Well, we had shown up, but unless ‘the hosts aren’t speaking to each other’ is your idea of a great party, this wasn’t one.
They’d been handling each other okay when we’d arrived, although Tam’s sadness had been obvious to me despite how cheerful she was acting, but as the night wore on whatever was wrong between them seemed to get bigger and bigger until they couldn’t cope any more.
Now, a few minutes before midnight, Tam was on the other side of their apartment with a group of her friends while I stood with Owen and Leonard and a few of his friends with their wives or girlfriends. Two parties, in a way, and neither of them seemed like happy ones.
“Well,” Leonard said, his voice a little too bright, “this year’s almost over. Good riddance, right?” He nudged Owen. “Except for you, I guess. Got a wife and a promotion this year. Not bad, not bad.”
Owen smiled and nodded. “Can’t wait to see what 2013 brings. No way it can be as exciting as this year.”
Remembering Linda’s rage and pain, I hoped he was right. The kind of excitement that would bring us would be the kind I couldn’t handle.
Leonard began asking everyone in our little group for their resolutions. Owen, with a sideways look at me, said he resolved to stop leaving his dirty socks on the floor. When we’d all stopped laughing I said, “And I resolve not to nag him about it. Much.”
I wouldn’t have to at all, since he’d never left even a single sock lying around, but I knew he was trying to lighten the mood and I admired how smoothly he’d done it.
It worked, too, as everyone else began making joke resolutions as well. But once that was all done and Leonard had begun counting down the final ten seconds to midnight, I made a far more important private resolution to myself. I had to learn how to control my emotions on my own. I couldn’t need Owen so much. What if I lost him some day?
Leonard shouted, “Happy New Year!” and everyone cheered then Owen pulled me in for a kiss. In his arms, all the mental noise of people’s happiness and Leonard’s frustration and Tam’s distant but still clear sadness vanished as I’d known it would, and I kissed him back with more than the usual intensity because it felt so good.
We drew apart, smiling at each other, and when he released me the emotions flooded back in and I had to fight back a rush of tears.
I wanted to control things on my own, but I didn’t know how.
And if I ever lost Owen as a refuge, I’d be lost too.
But the only way for him to stay that refuge was if he stayed cold and emotionless.
And was that really the best thing for him? In protecting myself, was I hurting him?
Chapter Twenty-Two
The art-class brochure Austin gave me with my Christmas present had not made it clear that I was signed up for the second term of a series of classes, but from the way my five classmates chatted with each other about their holiday activities I knew they all knew each other. A few smiled at me, but nobody came over to talk to me, and I was beginning to consider leaving for a bit so I wouldn’t sit there alone when I felt calmed like I was sitting on the beach of the world’s most perfect lake.
I looked around in time to see a slender blonde woman in jeans and a soft-looking pale pink sweater come through the small classroom’s door. As she moved forward, stepping around a waist-high pedestal topped with a black velvet cushion, I felt the calming getting stronger and my shoulders relaxed without my even having known they were tense. She smiled around at everyone, then focused on me. “You must be Celia.”
I nodded, stunned by how great I felt in her presence. It wasn’t quite as calming as Owen’s, but it wasn’t blank and silent like his either. This woman seemed utterly at peace with herself and she was radiating intense happiness and comfort. I wanted to be her.
“I’m Pam Axelsson, your teacher.” She smiled at me, her blue eyes intense on my face, then turned to look at the others in a way that made her ponytail swing behind her. “And all of you crazy people’s teacher too. Happy New Year! Did you all have a good time off?”
They talked over each other to tell her, and I found myself wanting to do the same. I didn’t, since she didn’t know me, but even so I felt sure she’d care about the weirdness with Linda and the awkwardness of Tam and Leonard’s party. She just seemed like the kind of person who would.
Once the others had calmed down a bit, Pam said, “Well, I’m thrilled to have you all back here.” Sending a special smile my way, she added, “And just here, for you.”
I smiled back, feeling almost giddy, and she went on with, “Today we’re going to focus on this.” She pulled a large heavy gold ring, clearly a man’s, from her pocket and placed it carefully on the pedestal’s cushion. “Pencil, so no color. Just the details. Okay?”
She began walking around dropping off pencils and paper in front of each person, and a guy breathed, “Is that... it can’t be...”
Pam turned to him and laughed. “It is. It’s Magnus’s Beechman Cup ring. And if I lose it I’ll be hunted down by every pro hockey player in Canada, so don’t even think about laying your grubby mitts on it.”
The guy chuckled, although he couldn’t stop looking at the ring.
“In case you’re not a hockey fan,” Pam said to me, “Magnus is my husband and the former captain of the Toronto Hogs. He won this in his last year playing, and if he thought he’d get away with it I’m pretty sure he’d sleep with it under his pillow.”
“Good to know,” I said, glad for the update since I’d indeed had no idea what they were talking about. “Then I’ll draw it very carefully.”
She smiled and I felt another wave of that warm comfortable happiness. “Draw it however you like to draw. We’re here to get better but we’re also here to have fun. And I’d love to see how you work. Okay, everyone, go up and take a look at the ring, then draw!”
I was nervous at first, because I hadn’t been in an art class since high school and had no idea if I was any good, but the ring had such amazing detailing I soon lost myself in trying to recreate its engraving and the intricate braided detail and the Hogs logo made of emeralds. Though we weren’t using color, I did my best to shade my drawing to give the impression of it, and on a whim I made the ring look like it was under a bright spotlight because I felt like it was almost glowing with happiness there on its pedestal.
I’d nearly forgotten I was in a class, I was so focused, so when Pam clapped her hands and said, “Okay, folks, we’re out of time,” I looked around, startled.
She smiled at me. “That’s what I like to see. An artist who gets involved in her work.”
“I’m not an artist,” I said, feeling my cheeks go hot. “I just doodle.”
She shrugged one shoulder, her smile becoming gentler and warmer. “You draw, you’re an artist. Maybe you don’t sell your art, but you make it. If you make something, you’re an artist. End of story.”
“Especially when you draw like that,” the guy who’d been obsessed with the ring said, looking down at my page. “Nice job.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, meaning it for both of them.
“Anyone want to show off their work?”
The guy did, standing up and holding his drawing in front of him while describing what he’d done, and the girl next to him did too, and then Pam said, “And can I look at yours, Celia? I’d love to know what my newest student does. You don’t need to show it off to everyone if you don’t want to.”
I didn’t want to. I’d once presented a picture I especially liked to my mom, but I’d made the mistake of doing it while she and Dad were fighting and she’d screamed at me, “Don’t be a show off like your stupid father!” I knew now, of course, that she’d been mad at him not me and that my artwork hadn’t had any part in their argument but I still didn’t want to show off now.
But I did want to know what Pam thought of my work, so I said, “You can see it,” then felt annoyed at my own shy tone.
She sat down next to me as the others packed up, and studied my dr
awing for a long moment. Then she said, “The lighting you’ve done is exquisite. Magnus keeps the ring in a display case with a light and it does look just like this. Gotta tell you, I’m more of a painter than a pencil artist and I could not have done this as well as you did in pencil. And probably not in paint either.”
She smiled at me, and I felt nothing coming from her but happiness for me. She had meant what she said, and it didn’t bother her that I might be better than she was. Her confidence ran so deep she didn’t need to make me small to make herself big.
“Thank you,” I said, overwhelmed.
“Thank you for joining my class. I think it’s going to be great having you here.”
I smiled at her. “I think so too.”
And I did. I would take my art seriously for the first time since I’d given Mom that picture, I’d learn how to do it better, and more importantly I would try to learn how to have Pam’s peaceful calm attitude.
If I could do that--
My stomach twisted. If I could do that, I wouldn’t need Owen. I’d fulfil my New Year’s resolution.
And what would that mean for our marriage?
*****
I got over that worry quickly. Even if I didn’t need Owen to keep my emotions calm, he would still be a good husband for me. He fully supported my art class, even buying me paper and pencils and a beautiful box of watercolors so I could play around at home, and I still enjoyed hanging out with him and talking to him and having sex with him and just being in the same room with him.
And of course, I still did need him to calm me. My second class with Pam was just as great as the first, but Owen left for yet another trip the Monday after that second class, a trip Kelly went on too along with a few of our other coworkers. I didn’t really think Owen would do anything with her, if only because he wouldn’t want to deal with the drama it would cause, but I didn’t trust her at all. By Saturday I’d spent far too many evenings without him, and so many sleepless hours worrying about Kelly, and I was so tense and uncomfortable that spending time at my pond did nothing and even Pam’s calmness didn’t seem to work on me.
The pedestal was gone from the middle of the room, replaced by a wooden stool, and Pam said, “We’ve been working on small things. Magnus’s ring, last week’s apple. So I thought it’d be good to go a little bigger. Just a little.” She grinned at us. “May I introduce Libby?”
A short woman with a long brown ponytail walked into the room. She wore a sweatshirt with an intricate lion pattern on the front and black jeans, and a big smile.
A big fake smile.
The smile itself looked real enough, but I could feel what lay behind it and I knew she was miserable. Her sadness added itself to all the emotions I was carrying around with me, and I wanted to run from the room.
“Hey, everyone,” she said, sending that smile around the room. “I look forward to seeing what you make of me.”
As Libby climbed onto the stool, Pam cleared her throat. “We’ve used pencil and pastels so far in this session, but go with whatever you’d like to use,” she said. “Whatever seems to fit Libby.”
Once Libby was settled, she raised her chin and smiled off into the distance. The others scrambled for colored pencils and pastels, but I looked at her, at that smile she might have pasted onto her face, and chose a stick of charcoal.
Though I glanced around and saw my classmates focusing on her smile and making their pictures bright and cheery, I couldn’t do it. Pam had said to do what seemed to fit her, and all I saw around her was darkness.
I sketched Libby and the stool then I created a dark haze around her, smudging the charcoal with a blending tool until it was almost invisible, leaving just the feeling of dimness and misery.
Getting her face right took ages. She was smiling so I felt like I should draw her that way but it didn’t really fit with the rest of my work. Of course, her smile didn’t fit with the rest of her either.
In the end, I did it exactly as I saw it. Above her smiling mouth I made her eyes as sad and tired as they were in real life, and the contrast ended up being even stronger than in real life.
When I’d finished, I sat staring at it, wondering if I should rip it up and start over. It was so different from everyone else’s work, and probably not at all what Pam was expecting. I couldn’t, though. It might not be what everyone else did, but it was what I saw around her.
Confusion spun through me, and it took a second before I realized it wasn’t mine. “Whoa,” the woman beside me breathed. “Dark. Weird.”
I glanced at her and realized she was studying my picture.
“That’s what you saw?” She jerked her head toward Libby. “But she’s grinning.”
I shrugged, because I didn’t know what to say, and she went back to her own work as a hint of ‘stay away from the creepy one’ added itself to her confusion.
Then a pure clear happiness burst through me, washing away the confusion, and I felt a presence behind me and turned to see Pam standing there. “Gorgeous,” she said softly. “Good for you, Celia.”
The woman beside me, annoyance spilling from her, said, “But it’s so dark, and...”
Pam laid her hand on the woman’s shoulder and the annoyance began to retreat. “It’s hers, and it’s how she drew it. That makes it right.” She leaned closer and complimented a few details of the brightly colored picture the woman had drawn, and I felt the annoyance fade away entirely.
Pam went on, complimenting everyone else’s work, and though I didn’t want to I felt every bit of their happiness and it stung because she’d barely said anything about mine. She’d called it gorgeous but she hadn’t complimented it more than that and I wanted her to. I’d gone out on a limb and I didn’t want to be out there alone.
Pam dismissed the class, and as I began to pack up with the others she leaned in and said softly to me, “Hold on for a minute when they leave. Okay?”
I nodded and she smiled at me then went on saying goodbye to everyone else. Libby stayed too, after a whispered word from Pam, and when it was just the three of us in the small room Pam said, “So. Libby. How’s your day been so far?”
“Well,” she said, that same fake smile popping to her mouth, “it’s been... it’s...”
She burst into tears.
Pam, not looking surprised, put her arms around her. “I know. It’s okay. Let it out.”
I stood awkwardly while Libby cried, wondering if I should be taking off so I wouldn’t embarrass her, but after a few moments she took a deep shuddering breath and said, “Sorry. My boyfriend dumped me this morning, out of the blue. We just moved in together last week so now I don’t have a place to live and--” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I didn’t want to let you down, Pam, and obviously I need the money now more than ever, so I tried to look happy.” She opened her eyes and looked at Pam. “I’m sorry I did a bad job.”
“You didn’t,” Pam and I said at once. Pam smiled at me and added to Libby, “You really didn’t. You were a star.” She dug in her purse and found an envelope then also pulled all the money from her wallet and held both things out to Libby.
“No, what we agreed on is enough,” Libby said, though I could sense yearning in her and knew she wanted to take the extra cash. “Seriously, I didn’t tell you so you’d--”
“I know,” Pam said quietly. “But I want to. Here. Please.”
Libby’s eyes welled up again but she did take the envelope and cash. “Thank you,” she mumbled.
“Let me know if you need anything else, okay? Really, do.”
Libby nodded, and left after a quick embarrassed but real smile at me.
Pam and I stood quiet for a moment, while I wondered why she’d wanted me to stay, then she said, “Do you know what it’s called, what we are?”
We?
I turned to her, confused, and she smiled. “You’re the only one who saw past that smile and saw the darkness around Libby. Coming from Libby. And when Tatiana looked at your work and found it confu
sing, you got confused too. Right away. You picked it up from her.”
“I did,” I said, still trying to get my head around this. “But you... you too?”
She looked into my eyes, and I felt warm and safe and happy. Like a little kid would being cuddled by her mother, if her mother were the cuddling type and not like mine. I loved it.
Then I realized Pam was doing it to me, and I took a quick step backward. “What... I don’t know how to do that. And I don’t... is it right to...”
The feelings faded, leaving me wishing they’d come back though I knew they weren’t real, and Pam said, “If you’ve got enough control over your own energy and emotions, you can share them with other people. But I agree with you, it’s not something to force on people. I don’t do it very often, and never when the person doesn’t know I’m an empath.”
“Empath,” I said slowly. “I read about it, but I wasn’t sure I was one.”
“You are,” she said, no doubt in her voice. “But you’re totally uncontrolled, aren’t you? How long have you known about it?”
I told her how I’d always had what I thought were wild mood swings and how the woman’s near-murder had changed everything for me. “I can’t stop feeling stuff,” I finished, “and I hate it. Can’t stand crowds, not keen on small groups either... I’m only really calm when I’m in water or with my husband, preferably alone.”
She gave me a gentle smile. “You can be calm everywhere. We just need to help you learn to control it.”
We? She was willing to help me? But she barely knew me. “You don’t have to do that,” I began, but she cut me off.
“I’m an alcoholic,” she said matter-of-factly. “In rehab back in 2006, someone recognized me as an empath and taught me about it and how to handle it. I’d like to do the same for you if you’d let me.”
“I’d like that,” I admitted. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”
Safe Harbor? Page 11
