The Hawk: Part Two

by Anna Scott Graham

  In late January, Stanford visited the Snyders, and was shown that first painting of Eric’s new series. Sam had been correct; after viewing Eric’s interpretation of Lynne, Stanford forgot all about the blue barn, ruing the show that hadn’t occurred last fall. But this series would be months from completion, Eric noted, as Stanford remained mesmerized by the poppies and tulips, the river and forest. Stanford had enough tact not to stare at Lynne when she brought the coffee, but as she walked away, the dealer couldn’t help but watch her leave, her brown hair barely reaching the middle of her back. Then he gazed at her lengthy mane on the canvas, his smile wry but appreciative.

  Stanford agreed that Eric’s spring show would incorporate the rest of the nature series, and those done of Lynne last year. Stanford even approved that some of the Ahern and Nolan family portraits should be included, but only the nature series and those of the artist’s wife would be sold. Yet Stanford ached for this masterpiece to be among those canvases, if only to make a statement; Eric was all that Stanford had hoped he would be, and Stanford couldn’t wait to speak to Laurie, wishing he’d accompanied. Lynne had asked about Lawrence, her tone friendly. Eric hadn’t asked, but then Eric had no idea, unless Lynne had said something, and Stanford didn’t think she had. Stanford had a new regard for Eric’s wife, and part of it was how she had permitted her husband to paint her. It was also due to something Stanford couldn’t qualify, which drove him a little nuts. The couple was as devoted as usual, but now that Lynne had quit nursing, something had altered. Stanford allowed it must be from Eric’s absence, the length of which Stanford still wasn’t certain. He hadn’t been able to speak with him since sometime in August, then Eric called him at the beginning of December. Where had he been all those months, Stanford wondered.

  It wasn’t until after pie had been served that Stanford finally learned a reason. The trio had moved into the living room, Eric and Lynne seated together on the sofa, while the dealer reclined in an overstuffed chair across from them. The painting of Lynne was displayed to Stanford’s left, but his eyes were drawn to the couple, then to Eric’s lower limbs. Stanford deftly studied Eric’s left foot, which no longer seemed any different than his right. Had he been away due to reconstructive surgery? Eric had never spoken about such a plan, but maybe his deformity had required care. Stanford had no proof about the origins of that ailment, but he possessed strong suspicions. He cleared his throat, then stood, approaching the portrait of Lynne. Then he smiled. “Next year’s exhibit will cause quite a stir.”

  “Do you think so?” Lynne asked.

  He faced her, then nodded. “Indeed. I’d like to bring Lawrence out here in summer to see this, and perhaps whatever else you’ve managed in the meantime.” Stanford smiled, but his heart raced. He had nearly said Laurie, catching himself at the last second.

  Eric stood, and Stanford observed how Eric didn’t take any extra care, putting his full weight on that left leg. Eric did look thin, but the necessary rehabilitation for such surgery would have been taxing. Then Stanford was puzzled; why had Lynne covered this up? And why had Eric gone away, unless the local doctors weren’t specialists. This town was small, but not tiny.

  “I’d be happy for Lawrence to see this one, and the rest.” Eric smiled, joining Stanford.

  “There are more?”

  Lynne giggled. “Goodness yes.”

  “Several already.” Eric chuckled. “God only knows how many’ll be stacked up when you manage to return.”

  Stanford maintained his composure, but he felt a giddy rush. “Well, that’s wonderful. Shall I schedule an exhibit for autumn?”

  “Yes, you probably should. That way it won’t come as a surprise.” Eric smiled, then patted Stanford’s shoulder. “But don’t count on any hawks. I think I’m through that phase.”

  Stanford laughed. “Oh really?” He peered at the painting’s upper right corner. Eric always put a little hawk there, signing his name in the lower left corner. But no hawk marked this landscape, which at first glance, and second glance, was of the most fertile fields Stanford had ever seen. The brushstrokes were mostly wide swathes of vibrant color, but Eric’s eye for detail showed in his wife’s scarlet poppy mouth and her pink tulip nipples. This painting could be linked with the nature series that would be exhibited in March, yet it wasn’t comparable with what Eric had painted of Lynne last year. This was the work of true genius, but not of a madman. Wherever Eric had been last summer and fall, Stanford didn’t care. Lynne was at her husband’s side, and Eric was besotted. Happy painters created masterpieces too, Stanford accepted, then he gazed at Eric’s left foot. He wanted to ask, but would refrain. Lynne might turn the tables on him.

  After another twenty minutes of conversation, Lynne said her goodnights, but encouraged the men to stay up as long as they wished. Eric threw more wood on the fire, and Stanford relaxed in his chair as Lynne didn’t even let Eric walk her to their bedroom. Once she closed the door Stanford sat up, eying the fire, the painting, then the artist. Eric looked slightly bereft, then he smiled. “Yes?”

  “Just noticing how happy you are, even if she’s already gone to bed.”

  Eric wore a small smile, tapping his left foot, and Stanford wondered if Eric would reveal his whereabouts. But Eric said nothing, although he did get up, walking to the painting. “I gave her a good scare when I started this; she had no idea what I was planning.”

  Stanford chuckled. “I imagine so.”

  Eric nodded, then looked at his dealer. “Things are changing. No more hawks, and perhaps more of my wife than this.” Then Eric laughed. “It’s gonna be a busy spring. We’re having the house renovated, did she tell you about that while I was gone?”

  Stanford shook his head, suppressing his smile. “She never said a thing.”

  Eric nodded. “Yeah, in April, we’re adding a sunroom, right over there.” He pointed to the wall behind the painting. “And two more bedrooms upstairs. We’re also adding onto the kitchen, and putting a bathroom down here too.” Eric smiled. “Just a toilet and sink. We’re not that decadent.”

  Stanford smiled. “And you’ll be in the studio while all the racket’s made.”

  “Lynne and I both,” Eric chuckled.

  “It’s good that she’s home, I mean….” Stanford considered his words. “She complements you so well. And she’s a fantastic model.”

  Both men smiled, gazing at the canvas. “I’ve wanted to paint her for….” Eric sighed, then sat on the edge of the sofa. “Since we met. But that wasn’t something she was comfortable with, and besides, hawks were in fashion then.”

  Eric’s eyebrows shot up, and Stanford shook his head. “Oh well, of course. Everything for hawks. But I don’t see one in this painting. It has become your trademark. Is that changing too?”

  Eric nodded, cracking his knuckles. “I hope that won’t upset the applecart. But no, no more hawks, or very few. And I won’t be putting them in the right corners anymore. I hope my signature will be enough.”

  He stood, then flashed a grin. “I want to paint her, I want….” Eric again faced his painting. “We’ll save these for fall.” He looked at Stanford, a clear intent in Eric’s gaze. Then Stanford stared at Eric; his eyes looked differently too.

  “Uh-huh.” Stanford tried not to gawk, but couldn’t look away for long. Then he cleared his throat. “Well yes, fall will be perfect. However, I’ll start making the arrangements for a March show as soon as I get back.”

  Eric nodded, then stepped into the kitchen, bringing back a chair, which he placed less than two feet from Stanford. Eric sat down, deliberately displaying his left foot. “You noticed it’s different now, I saw you staring at it.”

  Stanford nodded, then met Eric’s gaze. “What happened?”

  Eric took a deep breath. “I had it fixed. But we weren’t assured of the outcome, and I didn’t want you to….” He glanced at the fire, then at his wife’s image. Then he smiled at Stanford. “It was a private matter, but I do apologize for not being mor
e forthcoming.”

  “You don’t need to explain.”

  “Don’t I?” He sat back, then sighed. “There’s much I need to atone for Stanford.” Eric cleared his throat. “So yes, my foot was repaired. A few scars remain but….”

  “Eric, please.”

  The men stared at each other. Stanford wanted to ask if Eric had also done something to his eyes; the color was different, or was it the shape? Or maybe Stanford was exhausted, and needed to call it a night. He missed Laurie, and now wished he had taken seriously his desire to accompany. These jaunts were taxing on them both, and Lynne already suspected something. But did Eric?

  “Stanford, I just want you to know that as far as I’m aware, there won’t be any more sojourns. Or at least nothing that extended. My plan for 1961 is to paint, renovate my house, and putter in my garden. Well, that’ll be after the house is done, God only knows what kind of mess we’ll be left with when the contractors finish.” Eric smiled, then yawned. “Makes me tired talking about it. I might not paint as much as I’d like after they go, too busy trying to sort out the boysenberry vines.”

  Stanford flinched. “You’re not taking them out are you?”

  Eric laughed quietly. “I hope not. By the looks of it, you as well as the Aherns would kill me.”

  Stanford rolled his eyes, then smiled. “I was surprised they weren’t here tonight.”

  “Renee had to work a late shift, and Sam’s not really the social type.”

  “She does do most of the talking.”

  Now Eric laughed out loud. “She’s a fiery gal, indeed. I think it’s her hair, and those eyes, my goodness, she has the most incredible eyes.”

  Stanford nodded, but ached to ask about Eric’s eyes. It seemed the perfect opportunity, but as Eric stood, then stretched, the moment was lost. Or maybe Stanford had let it slip away.

  Eric returned the chair to the kitchen, then he poked at the fire. Flames were low, and he put the grate in front of them. Then he gazed at the canvas. “I wanted to paint Sam and Renee last spring, but didn’t get around to it. Maybe this summer, at their house, if it’s too noisy here. I don’t know if I could do justice to her eyes though.” He smiled at Stanford. “Some elements just can’t be captured.”

  “If anyone could do it, it would be you.”

  Eric nodded. “Maybe. In the meantime, I have paintings to catalog, correct?”

  “Indeed you do.” Stanford took a deep breath. “Anything that you want sold will be snapped up immediately. Not the Ahern portraits of course, but all the landscapes, and those of Lynne.” Stanford wore a thoughtful gaze. “From last year, of course.”

  “Yes, she’s happy with whatever I decide. At the time, I never planned to show or sell them, but I’m in a different phase now. If people want them, wonderful. If no one buys them….”

  Stanford chuckled, rising to his feet. “The hawk lovers will be unhappy, but after last year’s show, an entirely new audience awaits whatever you’re willing to exhibit. And those family portraits will provide an intriguing element. I’m certain there will be inquiries about commissions….”

  Eric shook his head. “I’ll be busy enough with what I have planned.”

  “There are great rewards on that side of it Eric.”

  Stanford’s tone was measured. Not that he wanted Eric to compromise his gift, but once those Ahern pictures were seen, Stanford would receive numerous calls offering exorbitant sums. If Eric so chose, he and Lynne could move from this quaint property and live anywhere in the world. But Eric’s knowing smile, and the slight shake of his head, told Stanford all he needed. “Well, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to disappoint a lot of bluebloods.” Then Eric laughed. “I only paint middle-class Catholics with a minimum of four children per clan. An artist has to draw the line somewhere.”

  Stanford nodded, then wondered if Eric had intentionally added that last caveat. Sam and Renee Ahern had no children at all.

  Eric grew quiet, and Stanford didn’t comment. Then Eric said goodnight, checking that the French doors were locked. He did the same in the kitchen, then waved as he took the stairs, leaving Stanford with the dying fire, and that portrait, which seemed to raise as many questions as it answered.

  Eric spent most of February in close contact with his dealer, but Stanford never asked any personal questions. When Eric wasn’t on the phone, he was painting, or was in bed with Lynne. She had eased into the role of housewife and artist’s model, but when Renee was off work, the women went to lunch or shopped, as Eric no longer had time to buy the groceries, and Sam was busy as well. Sometimes he joined Eric at the Snyders, if their wives were out, but the men’s conversations weren’t about more than Sam’s hopes for the Red Sox, and his family’s curiosity as to how their portraits would be considered next month in New York City.

  Over half of Sam’s family had permitted their paintings to be shown, only a few of the Nolans. Fran had used her influence, but Renee’s relatives were more skittish. Eric mentioned that he wanted to paint Sam and Renee; he hadn’t realized the other significance of his statement to Stanford at the time, but now it grated on him. But Sam wasn’t receptive to Eric’s request. “God only knows how Renee and I’d look,” Sam said.

  “Well, I wouldn’t paint you as American Gothic,” Eric smiled, seated in the kitchen, coffee and pie between the men.

  Sam laughed, then leaned back, patting his gut. “I’m bald enough, but too fat. And Renee’s hair isn’t right. Plus I don’t have coveralls or a pitchfork or….”

  “Your day will come, Sam Ahern.” Eric’s tone was jovial. He wouldn’t press Sam, just as he had outlasted Lynne’s reservations. “You and Renee both.”

  “Paint her first, I dare you to get her eyes right.”

  Eric nodded. “Stanford and I were talking about that last month. She’s a daunting subject, I’ll tell you.”

  “Try being married to her,” Sam drawled.

  “That’s your job,” Eric laughed.

  A moment of quiet gave them a chance to finish their pie, and the coffee. Sam collected the dirty plates, but Eric waved him off. “Just sit. Lynne’ll give me hell if she comes home and finds you did the dishes.”

  “Renee would give me hell if I didn’t do them.”

  They laughed, then Eric nodded. “Sam, thanks, I mean, for talking to Fran. And the rest of your family. I’d loved to have had more Nolans in the show, but at least I’ll have a chunk of your relatives.”

  Sam smiled. “Between Frannie and our folks, I think everybody’s arm got twisted. Not sure what the New York crowd will make of it, but it’ll be interesting.”

  “Did I tell you Lynne and I are going to the opening?”

  Sam shook his head. “Really? Stanford put you up to it?”

  “Well, he gently nagged until I agreed. Besides, Lynne’s schedule is free. I wouldn’t go without her.”

  “Have you been to New York before?”

  “Yeah, years ago, when Stanford became my dealer.” Eric smiled. “But that was enough to hold me for a while.”

  “But it’s different now, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it is. And when I show the new series in fall….” Eric paused. “That’ll change everything.”

  Sam nodded. “Will you, I mean, you’re not moving anytime soon, are you?”

  Eric laughed. “Not after everything we’re gonna do to the house. God, I hope I sell out, it’ll pay for the renovations.”

  Sam smiled. “Is that all right, becoming so, well, famous?”

  Eric sighed, then looked around the room. “It’s not something I can change. I didn’t assume it would happen like this, the painting, or anything else.” He stood, then gathered the coffee cups, putting them in the sink. Then Eric leaned against the counter. “Sometimes I wonder what my mother would say. She always loved my drawings, but never got to see any of my paintings. I didn’t start that until college.”

  “And then you made up for lost time.”

  Eric nodded. “I just wante
d to, hell, I wanted to do something worthwhile, something beautiful. And I was good at it, I won’t say otherwise. Then I met Lynne, and everything fell into place, with her and the work and….” He smiled. “Stanford represents an artist where Lynne and I went to school. I happened to be showing some of my stuff at the campus library, just hawks. Stanford saw them, realized my potential for a niche market, and he appreciated that. I don’t think he ever expected my work to go beyond wildlife. I didn’t, I mean, not for pay. I’ve wanted to paint Lynne for forever, and now….” He took a deep breath, then let it out. “Now I feel like all I have to do is pick up a brush, close my eyes, and there’s the painting, right here.” He tapped on his skull. “But it’s not just hawks, or barns, or sunsets. It’s something deeper, something that was trapped.” He gazed at his foot, then blinked. “Stanford didn’t ask about my eyes, but he wanted to. He was dying to, but….”

  “They still are a little different, I mean….”

  “Yeah, but I made up a story about having my foot operated on, and he bought it. I hated lying to him, but he noticed, and it explained last autumn. I also told him I wouldn’t be jetting off anywhere else, at least not for that long, so I think that assuaged his curiosity. But I’m not gonna say anything about my eyes.”

  Eric smiled. Lynne never mentioned it, but Eric felt that his eyes remained slightly altered. Perhaps he and Sam were the sole ones here to notice; Sam had been the only one who could look Eric in the face when his eyes had not at all resembled those belonging to a human being. Then Eric gazed at Sam, who looked pale. “Sam, you okay?”

  “How could you tell him that you’re not going anywhere?”

  Eric sat at the table. “Because I don’t feel that I am.”

  “But you can’t be certain about that.”

  “Well, no, not a hundred percent. But this time last year, when I came home, I told Lynne that I’d need to leave again, I had to find him. And I did, and that’s that.”

  Sam shook his head. “Eric, I just….”

  “I can’t say I’ll never change again, but right now, today? All I wanna do today is chat with you, then paint this afternoon, if the light’s good. Then tonight I’ll go to bed with my wife, and give thanks to your God that I came home. And that you were here to take care of me. Sam, after I finish painting how many ever pictures are left of Lynne, I’d like to paint….”

  Again Sam shook his head, but before he could speak, the door opened. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

  Lynne’s cheery voice didn’t change Sam’s weary face, but Eric smiled, getting up to meet her. They kissed, and he took a bag of groceries from her grasp. “More in the car?” he asked.

  “Oh yes. I know we’ll be gone soon, but we’ll have to eat when we get home, and this way I won’t have to shop first thing. Hi Sam.” Lynne squeezed his shoulder, then set the other bag on the counter. “But right now,” she giggled, “I need the ladies room. Eric, I am so glad you thought to add another bathroom down here. Be right back.”

  Lynne headed to the stairs, and Eric noted her swift steps. Then he watched as Sam stood, gathering his hat and coat. “Give her my love,” he said in a croaky voice.

  Eric nodded. “Sam, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean….”

  Sam reached the door, then smiled. “Eric, stick to nature, or families. Or Lynne. Or try to paint Renee’s eyes, I dare you on that one.” Sam tried to smile, then he waved, exiting the kitchen before Lynne returned.

  Chapter 27