the painting, that the last time he'd seen her was in their kitchen; she was sending him on an errand. Eric would never reveal this to Lynne, but it had been said as a kind of sacrifice, or perhaps more like an offering. Marek's tone had been wistful, but not depressed, as he and Eric had stood in the sunroom while Lynne and Jane were upstairs. Fran had already lost the twins when Eric shared this painting with its main subject; perhaps that too had loosened Marek's tongue.

Sam sighed and Eric looked that man's way. Sam's hands were in his pockets and he tapped his left foot aimlessly. Eric wondered if Sam and Renee had spoken about adoption, but perhaps it was too soon. They had only been reconciled for a brief time, yet, it seemed permanent. Sam had never been so affectionate toward Renee in the Snyders' presence, and not until Jane had been put to bed had Sam shown any effect of the last month. Eric felt no awkwardness between himself and Sam, not even for how vociferous was their recent argument. Eric had actually put up his fists and he smiled, then chuckled. While human, he'd never possessed any violent capacity, but when provoked, perhaps it had been undeniable.

"What?" Sam sighed, taking his hands from his pockets. He cracked his knuckles, then gazed at the dusky sky. "Guess we should go in, too dark to see anything now."

Eric nodded. "Our wives are probably wondering if we got lost out here."

Sam cleared his throat. "Thank you, I mean, I meant to say something earlier, but...." Sam put out his right hand. "Thanks for give me the what-for."

Eric grasped Sam's hand, then clasped his other around it. "Anytime Ahern."

Sam chuckled as Eric released Sam's hand. Sam looked at his palm, then at Eric. "Would you've really thrown a punch?"

"Maybe. Probably would've broke my hand in the process. Then I never would've heard the end of it from Stanford."

"What about Lynne?"

"Oh, she'd have told me I got what I deserved." Eric laughed, thinking of the horror on Stanford's face if he was ever informed. Eric flexed his right fingers, then backed away from Sam, swinging that arm several times in a circular motion. Then Eric cracked his knuckles. "That's about the worst I can do, I think Stan flinches even when I make that sound."

"Like money going down the drain." Then Sam shook his head. "That was crass, I apologize."

"No, I mean, Stanford's heart's in the right place, but the bottom line isn't too far from the point."

Before, the bottom line had been about earning enough to pay for supplies and perhaps to continue fixing the house. But now the bottom line was like a line in the sand, for what did money matter when it came to expressing the beauty of life? It was too dark for Eric to see Pastor Jagucki's eyes, but he'd had to capture them, he couldn't let that moment escape without it being noted. Jane's blue eyes were bright, but she was so little. Then Eric smiled. All evening, once she had proved her crawling abilities, she had rested in Sam or Renee's grasp. And she'd been very happy to be in those loving arms, unlike how she now fought being toted by either of her parents. Mobility was a fascination, but more important was the people she hadn't seen in ages, or what to her was a long time.

"So, shall we?" Eric motioned to the studio door. "I bet there's fresh coffee waiting."

Sam headed to where Eric had pointed. He stopped just shy of the threshold, turning back to the easel. "You're pretty talented Eric. First that blue barn and now those...." Sam sighed, shaking his head. "A helluva lotta something in that right arm of yours."

"A lotta something's right." Eric gently patted his right elbow. "After you Sam."

"Oh yeah." Sam exited the studio and Eric was on his heels. They said nothing returning to the house, where diffused light illuminated the patio. Sam stepped inside first and Eric followed, the gentle laughter of women stirring Sam's chuckles. As Eric closed the French door, he caught the light's reflection glittering on the ground. In a hearty tenor Sam spoke to Renee while Eric gazed into the darkness. Lynne stepped to his side and he smiled, then kissed her. Then they joined the Aherns who were still speaking in jovial tones as if the events of last month had never occurred.
Chapter 75

In the early days of autumn, Eric painted his wife and child's portraits amid golden trees and withering berry vines. Usually Eric waited until Jane was drowsy, otherwise she squirmed, wishing to be set on the ground. But in fading afternoon light, she would rest quietly in her mother's arms while her father studiously set colors to canvases at a rate that made Lynne wonder. Seth had returned home and according to Laurie, the transition was a smooth one. Yet, Eric's pace was feverish, and after Jane had been put to bed, he tried to appease Lynne's curiosity. He didn't feel his frantic work habits were tied into Seth's return to New York. Something else was inspiring him.

It could be Jane, her mobility halted only by the boundaries erected by her parents. Jane would butt her head against the French doors, then pull herself onto chubby knees, placing her small hands against the panes, crying to go outside. In thick corduroy trousers, she crawled along the patio gravel until her hands ached from the rougher stones. She wanted to tackle the stairs, but Lynne had bought a baby gate, precluding that adventure, as Eric called it. Jane wasn't always so headstrong, but now that she had mastered crawling, walking was the next hurdle, and Renee teased that Jane would be on her feet well before Christmas.

Eric had painted her in motion, usually from behind, for Jane was never still for long. He had been captivated by her rapid growth, which hadn't translated into a need to nurse. Now Jane breastfed in the mornings, and usually before bedtime, otherwise taking a bottle or trying to drink from a cup. She spilled far more than she drank, making a mess on the kitchen floor, but Lynne didn't complain. She and Eric had decided to forgo birth control and see what happened next.

Yet, the couple hadn't shared that with the Aherns, for it seemed the idea of adoption had been pushed to the back burner. Lynne brought that up with Eric; did his recent spate of creativity have something to do with that issue? Her voice wasn't anxious, which Eric found interesting. Before, when she expressed such queries, worry edged her tone. Now she was merely inquisitive.

As Eric locked the studio for the night, he gazed into the sky, a blaze of colors in the west, which if he wasn't already late for supper would make him turn right around and grab some clean brushes. Lynne had called for him twice, yet the sunset seemed extraordinarily beautiful, like the painting on the Aherns' wall. Eric wished that picture was going to a new home, but other than prayer, he had little recourse. He and Sam were back on their usual footing, as were Lynne and Renee. But none of them had broached whether or not the Aherns were going to make a family together.

Reaching the patio, Eric glanced toward the house, seeing his wife and daughter approaching. Lynne stepped briskly, a smile on her face. "We were coming to see if bandits had taken you away."

Her tone was light, a blissful joy all over her. She was still the gorgeous woman he had wed; the baby in her arms was some of it, but inside was from where most of Lynne's beauty emerged, stemming from an odd but true belief growing within a part of her no one would ever see. Not even a brilliant surgeon could probe the renewal of Lynne's soul, and Eric walked her way, wondering if that was the impetus of his work. It wasn't merely Jane he wanted to depict, but her mother, each so precious not only to Eric, but to God.

He kissed both of them, then pointed west. "Just admiring the sunset. I could never do justice to that sky."

"You come pretty close." Lynne nestled against his shoulder as Jane babbled. "Supper's ready, but it can wait a minute or two."

Eric nodded, feeling a rising joy with his wife and their baby so close. How many times had he dreamed of this scenario, either in sleep or while flying, noting warm relations between various members of the animal kingdom. Now a family rested in his grasp and no painting would ever denote the utter peace derived from these two people, and the faith graced to all of them. From infancy Jane was being raised with the knowledge of Christ, a realization that her parents joked wasn't much beyond their own understandings. All three were learning at the same time, but that wasn't bad, perhaps the best way for parents to teach their child about such a weighty reflection.

"Tomorrow no painting," Eric said. "Let's go on a hike, we haven't done that in ages."

Lynne pulled away, staring at him. "A hike, are you serious?"

Jane began to chuckle as Eric nodded. "Sure. I'll carry her and...."

"And we'll go five hundred yards and fall over from exhaustion."

Eric laughed, taking his daughter into his arms. "Now Jane, do you hear that? Your mama has no idea how strong she is from toting you around all day. We'll go on a short hike and take a picnic lunch. Winter's not far away and what will the girl here think of being cooped inside all the time?" Eric tickled Jane's chin. "You won't like it one bit, I imagine. We'll have to put something over the French doors so you don't break the panes, trying to escape."

Eric and his daughter chuckled together, but Lynne didn't join them. She took two steps away, her arms hanging limply at her sides. Jane still giggled, but Eric moved toward his wife, then tenderly stroked her face. "Oh honey, I didn't mean to...."

"Do you feel like it's, I mean...." Lynne's voice cracked. "Maybe that's why you've been so busy."

Eric shook his head. "I haven't felt a single niggle. It's something else honey, I don't know what, but it's not that."

Eric led his wife into the house, shutting the French doors behind him. He set Jane on the floor, then walked Lynne to the sofa. Yet she didn't sit. "Supper's gonna get cold," she said.

"That can wait, or at least until Jane starts yapping. Lynne, let's talk about this."

She closed her eyes, then sighed. Opening her eyes, she gazed at the painting of the orchard on the far wall. "How many times did we walk through there, imagining what our lives would be like, but we were so off the mark." Lynne turned back to Eric. "I've tried to not think about it, or when I do, I say it'll be fine. I won't be alone and you'll come home, I know you will, and...."

"But we're human Lynne." Eric had a wry smile. "Or practically human. It's okay to have doubts." Now Eric chuckled, picking up Jane, who had crawled around, then returned to where her parents stood in the middle of the living room. "I've been amazed at how blasé you've been about it. That's not quite what I mean, but...."

"Eric, honestly, not until tonight have I felt uneasy. I think it was the sunset. It looked like the one you painted for Renee and Sam and, and...." Lynne stroked her daughter's soft cheek, then played with Jane's lengthy curls. "I nearly asked her a few days ago when we were having lunch together. But she'd started to blink away tears and I just couldn't. They're happy, I know they are, but what happened in August set them back."

"Set back Sam you mean."

Lynne nodded. "Renee talked mostly about Jane, or about Helene. I guess Renee's been going to see Frannie quite often, instead of Sam going. Not that Fran needs the help, but maybe now there's someone who understands Renee a little bit. That's what Renee implied, right before she started to...."

Lynne wept and Eric put his free arm around her. Jane whimpered, trying to reach for her mother's damp face. Lynne took a deep breath, then grasped her baby. "Let's get you something to eat sweetie. Mama and Daddy are hungry too."

Jane clapped her hands, another new trick that she was just starting to master. Eric had read that most babies didn't clap until they were seven or eight months old, but a week shy of seven months, Jane could already clap with gusto, rarely missing. A proud father was tempted to think his daughter was gifted, but Eric often pondered if his unique genes played a part in Jane's development. As the trio headed to the kitchen, Lynne told their daughter what a smart girl she was, and so beautiful. Jane babbled as if in agreement while Eric wondered if he was the only Snyder so affected.

A week later, Eric was in charge of Jane while Lynne went for lunch with Renee. Father and daughter poked about the garden, Jane strapped to Eric's chest in a hiking pack Eric had recently purchased. Lynne had thought he was ridiculous, not the time of year to consider hikes, but Eric said he would tote Jane to prep himself for next spring. In 1963, the Snyders would make family treks, reviving an old pastime that Eric had so enjoyed with only Lynne. At first Jane protested being put into the pack, preferring to roam on her own. But Eric kept up a good pace, bouncing her as he strode around the yard, talking incessantly. Jane learned that her father had always loved to draw, but gardening had been an acquired hobby, in part so that he and Lynne didn't starve to death.

Eric told his daughter how poor they had been, but that buying this property had been essential, even if the house had been in a derelict state. The studio was well constructed and if not for the ample vegetables and fruits Eric tended, the young couple had lived on love. Eric didn't hide much from his infant daughter, revealing his earliest memories of flight, but concealing his troubled background. One day Jane would learn about Howard Snyder, but not until she was much older.

Jane gurgled in response, sometimes clapping when her father's voice indicated an exciting occurrence, like when he met Jane's mother, or the first time the couple had hiked in the orchard, or when they found this house, or rather, Eric chuckled, this acreage had claimed them. Both had been intrigued with the possibilities and the privacy. The seclusion was necessary, Eric said softly, because sometimes he had to go away and no one but Lynne could know.

Eric returned to the patio where he unstrapped the pack, taking Jane from the harness. Sitting in a chair, he put her on his lap, gently embracing her. "Someday Mommy might tell you that I had to go away, but I will come back sweetie, to both of you. Uncle Sam might need to look after me for a few days, but I promise Jane, I will always come home."

The baby stared at her father as if comprehending everything he said. Her blue eyes were wide and Eric had an immediate urge to paint her image as if the world's truth rested in Jane's enormous irises. They were exactly the color of Sam's, which made Eric smile, then sigh. He caressed Jane's face, then kissed her forehead. Then he cuddled her close, wondering how he had received such a tremendous blessing.

When Lynne returned, she found her husband and daughter in the sunroom, Jane in her high chair, Eric behind his easel. Lynne quietly observed them, aware that Eric knew of her presence, but not Jane. Then the baby turned around, laughing at her mother. Lynne approached them as Eric poked his head from around the canvas. "Hello Mama," he said. "How was your lunch?"

"Fine. And how are things here?"

"Well," Eric began, "we chatted about the state of global politics and Jane suggested I should paint her looking so darn cute. That would usher in world peace without argument."

Lynne kissed her baby, then her husband. "I must say, I can't argue with that." She smiled, but it was wan. "I'll be back, need the ladies' room."

Eric followed her as far as the living room. "Everything all right?" he called.

Lynne didn't turn back, shaking her head.

The couple waited until after Jane was asleep to talk; Lynne noted that while the Aherns weren't ruling out adoption entirely, they had decided to wait until the new year to proceed, in part, Renee had tearfully revealed, out of respect for Simon and Andrew. Lynne had asked how long and Renee had shrugged, not providing a straight answer. Yet, Renee had implied that Sam hadn't ruled out adoption; it had been the basis for their reconciliation last month, but he was leery of offending Fran and Louie. Renee had tried to temper her mild suspicion over that rationale, but the brassy redhead's true feelings had spilled in her few tears and slightly bitter tone. Lynne sighed. "She doesn't think he'll actually go through with it. But she's trying to keep an open mind."

Eric gently shook his head. "I know he's afraid of...." Eric paused, then took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "He's worried about not being a good father. He wants to give her this gift, but he doesn't wanna...." Eric stood from the sofa, stepping to the doorway between the living room and the sunroom. He grasped the corner of the wall, staring toward the easel. "He thinks he'll get angry, or he'll not do it right. God, why the hell did he ever go over there?"

Lynne joined her husband. "That's exactly what Renee said, right before I left. She whispered it, I can't even remember what we'd been talking about, oh Eric, her voice was so soft, like she didn't want me to hear her, but she had to say it. All I could think about was Seth, which might seem strange, but both of them made that decision, not that they could've avoided it, but instead of waiting, they enlisted." Lynne grasped her husband's shoulders and Eric turned her way. "I'm so glad you couldn't go." She stared at his left foot, then into her husband's eyes. "A blessing in disguise, but why'd they think it was necessary, why actively pursue something so violent?"

"I put my fists up that night I went over there." Eric looked at his hands, then at his wife. "Something inside me was overruled by irrational thought, it's crazy honey. When Sam and I talked in the studio, I told him Stanford would chew me out if he heard I'd done that. Or maybe he'd slap me himself."

Lynne nodded. "You know what I'd have told you?"

"That I'd deserved it," Eric smiled. "And I said that to Sam too."

"Oh Eric, it breaks my heart that Sam's so skittish, he'd be a fantastic father."

"You're right, he absolutely would, and she'd make a terrific mother. But honey, something happened to him here." Eric set his palm over Lynne's heart. "Just like Seth, but it's manifested differently in each. Like my father too. Why I wasn't affected...."

Lynne put her hand over Eric's. "You weren't because your mother was a saint."

Eric nodded. "She nearly was, I agree. But it's more than that, because some men come back and have very few issues. And some are irreparably damaged. Not Sam and Seth, I mean." Eric paused. "Seth's gonna be a work in progress and I can't honestly promise he won't get a visit from an errant hawk. He just might." Then Eric smiled. "But Sam gained so much peace when Jane was born, like he was reborn. Some of that ground was lost in August, but not all of it, although maybe he thinks it was more. I don't. I know him Lynne, I was the recipient of his, well, for lack of a better word, tenderness. That man puts on a big front, but he's got one of the softest hearts."

"Oh Eric, he does, Renee said that too. She said that he just needs to let down his guard, that he has so much to give. It was heartbreaking to hear in her voice all she couldn't say, and all he can't see about himself. And the worst part was that while she's trying to be positive, I heard this hopelessness, that no matter what he said last month when she came home, the longer he puts it off, the less are the chances that he'll eventually do it. And she knows this Eric, but won't say anything about it. She feels like she can't push it because...."

Lynne began to cry and Eric held her close. He gazed at the back of the painting as if he could see through the canvas to Jane's half-formed image on the other side. That was how Sam was seeing fatherhood, through a veil. Yet, it wasn't protective, but limiting. Eric had no way to break that barrier; not even a hawk could speak to that obstruction.

As October sped along, Eric painted while Lynne baked and Jane scuttled across the length of the Snyder home. Lynne and Jane visited the Canfields and Helene was overjoyed for a mobile playmate. Fran chuckled that once Jane was on her feet, Lynne and Eric would have little time for cooking and art. The mothers laughed at their girls, the two years separating them not mattering to either child. Helene thought Jane was hilarious and Jane considered Helene a wonderful teacher.

The Snyders and Aherns shared a few suppers, but conversations centered around the impending holiday season, hard to ignore what with Halloween decorations in the stores. Jane was far too young for a costume, but Renee wondered about next year. Fran's kids were going as a variety of characters, even Helene wearing an old clown outfit probably handed down from Sally. Renee mentioned those children with no trace of sadness, but Lynne had to wonder, from how Sam wouldn't look at his wife when she spoke.

One Monday afternoon, Renee and Sam joined the Snyders, but to Lynne's consternation, Sam wanted to watch television. Since he and Renee arrived, Sam had been yammering about something to do with the Soviets. Eric turned on their black and white set, no use getting one of those newfangled color televisions for how little they watched it.

Lynne remained in the kitchen while Renee and the men gravitated to the TV, tucked in a corner of the living room. Jane gabbed in her high chair as Lynne made coffee, then Lynne noticed how quiet was the house, aside from Jane's jabbering. "What's happened?" Lynne called to the adults.

She waited for seconds, but no one responded. Jane grew more vociferous, then started clapping. Lynne caressed her daughter's head, then grasped her small active hands. "I'll be right back," Lynne said. She kissed Jane's cheek, then stepped to the kitchen doorway. "All right you three, what's up?"

Eric met her where she stood. "Honey, the president's just announced the Russians have placed missiles in Cuba. Nuclear missiles."

"Are you serious, missiles in Cuba?"

Eric nodded, gripping her hands. "He said a blockade's been enacted to turn back any ships with hazardous cargoes. Lynne, he's talking about an attack on...."

She shook her head, squeezing his hands. "Oh my God Eric, don't even think such a thing!"

But as Jane's babbles decreased, Lynne didn't miss the gravity of President Kennedy's voice or the unequivocal meaning of his words. The Soviet Union had nuclear warheads in striking range of America, for what purpose Lynne couldn't fathom. Then the reason became all too clear; did the Soviets actually intend to attack The United States?

Lynne trembled, but Eric's embrace removed her initial worries. On the West Coast, they were safe from such desolation. But what about Stanford and Laurie, Michael and Constance, and Seth? Seth had just come home and now this? Tears burned along Lynne's cheeks, and not even Jane's happy gurgles could halt her mother's weeping. Then Eric led his wife back into the kitchen, comforting her behind their daughter's high chair as Jane clapped soundly for a reason known only to her.
Chapter 76

A flurry of long distance calls jammed telephone lines nationwide, but early in the hours of Tuesday the twenty-third Eric finally reached Stanford. An artist and his dealer spoke only for moments, but right off Stanford made it clear that regardless of what happened, he and Laurie were staying in New York. If the Soviets were crazy enough to fire those missiles, it wouldn't only be the East Coast in danger.

By the end of Tuesday, Stanford's words hung heavy in hearts all over the planet. Not since the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki had nuclear weapons been detonated other than for test purposes. Yet that horrific devastation was clear in the minds of those who could recall those incidents, fewer than twenty years in the past. Lynne and Renee spoke about it when Renee was home from work; how could world leaders be so blind as to the very real consequences of such insane actions? Renee said that it was because those leaders were men, then she grew quiet. Clearing her throat, Renee then told Lynne to pray. At this point, it was all any of them could do.

Lynne and Eric did just that, aware they weren't alone in that action. They went to church on Wednesday evening, finding St. Matthew's packed. Pastor Jagucki gave a short sermon which Eric found very stirring for its brevity. The pastor said nothing about the Second World War, but his meaning drew straight from that event, and that people everywhere had a duty to seek peace. It would come from prayer, and perhaps in other manners. No longer were conflicts confined to a single nation or territory or even one continent. Technology encompassed the whole of Earth; no more were the days when one's backyard was all a person knew.

Like millions of others, Eric and Lynne tried going about their usual activities, but everything was now touched by What if? Eric's feverish pace had ground to a halt, but those collected paintings underlined the fragility of life, in what now was being coined the nuclear age. Eric and Sam spoke about the changes wrought since Korea, that while nuclear bombs had been available, there had never been a consideration to using such damaging weapons. But something had altered, perhaps only the public's realization to the widespread possible deployment of these terrible armaments. It was one thing to read about the destruction of islands in the middle of vast oceans. But the ruin of an entire section of America was wholly different.

By Thursday evening, Eric had grown weary of watching television, reading the papers, or speaking with Sam, Stanford, and Laurie. Everything had been put on hold, which grated on Eric, for how two governments had effectively strangled their citizens' lives. All it would take was one irrational man to make a phone call or push a button. Eric had no idea how Khrushchev and Kennedy were keeping in touch, but he hoped they were. The nightly news carried little insight to exactly how those leaders were talking, but they must be. Suddenly Eric felt inspired. He found his wife giving Jane a bath, then told those ladies he would be in the studio. Lynne gave him a look. "It's awfully dark out there."

"I know, I probably won't be out long. I just need to...." Eric squatted beside his wife, then gazed at their daughter. Splashing in the tub, Jane was impervious to the deep gloom that had settled over all of the adults in her midst.

"Go on," Lynne said. "Or you really will be painting in the dark."

He nodded, caressing Jane's head, then his wife's. Eric set a quick kiss on Lynne's cheek, then stood, heading from the bathroom.

When he reached the studio, stars were starting to twinkle in the sky. Eric could make out the storage building, and turning back, the house blazed with light. Yet, he needed to set something to canvas, although he didn't wish to work in the sunroom. He wasn't sure what bubbled inside him, other than a sense of purpose. Perhaps this was how President Kennedy felt, his hands just as tied. Yet Lynne had been right, it was too dark to work. Taking another look upwards, Eric admired the night sky, chuckling at himself. Then he walked around the studio, standing in front of the storage building. Something tugged at him from within, so he pulled the key from his pocket, opened the door, then flipped on the light. There on an easel was the portrait of Marek and Jane.

Stepping into the small building, Eric couldn't look away from his daughter. She wasn't that little now, even if he'd painted this a few months before. Before made Eric shiver, for all that had occurred since this painting, right up to that very evening. Jane was inside, probably being dressed for bed, with no idea what was happening in Washington and Moscow. She had no clue as to what others had suffered since, she was only a baby. She also had no manner to discern all that had occurred to the man holding her, but for the first time, Eric had an inkling, and it made him shudder. Marek's brown eyes glowed with an eerie knowledge, propelling Eric to step closer to the canvas. Leaving just one foot between himself and the painting, Eric peered at what he had created, but seeing far more than layers of paint. In Marek's chocolate brown eyes, Eric saw a multitude of horrors, more than any person should realize.

Yet, instead of being repulsed, Eric traced around Marek's eyes, sensing how such misery could, over time, become beauty. Eric had translated something similar, yet carrying much less emotional weight, when he painted the blue barn. Sam, Laurie, and Stanford had asked how Eric did it, and there was no verbal manner in which to answer that question; Eric had simply picked up a brush, dabbed it onto his palette, then transferred those feelings onto canvas. He had done the same when painting Marek and Jane, but while Jane's eyes held only joy, Marek's possessed a deep well of sorrow hinting to the unmitigated catastrophe that somehow that man had overcome. Suddenly Eric stepped back, in awe of such tragedy having been healed. The loss of Marek's entire family didn't prey on that man's mind, or within his soul. Marek's soul was protected by Christ.

The last two nights Eric and Lynne had made love, but not as they had been for the last few weeks. Lynne had purposely used her diaphragm, telling her husband she didn't feel the timing was right to actively try for another baby. Her unspoken message had been clear and Eric hadn't argued. The world was still a terrible place, nothing was certain. Eric had wondered if Sam's fears about becoming a father would be exacerbated by all that was occurring, but how could this compare with previous disasters in human history? If Khrushchev gave the word, would the destruction of America's East Coast be worse than The Holocaust in Europe? Would it be more evil than what sat plainly in Marek's brown eyes?

For the first time since the president's announcement on Monday night, Eric didn't worry about his future, or Lynne and Jane's. Perhaps this was another step on his journey as a Christian, or as an artist, or simply as a man. If the very worst occurred, it wouldn't be the absolute end of the world, for the worst had been recycled time and again. In just that century, two world wars had ravaged across much of the globe, millions of lives lost, so much desolation accrued. But in a small town on the West Coast, Eric had fashioned beautiful paintings, he couldn't deny that. Assuming Kennedy and Khrushchev negotiated a way out of this mess, by the end of November, this painting, along with others, wouldn't even be where Eric could see them; they would be in New York, then onto London, then to.... Eric smiled, the first real joy he'd felt all week. Making love with his wife had been a balm, but actual happiness rumbled inside him, in part from peace, and from the truth within Marek's eyes. If one day Eric heard those facts, they wouldn't be any more vile than what he had implied within that man's gaze. Yet, anguish wasn't the essence of what Eric had portrayed. Love covered all that wretchedness, so great a love that grief, loneliness, and abject despair hadn't been able to stay.

Then Eric shivered; whatever had sent Seth to Korea was a similar kind of devastation, yet Seth hadn't been able to fight himself free. Eric wondered if perhaps as a child Seth had been molested, but Seth and Laurie were so close, had that been the case, Laurie would know. Or maybe not. Then Eric considered the figures at Stanford and Laurie's apartment, sculptures that had been fashioned by someone with a tremendous will to live and to love. Nothing dark clouded those statues, from their hopeful stances to their vibrant hues. Two vivid blues of differing shades enhanced those figurines; Seth hadn't made them in the throes of depression, but in youthful optimism. But that optimism had been short-lived. Laurie had mentioned Seth wasn't exactly soldier material, that he'd had a few issues even before he'd enlisted. What had he thought going to Korea would accomplish, and once there, what had he seen or done that had so tarnished his soul?

Again Eric gazed at Marek, but not at his face. This time Eric studied how tenderly Jane rested in the pastor's grasp, almost with as much affection as Eric held his daughter. Marek had never spoken of a lover, maybe a woman had been left behind in Britain or in.... Marek had been a teenager during the war; might he have lost a girlfriend alongside his family? Eric ached to know, then he sighed, feeling chilled. He turned off the light, locked the storage building, making his slow way back to the house with as many questions, albeit about different subjects, than as when he had headed outside.

In the morning, as soon as the sun was high enough in the sky, Eric went to the studio. He painted until lunchtime, then shared that meal with his wife and child. Lynne didn't ask questions, but he smiled at her, speaking to Jane in a rather cheerful tone. Lynne grinned at him, then inquired about his afternoon plans. Eric wiped his mouth with a napkin, then took Jane from her high chair. He leaned back in his seat, bouncing the baby on his knee. "Actually, I think I'm done painting for the day. You mind if I run over to St. Matthew's?"

Lynne stared at him. "No, I don't mind." Then she smiled. "That's a bit unusual."

"Unusual times we're living in. I need to ask Marek a few questions."

Jane laughed, but her mother's smile slipped away. Lynne fidgeted with her silverware, then she stood, taking her plate and the baby's to the sink. Then Lynne gripped the sides of the counter. "Eric, what difference does it make?"

"I need to know."

She turned around, blinking away tears. "Why?"

"Because the world's on the brink of disaster and I need to know how he...."

Lynne waved her hand, then she nodded. "Whatever you feel you need to do."

Eric stood, then walked her way. Jane babbled and Lynne took the baby from her father. Jane continued squawking, not seeing the tears falling down her mother's face. Eric brushed away that liquid, then kissed his wife's damp cheek. "I won't be long," he said softly. "He might not even be there."

"I bet he is," Lynne warbled.

"Yeah?"

She nodded, then sighed, wiping her face with the back of her free hand. "You didn't go outside last night to paint."

Eric chuckled. "Well no, but I did paint this morning."

"What is it of?"

"Something that might end up in Minnesota," Eric smiled.

Lynne nodded, then took a deep breath. She let it out slowly, then switched Jane to her other hip. "Well take your time, with Marek I mean. I think Jane and I are gonna sit down and see if someone's hungry."

Eric caressed Lynne's face. Since Monday she had been trying to entice Jane to nurse more, with some success. Eric knew it wasn't related to Lynne using her diaphragm; this was solely to ease a mother's aching, bewildered heart. Jane had no idea about world events, but Lynne knew all too well about the possibility that could occur.

Yet, that tragedy wasn't set in stone. Eric smiled, kissed his wife, then his daughter. "You two have a quiet afternoon. I'll probably be home before she wakes up. And if you're both sleeping, maybe I'll spend the rest of the day in the studio."

"Better than staring at the television," Lynne said.

"Indeed it is." Eric kissed her again, then stepped back. Lynne took their daughter into the living room, leaving her husband to clear the table. After that chore was attended, Eric found his family on the sofa, Jane nestled against her mother. Lynne's eyes were cloudy, but she smiled at him. Wordlessly Eric said his goodbye, leaving through the kitchen door.
Chapter 77

When Marek woke that morning, a mild headache lingered at his temples. It had been a vicious throbbing for the last two days, only abating on Wednesday night when he'd led a packed service in what to him wasn't more than prayers beseeching peace. He hadn't labored over the short sermon, hadn't wrung his hands choosing the few hymns. He had been relieved for a brief respite from that miserable headache, which then plagued him all day on Thursday. And now, Friday morning, it was trying to decide whether to abate or again pound the back of his brain, cruelly crawling forward until all he could do was close his eyes and pray for healing.

As he got out of bed, then dressed, the ache teased, flashing pain alternating with no discomfort at all, making Marek wonder for how much longer could he cope. He also pondered if two world leaders felt this unwell, maybe Kennedy, but as for Khrushchev.... Then Marek berated himself, for it was unfair to automatically label the Soviet as the villain. The Americans must have provoked such an action, but he might be the only one in that small town thinking that way. Marek smiled, reaching the kitchen, then starting a pot of coffee. He had considered making a cup of tea, but perhaps a stronger brew was necessary.

He ate a light breakfast, the headache coming and going. He didn't take any aspirin, for it hadn't made a dent previously. When Carla Kenny arrived, he almost sent her home, for he didn't feel at all like doing pastoral work, but he saw in her anxious eyes the need for some kind of break from the recent week's gloom. He smiled as the pain began to inch its way toward his temples, where all week long it had served blow after crushing blow. Those men had better decide some sort of conclusion, Marek thought to himself, or one transplanted Pole would consider drastic measures.

By mid-day, Mrs. Kenny fixed lunch for Marek and herself, then returned to her desk. Marek had forced himself to eat, feeling sick to his stomach as pain gripped his head like a vice. He knew the source and felt somewhat ashamed that after all these years how greed for power, coupled with a stiff dose of stupidity, could still affect him. He'd been assaulted by similar headaches when in seminary as the Soviets took over Poland. They were better than the Nazis certainly, but Marek hadn't missed an iron fist being tightly closed around all of Eastern Europe. When he'd fled to Britain, the headaches had stayed behind; this was the first time he'd been so afflicted outside his home nation. Not even when leaving Maggie had he felt this wretched. Her rejection had hurt his heart, he wouldn't deny that, but the gluttony and blindness of governments seemed to grate on him more, which he knew was a remnant of growing up during the war. To Marek, there had been only one conflict, and regardless of what others lay on the horizon, no other confrontation would ever usurp it. Not even what Kennedy and Khrushchev were embroiled in, for while a nuclear attack would be abominable, the atrocities perpetrated on his native soil were untouchable for their evil.

Yet, he couldn't say that to anyone in this country, for it would sound like he had never gotten over those days, which he had, even in the midst of a now raging headache that nearly made him wish to be dead. Marek needed to lie down, sleep off what he could, then hope that when he woke, two men, one not much older than he, would have come to a reasonable answer to a terrible situation. But it wasn't the worst that had happened, if it happened, he reminded himself. The last news he'd heard on television wasn't promising, but even while feeling so poorly, Marek knew that God was in control.

Marek left the kitchen, finding Carla busy behind her typewriter. She looked up and he nodded to her. "I'm going to lay down for a bit, see if I can't get this...."

Before he could finish, a knock interrupted. Carla stood, but Marek motioned for her to remain seated. "I'll get it," he said quietly.

"Pastor, you're in no shape to...."

He smiled, which made his head throb more. "No, I'll just tell them another time."

"No you won't," she frowned as another knock resonated. "You'll...."

Marek stepped away, smiling through the pain, for she was right. He probably wouldn't send them away, unless it was Mrs. Harmon, complaining about the depleted mums along the far side of the church. Those flowers had bloomed, but not to that woman's high standards, and Marek had even gone so far as to instruct the gardener to add some fertilizer. As Marek neared the front door, he slowed his steps; perhaps whoever had knocked might turn back, for usually parishioners would enter the church unannounced, calling for the pastor, or Mrs. Kenny if they were there on church business. It was slightly odd for someone to knock, but that might make it easier for Marek to excuse himself, which he would if he wasn't truly needed.

Reaching the double doors, he opened one, then smiled despite the brutal ache coursing through his head. "Eric, hello." Marek spoke as if no pain existed. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, but how are you? Is this a bad time?"

Marek shook his head, which didn't ease the pain, in fact, it made him nauseous. But he continued to smile, yet, he squinted. "No, not a bad time at all. Please, come inside."

The painter loitered just outside the doors. "No, you look, well, awful." Then Eric flashed a brief grin. "You look like Jane did a few months ago when she made us all suffer. I'll come back another time."

Marek almost nodded as a wave of pain engulfed him so furiously he thought he would fall over. There was nothing for him to grasp other than the side of the door, but that would have looked odd. "No actually, come in," he muttered. Then he cleared his throat, which reverberated like a gong through his brain. Slowly he stepped back, but he did grip the edge of the door. "But let's find ourselves some seats. I've been fighting a headache for days now."

"Are you sure, I mean...."

Marek blinked, seeing two Eric Snyders standing just inside the vestibule. As those figures merged into one, the pain subsided long enough for Marek to nod. "Yes, of course. Would you like some coffee?"

"Only if you're having a cup."

Marek took deep breaths, then smiled as pain smashed into the front of his brain like waves crashing into the cliffs of Dover. But these waves weren't fast, permitting the pastor brief snatches where there was no pain at all. Now his smile was wide as he heard Mrs. Kenny approach, asking if she could make a fresh pot of coffee. Marek nodded as Eric asked for a biscuit, to which Carla Kenny sighed. Then all three walked into the church kitchen, Marek letting the other two lead the way.

Ten minutes later the men were seated alone, mugs of steaming coffee and a plate of cookies between them. The headache continued to flirt at Marek's temples, but as Eric made small talk, mostly about his daughter, the pain didn't seem as bad as earlier. Marek was pleased to hear that Jane was well; it was a relief to consider something other than what had gripped the consciousness of nearly everyone Marek had encountered. Small children were safe from this horror, about the only ones untouched.

Then Eric cracked his knuckles, which to Marek echoed like gunshots. The pain flared, then launched a frontal assault, but Marek stared at the slightly younger man in front of him. "So Eric, what brings you here today?"

Eric leaned forward, taking another cookie from the plate. He munched thoughtfully, then swallowed. "I was gonna paint last night, but it was too dark to see. Lynne thought I'd lost my mind, well, she didn't say that but...." He smiled, finished the cookie, then sipped his coffee. "It was too late to start something, although I did get around to a little activity this morning. Haven't been able to do much other than stew all week, but I'm sure I'm not the only one."

"No, you're probably not." Marek's voice was even, but the pain was intense, and he closed his eyes briefly to no avail. He opened his eyes, again finding two Eric Snyders. "I haven't been able to concentrate either, I must say."

"Your sermon on Wednesday would belie that fact."

Now Marek smiled, in part from Eric's astute tone, and that the pain had diminished. "Well, I didn't work too hard on that piece, I'll admit."

"I suppose you didn't need to."

The silence following Eric's last word hung like a thick mist in the kitchen. Marek found it hard to breathe, although his head didn't ache. He wasn't sure if lack of oxygen was the reason, although as he tried to draw air into his lungs, he found his brain was still pain-free. He marveled at this until he choked. Then the pain returned, as did breath into his chest.

But oddly, Eric didn't ask if he was all right. He took another cookie, dipped it into his coffee, then ate the whole biscuit in one bite. Marek watched those actions as if he was standing outside of himself, observing how Eric didn't make eye contact, chewing with his mouth closed, while the man across heaved air in and out of his mouth. Marek was that man, attempting to place oxygen into himself, but still it was difficult. Then Marek noticed that again Eric was going to crack his knuckles. For some reason, Marek didn't wish to hear that sound, and as he slipped back into himself, he grabbed Eric's hands before the painter had a chance to do so.

They stared at each other. "Does that bother you?" Eric asked softly. Then he smiled. "It drives Stanford nuts, like I'm purposely ruining my hands."

Marek shook his head, then he grinned. "It's just that I have this awful headache and...." But suddenly the pain was gone. He blinked several times, releasing Eric's hands, then placing his own along his temples. They didn't ache, they didn't even twinge. They felt as usual, no tenderness or throbbing of any sort. Then Marek smiled widely, clasping his hands in front of him on the table. "Actually, try it, cracking your knuckles I mean."

"Are you sure?"

Marek nodded.

The sound resonated through the kitchen and Marek could hear Carla pause in her typing. But there was no lingering effect within Marek other than a brief flash as though from thousands of miles away Stanford Taylor could sense what his most talented client had just done. Hopefully not, Marek chuckled inwardly. Stanford was probably ruing the possible catastrophe.

"Are you all right?" Eric's voice was still soft. "Pastor?"

Again their eyes met, but this time Marek Jagucki didn't see Eric Snyder. He saw his father, or was it his mother? Perhaps it was his older brother Dominik, his younger sister Ania, or.... A momentary pain seeped all through him, for in those brief seconds, Eric's eyes reminded Marek of Klaudia. Then Marek smiled, for that memory was so faint, as if he had willed it into non-existence. His parents and siblings' images were strong, those of other relatives too. He never forgot them, their lives were woven all through his. He carried the hopes and dreams of so many, his entire extended family wiped out in one stroke, but still living within the guise of one man. Strange that he didn't get these paralyzing headaches more often, he wondered, fully aware he needed to give Eric an answer. It was only Eric sitting across from Marek, no one else still alive whom Marek loved.

"I'm...fine," the pastor answered slowly. Then he shook his head, but no ache accompanied. "Actually, I've felt awful all week. Right before you arrived, I was going to try to sleep."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Eric scooted his chair away from the table. "I'll go now, let you get to...."

Marek leaned forward. "No, it's past, the pain I mean." Then Marek shivered, he couldn't help it. Yes, the pain was gone, but something, or someone, had been laid like a ghost at his feet. Eric's eyes were suddenly a reminder to a moment that Marek never considered. He stared at the painter's face, but Eric looked no differently than the last time they had spoken, which wasn't on Wednesday evening. Perhaps it was last Sunday, before this whole crazy business with Cuba began. Or was made known to the public, Marek allowed.

"What do you see, what're you looking for?" Eric asked.

Now Marek smiled. "You remind me of some...one." Was the resemblance to a person or a thing, Marek wondered. Or perhaps both.

"From Britain or...." Eric paused. "Poland?"

"Definitely of home." Marek took a deep breath, then he smiled widely. "So Eric, what brought you here today?"

The painter glanced at the plate of cookies, then to his coffee cup. Finally he met the pastor's gaze. "I spent much of last night staring at the painting of you and Jane." Eric sighed, then nearly cracked his knuckles again, making both men laugh. Then Eric stood, pushing his chair up to the table. He leaned against the far kitchen counter, then moved to the open door. Closing it most of the way, he returned to his spot along the counter. Then he stared at the pastor. "I wondered about your sermon on Wednesday. It was perfect, you know."

"Well, thank you. Again, I didn't spend much time on it."

"Like I said, you didn't need to." Briefly Eric gripped himself, then he shook out his arms. "I painted that one of you and Jane like I do all my works, or most of them. I put what I feel onto the canvas, then later I see what's there. And sometimes I see even more after a few weeks or months have passed. Last night, last night I saw...." Eric hesitated, then he spoke. "I saw what happened to you in Poland. I'm sorry, I don't mean to intrude on your past, but I saw it and when set alongside all that's happening now...."

Marek nodded, unable to speak, but deep relief flooded his heart. No one knew, other than one Lutheran minister back home, for Marek had barely been able to speak of that day, or not fully. Over several months Pastor Nowak had slowly drawn the truth from a traumatized teenager. But one concealed element that Marek had never shared with anyone now lingered on the tip of his tongue.

Stepping to where the pastor sat, Eric pulled out the closest chair from the table. He sat down, but left a few feet between them. He started to speak, then seemed to reflect upon what he had planned to say. Then Eric took a deep breath as if gathering the necessary courage. In those seconds, Marek wondered to which part Eric would inquire first. If it was to his lost family, perhaps that would be easier. If it was to.... If somehow Eric had discerned that other point, Marek wasn't sure how he would react. But Marek couldn't talk; if Eric wished to bring all of this into the open, he would do it alone.

As that thought ran through the Pole's head, he began to chuckle, then laughter spilled from him. The typewriter again stopped, then footsteps could be heard rushing down the corridor. Marek gazed at the closed doorway, which then opened, with the befuddled secretary staring at him. "Are you all right Pastor?"

Eric turned around as Carla tapped her foot, sounding much like her typewriter, or when Eric had cracked his knuckles. But instead of making Marek's head pound, his laughter broadened, for it was true what he had seen that day twenty years ago. It had saved his life, which now led to this day in America, sitting near the only man who might understand. Yet how was that possible, or were they all mad? Then Marek had one more belly laugh. Madness resided in Washington D.C., in Moscow, and in Cuba. In that simple church kitchen grace reigned, no other way to describe it.

"I'm just fine Mrs. Kenny. Sorry for interrupting your work."

She gazed suspiciously at him, then at Eric. Then she slowly walked away, although Marek could still hear her footsteps. When those were gone, he stood, closing the door firmly. He retook his seat, then glanced at the painter. Those eyes, how had Marek missed those eyes? Perhaps Jane had precluded the pastor from seeing anything else, or the paintings had stolen his attention, or.... "How long," he said quietly. "How long have you known?"

Eric took a breath, then let it out. "Like I said, I saw it last night. I felt a little, well, dumb, although perhaps it wasn't something I truly wanted to see."

"Not many do, too much for most to take."

Eric nodded. Then he allowed the hint of a smile. "And Pastor, what do you see?"

For a second, Marek flinched. Then he chuckled, inhaling deeply. He let it out, then leaned toward Eric. "I see something in your eyes Eric, something very familiar to me. Have your eyes always looked this way?"

The tone Marek used was gentle, also probing. To his surprise, Eric didn't cringe. "Not always Pastor. Sometimes they're very different."

Marek nodded, gazing down at Eric's feet. Since he'd met this man, Marek had taken an interest in him, also his wife, and of course their beautiful baby. But now Marek studied Eric's left foot, then his right. The shoes were the same, but the way Eric turned his left foot inwardly, it was as if he was trying to obscure something.

Then the men's eyes met; Eric nodded, then smiled. "My left foot was damaged when I was young. My father caused it. But it, well, it's been healed." Then Eric laughed. "That was the beginning of my search for faith, although I didn't know it at the time."

Marek didn't inquire about the cause of the deformity, but he smiled. "Sometimes faith needs a long dormant season."

"Indeed it does. And sometimes it springs forth without warning." Then Eric chuckled. "Like daffodils. Yours didn't bloom for months."

"Yes. I thought Mrs. Harmon was going to haul me to the police."

Both men laughed. Then Eric spoke. "Your words on Wednesday. Maybe they took you little time to craft, but to me they were significant."

"Much like your paintings."

"Indeed," Eric smiled. He leaned back in his chair, straightened his legs, then bent his knees at an equal stance. "Pastor, I just wanted to...." Eric stopped, then stood. Then he leaned against the counter again. "I just wanted to thank you for Wednesday, for what you said. No matter what happens, we're all in God's care."

Marek gazed at the man across from him, then again peered at Eric's eyes. "Please, call me Marek."

It was all the pastor could say, but Eric nodded. "Marek it is. Well, I should be getting home. Lynne's probably wondering what happened to me."

Those words hung in the air, what Eric hadn't asked outright, but perhaps now it wasn't necessary. Would Marek ever inquire about the painter's eyes; he wasn't sure. But now every time Marek gazed at this man, that would be between them, not as a secret but some other binding force. Maybe they never would speak of it, or maybe.... "I'm sure she's aware how time slips away." Marek's tone was light. "Or maybe she's making one of those delicious pies."

"If she is, shall I call you with an invite for supper?"

Marek nodded without thinking, then he smiled at himself. "Please do, unless it would be an imposition."

The pastor expected the painter to smile politely, but Eric wore a thoughtful gaze. "Your presence at our table would never be cause for concern."

Now a lump formed at the base of Marek's throat, although it wasn't painful. It harbored a portent that if accepted might significantly modify the relationship between the parties. Marek stared at Eric's eyes, seeking reception of such an accord, which would be more lasting than what would hopefully be realized between America and the Soviet Union. Eric's hearty nod gave Marek his answer.

"Well then, consider it a deal, unless Mrs. Snyder has other plans."

Eric smiled brightly. "I'm sure Lynne would absolutely agree, not to mention Jane's endorsement. I think she's missing her Polish lessons."

Marek's heart throbbed just a little, then he smiled warmly. "You go home, then let me know. If another evening's better...."

"Let's say six tonight, or would earlier be...."

"Whatever works for you all."

"All right," Eric chuckled. "Let's say five, then we can spend more of the evening talking. Or maybe the mood will strike and you'll find yourself posing again with my daughter. That portrait of you both won't be around much longer. I think I'll need another to take its place."

Marek nodded, pleased not only for the invitation, or the opportunity to be painted. He eagerly wished to be included in the Snyder family for a multitude of reasons, the main being the chance to better understand exactly why God had spared his life and the irregular manner in which he had done so.
Chapter 78

All week Renee had worked nights, which had facilitated the Aherns attending morning mass, which they did not usually do. Since Monday, they had trooped to St. Anne's along with many other parishioners who also didn't often find themselves at church except on Sundays. Sam prayed for a peaceable end to the unfathomable situation, and Renee did too. She also prayed that somehow this would push Sam over the edge about adoption.

Then she asked God to forgive her for using such an incident to further her hopes, but by Friday, as she and Sam knelt in their pew, Renee wondered if this whole mess with the Russians was God's way of telling her no. Since Monday, Sam had distinctly pulled back from the idea of having a family, which in a way didn't surprise Renee. In a brief conversation with Lynne on Wednesday, Renee learned her friend was having second thoughts about adding to their family. Not that Lynne felt the world was going to end up in another global conflict, but with such animosity stirred and the most violent weapons poised, was it right to.... Lynne hadn't been able to end her sentence, for which Renee had been thankful. For if Lynne was rethinking having another baby, perhaps there was no hope for Renee and Sam.

As the couple returned to their seats, Renee wanted to squeeze her husband's hand. There hadn't been any time for cuddling for she came home late and exhausted, then they rose for church, a tacitly agreed upon way to start the day. Mass usually eased Renee's mind, settling her heart, but right now her soul was torn, and there seemed no way to breech the awful possibility of yet another world war. That's what would happen if President Kennedy and.... Renee wasn't sure what to call Khrushchev; was he a premier or.... He wasn't a Prime Minister, that was Harold Macmillan, the leader of Great Britain. Surely that man had a hand in what was going on, but ultimately it was between Kennedy and Khrushchev. Renee prayed for God to strengthen her president. Then she gazed at her husband. Renee wanted to ask God to soften Sam's heart, but if that wasn't according to his will.... Since summer, Renee had sought only God's will. She couldn't ask for more than that.

The rest of the service continued as usual, but Renee felt detached, although previous mornings had brought her a modicum of peace. Today all she could think about was if like Lynne, Sam had decided that even adopting a child wasn't for them. Which, compared to what Lynne was considering, was actually silly; it was one thing to actively not bring another life into this rather crazy world, but orphans needed mothers and fathers, and here were Renee and Sam. Then Renee caught herself; this couldn't be about her. The words she'd spoken about the twins still haunted, even though she knew her thoughts hadn't caused that summer's tragedy. That too had been God's will, a bitter pill, but then if President Kennedy and Mr. Khrushchev didn't figure out a solution, things would get so much worse.

Then Renee thought about Laurie and Stanford, and Seth. None of them had met Seth, but now most times when Renee considered the New Yorkers, Seth Gordon was lumped among them. Sam and Laurie had spoken yesterday morning, then Renee smiled, for while at first Sam had sounded skittish, within moments Sam's tone was like he was chatting with Eric. They hadn't talked about Seth, that would have made for awkward conversation. Laurie had just wanted them to know all was well, which might have seemed strange, but these were bizarre times. At any moment, the eastern half of the country could be blown to kingdom come, and who could imagine the counter-strikes in Europe? Renee remembered how, as a young teen, the daily news about the war colored every part of her life, from rationing to a pervasive anxiety displayed by all of her adult relatives. Some of her uncles had served, one had died. But until nearly the end, the armaments were far less damaging than what now sat on an island off the coast of Florida. In twenty years, total annihilation had become the planet's reality, and it wouldn't take years of combat, but mere seconds. Renee, Sam, and their families were safe in the west, or most of their loved ones. But what about Laurie, Stanford, and Seth?

Then Sam gently squeezed her hand. "Honey, Renee?" She looked at him, the service was over. Renee didn't recall taking communion, then she shivered; would God consider that a sin? But her thoughts had been with her beloveds, which did include those New Yorkers. And, she sighed, as Sam led them down the aisle, with children that needed parents, regardless if the world was about to end.

Outside the church a stiff breeze blew, making Renee shiver. Sam drove them home, but they didn't speak. When they reached the house, Renee waited for Sam to pull into the driveway, but instead he parked along the street. She looked at him. "Why'd you park here?"

Gripping the steering wheel, Sam didn't meet her gaze. "Gotta run over to the hospital." Then he stared at her. "But I'll be back before you leave for work."

"Oh, okay." Renee grabbed her purse, then got out of the car. She shut the door and started for the house. Halfway there, she turned back. Sam remained in the driver's seat.

The wind stiffened and she wished she had fastened her coat. She stood still for a few seconds, then as she took a step, Sam exited the car, shut his door, then headed her way.

She wasn't sure if she should wait for him. But she did, feeling an announcement was imminent. It was how he gazed at the ground, his hands deep in his pockets. When he met her eyes, his were downcast. Renee bit the inside of her cheek, willing herself not to cry there on the front lawn. She knew what he wanted to tell her like she knew her own name.

Maybe he was right, maybe it was for the best. Perhaps all he'd said when she came back home just weeks ago was only for that moment. Renee blinked away stinging tears that now readily streamed from her eyes. By the time Sam reached her, it was hard for her to breathe properly.

But he didn't say those words in full view of their neighbors. He helped her into the house, got her a glass of water, sat her on the sofa, then tenderly explained that while he loved her, and was so sorry, he simply couldn't consider.... Not at this time, his voice tender and contrite, nor was he sure if there might ever be a time when he wanted to.... Renee blocked out the actual sentences which sliced her heart into pieces. She wept, for that was natural, and she told him she understood, which she did. And finally she said that she loved him, for that too remained true. Renee never argued, never complained. This was God's will, she said to herself over and over. If Frannie could accept the loss of twin sons, Renee swallowed amid bitter, frosty tears, then this too would eventually pass.

In New York, Stanford couldn't concentrate. Every time something work-related entered his brain, immediately he lost the ability to focus, which had at first terrified him for that was how his mother had started to lose her mind. But Laurie complained of the same and Eric wasn't painting and.... And now a few days into this strange new world, how Stanford thought of it, what was the meaning of life if two pig-headed leaders couldn't come up with a diplomatic answer to peace?

For the first time, Stanford had put world events ahead of everything else. The war hadn't bothered him and he wasn't thinking about Korea. Like Marek Jagucki, when someone mentioned war, Stanford assumed they meant a conflict from two decades past. Maybe Laurie considered Korea, if only for Seth. But in the early 1940s, Stanford had been an adult and thankfully his father had kept him out of the fighting. Yet that event hadn't touched Stanford the way this missile crisis now did, as some of the papers were calling it. The Cuban Missile Crisis had turned into a watershed for Stanford Taylor, and if, God willing, somehow they all got past it, his life might never be the same.

For the first time since his mother had become ill, Stanford was glad she had no idea what was happening. Then Stanford had considered Jane Snyder, which at first had bothered him, just in that previously he only thought about her if Laurie or Agatha mentioned her. Jane was seven months old, but for the rest of her life, nuclear war would hover like a mushroom cloud on the horizon. If it didn't happen now, and Stanford certainly hoped it wouldn't, it could happen later at any given moment when one national figurehead decided he didn't like the color of that morning's sunrise. It would probably be something that arbitrary, and asinine, Stanford fumed, staring out of his office window into a skyline that could be blown to bits within a matter of seconds. Other than at Pearl Harbor, Americans had never suffered devastation within their own country, but suddenly desolation was merely miles off the Florida Keys, aimed right for perhaps the very spot where time after time Stanford had gazed at this city. Then Stanford wondered if some of his clients often considered these scenarios. He smiled as immediately a few names came to mind who coveted these kinds of moments, using them to further their art. Then he was curious; what did Eric make of all this, and was that man happy or worried that he had brought a child into such a mess of a world?

What sort of life lay ahead for little Jane? Would it matter if she carried her father's artistic genes or her mother's medical propensities? Stanford didn't consider his own nieces and nephews, which didn't stir any guilt. But he couldn't erase the sense of futility when thinking about Eric and Lynne's daughter. Maybe that was due to how much he cared about her, which he loathed admitting, but could no longer deny. Last night in bed Laurie had made that point when he mentioned speaking to Sam Ahern earlier that day, hoping that he and Renee wouldn't let this deter them from.... Stanford had cringed, not wishing to hear that much about the Aherns, but then he'd grimaced when Laurie brought up the Snyders, that it was probably for the best that Eric hadn't planned to attend the November exhibit. Laurie hadn't continued, for what now was there to say? Perhaps all their scheduled activities were straws in the wind, or at least those on the East Coast. Or maybe the whole world was nearing its end and New York would be the first casualty. But why, Stanford had wanted to say, yet he'd held his tongue. Jane was just a baby, so much for her to learn and experience. So much for all of them to accomplish, but maybe it simply didn't matter anymore.

Ever a practical man, Stanford had listened to Laurie, then fallen into a dreamless sleep for there was still work to be done. Yet now Stanford couldn't conjure a single reason to do anything but peer at skyscrapers, which were merely tall blocks of concrete and glass. What was this world about if it was doomed to fall? Stanford took a deep breath, feeling that ugly gloom approach. Usually it only bothered him when he visited his mother, although since her move to the nursing home, the unrest had abated. But now turbulence had found him at work, was threatening to upend his routine. He shook himself, trying to keep it at bay. Words formed in his mind and he flinched, then permitted them. If there is a God, he said to himself, then do something about this. Don't let this happen if only for.... Stanford cleared his throat, trying to block the image of Eric and Lynne's daughter, laughing hysterically in Laurie's grasp. But that mental picture would not be shaken. Stanford blinked away small tears, then reproached himself. He walked to his office door, opened it, then stepped out, telling his secretary that he was leaving for home. And that if she wanted to as well to please do so.

Emily Harold had never heard her boss sound so forlorn. But right after Mr. Taylor left for the day, so did Miss Harold. They weren't the only ones quitting early in that vast city.

Friday turned into Saturday, which for many people was only different because that week's work was done. Newscasters, however, worked overtime, but other than recapping what had already occurred, there was little to report. Yet within the White House and back in Moscow, hardly any sleep was to be had. Back and forth messages were sent, translated, then pondered. Two leaders were fully aware that the fate of the entire world rested upon their heads.

Eric and Lynne spent Saturday as they did most days; they cared for their daughter and each other, then Eric finished the painting he had begun the day before. It was another abstract piece, which he shared with Sam, who stopped by that afternoon, just as Lynne was putting Jane down for a nap. The men spoke about world affairs, which was actually easier than talking about the main issues on their hearts, but Eric didn't wish to enlighten Sam about all Marek Jagucki had endured as a teenager, nor did Sam want to tell Eric that adoption was off the table. Instead they wondered what tomorrow might bring, then Sam left, noting that he had supper to cook. Renee was working that day, the first regular shift she'd had all week.

Pastor Jagucki finished his sermon, then spent the afternoon arguing with Mrs. Harmon about the pitiful state of the chrysanthemums, but his banter was light, for no headache accompanied. Then he accepted a late invitation from the Snyders for dessert, in that half a pie remained from yesterday, and Lynne wanted to make another on Sunday. Marek spent an enjoyable evening with Eric, Lynne, and Jane, but was surprised that the Aherns didn't join them.

Laurie and Stanford shared supper with Stanford's father, then went to see The Manchurian Candidate, which had just been released in theaters. Both men found the film riveting, especially against the current political backdrop. They discussed that fact on the way home, then once inside their apartment they made love, which put both right to sleep.

On Sunday morning, Renee woke before her husband. She didn't have to work that day, or the next few. She wished that wasn't the case; since Friday all she had wanted was a distraction, which the hospital provided. She didn't want to spend the day cooped inside with Sam; perhaps later that morning she might call the Snyders, after both families were home from church.

When Sam stirred, he found he was alone, which didn't surprise him. Renee had taken his news as well as he could have expected, but a frost had been felt during supper last night and they had gone to bed with few words shared. He put on his robe, for the house felt chilly, but that was probably due to cooler weather which had arrived over the last few days. It was nearly November, winter wasn't far away. Then he grimaced; perhaps assuming such things was hasty. Maybe nothing would be the same again.

Sam used the toilet, then found his wife in the kitchen. Renee also wore her robe and she looked to have been crying. Sam's guts twisted; he hated seeing her so upset, but his mind was made up. Yes, he had just told her that starting a family was what both needed, but the last week had proved that idea as tenuous as considering that the next season was around the corner. But her sorrow seeped into him, or maybe it was the cold. "Did you turn on the heater?" he asked. Then he realized he hadn't even said good morning. Sam sighed, then sat beside her, grasping her hand. Her fingers were like ice and Sam trembled. "Renee?"

But what more could he say? He knew she was hurting and that it was his fault. Asking if she was all right would be like rubbing salt in the wound. But how could he explain all that ran through him, that bringing a child into this house would be.... What would it be, Sam wondered.

It would be fraught with difficulty, complications, with.... He swallowed hard, then squeezed his wife's cold hand. "Renee, I love you. I really do honey. I know it might seem like..."

She gazed at him, her eyes red blobs in her face. Sam's heart raced; would she leave him again? If she did, this time he wasn't sure she'd come back. He had given her his assurance, then had snatched that dream from her hands, ripping it apart right in front of her face. Her face was streaked with tears, each of those like spilled blood. Sam wanted to be sick, for never in his life had he wanted to harm this woman. He'd killed men, and if need be, he wouldn't hesitate to do so again. But his wife, his beautiful precious wife.... "Oh Renee, my God, please don't cry, I'm sorry, I'm...."

She nodded, then stroked his face, but her fingers were so frigid that Sam flinched. Then she pulled away her hand, standing from the table. "I forgot about the heater," she croaked, heading to the thermostat. Sam felt an icy blast in her wake, but instead of going to her, begging for forgiveness, he was frozen in his chair.

She didn't return, then Sam heard the shower start. He wondered if this was how their life would be, few words and little tenderness between them. Was that how he wanted to live, for however many days remained? Which would be worse, he pondered, as the phone rang.

Sam almost didn't answer it, but finally he stood, then grabbed the receiver. "Hello?"

"Sam, it's Eric. Turn on the television."

"What?"

"Just turn it on Sam. We'll talk later."

The line went dead and Sam stared at the receiver in his hand. Then he wondered the time; why was Eric calling so early? Sam glanced at the clock, it was seven, maybe Jane had roused her parents at the crack of dawn. Sam walked into the living room, turned on the set, then plopped onto the sofa. At this time, he had no idea what was on, and Eric hadn't mentioned a particular channel. But it was the news, the blasted news, all Sam had watched since Monday. He didn't want to hear any more hog wash and he nearly stood to turn it off, but the newscaster's animated tone caught Sam's attention. He listened, then stared, then got up to increase the volume. Sam continued gazing at the newscaster, wondering if the man's words could actually be correct.

When Renee got out of the shower, she toweled off thoroughly in the bathroom. She hadn't bothered to bring in any clothes, just needing to step under hot water to relieve that brutal chill. She hoped that the rest of the house would be warm, although wherever Sam was, Renee expected a frost to linger. Maybe this was it for them, perhaps the last few weeks were some odd calm before the lasting storm. Maybe she would get a divorce, even if it meant plunging her mother into the hospital or their family on the receiving end of utter scorn from their neighbors and priests. But as the water warmed Renee's fingers and toes, she finally realized that no longer could she stay married to her husband. She loved Sam, she even comprehended why he now felt as he did. But denying what she wanted hurt too much and she knew deep down he wanted it too. Yet for some reason accepting that was simply too painful for Sam to face. She ached for that lost part of his soul, but could no longer permit it to stain her own.

Just as she wrapped the damp towel around her torso, Sam knocked on the door. "Renee, can I come in?"

She sighed, adjusting the towel. She didn't want him to see her this way, for no longer did she wish to share herself. They had grown apart and while much of it was her doing, some of it was his. That was what she would tell people; irreconcilable differences were no different for Catholics than for Protestants. They had given it one hell of a go, no one could say they hadn't. And when asked why, Renee could blame the war, the Korean War, she would note. It was the Korean War's fault, the Russians' fault, and....

"Renee, please?"

His voice was plaintive, which further shattered into fragments what remained of her heart. "I'll be out in a minute." If he needed to pee, he could certainly wait another few seconds while she....

Instead the door burst open and her husband stepped inside. "Renee, it's all over, it's all...."

"Yeah Sam, it is. I can't live this way anymore." Her voice cracked, but she didn't look at him, keeping her gaze on the foggy medicine cabinet mirror. "I'm gonna go home Sam, today in fact. I love you, but I just can't...."

Her husband gently grasped her face, then kissed her lips. For seconds Renee fought that kiss, then acquiesced, trying to not feel anything, but of course that was impossible. She pulled away, starting to cry. "Damnit Sam, stop this. I can't, I won't, I cannot...."

"The Soviets are gonna take the missiles out of Cuba Renee. Khrushchev announced it this morning on Radio Moscow, well, a few hours ago. They're not gonna keep the missiles there honey."

"What does that have to do with us?" Renee shouted, removing Sam's hands from her face. "I can't do this Sam. Either we're gonna...." She cleared her throat, for never had she issued an ultimatum to this man, or not a verbal challenge. Slapping him in the hospital was one thing, but this was.... This was it, she decided. "We're gonna...."

"Today after church I'm gonna talk to Father Riley. He'll be able to put us in touch with whoever runs the nearest orphanage. Renee, I wanna make you a mother and while there's lots of red tape, if Kennedy and Khrushchev can solve that crisis, well then...."

"You wanna what?" Renee stared at her husband, was he still her husband? "You're gonna do what after mass?"

Sam grasped her hand in his, but his touch wasn't cold or painful. "Eric called me, told me to turn on the television. It's over Renee, that crisis. And it's a new beginning for us."

Then Sam coughed, but Renee wasn't surprised, for rarely did he speak so thoughtfully. He gripped her hand, then the other, clasping his around hers. "I'd let this come between us." Then he sighed, kissing her knuckles right afterwards. "Actually, that's not the truth. Yes, I told you we could adopt, then I put up a caveat, saying next year. Then the Russians went nuts and I told you no, but that was wrong. Life doesn't stop no matter what leader thinks they know better or if I, if I...."

Renee nodded, she didn't need to hear his apology. But to her surprise, Sam continued speaking. "I don't know what kind of father I'll make, but I'm tired of being too scared to find out. You'll be the best mother, my God, and I'll just try to keep pace."

Now tears streamed down Sam's face and Renee had to blink to see through her own. "Are, are you sure?" she mumbled.

"Absolutely. There's no time to waste. We just don't know what might happen tomorrow."

"Oh Sam, oh my goodness, oh honey...." Renee embraced him, but as she did so, the towel loosened around her bust. When it fell to the floor, Renee didn't try to retrieve it, and neither did Sam. He did loosen his robe, then wiggled out of it. All that impeded them was his briefs and within a minute Renee had tugged them past his knees. The couple had never made love in the bathroom, well, once in the shower, years before. But that morning, October twenty-eighth, required a celebration for many things. To Renee, all that had occurred in the past week was completely forgotten as her husband sealed this pact. They couldn't make their own child, but in that loving action, parenthood was claimed. All they needed was to find the right children, their children, Renee considered, as Sam cried out her name.
Chapter 79

As November began, both Lynne and Renee started their periods. For Lynne, it was her first since the summer of 1962, and it came as a relief. Renee felt a similar ease, which for both was also a relatively new notion. They discussed it over coffee shared at the Snyders' while Jane napped, Eric painted, and Sam counseled vets at the hospital. As the world inhaled a collective sigh of relief, two women who had previously lamented their cycles now wondered what this new train of thought indicated.

Lynne and Eric were thrilled for the Aherns' decision, upon which Renee expounded in Lynne's kitchen; Sam had been put in touch with a Catholic orphanage in a large city just ninety minutes north. The couple was hoping to travel there next weekend, once they had received notice from the sister in charge that all their paperwork had been approved. Eric and Lynne had provided a reference for the couple, so had both Fathers Riley and Markham. Even Pastor Jagucki had offered when Eric told him on Monday, for the news was too good to conceal. But it would be the opinions of two Catholic priests that the nuns at St. Joseph's Home would revere most and once those women were satisfied with the Aherns' credentials as prospective parents, then Sam and Renee would receive a phone call with a day and time. Really, Renee said, any day would be fine. It just seemed logical that a Saturday would be easiest. The children wouldn't be in school, although the couple was hoping for a relatively young child, perhaps one just beginning kindergarten. The age of Fran's son Johnny, Renee wistfully said.

Lynne listened, often dabbing at her eyes, for the joy within her heart was so great. Cramps that came and went didn't dampen her happiness for Renee; Lynne was very glad not to have conceived, but that had no bearing on what the Aherns were finally going to achieve. Eric had also seemed relieved, only in that all of last week's drama had affected him too, and it was probably for the best to give their attempts at adding to their family more time. More time to Lynne now meant months; Jane had decided nursing here and there throughout the day didn't impede her crawling abilities, and a mother was more than happy to nurture her daughter with that intimate bond. Better for another couple to take the plunge, especially one so long suffering. To Lynne, Renee looked older, or maybe all had aged with last week's revelations. The world seemed different now, a previous innocence replaced by a thin veneer of cynicism. Lynne tried to keep that at bay and when nursing her daughter, skepticism was absent. But when attending to her usual tasks, Lynne couldn't fight a wave of doubt. It wasn't related to Eric, for which she was grateful. For the first time Lynne owned a deep pessimism about the world and bringing more offspring into it seemed irresponsible.

Yet, what the Aherns were hoping to do wasn't at all reckless; it was wholly necessary and not merely for the child who would benefit from loving, attentive parents. Renee's bearing was so chipper that Lynne wished for Eric there in the kitchen, sketching what to Lynne's eyes was an expectant mother. Renee seemed a good six or seven months along, which made Lynne chuckle inwardly. It might take another two or three months to finalize an adoption, or just that long for the couple to find the right son or daughter. While many youngsters resided at St. Joseph's, the Aherns had specific wishes, which was their right. They wanted a child that had been toilet trained, but wasn't much past the age of five. Gender didn't seem to matter, although in Renee's tone, Lynne heard a desire for a daughter. Perhaps Sam wanted a son, Lynne had no idea. They preferred a youngster without any overt handicaps, which was also understandable, for Renee would continue working part time, and Sam wouldn't be able to care for a disabled child on his own. His time at the VA hospital would also be curtailed, but the couple hadn't concealed their need for Renee to maintain her role as the breadwinner, no matter how much their painting of the three hawks brought in at the end of the month. Eric had informed Stanford about that late addition to the available canvases and Stanford had been thrilled. But Lynne wasn't sure how much was for his share of the commission or the reason for that painting's inclusion.

As Lynne poured more coffee, she observed her friend's demeanor, which was that of a woman nearing the end of a lengthy ordeal, which Lynne understood fully well. After placing the mugs on the table, Lynne retook her seat, then gripped Renee's hand. Renee smiled widely, but tears dotted her cheeks. Then Renee laughed. "It's been such a long road. And to be honest, sometimes I'm not sure we're ever gonna get to the end."

Lynne nodded. "You will, I promise."

"Yeah, I suppose now there's no going back. You probably felt that way this time last year."

Lynne chuckled. "Yes, I did." As a cramp twisted in Lynne's middle, a small shiver crawled up her spine. This time last year all she wanted was to have her baby, then another right away. Then Eric flew off, although he quickly returned, which led Lynne to this new life of faith, yet her hesitancy about having another child hadn't been expected. At this time last year, Lynne was going to church, albeit with the Aherns, assuming Catholicism was her calling. Then she smiled at herself; maybe tomorrow she would wake, ruing her period, eager to put away her diaphragm for a good long while.

As that thought settled, Jane whimpered. Renee was on her feet before Lynne could stand, but a mother felt her baby's tears as Lynne's breasts ached and not only from hormones stirred by her cycle. Lynne drank her coffee, then looked at the clock; it was nearly lunchtime. Better to give Jane something solid, then perhaps after lunch, mother and daughter would get comfortable on the sofa. And if Renee was still there, Lynne wouldn't mind. That part of motherhood wasn't something Renee would share in, but it was important to Lynne, and to Jane, whose cries had eased. Still Lynne discerned a need from her infant that only she could provide.

Yet, as another cramp make a mother wince, no longer was Lynne's body solely required for a baby's nourishment. Lynne stood, took a deep breath, then opened the refrigerator. A small container of last night's meatloaf would be Jane's lunch as soon as Lynne mushed it into easily digestible pieces. Renee could fix the women's sandwiches, but a baby's meal would come first. Then a more relaxing snack, after all three females had taken their fill.

Eric joined the women just as Renee was leaving. She asked if he wanted a sandwich, but he smiled, telling her he could make his own. Renee chuckled, then gave Lynne a kiss, but Jane was left undisturbed at her mother's bosom. Eric walked Renee to the kitchen door, then returned to his family on the sofa. "Did you have a nice chat?" he asked his wife.

Lynne nodded, then smiled. "They're hoping to get to the orphanage next weekend if everything checks out."

Eric grinned, softly stroking his daughter's head. "Well that would be fantastic. I wonder if they might have a child by Christmas."

Lynne giggled. "Maybe, but probably more likely in the new year, although who knows?" She had a long sigh, which Eric didn't miss. Then his belly rumbled, making her giggle. "You go get some lunch."

"That I will do." He kissed his wife, then stood from the sofa, heading into the kitchen. Within minutes, he returned, two sandwiches on a plate and a glass of milk in his other hand. He sat on the couch, making Jane turn his way. She looked punch-drunk to him, then immediately she returned to Lynne's breast. In a way, Eric was glad for this small break in their plans; Jane did seem to require this time with her mother. And Lynne was right to make sure their daughter's needs were met. Yet, Eric didn't want to put too many months between his offspring. He ate his lunch, watching his daughter snuggle against her mother's chest. Jane wasn't actually nursing; now it was more the bond between mommy and child. But it wasn't only for an infant's comfort. Lynne looked at peace there with the couple's baby nestled close. Eric hadn't missed the building anxiety in his wife's eyes, as if Renee's fears had been transferred to Lynne. Yet, Renee's angst manifested in a different manner within Lynne. Eric wondered how much of it was due to his knowledge about Marek's past, last week's political crisis, or.... Was it related to what might occur next spring? Besides telling Stanford that the Aherns wanted to sell the painting of the three hawks, Eric had made a verbal agreement for his family to travel to New York in March, right after Jane turned a year old. Eric and Lynne had felt able to discuss it once the gloom of last week had lifted and to Eric's surprise, Lynne seemed eager to make the arrangements. He didn't think a possible departure was party to her hesitancy to try for another baby. Something else had changed her mind.

He finished his lunch, then set the empty plate on the coffee table. He drained what remained of his milk, then gazed at his wife, who looked to be in another world. Part of it was fatigue; Jane had been up early, so had Lynne. But an unshakeable bliss rested on a mother's face, which Eric had captured in a variety of paintings. Then a slight grimace slipped over Lynne's countenance, which Eric knew was related to her period, for the frown was brief, replaced by that glow of motherhood. Maybe he was being hasty, for Jane wasn't even eight months old. He stared at her, eyes half closed, as contented as her mother. Maybe there was no hurry, although Eric wasn't a young man. Still, Sam and Renee were just getting started, and Fran Canfield hadn't been a young mother either. But Eric couldn't help wishing that he and Lynne were on the same page again. Then he chided himself, for look at how long Renee had waited for Sam to get off the pot. Eric smiled, then felt a brief chill. He'd said that phrase on the night the men nearly came to fisticuffs. At the time, Eric hadn't given it a second thought, but now pondering it, that was when Sam's anger had abated. Yet, he could be so stubborn, for it had taken another few weeks for Sam to truly get into gear with adopting a child with his wife. Eric hoped that Lynne wouldn't vacillate for long, maybe she just wanted to make sure Jane's babyhood was fully explored before they added another. It had taken them so long, there wasn't any rush.

Eric reached out, stroking his wife's face. She nodded, her eyes half-closed, but now Jane's were tightly shut. He smiled. "Shall I take her upstairs?"

Lynne nodded. "She might need another nap, she was up so early."

"I might need a long rest too," Eric said, scooping his daughter from her mother's arms.

"I think a quiet afternoon would be good for all of us," Lynne replied.

Eric smiled as his daughter stirred, then settled back into slumber. He carried her upstairs, placing her in the crib. As he closed her door, Lynne waited on the landing. "I've locked the house," she said. "Let's go lay down."

She squeezed his hand, then led him into their bedroom. She might have started her period, but parents required their privacy. There might not be any babies for a while, Eric allowed, but all good things in their own time.
Chapter 80

By the time Lynne was over her cycle, all the paintings destined for New York were on their way east. The house seemed a little bereft to Lynne with the orchard scene gone and Eric missed the canvas of Marek and Jane. Yet, the artist had started another of the pastor and his charge, although Eric wasn't sure what he would call this painting. In this new piece, Marek was looking at Jane, not at Eric. Jane wasn't looking at her father either, but was babbling to her pastor. In Polish, Eric noted to his wife, which make Lynne laugh. But Eric wasn't being facetious; he discerned a distinct change in Jane's gurgles when she replied to Marek. Eric didn't chalk that up to anything she might have inherited from him, simply how magnificent was the mind of an infant introduced to more than one language.

Eric had sketched that scene while canvases were being packed and now he painted at his leisure, his thoughts not overly troubled by the missing pictures, although he did wish to have taken one more look at Marek's eyes. He wasn't sure why, for he knew everything that man had endured, although Marek had been only a teen at the time. Eric didn't spend time analyzing how he now realized those details; it would be like trying to ascertain why he had spent most of his life turning into a hawk. Some things were without a proper answer and had to be taken at face value. But Eric did wonder, as he laid paint onto canvas, why Marek had chosen not to look the artist in the eye. Maybe he had wanted to spare Eric from delving too deeply into that moment in time. Maybe he hadn't wanted anyone else aware. Or maybe.... Sometimes Eric now found his pastor, who was also becoming Eric's friend, staring at his eyes. Marek had remarked about them, but not as those who questioned just how extraordinary was the artist's vision. Marek meant their shape, which according to Lynne, Sam, even Renee, was how they were before. As Eric painted, he considered Marek's query, then suddenly he was mesmerized in depicting his daughter. Time lost all meaning when Eric painted Jane.

The next thing Eric knew was that baby's heady laughter and her mother's tapping foot. "Eric, where are you?" Lynne's tone was light, her smile teasing. Jane had picked up on her mother's jovial mood, giggling in Lynne's arms. Mother and daughter were dressed for the gray, cool day, but Eric had grown warm, as sometimes happened. Now he felt the air's chill, his sweater discarded on a nearby stool. He shivered, then moved from the easel, going to where another vision waited. He hadn't painted his wife and daughter together since the missile crisis, and now he knew his next project. "Is it lunch or suppertime," he joked, aware it was probably a few minutes past the noon meal.

"It's already tomorrow," Lynne smiled. "I've been calling you for...."

"Ages, I'm sure." He kissed her, then placed little pecks on Jane's cheeks. "All right, just let me clean up in here."

Lynne nodded, then walked to the front of the painting. She gasped, which made Eric turn her way. "Honey, what?"

"It's, she's, oh Eric...." Lynne blinked away tears as Jane clapped in delight.

Eric came to their sides, putting his arm around his wife. "It just, I mean, it was something I couldn't stop. Do you think it's too, well...."

Lynne stared at him. Then she sighed. "Why is it the best men aren't fathers already?" Lynne glanced back to the painting, then faced her husband, stroking his cheek. "I know it took us a long time, but Pastor and Sam and...."

Eric nodded, thinking of at least one other she could have named, but Laurie would always be an uncle. Stanford would too, which made Eric smile. "He's not that old you know. Marek and Sam are the same age."

"I know, it's just that...." She sighed again, switching Jane to her other hip. "Maybe he feels his parish is his family. But I watched you sketch this, and I watched him. He loves our daughter, he'd be so good with his own." As Lynne inhaled deeply, Eric felt a shift in her mood. She had used her diaphragm since ending her period and Eric hadn't argued. Renee had called yesterday with news that they were going to St. Joseph's next Friday to meet with the head nun. It was a preliminary step and while the Aherns wouldn't have a child by Thanksgiving, perhaps by Christmas. That year, Sam and Renee were spending Thanksgiving with Sam's family, mostly due to Fran and Louie. Sam had invited Eric and Lynne to join them, but Eric had already mentioned sharing that meal with Marek. It would be a small party for Jane's first Thanksgiving, but perhaps there was a reason for that. If nothing else, Eric would have finished this canvas by then, a painting he wanted to Marek to keep, if Marek agreed.

Lynne leaned against her husband and Eric kissed the side of her face. He wanted to stroke her cheek, but his fingers were dappled in various hues. "Listen, take Jane inside, it's not warm out here. I'll be in as soon as I can. If she's hungry, go ahead and feed her."

Lynne nodded, but didn't move from her husband. Eric smiled, wondering if it was only the two of them whether or not Lynne would have stripped her clothing, then lain on the sofa. But those days were now past due to the giggling baby and cool temperatures. As Lynne finally stepped away, Eric felt a rising pleasure. She kept glancing back to the easel, then at him, her eyes needy. Maybe her apprehension about having another child had only been temporary. Eric would bet the worth of the Aherns' three hawks that at bedtime, Lynne's diaphragm would be tucked away in a bathroom drawer.

Eric would have made a mint had he been able to place that bet, for Lynne had decided that birth control was no longer necessary. The couple spent all their free time in bed, but compared to the past, those hours were now shoehorned into precious minutes while Jane napped. If Eric wasn't making love to his wife, he was on the phone with Stanford, who had confirmed the safe arrival of all the paintings. The show would open on Tuesday the twentieth, and while the gallery would be closed on Thanksgiving Day, Stanford expected a record number of visitors during the rest of that holiday weekend. Not everyone spent their time shopping for presents, Stanford had clucked, and besides, he added, if a patron didn't appear on the first night, there wouldn't be any canvases to be had afterwards.

Eric didn't wonder about that, although he had asked Stanford about Seth. Stanford had sighed, then noted that according to Laurie, Seth was still being furtive. Yet, the Gordon and Abrams families were thrilled with his improved demeanor. Stanford and Laurie were having Thanksgiving with Laurie's relatives that year, although Stanford wished Lynne could send a pie. Laurie did too, Stanford added, making Eric chuckle. But Eric's mood was dampened by Stanford's words about Seth. He kept those to himself, not wanting to worry his wife or the Aherns.

All Sam wanted to know was if Stanford had any idea how much the three hawks might earn. Eric teased Sam that hawks were long out of fashion, but Eric knew the worth of that painting. Stanford hadn't been shy about some offers he'd already received, more than Eric had initially considered. It was in part due to the hawks themselves, but also that it was a rare opportunity for collectors to gain an early and previously unsold Snyder canvas. If Sam had chosen to sell the landscape, the price wouldn't have been as steep, Stanford had informed Eric, not that it would have been a pittance, but hawks commanded a high value. Only the blue barn could have earned more, although Stanford's tone had altered when noting that detail. Eric would swear that his dealer was happy the Aherns were keeping it. Eric's cynical side told him it was because Stanford wanted that piece to increase in price. But Eric knew Stanford well enough that not everything with that man was about the bottom line, or not anymore, which made Eric chuckle as he put the finishing touches on the portrait of Marek and Jane. Jane Renee had changed her Uncle Stanford, but so had his mother's deteriorating health. Stanford noted that even his father was accompanying Stanford and Laurie to the Abrams for Thanksgiving. Constance had worsened significantly over the last two months and better for Michael to be distracted by Laurie's clan.

The day before the show was to open, Eric placed his latest piece in the sunroom. A cold front was moving in and he didn't want that painting in the studio. A baby gate now kept the sunroom free from Jane's sometimes boisterous presence and she sat at the gate crying. Eric stepped over it, then hoisted her into the air, making her giggle, although her chubby cheeks were dotted with fresh tears. He kissed those away, making her laugh as he then planted raspberries into the folds of her neck. She was a healthy baby, for which he was thankful. Sam and Renee hadn't met with any children last week, but had been given approval by the sisters at St. Joseph's, as well as receiving dossiers on several orphans. Sam had told Eric that they wanted to take their time, not wishing to meet with any youngsters unless they felt very certain. No use raising anyone's hopes prematurely, Sam had said, including themselves. Yet, Eric had heard a newfound joy in Sam's voice, a man finally ready to embrace fatherhood.

It wouldn't be parenthood as Eric knew it, but the experience was different for each man, and woman. Then Eric cuddled Jane, noting how she immediately nestled against him. She had a warm relationship with her godfather and her many uncles, but only with her daddy would she snuggle this closely. Eric had never seen her react this way with Sam, Laurie, Stanford, or even Marek. With Marek, Jane was animated, but not tactile.

She remained snug against her father's chest, which made Eric rejoice, and ache, for she wouldn't always need him this way. One day she would be running about like Helene and before Eric knew it, she would be like Sally, a teenager pulling away from her parents. Eric stepped back over the gate, which caught Jane's attention. This room had only recently become off limits and she gazed at her former stomping grounds. She wiggled in her father's arms, making Eric laugh, but his grip was secure, and soon she realized this was only a momentary visit.

Then she sagged against Eric's chest, making him heave a blissful sigh. They stood in front of the portrait, but Jane didn't bother taking note of it, as if she knew it was of her. And of a man who she loved and who equally cared about her. Eric had depicted that attachment, but it wasn't the same as how Sam loved Jane, or even the New Yorkers. Then Eric chuckled; one day he would manage to capture those men on canvas, and when he did, Stanford might issue an edict that no one but family could see it. When Eric painted that couple, with or without Jane's presence, their affections would be front and center.

With Marek, however, it wasn't love shared, or not yet. Eric wondered how a man of God meted out his attentions to those for whom he acted as a shepherd. Marek was in charge of a small flock, although since the end of October the pews at St. Matthew's had been full. Eric wondered how long that would last, perhaps through the holidays, then as 1963 rolled around, those who had sought immediate comfort might fall away. Did that bother Marek; were pastors and priests offended when numbers declined?

Maybe not, for there was nothing they could do about it. But for those closer, how did a pastor maintain cordial relations without overstepping boundaries? Marek had probably received other invitations for Thanksgiving, probably some prior to the one Eric and Lynne had offered. What had made Marek say yes to the Snyders and no to others? Eric might like to think Jane had something to do with it. But if Eric wanted to be honest, perhaps it was more about a bond now established between himself and that pastor, one borne of an ability to see what most could not.

What did Eric witness in this new painting? His daughter was bigger, her hair longer. She wore autumnal attire, but otherwise she looked about the same as in that summer portrait. On first glance Marek looked no differently; this time their faces were in profile, one could make that distinction. But could Eric have painted his pastor, and friend, as before, where that man's eyes were for all to examine? Eric had chosen a safer route in facing his subjects together so neither's thoughts could be discerned. Or maybe it was only the painter's protection Eric had considered.

Eric kissed the top of Jane's head. She pulled away, smiling broadly at him. Then she laughed, looking to where her mother stood at the baby gate. Lynne's grin made her husband shiver, for her saucy smile denoted more than joy. Lynne's skirt precluded her from easily stepping over the gate, so Eric walked that way as Jane stretched out her arms in Lynne's direction.

Jane went from one parent to another, nestling just as closely against her mother as how she had rested near her father. But Eric knew there was a difference in her motions, for she began rooting against Lynne's chest. Now Lynne sighed, but it was tempered with a sense of purpose, and the couple would have to work around Jane's needs. Eric joined his family in the living room as Lynne sat on the sofa, placing the baby exactly where Jane wished to be. Yet Jane didn't require more than the bond shared between mother and infant. And within a few minutes, Jane's eyes were closed.

Eric was torn between wanting to sit near the women he loved and sketching this scene, which wouldn't last forever. He opted to remain beside his wife and daughter, gazing into Lynne's wide eyes, a few tears falling along her cheeks. He brushed them aside before they landed on the baby. He fully understood her mood, which wasn't at all displeased, although he made out one small niggle. For the first time it wasn't connected to the Aherns, which was good. Instead it was for a single man who cared for many without anyone pointedly looking after him. Eric prayed for his pastor, then closed his own eyes as Lynne leaned his way, Jane between them. Eric felt Lynne's missives being offered in a similar vein. They remained on the sofa for several minutes, hands clasped together, until Jane stirred from her brief slumber. Then Eric rose, adding wood to the fire. He returned with his sketchpad and began drawing what would be yet another in an endless series of family portraits, wondering as he did if this sort of life was waiting for Marek Jagucki.

_______________

Liner Notes

I started this novel in October 2013; at the time I assumed I'd be penning another short story, the form I had been working in for much of that year. However, The Hawk turned into a far larger project, the scope of which I never imagined when this tale began. Having finally reached The End, I am grateful to all who supported me in its creation. I am also thankful to you readers for joining me on this journey, which has been a search for my Father as well as Eric's. Comments are appreciated and can be sent to annascottgraham at gmail dot com.

About the Author

Anna Scott Graham was born in 1966 in Northern California. A mother and grandmother, she lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, some hummingbirds, and numerous quilts.

Other books by  Anna Scott Graham are available on Smashwords.
