Watching my dad walk into the loft on the third floor is as close to performance art as I’ve ever seen. He crosses the threshold, puts his toolbox down, and then he performs a sort of ballet as he’s pulled in one direction, then the other before he virtually leaps toward the window.
Emmie and Beau share glances that make me think they’re trying to discern whether or not they should call 911. “Dad,” I begin, hoping I can bring him back into reality so he’s not quite so freaky to watch.
Alas, my one-word plea is to no avail. He starts to shake his hands like he’s wielding invisible castanets and says, “No, no, no, no, no … no talking!” Then he lies down on the floor, as close to the window as he can, and stares up into the sky until the three of us are really uncomfortable. Well, I am. Long moments pass before he finally declares, “This is it. This is where I have to be.”
Beau looks at me, clearly concerned for my gene pool, and asks, “Why does he have to be here? And more importantly, how long does he have to be here?”
My dad springs to his feet like a fully wound jack-in-the-box and answers, “I need to be here until I don’t need to be here. It could be months, years!”
“Sir,” Beau starts to explain, “this is our model condominium. We can’t have you inhabiting it while we’re trying to sell it.”
Bertie starts to look panicky. “But I have to be here!”
“How about if I show you the other units? They have the same light and the same view, but they’re not finished yet. Maybe we could rent one of those to you for a while.”
My dad doesn’t look sold on the idea, but he responds, “Show me now. Show me before the light changes.”
As Dad retrieves his toolbox, I hear Beau nervously ask Emmie, “Is he sane?”
She answers, “Not in the least, which is why he’s a famous artist. But don’t worry, he’s totally safe.”
Her cousin doesn’t look convinced, but he leads the way to the other units anyway. After comparing them, some two and three times over, my dad eventually declares that he’ll take the corner one.
Beau gives him a ridiculously low quote to rent the space for three months, and another price if it turns into longer; Bertie insists that he’ll need the place for as long as he needs it, leading Beau to give me a look which asks me to interpret my father’s response. I can’t. I’m too preoccupied wondering what my mom is going to make of this behavior. I guarantee she won’t be happy.
Once Beau leaves to draw up a lease agreement, Emmie offers, “Bertie, you’re more than welcome to stay at my mom’s house with us.”
He looks alarmed at the thought. “I have to stay here. I have to be here night and day so when inspiration hits, I can work.” He gazes out the window and adds, “Winter on the water, who knew that’s what I needed?”
Emmie is aware that my dad keeps some pretty strange hours while he paints. She asks, “Can I help you find a bed and some furniture?”
He shakes his head. “I’ll pick up an air mattress and maybe some jars for my brushes.” He adds, “I need to know where the nearest art store is, so I can get busy building my canvases.”
I’m glad there was an unfinished unit because I know firsthand the mess Bertie is about to make. The weathered face of the fortune-teller pops into my thoughts. My life is changing in the most unexpected ways, and for the first time, I’m a bit worried I might not be able to handle them.
Chapter 20
I decide to rent a car while I’m here. My dad is going to need stuff and he doesn’t know how to drive, so someone has to run errands for him. Bertie never paints on small canvases, so I’ll probably get an SUV or minivan to haul the supplies he’ll need to build his frames.
I tell Emmie that I have no idea when I’ll be done but suggest it’ll probably be late tonight. We have to rent him a refrigerator and pick up some basic kitchenware, as well as bedding, toiletries, and clothes.
She gives Bertie some names of restaurants in the area where he can get breakfast and lunch but has suggested he eat his evening meal with us. Of course, that will depend solely on where he is in his painting.
He tells her, “Sweet Emmeline, you may not see me often enough to even know I’m in town.” It’s the truth he speaks. My dad is very hermit-like while he’s in the process of creating.
“I’ll enjoy every encounter,” she promises kindly before going back to work.
As Bertie and I walk to pick up the rental car, I realize I haven’t told Emmie about seeing the house today. I’ve been otherwise occupied by the arrival of my dad, who I currently address, “You know this is crazy, right?”
He nods his head. “I do. I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to Regina, but she knows me well enough to understand that I need to be where I say I need to be.”
I hope she’s as understanding as he thinks she’ll be. Historically, my mom makes most of the big decisions in our family and I can’t see her taking this one in stride.
Bertie says, “I’m glad you learned how to drive. Your mom and I didn’t think you’d ever need to, but it’s sure going to come in handy now.” He’s correct. But being that I haven’t driven a car in over five years, we’re going to have to stick to streets with lower speed limits. I don’t think I’d be comfortable going any faster than thirty miles an hour.
I figure with my dad being so high on Missouri, now’s the time to tell him about going through the old Frothingham house. “Beau showed me a house I’m interested in buying,” I bravely announce.
Bertie stops dead in his tracks and turns to look at me. “I’m sorry, what did you say? My mind’s wandering a bit.” So, I repeat myself. My dad tilts his head to the side like he’s trying to translate my words. “Do you want to live here because of the light?” he finally asks.
While I feel like this might be the only reason he’d accept, I decide to go for the truth and say, “I fell in love with the house. It was one of the first houses in Missouri used in the Underground Railroad.”
“Really?” he exclaims. “That’s fabulous! I can’t wait to see it.” I have no idea who this man is and what he’s done with my real father, but I figure we’ll both have an easier time of breaking things to my mom if we’re a united front, so I hop on board the crazy train with him, grateful he seems open to my newfound goal.
“I’ll drive you by after we’re done shopping. How does that sound?”
“That’s probably the best time,” he agrees. “I’ll be too busy stretching and treating canvases after that.”
While I can tell my dad is a tiny bit nervous about being outside of New York City, he’s mostly so excited that he buzzes around various stores like a seven-year-old on a sugar rush. Man, when he crashes, he’s going to go down hard.
After finding an art supply store and making the necessary purchases for him to build canvases, we hit Goodwill for kitchen items. Bertie thinks it would be a waste to spend money to buy new things as he’ll only be here for a finite amount of time. He announces, “I need one of everything. One plate, one glass, one mug, one set of silverware.”
“What if I come over?” I ask.
“Fine, we’ll get two of everything,” he says.
“What if Mom comes down some weekend?” I wonder. But before he can answer, we both start laughing hysterically. There’s no way my mom is ever going to visit my dad while he’s here. In fact, if they see each other at all, he’ll be the one who has to travel. This is untrod territory in the life of Lambertos Blake. Things are bound to get interesting for him.
We eventually get four of everything in case Emmie and her mom happen to stop by, despite Bertie’s warnings that he’s here to work, not socialize.
We stop at the grocery store to get a few items that don’t need refrigeration. Dad’s rental refrigerator has been scheduled to be delivered tomorrow, so we’ll have to shop again after that. Once we have everything, I drive us over to Millionaire’s Row. I pull up in front of the house and Bertie lets himself out of the car and starts to wander
the property. He doesn’t even look at the house.
He stops and stares at the huge oak trees, lies down under a weeping willow, and then moves to stare up at the sky while sitting in the gazebo. After nearly thirty minutes of this behavior, I call him up onto the porch where I’ve been waiting. “So, what do you think?” I ask.
“I think it’s the most beautiful park I’ve ever seen,” he says in awe.
“Dad, it’s not a park, this would be my yard,” I explain. His brain must be on overload.
“People live like this?” he asks with such confusion that I have to laugh.
“I think this is a little beyond how most people live, but yes, this is all part of the property I want to buy.”
“Did you win the lottery or something?” he wants to know. When I tell him the asking price, he slumps down on the steps next to me with his mouth hanging wide open, seemingly unable to speak.
When he finds his words, he says, “Your mother is going to be so mad at us.”
“Yes, she is,” I agree. “We have to figure out a way to get her down to visit while you’re here.”
“I thought about that the whole plane ride here.”
“Did you come up with anything?” I ask.
He shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve got a couple things cooking away in the old hopper. I’ll let you know when something comes together. In the meantime, I better turn my phone back on. I’m pretty sure Regina has been trying to call me for the last couple of hours.”
This really is a new Bertie. Turning off his phone to avoid talking to Mom is not something he’s ever done before, well, that I know of. Once he’s powered it up, he shows me his voicemail icon and I see that he has twenty-eight messages. We both know every last one of them is from my mother.
Chapter 21
Dad plays my mom’s messages on speaker while we drive back to his new digs. They start out concerned and escalate from there. They begin with her calling from work and extend to twenty minutes ago.
Message one: Hi, Bertie, I’m heading home and thought I’d pick up some Vietnamese for dinner. Let me know what you want.
Message two: I ordered you the Bánh tằm cà ri and I got the Bún ốc, we can share.
Message three: Bertie, where are you? I just got home and you’re not here.
Message four: You’re in Missouri?! What in the hell were you thinking? When will you be back?
The messages deteriorate from there into total and complete outrage that my dad isn’t returning her calls.
Message twenty-eight: I contacted the airlines and found out that your plane arrived safely, therefore you’d better be in the hospital. That is the ONLY excuse for you not returning my calls I can accept. But if you’re not dead and you deign to call me back, you should know that I’m not speaking to you.”
Oh boy, this is going to be fun … Not. I ask my dad, “Do you want me to talk to her for you?” Not that I want to do any such thing, but as I’ve mentioned before, I don’t mind fighting with my mom.
He shakes his head. “Want privacy?” I’m not sure I want to witness this.
“I might need you.” He waits for me to nod before he hits redial. I start to sweat. As expected, my mom doesn’t answer. She lets the call go into voicemail. My dad says, “Honey, it’s the lighting. I had to see it for myself. I know it’s upsetting that I left like I did, but the spirit moved me, and I had to go. I’ve rented a place in the building Lexi sent pictures of and I’m going to paint my new series here. I hope you understand. Please call me. I love you.”
“Do you think she will?” I ask.
“Not sure. It’ll probably be a few days, if she does. This is going to be a lot for her to process.”
“And you’re okay with that?” I ask.
“I’m not exactly happy about it, but if I ignore my inspiration, I might as well get a job flipping burgers somewhere.” He continues, “Creativity is a divine gift. It doesn’t make sense and it can’t be controlled. As such, my only options are to accept it or not. I decided long ago that I would always accept it.”
It takes us the better part of an hour to unload my dad’s supplies and get them put away. The sun has already set so he’s not distracted by the lighting, but as I predicted, his energy rush is subsiding.
“You want to go out for dinner?” I ask. “We can eat downstairs at Filene’s.” Emmie said that if we wanted great steaks and were in the mood to spend money, we should try their location on the pier, but if we were in the market for sandwiches and the like, we should try their restaurant downstairs.
Dad tilts his head to the side in his signature thinking pose. “I kind of want Vietnamese now that your mom mentioned it.”
I look at the list of restaurants that Emmie left and surprise, surprise, there’s no Vietnamese food on it. “We can have Italian, American, diner food, or Chinese. Those are our only options.”
My dad sighs. “Okay, let’s go downstairs.”
Filene’s Factory, the name of their restaurant in this building, is the only business still open on the first floor. We’re seated at a window booth with a view of the street.
My dad, who’s been remarkably quiet for the last several minutes, declares, “I like the vibe of this town.” He’s quick to add, “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t feel safe yet, but there’s a positive energy here that’s hard to ignore.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I say, “because I’m going to put an offer in on the house I showed you.” I’ve decided that my dad turning up unexpectedly is a positive sign. After all, if this isn’t an unexpected event, nothing is.
Before you think I’m a complete rube believing in psychic phenomenon, this is a rather new development. I’ve never had a dog jump over me before, so when one did at the exact age I was told to expect it, I figure there might be something to the rest of the prediction.
My dad replies, “I was barely starting to wrap my head around you living in Atlanta for a while. I didn’t like the idea, but I was adjusting to it.”
“What do you think about me moving here instead?” I ask.
He nods his head, “I like it. There’s something about it that feels right.” Then he grimaces, “Your mom is going to be fit to be tied.”
Before I can make a comment one way or the other, Beau and Shelby walk in to the restaurant. My dad spots them and stands up immediately. He flags them down by calling out, “Beau, come join us!”
I pray they won’t, but Beau steers Shelby toward our table to say hello. He shakes my dad’s hand and asks, “Are you settling in okay, Bertie?”
My dad smiles brightly. “I am. I can hardly wait to see what the morning light is going to be like.” He quivers in anticipation.
Beau is being very nice to my dad.. He says, “I’d like you to meet my girl … I mean, my friend … I mean Shelby.” He turns to Shelby who so far hasn’t said a word. She doesn’t look particularly happy to be here.
My dad effuses, “I’m very pleased to meet you.” He takes Shelby’s hand between both of his and doesn’t so much shake it as squeeze it.
She forces a sad smile and says, “Thank you. I’m happy to meet you, as well.” Then she turns to me and greets, “Lexi, it’s nice to see you again.” I don’t think she really means it, but she’s trying. The poor girl is clearly going through something.
My dad motions toward our table and says, “Please join us. Lexi and I would both like to learn more about Creek Water.”
Beau looks surprised by the invitation and seems on the verge of declining it when Shelby sits down next to my dad. I guess she’s made the decision for them.
Beau appears paralyzed about what to do next. He can either join us or make a run for it. He seems to be weighing his options closely. He finally scoots in next to me, but settles so far away I’m pretty sure he has one butt cheek hanging off the edge of the seat.
My dad doesn’t seem to be aware of the uncomfortable undercurrents going on and starts to chatter like a magpie. The rest of us sit quietly
and let him.
Chapter 22
Once Beau answers about a thousand questions, Bertie points between him and Shelby and asks, “So, how long have you two been seeing each other?” He might as well have asked them to strip naked while doing the hokey pokey.
Beau falters slightly before answering, “We’ve been together on and off for several months.”
“We were pregnant and then lost the baby. We weren’t together at the time,” Shelby adds. Talk about oversharing.
You gotta love my dad, though. Social cues aren’t something he altogether understands, so while most people would have changed the subject to less emotional ground, he jumps in with both feet and empathizes, “Regina, Lexi’s mom, and I had two miscarriages. They were brutal.” He continues, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Tears come to Shelby’s eyes and she mumbles, “Thank you. I’m pretty torn up over it.”
My dad says, “Losing a pregnancy isn’t only hard emotionally, there’s a physical toll, as well.”
Shelby starts full on bawling now. Bertie pats her hand and asks, “Are you talking to someone about what you’re going through? Regina met with a therapist for a while and it really helped her. Her doctor prescribed some supplements.”
Shelby shakes her head. “My mama would die of embarrassment if I went to a therapist. Beau and I talk about it some, though.”
Beau is sitting so rigidly, he looks like he’s got a stick up his backside. This is clearly not a conversation he’s comfortable having in front of us. He says, “I didn’t find out about the pregnancy until right before it ended, so I didn’t have as much time to bond with the idea as Shelby had.”
Bertie shakes his head. “Son, society underrates the mourning a man goes through when a baby is lost. I’m glad you and Shelby have each other to lean on.” Oh, terrific, my dad is endorsing their relationship, which clearly means that I need to stop feeling this attraction. Beau has run so hot and cold around me I can only assume my reaction to him is chemical. The problem is, I’m not sure how to make that go away.
The Move (The Creek Water Series Book 2) Page 9
