by Tina Mikals
Chapter 35
The Rose Garden
May felt a pleasant twirling, dizzying sensation and the next moment, she landed with a soft puff onto the cushions of Sheila's living room sofa. "Well? That didn't seem so bad," she said in a trembling voice. "How do you feel?"
Sheila considered. "A little dizzy. Warm and cozy."
"Me too," said May, licking her lips and frowning. "Do you taste eggnog?"
"No."
"Weird. I must be imagining things," said May, looking around the living room. Decorative pillows littered the floor at their feet. Knick-knacks lay chipped and scattered beneath the corner wall shelf. The coffee table was against the far wall and the magazines usually on top were scattered over the floor along with the television remote in several pieces, having slipped the cover of its battery compartment and disgorged the contents.
"It's just as we left it," said May, hopping up from the couch and grabbing her cellphone off the side table.
"What time is it?" asked Sheila, watching her.
"Five of one," said May.
"My mother will be back any minute."
May and Sheila both ran to the coffee table, lifted it and set it in front of the couch. Sheila went for the magazines while May put the remote back together. May was in the process of replacing the knick-knacks on the shelves and tucking a few stray shards of porcelain into her pocket, when Bonnie Hazelton arrived in a good mood through the front door, having just sold another house at auction. Bonnie stopped humming when she saw them and smiled at her daughter.
Sheila gave a final pat to the pillows on the sofa.
"I saw the two bikes still in the yard, but I just figured you must have walked to the game. You're back early, aren't you?" said Bonnie who had the same sing-song voice as her daughter, mellowed by time and experience. She stood in the entryway arch in her nyloned feet. An attractive, honey-blonde, aside from being slightly rounder and with the soft beginnings of crow's feet framing her eyes, she bore a remarkable resemblance to her daughter. Bonnie sniffed the air. "Are one of you girls wearing perfume?"
They both shook their heads.
"I guess that new air freshener I bought must be working." Bonnie walked to her daughter and hugged her. "Did you have a good time, sweetie?"
"Yes," said Sheila, hugging her mother back.
"What a nice hug, dear," she said. Then looking into her daughter's face, she said, "Didn't you wear sunscreen to the game? You're brown as a nut."
"I guess I forgot."
Bonnie shook her head. She said to May, "Did Sheila show you the paintings I bought?"
"Oh, I think you could say that!"
"I don't really know why I bought that castle one. It's very sad. I think I'll advertise it as 'delightfully moody'. Hey, that's pretty good. 'Delightfully moody'—I like the sound of that. Did you see the other one of Cora Carlisle? It's very sweet," she said, walking toward the painting. Her mouth flew open. "Sheila? Did you notice there was a man in this picture sitting on the bench? I don't remember—"
"There is?" said Sheila and May together, crowding in to look at the small portrait.
"He's got his arm around her. That must be Francis Carlisle. Do we still have that newspaper clipping?" Still looking at the painting, Bonnie held out her hand.
May reached into her pocket, unfolded the clipping and placed it on Bonnie's outstretched palm. The paper was yellow, faded and smudged.
Bonnie lifted it into the air, holding it between her thumb and forefinger and making a face as though it were a sock she had found under the couch. She compared the photograph of Carlisle to the man in the painting. "I'll be. It is a self-portrait. I wonder if that makes it worth more? It's funny I don't remember him being there before. I guess I really need to wear my glasses more often. Well, good. I thought his wife looked a bit lonely there all by herself—well, when I thought she was by herself anyway. I don't even remember the dog either or the young girl. Gosh, that's strange."
"There's a girl?" said Sheila.
"Yes, right there," said Bonnie, pointing. "She's swinging from an apple tree in the background."
"I figured it would be a girl," said May.
A classified advertisement caught her attention on the back side of the newspaper page dangling forgotten between Bonnie's fingers.
Fine-Arts Fencing Character! Confidence! Self-Control! Tap your potential! Get fit! Most of all have fun! Come learn the fine-art of fencing! Instructions in foil, epee, saber. Certified instructor, Roberta Fortune. Call: (207) 555-1887
She heard Bonnie start talking again as May plucked the clipping from her loose fingered grasp. "Such an intelligent looking man! Bit of a cuddly, teddy-bear type by the look of him. I like them that way, myself. You know, he kind of reminds me of my brother Harvey. Doesn't he look just a little bit like Uncle Harvey, dear?"
"You know, Mom, it's funny, but now that you mention it, he does. Maybe we should do one of those family trees sometime. Who knows? He might be some long, lost uncle or something."
"That would be kind of a fun project for us," said Bonnie starting up the stairs. "I'm going to go change. These control top pantyhose are killing me."
Sheila nudged May's arm with her elbow and said, "I see Aunt Cora didn't waste any time fattening him up."
May nodded and smiled. "Indeed."
