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 substantially 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 spoken about 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 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. Some will be for the garden and the other 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, correct?”
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?”
“Not really, 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, 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 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 to
ne 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, Michael Taylor 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 Snyder 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. His wife was finally pregnant after years of marriage, 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 seen, 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 some very special eyes Eric. I thought the barn painting was extraordinary. But these, 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?”
“Uh, 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, well, one of the most provocative pieces I have ever seen. And I mean ever, Eric.” Laurie stared at it again, then he 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; had he actually said Laurie? 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 often did when the men were alone. An uncomfortable stillness sucked all the oxygen from the studio, and Stanford began coughing. Then he stopped, glancing at Eric. That man’s eyes were wide, making Stanford tremble. 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 para
noid. 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