The Hawk: Part One

  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, from casseroles and soups to breads and desserts. 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. Sam had heard Helene’s small cries, which had closed the conversation. 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 on 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 that bothered 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. They 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, 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 didn’t think that Eric’s wife was as bad 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 as he did, 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 getting a little digging done.” 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 like Josh, or sound like him, but had returned from…. Sam had begged God not to take Josh, 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 perspecti
ve. 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 many 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 well. 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 French doors.

  When Lynne came home, Eric and Sam were seated at the patio table, chuckling over mugs of coffee. The French doors were open, as the afternoon was warm, and Renee hadn’t wanted to close those doors. That’s what she told Lynne, as 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, as if 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 sat at the table. Lynne joined her, as 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.

  “Renee, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, oh Renee….” 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 maybe 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 maybe 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 hin
ts 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. Glass casserole dishes were heavy, and 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 so angry, 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 dinner. 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, well, 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. “Well, 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.”

  Sam turned around as Lynne answered him. As he reached the doorway, he faced 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 Lynne, then to the bag in his hands. “I’ll let you and Renee sort out the details for dinner. 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