by Kelly Wacker
“Have a good night.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
The bartender raised her eyebrows and smiled at Melissa, her gaze lingering a little longer than it needed to.
Melissa smiled to herself as she left the restaurant and walked back to her car. The bartender might be too young for her, but at age forty, she didn’t mind feeling like she could still turn a head. Her house was only a few minutes away from the restaurant, but the aroma rising from the paper sack was irresistible. While driving, she snuck a few hot fries out of the bag and ate them carefully, trying not to burn her tongue.
By the time she pulled into her driveway and then under the carport in the back of her yard, the sun was beginning to set. As she got out of the car, she looked up to see crepuscular rays shooting from behind a large cumulous cloud. The edges of the cloud were golden, and the sky above was turquoise, complementary warm and cool colors. It looked like something in a Baroque ceiling fresco.
“Hey, Melissa!”
Her neighbor, sitting in a lawn chair in his backyard smoking a short cigar with a beer in his hand, shook her from her reverie. It was his nightly ritual, and she suspected that his wife demanded that he complete it outside. She suddenly felt self-conscious.
“Oh, hello, Stan. The sky is really beautiful, isn’t it?”
Stan, a Georgia State football T-shirt stretched tight across his pot belly, didn’t seem to give much thought to nature. He looked up at the sky a little skeptically.
“Yeah, sure is.”
Melissa grabbed the paper sack and her bag, nodded to Stan, and headed for the house.
“Have a nice night.”
“Yeah. You, too.”
Stan took a swig of beer from the bottle and looked back up at the sky, as if wondering what exactly she was looking at.
Inside, Melissa dropped her things onto the counter and quickly poured some food into Alex’s bowl. The big gray tabby had been talking to her, complaining, as soon as she put the key in the lock. While he crunched away on the kibble, she grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and took the sack to her back deck. It was screened, and because of the curtains she’d hung for privacy, she didn’t have to see or be seen by Stan or any of her other neighbors if she didn’t want to. She practically lived on the deck for many months out of the year until it was either too cold, or too hot and humid, to enjoy being outside.
She lit a small oil lamp on a table and sat in a wicker chair, slowly eating her burger and fries while sipping her beer. In the growing twilight she could still see the outline of her garden. Knowing that she would be gone from mid to late summer, she hadn’t put in a vegetable garden, as she usually did over spring break. Instead she’d planted rows of crimson clover and sunflowers, plants that were good for the soil and wildlife and would help keep the weeds at bay while she was gone.
As the sky darkened, fireflies began to rise out of the clover. Blinking slowly and emitting a greenish-yellow light, they flew erratically into the branches of the tall pecan and elm trees, looking like tiny stars in the night sky.
Not having a vegetable garden this summer reminded her of her ex, Teresa, who had no interest whatsoever in gardening. Melissa should have taken that as a warning sign that the relationship wouldn’t work out.
“What’s the point of doing all that work when you can just go to the store or a farmers’ market and get the same thing?” Teresa had argued. As Melissa discovered, Teresa didn’t like getting her hands dirty, and she didn’t like being sweaty, unless it involved sex. Melissa realized, for the first time, that the only thing she really missed about Teresa now was the sex.
A scampering sound caught Melissa’s attention. Alex came running through the open kitchen doorway, probably chasing something, a fly perhaps. Wild-eyed, he launched himself on to the screen and started to climb it.
“Oh, no you don’t, mister!”
Melissa jumped up, grabbing him before he could tear a hole in the screen, and let him drop onto the decking floor. Seeming unperturbed, he ran back into the house, presumably after the fly. She picked up her bottle and carried it into the garden. A glowing firefly hovered in front of her, and she watched it ascend slowly, her gaze going beyond it to the stars visible in a narrow window between the edges of tree branches. She spotted the tip of the tail of Ursa Major, the Big Bear or, as her grandmother had taught her to call it, the Sky Bear. She could hardly wait until she was back in the western landscape with unfettered views of the vast night sky that would allow her to see the bear in its entirety.
Chapter Two
“Hey, Beth. Come on in!” Melissa had just taken a shower and was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and had a towel wrapped around her head.
“Oh, are we too early?” Beth stepped in, followed by her eight-year-old daughter, Emma.
“It’s not a problem. Just give me just a minute to deal with my hair. There’s coffee in the kitchen if you want some. Emma, would you like some chocolate soy milk? That is, if it’s okay with your mom.”
Emma flashed a toothy grin at her mother.
“A small glass,” Beth said.
“You know where everything is. Help yourself.” Melissa nodded toward the kitchen and went back to her bathroom and finished drying her hair and put on a little makeup. As she walked back to the living room, she heard Emma talking to Alex. When she turned the corner, she found Emma seated on the couch. The tabby was curled in her lap. Beth sat in an armchair sipping coffee and watching them.
“Good Lord, that cat loves you, Emma. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“He’s so sweet,” Emma cooed at him, drawing out the words. She petted him in long strokes from the top of his head to his tail. Every time her hand hovered over his head, he bumped it with his nose and ran his cheek across her palm.
“I appreciate you being willing to take him home with you while I’m gone. Six weeks is a long time to leave him alone. You really don’t mind?”
“Look at that love fest.” Beth tilted her head toward Emma. “We’ve already gone on our summer vacation, and I told Emma that if she takes really good care of Alex like she says she will, we’ll look for a kitten after you get back.”
Emma’s face lit up. “I’m going to take great care of him!”
“I bet you will. Hey, why don’t you stay here with Alex while I show your mom how the garden gets watered?” Melissa said.
“Okay.” Emma turned her attention back to the purring tabby.
Walking around the yard, Melissa pointed out the new soaker hoses running through all the flowerbeds and explained that they were attached to programmable timers at the front and back spigots. She showed Beth how they worked and told her that, unless it rained too much or too little, she probably wouldn’t need to adjust them. “But you should check on them to make sure they’re working right.”
Beth nodded and pushed her sunglasses down her nose, squinting at Melissa in concentration. “Something’s different about you. Did you get highlights in your hair?”
“No. It’s still the same mix of my father’s blond and my mother’s chestnut.” Melissa ran her fingers through her shoulder-length hair. “I got a haircut last week.”
“It suits you.” Beth smiled, pushing her dark glasses back up. “Still, something’s different about you. You seem happier than I’ve seen you in months.”
“I finished putting my tenure application together yesterday.”
“Good for you, getting it done early. I’m impressed. But it still seems like something more than that.”
“Well…” Melissa stared at a fuzzy mason bee searching a nearby coneflower for nectar. “I’ll be in Colorado for six weeks. I’m pretty excited about that.”
“Maybe that’s what it is…” Beth searched Melissa’s face. “I was wondering if you’d met someone.”
“You mean you were hoping I had. But no,” Melissa said with a dry laugh. “In this town? The pond is small, and the lesbian fish are few.”
“There is such a th
ing as online dating, honey. And Atlanta’s not that far away.” Beth arched an eyebrow.
Beth had a point. Buck Springs, Georgia, home of Dreighton College, had less than twenty thousand people living in it. In contrast, several million people lived in the Atlanta Metro area, which was over an hour away. Some faculty actually lived in the suburbs and made long commutes, about which they usually complained. Melissa had considered doing that when she first took the job but decided she didn’t want to spend hours of her life every day driving.
“Or are you just not over Teresa?”
“Ouch, Beth.”
“It’s true, isn’t it? Some little part of you thinks she’s going to come back.”
“No. I know she isn’t. She went to Asheville to escape from here, and from me. I know that.”
“I think it was less about you and more about here,” Beth said. “Don’t get me wrong. I think y’all were a great couple, but she didn’t seem ready for a long-term relationship, and she wanted a new view.”
“Clearly.” Melissa touched the stems of a lavender plant to release its fragrance. She loved its scent.
“Still bitter, I see.” Beth looked at her sideways.
“What’s not to be bitter about?” Melissa tried not to let a sharp edge creep into her voice. “I really loved her, and I thought we were a good thing.”
“You were a good thing,” Beth said gently. “But sometimes situations change, and you forget that she grew up around here. The appeal of experiencing another place was, well, appealing.”
“You’re defending her.”
“No. I just understand her. You know I was raised in Marengo County, Alabama, knee deep in kudzu and miles from a town that had only one stoplight. I couldn’t wait to get out into the world. I know that itch.” Beth paused and looked at Melissa with a gentle expression. “But that doesn’t mean I approve of her breaking your heart, you stuffy old art historian.”
“Me? Old? Stuffy? Oh, no, has it happened already? I haven’t even gotten tenure yet.” Melissa appreciated Beth’s attempt to make her laugh and responded to their old joke by patting herself all over dramatically. “I’ll never get a date now!”
Melissa had first met Beth when she was carrying a box of books into Fulton Hall. Fresh out of grad school, she was moving into her new office when she bumped into Beth, a recently tenured professor of graphic design. Beth introduced herself and had joked that she was glad to have gotten rid of the stuffy old art historian in exchange for a fresh one. Melissa warned her that she might become the next stuffy old art historian if things worked out and she was awarded tenure. Beth replied that she hoped to be retired before that happened and then clarified that she meant the stuffy part, not the tenured part. They’d both laughed. Over time Melissa had come to rely on her for both professional and personal advice, and more recently, when she needed a shoulder to cry on.
Beth put her hand on Melissa’s shoulder. “Give it time, honey. The right one will come along.”
“So you say.” Melissa sighed and shrugged. “Let’s go back inside before it gets any hotter.”
As they walked up the deck stairs, Beth gestured toward a flowerbed brimming with salvia, echinacea, butterfly weed, and day lilies—all in full bloom. “Your yard is always so pretty. Won’t you miss it?”
Melissa paused on the steps and thought about the possibility for a moment. “Yes. But I’ll get to exchange this for cool mountain meadows of foxglove, lupine, and columbines.”
“Hm. Good point.”
Melissa led Beth back inside and removed a printed note tacked to the refrigerator with a magnet. It listed her parents’ contact information in case she had a problem and couldn’t reach Melissa. There was also information about feeding Alex.
“Please follow the instructions. The last time I was out of town for two weeks, my house sitter overfed him. Don’t let Emma overdo the treats.”
“I promise not to feed him too much,” Emma said, walking into the kitchen. She cradled Alex in her arms like a baby.
“Thank you, Emma. It’s for Alex’s own good. He’ll live a longer, healthier life,” Melissa said and rubbed the cat between his ears.
Emma nodded and stared at the kitchen table.
Beth turned to see what had gotten her daughter’s attention. “Are those maps?”
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t you just use your phone like the rest of the modern world?”
“I could and I do, but I like to plan my road trip with an atlas.”
You’re so old fashioned…” Beth playfully nudged Melissa with her elbow. “Stuffy old art historian.”
“Ha. What can I say? I like to see the big picture. Out West, sometimes you don’t have cell service.” Melissa noticed that Emma was regarding them with curiosity. It was like she’d never seen a paper map before. Considering Beth’s response, maybe she hadn’t. Melissa flipped the atlas open to the two-page complete map of the interstate system and put her finger down north of Atlanta and then again north of Denver. “I’ll start here and end up there. I’ve made this trip several times, so the map is really more of a reminder.”
Emma put Alex down and looked more closely. “You’re going to drive all by yourself?”
“Yes. I’m looking forward to it. I can’t wait to hit the open road.”
“That sounds rather romantic,” Beth said.
“It is.” Melissa grinned at Beth. “And old fashioned. But definitely not stuffy. There’s something about leaving town, getting away from it all—something about having my hands on the wheel and the wind in my hair, though I don’t have a convertible. I’ll be keeping the windows up and the air-conditioning on.”
“We would die without air-conditioning,” Emma said.
Beth rolled her eyes at her eight-year-old’s dramatic proclamation, and Melissa laughed but couldn’t help but agree with her. Southern summer heat and humidity were brutal.
“You’re leaving Friday, right?” Beth asked.
“Yes. I’ll head out early. I’ll feed Alex before I go, so you don’t need to come over to get him until later in the day.” As if on cue, Alex hopped up onto the table, strutted across it with his tail straight up, and then sat down in the middle of the open atlas.
“I read somewhere that when a cat sits on whatever you’re reading or writing, they’re blessing it.” Beth reached out to pet Alex.
He began to bathe himself and pointed a back leg, yoga-like, up toward the ceiling. Melissa gestured to him with a nod. “Well then, I’ll take that as a good omen.”
When Melissa gave Beth the house key, her friend seemed to intuitively understand that she still had many things to do before leaving town. She gave Melissa a hug and wished her a safe trip. While crossing the porch, Emma again promised to take good care of Alex. Melissa sensed she was going to work hard for the promised kitten.
Closing the door behind them, Melissa walked across the living room, stopping in front of the paintings hanging there. These Rocky Mountain landscapes were the subject of her new research project, the one she’d put on hold while she worked on publications derived from her dissertation that were necessary to be awarded tenure. It was a uniquely personal project. She’d received them as part of her inheritance from her grandmother. They were painted by the same artist who had neatly signed her name, Ursula Bergen, on the back of each canvas. Aside from a name that Melissa was able to connect to the town of Buckhorn, she was an unknown artist. Melissa longed to find out who she was and to give her paintings a place, even if a small one, in the history of art.
The two larger canvases, each roughly sixteen by twenty inches, hung together on a wall above a long, low bookcase. She’d considered putting them in different rooms, the way her grandmother had, but it seemed like they should be companions. They didn’t depict the same place, but they balanced each other compositionally. The same color palette had been used in both, and the pattern of the brushwork was consistent. Likely they had been painted around the same time—eithe
r that or Ursula was a very consistent painter.
Melissa had spent a lot of time scrutinizing the paintings, engaged in what art historians called “slow looking.” Ursula had mixed her colors from a restrained palette of Naples yellow, cadmium yellow, ultramarine, and cerulean warmed and darkened with ochre, or tinted and highlighted with titanium white. Melissa also detected traces of cadmium red, a pigment invented in the nineteenth century and beloved of modern and contemporary artists for its intensity.
In most areas, Ursula used a type of brush called a bright, its bristles short and square and capable of being loaded heavily with thick paint. Melissa could see how Ursula had manipulated the brush, pulling the paint in long, straight strokes, zigzags, or short strokes made in quick succession. Highlights and details revealed where she had used a brush with a pointed tip, known as a round. Sometimes the paint was laid in with pressure, forcing paint out along the sides of the brush, creating little ridges of impasto. These ridges, in addition to the lively brushwork, added a sense of vivacity to the paintings, bringing them to life.
The painting on the left showed a meadow with rounded, cool-hued boulders in the foreground. One boulder was cracked, a rangy pine tree growing from the cleft in it. Its branches curved, drawing the viewer’s eye from the left edge of the painting to the golden meadow in the center. A large log building with a steeply pitched roof sat between several boulders. Was it a house? Or perhaps it was a lodge for a camp of some kind. Melissa wasn’t sure, but it didn’t look like a modest homesteader’s cabin. The bluish mountain peaks in the distance still had a little snow on them—as expected in the high country in mid to late summer. The sky was clear blue and dotted with a few small cumulus clouds.
While the image of the meadow was bucolic, the painting on the right captured a very different scene—a mountain river, white and raging from a passing storm, cascading from the upper right to the lower left corner of the painting. Turbid water rushed over rocks and over the trunk of a splintered fallen tree, the torn bark revealing bright heartwood underneath, a fresh wound. Although threatening dark clouds hovered in the distance, everything was bathed in a warm light, and the sunlight that broke through the clouds highlighted two owl-shaped rocks, seemingly sitting side by side, in the distance.
