Two days later, Lynne told Renee that Eric wasn’t feeling well, and that while she would be happy to make the 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. “You know what, I’ll 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 pop it over on Friday after work. I was gonna make it Friday afternoon anyway, so once it’s done and mostly cooled, I’ll just drop it off.”
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 one of her weapons for uncovering truth. They were so pale, sometimes a white-ish hue, like the shell of an egg. Her auburn eyelashes framed those strange irises like a stop sign, her eyebrows adding weight to her stare. Renee was gazing at Lynne with all of her factual propensities, 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 yet, Sam’ll gladly take it off your hands.”
Lynne nodded, trying to maintain her composure. “I’ll do that,” she stammered slightly. “Thanks Renee.”
“It’s no trouble, Nurse Snyder.” Renee’s tone was light, but underneath questions lurked. Lynne nodded again, then headed 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 the custard for us to have with pie, so he just doubled the recipe. Not that he’ll give that 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 had a faint smile. “I know it’s not easy, but maybe if you could talk 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 women 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 just 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 him out. Then, when he returned, for Lynne never assumed the worst, perhaps they could discuss it. They hadn’t spoken about it for…. For three years, not in depth. When he had been gone almost a week, she had been out of her head 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 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. This time, when he came home, 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 at least a few hours.
She hoped he had been unconscious for several; maybe he came home right as she 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, putting them also 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 work again 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 voice was soft, but also 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, as 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 throaty, but it was also pleading. 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 looked worse than they were. But he hadn’t said anything, 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, she 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 try to remove the 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. Epsom salts weren’t a cure-all, but they did aid in the healing, and Lynne liked the subtle scent. He still looked as if 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 right 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 on her side, closest to the bathroom. 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 him.
“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 empty and clean out the bathtub, and while he didn’t seem hungry, she was starving. The upstairs would need to be swept, the downstairs too, 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 he could live this way.
It wasn’t just the bruises, or the 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, needed, 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 just fall asleep and….”
She kissed him, only on his lips. It would take a day, perhaps two, until she would kiss him more intimately. Making love with him was one thing. But 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. She had set it on the floor, not wishing to leave it in his line of sight. The sooner this faded, the better. “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 peanut butter 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 told her he had gone right 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 take a bath, or to rest. It was to paint, and she 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 horrible 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, for Eric was home, and his needs took precedence. He was bruised, but a human being, all she could ask for.
Chapter 4