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?”
She nodded. “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 the 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 on her body.
Widening her hips, 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 her 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 he was inside her, and she clutched him, not wishing for him to leave.
She 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 made love 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 was still 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 been corresponding 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 that 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 couple of 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 placed 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.”
She giggled. “Maybe not. 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 then, Eric had deduced that she was pregnant, maybe 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 so 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, fe
eling 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, sipped 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 at Eric. “I don’t think I like it with that much milk.”
He 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, and we’ll never be the same.”
She stroked his head. “Do you feel something?”
“No, it’s just this.” Then 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. “Don’t say that, 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 their stairs. They spent the rest of the morning in bed, not speaking of the subject again.
Chapter 37