The Hawk: Part Four

  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 more 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; there was only one reason for Laurie’s weariness. Lynne 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 dinner was ready and he appeared to have been crying. 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 over 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 too?”

  Lynne giggled as Eric nodded. “Why certainly Stan. Right after Lynne shows Jane how to roll out pie crust, then 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 at this home. 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 grip 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 t
able for dinner, before Laurie came back down. 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 tiny and delicate were Jane’s 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 sitting 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 then he had given Eric plenty of food for thought last night. 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 another 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.

  And 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