by Tina Mikals
Chapter 33
Making Amends
"This is all your fault, May," said Sheila when they were back in the loft. "Why can't you just stop and think before you blurt things out?"
May ran her index finger over a quilted triangle in green calico. "It's not like I did it on purpose."
Sheila folded her arms across her chest. "You might as well have. Heck, you probably couldn't have messed things up worse anyway if you had."
"You know, I always suspected he was high maintenance."
"Oh, they all are," grumbled Sheila, sitting down across from May on her own bed. "Why do you think my mother's been married four times?"
"Why doesn't he just tell her?" asked May. "What's the big secret, anyway?"
"Who knows? I don't know how I'd feel if I found out my husband had spent the last three years stuck in his own painting all by himself and couldn't find his way out."
"Maybe he feels like a moron. It took you all of, what, a minute to find the way out? I bet he just doesn't want to hear about it forever. What a heinous witch."
"Well, you got her pretty wound up."
"Wound up? I thought her head was going to explode."
"Well? What was she supposed to think? 'Oh, yes, the next morning, Mrs. Carlisle, right after the Goddess of Love gave him back his wedding ring and his tie?'" Sheila lay down on her back with her hands under her head. "The poor man hasn't seen his wife in three years and there you go stirring up trouble. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous and did it on purpose."
May was on her feet before she knew what she was doing. She grabbed Sheila by the shoulders and bounced her up and down on the bed. "You take that back this instant!"
Stunned, Sheila stared up into May's angry face. "Holy Cripe, you really are jealous."
"Take that back, Sheila. I am not."
"Then why did you just turn three shades of red?"
"I did not. And wipe that stupid smile off your face."
"You did too."
May stopped shaking her. "Well, it's hot up here."
"Not any hotter than it was two seconds ago."
She let Sheila go suddenly and collapsed sitting onto her own bed again. She stared off into space with a confused look.
Sheila sat up, watching her with a strange, little smile on her face. "You are so weird, May. How can a person not know what they're feeling?"
"Eyew. He's like old enough to be my father."
"Yeah, you're right." Sheila nudged her shoulder. "Like your father's father's father's father's—oh whatever! I was never good at math."
"What a mess I've made of things."
"You can say that again."
May's stomach was tying itself into a knot. "And he hasn't seen her in such a long time. He didn't do anything wrong. And even if he had, it would only have been because he didn't know any better. How was he supposed to know she was here?"
"Yeah, it's just a good thing we told him about his wife, huh?"
May clamped her hand over her mouth. "Sheila? You don't think. Could I really be that terrible?"
"No, May. You're just human."
"A human wrecking ball, you mean."
Sheila shrugged. "Kind of. But it's part of your charm."
The door at the bottom of the narrow stairway closed with a soft click, and May realized that she hadn't closed the door behind her on her way up to the loft. She and Sheila exchanged a look as they listened to Mrs. Carlisle tap softly and slowly up the stairs.
How much Cora Carlisle had heard and just how long she had been listening was evident on her face when it rose from the stairwell opening in the floor. She said, "I closed the door for you. It seemed to be getting a wee bit hot up here."
She laid a fresh nightgown on Sheila's bed, and as she bent over to place a nightgown on May's, she said, "I won't even try to pretend I didn't hear anything. Really, you mustn't blame yourself, dear. I am quite capable of makin' a mess o' things on my own. I know I've a wicked tongue, and it brings me no end of trouble. It's unfortunately one of the few things my mother left me."
"You won't make him wait too long, will you, ma'am?" she asked. "He didn't do anything, I swear it. We were with him the whole time."
"He loves you so much," added Sheila.
Cora straightened to standing and folded her hands neatly across her apron. With a firm look of disapproval, she said, "Humph. An apology indeed. But what can I do? I don't want him in that studio all night. He needs to get some sleep; he's been overdoing it entirely. The man is as stubborn as an old shoe, but I can't have him gettin' himself sick all over again, can I?"
Staring at the floor, May nodded.
"Oh don't look so dour, dear. It's not so bad to stir up the pot now and then. It keeps things from sticking."
"Um, I'm sorry I called you a—"
"And what was it that you called me, dear? I only accidentally heard the last part o' the conversation. I am, after all, not in the habit of eavesdropping."
"Nothing, ma'am."
"Just as I thought. Now off to bed with ye both. You've a busy day tomorrow. I'll close the door behind me at the bottom so it'll cool off a bit up here."
When the lamp was out, May found she was unable to sleep. She stared into the black of the slanted ceiling with the quilt tucked snugly under her arms. The freshly laundered nightgown, warmed by her body, released its rose scent into her nostils.
She wrinkled her nose and stifled a sneeze.
From below, she heard the sound of several light raps and held her breath to listen. One of the doors to Carlisle's studio creaked open below. She heard nothing for a moment and then she heard Mrs. Carlisle's voice in a soft lilting murmur. It was followed less than a beat later by Carlisle's indistinct rumble.
A long full silence followed and then she heard the studio door close softly again.
