Chapter 10
By midafternoon, Iris had finally made it out of the house and after a quick stop in Aurora Provisions on Pine Street for a sandwich and a cup of coffee to go, had walked on to her studio. There were orders for Christmas to complete and her open house was in days. She had been working for close to two hours when Bess stopped by with another culinary experiment for Iris to sample.
“It’s kale and couscous,” Bess explained, tossing her wildly colored knit hat onto one of the worktables. “Very hearty, very flavorful. And very good for you, I’m told.”
“Thanks,” Iris said, taking the square plastic container. “Are you sure Marilyn doesn’t want some kind of payment for all the food she gives me? Sometimes I feel that I’m taking advantage of her.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Well, I appreciate it.”
Bess seated herself on a stool Iris had salvaged from an abandoned studio. “So, how was dinner with your old friend?” she asked.
“It was fine,” Iris said. She was aware that her voice was unnaturally high.
“Where did you guys go?”
“Um, DiMillo’s.”
“Huh. That’s an unusual choice for you.”
“Not really. It’s very nice.”
“I’m not denying that it’s nice. Have you been to the happy hour? It’s the best in town. Well, what did you talk about?”
“Stuff. General stuff. Work. The weather.”
“I hope you weren’t this boring at dinner.”
Iris managed a small laugh. “I think I might have been. It was . . . It was kind of awkward. We used to date.”
“Well, that much I figured out the night of the tree lighting.”
“Oh,” Iris said. “Well, we did more than just date. We were a couple for almost six years. We didn’t actually live together, but we might as well have. We were pretty much inseparable.”
Bess nodded. “Interesting. So, what happened?”
“I guess we just, I don’t know, outgrew each other maybe.”
“You guess? You don’t know? Maybe?”
Iris looked toward the bank of windows facing Congress Street. “It was after my mother died,” she said steadily. “Things were—different.”
“ ‘There is no remedy for love but to love more.’ ”
“Who?” Iris asked, looking back to her friend.
“Henry David Thoreau.”
“And what does that have to do with me?” Iris asked, slightly annoyed and not sure why.
Bess considered for a moment. “Maybe nothing. But the line just popped into my head so I thought I would share it.”
“Thanks.”
“So, how did you leave things last night?” Bess asked. “Will you see each other again?”
“Accidentally, I’m sure. I mean, he lives only a few blocks away from me, at least for the time being. And he works at the museum. But . . . No. I think . . .”
“You think what?” Bess pressed.
“The truth is I don’t know what I think,” Iris said finally, hearing the exasperation in her voice. “About Ben, about me, or about us. And that’s pretty upsetting. I don’t like uncertainty. Well, I suppose not many people do.”
“Yes. When we don’t quite understand our feelings about something or someone, life can be unusually tiring.” Bess slid off the stool. “Well,” she said, “when you’re ready to tell me the whole story, I’ll be there. For now, I’ve got papers to grade.”
“The horror, the horror.”
Bess rolled her eyes, retrieved her hat, and jammed it onto her head. “You have no idea,” she said. “And nice quoting by the way.”
When she had gone, Iris walked over to the windows and peered down to the sidewalk. Her eye was drawn to a couple strolling hand in hand on the other side of the street. There was something attractive about them, though Iris couldn’t see their faces under their big winter hats. Maybe it was the ease with which they moved or the way the woman swung the man’s hand. And for the first time since seeing Ben across the crowd at the tree lighting it occurred to Iris that he might have a girlfriend. He hadn’t mentioned one at dinner but that didn’t mean anything. Maybe he was involved with someone back in Boston. A long-distance relationship wasn’t unheard of, especially between two professional people.
Or maybe he was single and eager to meet someone. Why wouldn’t he be? He was young and attractive and had a good career. Lots of women would see him as the proverbial catch. And Ben was not a loner. Well, at least he hadn’t been a loner when Iris had known and loved him.
And, significantly, she had known him before he had gotten married and divorced. The fact of marriage alone, for better or for worse, changed a lot of things about a person.
Iris turned away from the window. The thought of having to witness Ben in a romantic relationship with another woman made her feel a bit sick.
It wasn’t hard to recall how she had longed for Ben upon first coming to Portland, in spite of her firm resolve to put aside the life she had so badly damaged. And his intent pursuit of her in those first few months had made her struggle even more difficult. She had fought fiercely against that longing, trying desperately to convince herself that her feelings were only nostalgia for a time that had never really existed.
Finally, worn out, Ben had ceased his efforts and Iris was left in what might pass for peace. Still, at random times the longing escaped the clutches of her lies and threatened to overwhelm her. Only weeks earlier, it had reared its powerful head, flooding her with sense memories of the man she had loved so completely and . . .
Stop! Iris told herself. She could not let Ben’s being in town rattle the sense of command over her life she had worked so hard to establish. The sometimes wobbly command. . .
The ringing of her cell phone interrupted Iris’s troubled thoughts. It was Clare, a customer from Cape Neddick, asking about the progress of her brother’s Christmas gift. He was recently home from Iraq, Clare had explained at their first meeting, and his last tour of duty had been more emotionally draining than the earlier tours. He had always worn a cross on a chain around his neck; his grandfather had given it to him for his high school graduation. But somehow, it had been lost or stolen overseas. Clare wanted to replace it for him and had worked with Iris to design something special.
Iris ended the call with the assurance that the project was on schedule. How lucky this man Bill was, Iris thought, this soldier, to have a sister who cared so much about him. Some people were just blessed with good fortune. Iris sighed aloud. Unlike me, she thought, an only child, a partial orphan, a . . .
Iris stamped her foot against the floor. Oh, for God’s sake, she scolded herself, mortified by the morbid turn her thoughts had taken. Drop the self-pity and get to work!
Chapter 11
This Thursday morning, the eighth of December, the Rising Cairn was blanketed with a sprinkling of frosty, winking crystals. The sculpture looked almost pretty, which was not a word Iris would use to describe it at any other time.
Iris shivered and turned away from the window. Heat in the studio was minimal at best, and appeals to the landlord routinely went unanswered. Iris often worked with fingerless gloves and a silk scarf tightly knotted around her neck. Today she was wearing three layers of sweaters, as well. She had taken Bess’s advice and bought a few pairs of SmartWool socks. Over today’s pair of socks she wore her black winter boots, lined with fleece. On her head was an unflattering but seriously warm knit cap.
“It’s me.”
Iris looked around to see Alec, standing just inside the studio. He had to be wearing five pounds of clothing above his waist alone. His hat, a monstrous, bumpy woolen thing in bright green, was jammed down low on his forehead. His legs were encased in what looked like snow pants for an overgrown child. He looked both ridiculous and adorable.
“So I see,” Iris said with a smile. “Come in.”
“Cold enough for you? Jeez, it’s no better in here than it is outside.”
“Hence my attire. And speaking of attire, how can you move in all that?”
Alec yanked off the hat and the outermost scarf. “With difficulty. So, how was dinner with your old buddy?”
Iris’s stomach knotted. “How do you know about the dinner, or about the old buddy?” she demanded.
“I ran into Bess at the library. She told me some old friend of yours just moved to town.”
“That’s all she said?”
“Yeah, and that you’d had dinner at DiMillo’s. Why? What else should I know?”
“Nothing.” Because, Iris thought, there’s nothing else that needs to be told.
Alec shrugged. “Speaking of dinner, you should come over some night. Tricia’s been perfecting the omelet.”
“Since when do you like eggs?”
“Since Tricia’s been cooking them for me. Did you know eggs could be fluffy?”
“Amazing.”
“It really is,” Alec said, nodding rigorously. “The scrambled eggs you get in a diner are always kind of dry and flat.”
“So, has she moved in with you or what?” Iris asked.
“No, she still has her own place. It’s way nicer than mine, too. Well, at least it’s way cleaner. And neater. And more comfortable. And way sunnier.”
“So the plan is that you’re moving in with her?”
“There’s no plan yet,” Alec admitted. “But if things keep going as well as they’ve been going . . . Hey, there’s no need to tell you I’m a settling down kind of guy.”
“After thirty-eight years!”
Alec looked a little bit hurt. “It isn’t easy finding the right person, Iris. Look, for a while I thought you were the right person for me. No offense but, boy, was I wrong.”
“Yes,” Iris admitted. “Eternal romance wasn’t in the cards for us. But you really think that Tricia is the one?”
“Could be. Yeah.”
“And how does she feel about you?” Iris asked, though she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know the answer. “Has she said those three little words yet?”
Alec blushed, which made him look about ten years old. “Yeah. She has. And so have I.”
“Well, then,” she said now, trying for a note of sincerity, “I’m happy for you.”
“No, you’re not. But that’s okay. I know you don’t wish either of us active harm.”
“Am I really that easy to read?” Iris said with an embarrassed laugh. “Let’s put it this way. I’ll be at the wedding, if it comes to that. And I’ll never say or do anything to damage your relationship. I promise.”
“I guess it will have to do. Oops. I’d better go. I promised Tricia I’d pick up some leaf lard for something she’s cooking tonight. I never even knew there was such a thing as leaf lard. It can’t be made out of leaves, right?”
“I doubt it. You’re going to get fat with her.”
Alec shrugged. “Fat and happy, that’s my goal.”
“So, why are you here, anyway?”
“Just on my way to work and thought I’d see how you were doing.”
“And find out about my dinner with the old buddy.”
“It’s natural to be curious about these things,” he said as he jammed the hat back onto his head and rewound the scarf. “I’m off. Stay warm.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
When Alec’s heavy footsteps had ceased to be heard, Iris said, “Blah, blah, blah,” into the silence of the studio. Hearing about Alec’s newly found domestic bliss had made her feel grumpy and sad and lonely. It wasn’t that she begrudged Alec his happiness. She didn’t. It was that she wasn’t in the mood to bask in its rosy glow.
Which wasn’t very nice of her. Her own choices had brought her to this place in her life, though leaving Ben and her father behind hadn’t felt like a choice at the time. It had felt like a desperate but necessary attempt to salvage a remnant of her sanity. And it had felt like the only thing painful enough to be punishment for her having failed her mother.
Iris shivered. She considered putting her coat on over the sweaters, but decided her arms would probably be too constricted to move properly. And there was work to be done. For example, one of her repeat customers, a lawyer who worked in the Old Port, was proposing to his partner on Christmas Eve and had hired Iris to make a white gold band inlaid with a small round cut sapphire.
At first, Iris had found the project exciting. A one-of-a-kind piece was almost always fun. But in the last few days—well, since Ben’s arrival in town—the project had come to feel like a bittersweet undertaking.
She had made engagement and wedding rings before now. But never had other people’s domestic bliss—not only Alec’s—thrown her own lonely status into stark contrast. It wasn’t being single that made her feel so lonely. You could be single and not be in the least bit lonely. She knew that from her own past experience. Loneliness was that awful feeling that you should belong to a particular person but don’t and that he should belong to you but doesn’t. Loneliness was knowing that it was your own fault things were the way they were.
Iris glanced at the old-fashioned paper flip calendar taped to the front door of the safe. The eighth of December. John Lennon had been murdered on the eighth of December. If you believed such things, Mary, the mother of God, had been immaculately conceived on the eighth of December. What else? Oh, yes. My mother, Iris thought, Bonnie Karr, spent her last day in her own home. By the evening of the eighth, she had been moved to the hospice where she was to spend the final few weeks of her life.
The white gold band was waiting. Iris rubbed her hands together for warmth and got back to work.
Chapter 12
“We meet again.”
Iris nodded. “Yes. It seems that way.”
It was lunchtime on Friday, December ninth. Iris and Ben had just emerged from the Maine Historical Society. A professor from Southern Maine University had given a talk on social mores in Maine’s larger cities in the mid-nineteenth century.
“What did you think of the lecture?” Ben asked.
“It was very interesting,” Iris said truthfully. She was glad she hadn’t seen Ben in the lecture hall. She suspected she wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on the speaker if she had known he was in the audience.
“Yes, I thought so, too. Hey, remember the time we went to hear that woman speak at that school in Framingham?” Ben asked. “What was the topic? Oh, right. The fauvists.”
Iris laughed. “Oh, my God, she was awful! She was completely unprepared. We probably should have asked for our money back.”
“She should have paid the audience for having to endure her verbal meandering.”
“Yes.”
They stood there then, the conversation exhausted. Ben checked his watch. Iris cleared her throat.
“Um,” she said abruptly, “any progress on finding a house?”
“Not yet,” Ben said. “But I’m in no hurry. There’s a lot to occupy my time. And then there’s Christmas. I’m thinking that next spring I’ll really get busy looking.”
Yes, Iris thought. And then there’s Christmas. “Yes,” she said. “That’s probably a good idea, to wait until spring.”
“I’d better get back to the museum,” Ben said, a note of polite apology in his tone.
“Yes. And I’d better get back to my studio.”
With a wave Ben was gone, dashing across the street during a lull in the traffic.
Iris walked on toward her studio. Say what you would about Congress Street, it was not a boring stretch of downtown Portland. Between Monument Square and Longfellow Square alone there was the main branch of the public library and a branch of the post office, two high-end jewelry shops, a CVS, vintage clothing shops like Encore and Material Objects, quirky stores like Stones & Stuff where you could buy ancient fossils and have your tarot cards read, upscale gift shops like Emerald City, and the newest branch of Renys. Then there was the prestigious Maine College of Art, galleries featuring local artists, the Maine
Historical Society, and the Longfellow House.
And if you were hungry, there were high-end restaurants like 555, and funky havens for the young foodie crowd like Nosh, business lunch places like David’s, and Otto’s, the insanely popular pizza place. There was the lovely Greek restaurant Emilitsa, and small, unpretentious Chinese, Indian, and Mexican restaurants, a Dunkin’ Donuts, the ubiquitous Starbucks, and a specialty cheese shop.
There were at least three music venues that Iris knew of, and Space Gallery, where you could hear a band or attend a slow food event or watch a piece of performance art. There was no doubt about it. Portland was a vibrant city where no one had an excuse to be bored. A small stretch of Congress Street alone could keep an intelligent, interested person busy for weeks. An intelligent, interested person like Ben. Iris wondered what he would be doing that evening. It was the beginning of the weekend after all, when normal people went on dates or set out to find one or hung out with their friends, hoping to have an adventure. The next time she met Ben he might very well be with a woman....
Iris drew her coat more closely around her, though she didn’t feel particularly cold. She was an intelligent, interesting person, she told herself. At least, she had been, once. But she had no plans for the evening. Of course, she could pop by Snug, sit at the bar and have something to eat, maybe chat with the bartender or a fellow diner. It would be pleasant enough. But she knew that she wouldn’t leave her apartment.
Iris pulled open the heavy door to the lobby of her studio building and immediately groaned. A handwritten cardboard sign taped to the elevator door announced that the elevator was broken again. With a sigh Iris grabbed the thick wooden banister and began the slow climb to her studio on the tenth floor.
When she had almost reached the third floor, two laughing young women jostled their way past her, arm in arm. One was dressed from head to toe in tattered black. Her clunky combat boots made her legs look like toothpicks. Her companion was easily three times her weight and about a head taller. She was dressed in 1950s vintage girly style, complete with ruffled skirt, pigtails, and cracked patent leather Mary Jane’s. Iris had seen them in the building before. They were perfectly harmless, even nice when they wanted to be, but Iris suddenly found them supremely annoying.
A Winter Wonderland Page 13
