Artistic License

by Julie Hyzy

  “I remember. You keep all your important stuff in that smelly old robe.” She gestured toward him with her chin. “You still have those fake pockets you sewed in?”

  “Yep,” he said, with apparent pride. “And nobody but you knows about them.” Gary began to untie the belt and moved to open one side. Annie prayed he had something on underneath.

  He did. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “See,” he said, holding the left side of the robe open. “Down here, in the low pocket, the big one? Here’s where I keep all the stuff that’s important. I could keep that bail receipt here, if you want. It’d be safe, and I’d make sure you get your money back when it’s all over.”

  “No thanks, Gary.” She took a sip of the coffee.

  He shrugged. “Toast coming up.”

  Annie picked up her fork. Maybe with a little food in her, she’d be better equipped to handle Gary’s nonsense. “Don’t think you’re staying,” she said with her mouth full. The eggs were made with just the right amount of butter and salt. And they were hot. Annie took another forkful. This was so much nicer than the two vitamins and the handful of granola she grabbed every morning. Grabbing her coffee mug, she held it in both hands, watching the steam from the eggs curl around the bottom of it and blend with the steam of the coffee above.

  Gary sat at the table across from her, his brown eyes wide. “Annie,” his voice cracked. “I didn’t wanna tell you last night, but I don’t have anyplace else to go.”

  “What?” she joked. “Pete kick you out?”

  “Pete’s been evicted.”

  “But I was just there the other day . . .”

  “We knew it was coming. We just never thought they’d do it. And now neither of us has a place to stay.”

  The light began to dawn. “No.” Annie said. “No way am I having that little weasel in my house.”

  Gary stood and moved back over to the stove to grab the frying pan. “It’s still my house too, Annie. Don’t forget that.” He smiled at her, “More eggs?”

  Chapter Ten

  “He’s out right now, Karla,” Annie said into the phone, her feet resting on top of one of the empty boxes Gary had left on the floor. She twisted the phone cord on her finger and untwisted it again. “Picking up Pete.”

  “He’s such an asshole.”

  Annie, who’d been about to continue, started laughing so hard that Karla couldn’t understand her.

  “Annie? Are you okay?”

  “It’s just,” she held a hand over her mouth, trying to quiet herself, “that I said the exact same thing to him last night. Took him by surprise, too.”

  “Yeah, well,” Karla said, “he sure had all of us fooled.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?”

  “So tell me . . .” Karla said, “this Sam fellow. I keep hearing ‘Sam said this,’ and ‘Sam did that.’ There something going on you want to tell me about?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  Annie heard the snort over the phone. “Do you like him? And you know what I mean.”

  Annie listened to several tiny clicks from the clock on the wall while she tried to decide how to answer. Best just to face it. “Yeah,” she said, rubbing the sockets of her eyes and cringing at the little quiver in her voice. “I do.”

  Karla was silent for a long moment. The ticks almost seemed to grow louder.

  “And what about him? Does he feel the same way?”

  Shifting herself on the kitchen chair, Annie stood up. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like he does, but . . .” she looked out the window, at the tree over the garage, and gave a deep sigh. “I don’t know.”

  “He’s not married, right?”

  “No. He got divorced about five years ago.”

  “Well, then he’s got to be sympathetic to your situation, don’t you think?”

  “Except that wasn’t the end of it. Two weeks after it became final, his wife and son died of carbon monoxide poisoning when their furnace malfunctioned.”

  “Oh geez.”

  “They lived in northern Georgia and almost never used the furnace. He blames himself for not being there, figuring had he been, he would have checked it for problems before turning it on.”

  “Oh Annie, that’s terrible.”

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  Terrible, Annie thought, and yet, not the entire truth.

  Sam had talked in careful, measured words. Nancy and Brian. When he said their names for the first time, his mouth gave a peculiar wrinkle and he looked away. It was the same look Uncle Lou wore as her mother’s casket closed. That hold-tight moment that men have where they try to gain control over some internal struggle. Most often they win. Uncle Lou had not.

  Though Sam regained control, his look told her this story stayed fresh in his heart.

  Talking as if to the picture, glancing up occasionally to meet Annie’s eyes, Sam began by explaining that it had all been his fault. That the furnace should never have been turned on.

  The divorce had been his idea. Nancy, his high-school sweetheart, had been floored when he’d broached the subject right before their thirteenth wedding anniversary.

  “Lucky thirteen, huh?” Sam said to Annie with a sad smile. “We’d gone to dinner. To a new place, kind of a long drive, so that she wouldn’t have bad memories associated with places closer to home. But every time I tried to start, she changed subjects. It was as if she knew. At a minimum, I’d hoped the empty evening would bring home the point I’d been trying to make. Let her see how unimportant we’d become to one another. We had nothing to talk about, nothing in common.”

  Picture still in hand, he gestured, for emphasis, “And even our mutual indifference wouldn’t have been insurmountable.” He took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly.

  A notion skittered across Annie’s mind. Maybe another woman had been the cause of their problems.

  As if reading her thoughts, Sam answered, “There wasn’t anyone else, you see. Nothing quite so capricious, nor quite so clear cut.” He’d cleared his throat before continuing. “I believed Nancy had no passion. No willingness to venture beyond her little social circle and their inbred concerns.”

  There seemed nothing to do at the moment but listen.

  “Once Brian was born, we became more like brother and sister than husband and wife.” His eyes narrowed a bit as he spoke, clearly self-conscious. “In every sense. She made it clear that she no longer needed me . . . physically.” His eyes belied the indifference in his voice. “But that my business acumen and income were quite welcome. I began to realize she wanted nothing more than a successful husband, a child to coddle, and a home large enough to make her friends green with envy.

  “I wanted more. I wanted adventure. And joy. You know, that Carpe Diem sort of stuff. Even if it meant simply walking home instead of driving everywhere, or taking a class that taught me something new. But there was no room for that in Nancy’s life. She was content to entertain and visit with a few carefully chosen friends, on specifically assigned days.” He looked up at Annie. “I wanted a wife who wanted me.”

  Above the faint buzz from fluorescent lights, a few gentle bars of ragtime music drifted into the room.

  She cleared her throat. “That’s your home in the picture?”

  “Yeah . . . that’s where we lived. Where they died.” He passed her the photograph. “Can’t seem to make myself sell it.”

  “But you aren’t from the South, are you?”

  He chuckled at that, and Annie was relieved to see a bit of the somber mood dissipate. “No, the South I grew up in was here . . . the south side of Chicago. My accent gave me away, eh?”

  When Annie handed the picture back to him, he looked at it a long moment before speaking, “I thought she didn’t have any passion. That she couldn’t move herself to act with her heart if her life depended on it. Guess I was wrong about that.”

  “You don’t think she did it on purpose?”

  Sam took a deep breath, his chest rising
and falling with the weight of his words. “Inconclusive.” His eyes watered up, for the first time since Annie had sat down. “But I know what I believe.” His lips pulled together, tightly, and she wanted to reach over, to comfort him, but she held back. “Why?” he asked in a quiet voice, obviously not expecting an answer. “Why did she have to take Brian with her?”

  Karla was talking again. Annie shook her head and asked her to repeat what she’d just said.

  “I was just thinking that that’s an awful lot of baggage for you to handle. I mean, if you were thinking about seeing him.”

  Annie returned to the kitchen chair, curled up one foot, and sat on it. “But look at the baggage I’m carrying, Karla. I’m no great catch right about now.”

  “But your sparkling personality makes up for it.”

  Annie laughed, and it felt good.

  “Hey, new subject. How’s Uncle Lou?”

  * * * * *

  “How is Karla?” Uncle Lou asked, his arms full of bundled newspapers. Tied with strong white string, they looked ready to be taken to the curbside. He carried them from the dining room into the kitchen and leaned over one of his chrome and vinyl chairs, letting the pile fall with a plop.

  “She’s doing great, sends her love. You tossing those out?”

  As he righted himself, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a brown plaid handkerchief. Wrinkled and misshapen, he wiped it over his entire face and head, clearing away the sweat. He snorted. “Nah. Organizing. These are the papers from the week of April sixth, last year. Thought I’d try to start arranging them according to date. Then line them up in the basement.”

  “Do you have anything on the Solar System?”

  “Like what?”

  Annie opened the refrigerator and grabbed a can of iced tea. “Pictures, something I can use as a guide for this new project at the DeChristophers’ house.”

  “Richard DeChristopher?”

  “Yeah,” she took a sip of the brisk beverage, “I didn’t mention the name before? Have you heard of him?”

  “He’s a pretty high-powered lawyer. From what I’ve heard he takes very few clients, but the ones he takes have clout.” Uncle Lou rubbed the fingers of his right hand together. “And money.”

  “Boy, I don’t fit that description.”

  “I got a couple of National Geographics somewhere in the back room from when Pluto was discovered. ‘Course those might be a little dated. I got some with those recent Hubble pictures too, hang on.” Uncle Lou scratched his bald head as he walked to the bedroom, then stopped and looked at her. “But he’s not your lawyer.”

  “He is now.”

  “Hmm. I’ll have to see if I can find any articles about him around here. I think he’s been involved in some questionable dealings, if I remember correctly. You know,” he said, pulling on his ear, “I really should think about designing some master catalogue. What do you think?”

  Annie didn’t want to wait for him to search through the entire back room for the star information. Grabbing her backpack, she started to head out. “You need anything from the store?”

  “If you’re going, I could use a new pack of yellow highlighters.”

  “You got it,” Annie said, finishing her tea with a gulp and tossing the can in the overfilled recycle bin. “Hey, any word on that missing artwork?” With her back to Uncle Lou, she squeezed her eyes shut. The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she’d bitten her tongue.

  “Yeah . . . come here.” She followed dutifully back into the dining room where Uncle Lou spent several minutes digging through a pile on the buffet. He came up with whatever it was he was looking for in record time. “You can take this one home. It’s a clearer shot of that Durer and it brings the story up to date. They still haven’t found it. Don’t know where to look. But there’s a chance they might have had help from the inside. Read it. Really interesting.” Something apparently caught his eye and he pulled another magazine from the middle of the stack. “There’s some other interesting art news too. Somewhere in here, I think . . .”

  “Thanks,” she said folding the article and pocketing it as she inched toward the door. “Oh, by the way, I’ve got guests. Gary and his slimy friend Pete are staying with me for a while.”

  That got Uncle Lou’s attention. Hands full of clippings, he stopped, mid-search. “You’re not getting back together with that loser, are you?”

  “No.”

  Uncle Lou pursed his lips before speaking. “Be careful, okay, honey?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s temporary,” she said as she walked out the door. Then muttered under her breath. “It better be.”

  * * * * *

  Annie pawed through her cache of supplies. They had to be here somewhere. She’d picked up a couple of paint tubes at the art store yesterday. Colors she’d specifically needed for this next section of the wall at the DeChristophers’. She’d felt up to putting in some extra hours and Gina hadn’t had a problem with that, having returned from taking the kids to their morning soccer practice only moments ago. Lot of good the added effort did her when she didn’t even bring the right equipment.

  Patting at the piles of supplies on the floor, she lifted to look under some of the drop cloths she’d thrown. Coming across a crinkly plastic bag, and convinced she’d found her paints, she pulled it up in triumph. When she saw it was just the hardware store bag from her morning shopping trip, she gave a little rumble of exasperation.

  She remembered putting the bag away last night and couldn’t imagine where it could have gone. Unless it fell out in the car. Certain it hadn’t, and that she’d simply overlooked, she kept searching.

  No luck. Even after going through everything twice.

  Well, at least she’d remembered to stop at the hardware store today. Grabbing the bag again, she pulled out two large acrylic keychains. The clear one was shaped like a key, though way oversized, the red one shaped like a heart. Having had the foresight to bring both keys in with her, she dug them out of her pocket and went to work, fussing until they were firmly attached to their respective chains: DeChristophers’ on one, Sam’s on the other.

  Her hand stopped before returning Sam’s key to her backpack. She held it up. The clear red acrylic caught the sun’s rays from the window over her shoulder, making the heart twinkle in the light. Like a giddy school-girl suffused with the excitement of a new crush, she’d chosen it in a moment of impulsiveness. What would Sam think if he saw it?

  I wonder, she thought, watching the keychain spin slowly in the sun, if you have any idea.

  With a sigh, she shoved it into the bag, and decided that he probably didn’t. And that it might be better that way, at least for now.

  The newly purchased paints were still AWOL. “Might as well do what I can,” she said aloud, and proceeded to mix Payne’s gray with yellow ochre in one of the big glass jars. Slowly she added other pigments, trying to get just the right shade of dinosaur.

  “There’s a good-looking guy here for you.”

  Annie, crouched on the floor of the DeChristophers’ playroom, stopped stirring the deep gray paint and looked up. Gina stood in the doorway, an interested, yet puzzled look on her face. “Says he’s your assistant.”

  Could it be Sam? The thought brought a smile to Annie’s lips as she made her way down the steps to the foyer. And it made her disappointment more acute when she rounded the turn of the staircase.

  Gary.

  Annie’s heart dropped. She steeled herself, wanting to verbally rip him to shreds, but not in front of Gina. He’d gotten a haircut. Probably used her money to do it, too. Clean-shaven, wearing jeans and a fresh T-shirt, he didn’t look nearly as grubby as he had only hours ago.

  “Did you follow me?”

  Gina scooted to stand behind Gary. Pointing to her own ring finger and then to his back, she energetically mouthed the words: “Is this the husband?”

  Annie bit the insides of her cheeks to stop the sniping comment that came to mind, and nodded. Gina w
idened her eyes and appeared to stifle a giggle. She backed out of the room with pantomimed exaggeration, while Gary, oblivious to the antics behind him, held a weighty plastic bag out to Annie, with a grin that she felt like slapping off his face.

  “You forgot this when you left this morning.”

  Gina, who hadn’t quite made it out of the room, turned and raised her eyebrows with a sly smile. “Maybe you ain’t gonna need my husband’s services after all, huh?”

  Gary grinned at the woman, running his eyes up and down her body in an appreciative manner. “Your husband is one lucky guy,” he said. Gina preened, clearly pleased.

  Once she was out of earshot, Annie grabbed the bag out of his hands. Even before she looked, she knew it was the missing paint.

  “How did you get here?”

  “Pete dropped me off.”

  Annie pushed a corner of the front curtain aside to look out. “He’s not still here?” she asked, afraid, but half hoping he was so that Gary could leave. Then she furrowed her brow. “I thought he didn’t have a car.”

  “He borrowed one.”

  Annie put up her hands; she didn’t want to know any more.

  “I thought maybe I’d help you today. You know, paint.”

  “Think again.”

  Gina clattered over, slinging a large black purse over her shoulder. “Gotta run, Annie. But listen, there’s enough of food for two in the fridge. And, weren’t you just saying today how hard it was to paint that ceiling all black? Maybe your ‘assistant’ can help you with that.” Stressing the word, she winked, and pulled the door closed behind her, calling outside for Timothy to bring the car around.

  Gary grinned. “I could help. I’m good at painting. You know that. And besides, I don’t got a ride home. Unless you drive me.”

  How did these things keep happening? The harder she tried to manage her own life, the more difficult the people around her made it.

  She thought about Sam. He was the exception. The one bright spot in her life right now.