Since Stanford last spoke to Lynne, New York had been covered in snow, making traffic slower than usual, and leaving sidewalks a morass of icy sludge. Stanford’s daily routine wasn’t overly ruffled, but the nagging sense that Eric Snyder wasn’t at home kept Stanford off kilter. Why in the hell would Eric leave now, what with Christmas so close?
Stanford wasn’t sure for how long Eric had been gone; the last time they had talked was before Thanksgiving, and as Stanford stepped into his office, he glanced at the calendar; that was nearly four weeks ago. Stanford and Laurie had chatted with Lynne since then, but only Lynne. Stanford considered calling Samuel Ahern, but didn’t, for it wasn’t any of Stanford’s business, and Sam might ask about Seth. Sitting with a plop in his large leather chair, the dealer heaved a weary sigh. Between Eric and Seth, Stanford hadn’t received a good night’s sleep in nearly two weeks.
Laurie would be home that night, if the trains weren’t delayed by more snow; he’d been in Vermont for the last two days, a sudden trip that Seth had requested of his cousin. Laurie didn’t like traveling, especially not in bad weather, but he had packed a small case, and Stanford hadn’t heard from him, other than one collect call that he’d arrived safely. Whatever Seth felt was necessary to say would be learned that evening, over drinks, long after Agatha had left. Laurie wasn’t due back into the city until eight o’clock, and with snow still falling, it would take the taxi forever to reach the men’s home.
Stanford wouldn’t be surprised if Laurie told him that Eric Snyder had flown to Vermont, and in a way, Stanford hoped that explained the painter’s whereabouts. Then Stanford shook his head; why did he care so much about Eric? None of his other clients demanded this much of Stanford’s attention, well, a few did, but not in the way Eric preyed on Stanford’s mind. Then the art dealer tutted himself. Eric was the only one who had stayed at Stanford and Laurie’s apartment. Eric knew the truth about them, and didn’t seem to care. Lynne knew as well, and was as accepting at her husband. Then Stanford clucked aloud. Every time he stepped into the library, he gazed at Seth’s figurines, still placed right where Eric had set them. The man’s foot was deformed, which before Stanford had barely noticed. Yet now that maligned limb plagued the dealer, and since Thanksgiving, Stanford had avoided the library. He and Laurie would enjoy their drinks in the living room, because Stanford didn’t want to again face where in the world had Eric gone.
Damn artists, Stanford fumed, wishing for a drink then and there. But it was ten in the morning, and he had no lunch plans that would satisfy such an itch. Then from the bottom right drawer of his oak desk he pulled out a manila folder. No label adorned the folder, but Stanford knew the contents. He opened it slowly, leafing through the papers. Was Eric visiting his father again?
Better for him to be there, much closer to home, than having trekked across the country to Vermont. Then Stanford drummed his fingers along the polished wood; had Eric mentioned the Caffey-Miller Institute for more than Seth’s benefit? Minnesota was much closer to the West Coast, then Stanford sighed. Eric had sent a message to Seth, but he wouldn’t visit him unless he had first cleared it with Laurie. Then Stanford gazed at the folder, details about Eric’s father in typewritten notes. Laurie hadn’t mentioned Eric at all, or not about him visiting Seth. They wouldn’t keep something like this from Stanford, the art dealer again huffed. It was one thing for Eric to want his privacy concerning his dad, but….
Stanford picked up his receiver, nearly speaking into it. Just as he heard the operator take a breath, he put the phone back into the cradle. He needed to make this call from the house, and Stanford’s time would be better utilized accomplishing things first at the office, then at home. Besides, he’d be waiting for Laurie’s train much of the evening. He could chase that secondary inquiry from the apartment, although depending upon what he learned, what would he say to Lynne the next time he called her? If something was wrong with Eric’s father, she would know, but Lynne Snyder was one of the most subtle women Stanford had ever met. Perhaps he could insinuate that he knew why Eric was gone, even without ever noting that the painter was away. Pleased with his plan, Stanford stood, then approached his door. “Miss Harold, can you come in here please?”
“Yes Mr. Taylor.”
“Thank you.” Returning to his desk, Stanford hastily put the folder back into the bottom drawer. By the time Emily Harold entered Stanford’s office, with a fresh cup of coffee for him, Stanford had set Eric and Howard Snyder, and Seth Gordon, far back in his head.
When Laurie finally stepped through the front door, it was nearly eleven o’clock, and Stanford had been sick with worry. They embraced, and supper waited in the refrigerator, which Stanford could easily heat up on the stove. Laurie wasn’t hungry, however, only cold, and they went into the living room, where a fire crackled. Stanford poured Laurie a whiskey, which he quickly downed. Then Laurie sighed, shaking his shoulders, setting his hands behind him, but directly in front of the flames. “Well, what’d I miss?”
Stanford joined him near the blaze. “I missed you. How was he?”
Laurie shook his head. “To be honest, I don’t know if he’ll see 1962. It was strange, like he knew something was coming, and he was afraid of it. Yet, he seemed happy to see me, or as happy as he could be. He asked about Eric, like he knew something was wrong with him.” Laurie sighed, then stroked Stanford’s face. “So, what did I miss?”
Stanford wore a wry smile. “I think I know where he is. God, what awful timing, but I suppose no one can predict these sorts of things, like trying to forecast the weather.” Stanford reached for Laurie’s arms, bringing them back to the front of his body. Then Stanford grasped his lover’s hands. “I just hope it’s all over soon. Lynne shouldn’t have to spend this Christmas alone and….”
Laurie kissed Stanford, then smiled. “Well, she won’t be completely alone.”
“The baby doesn’t count.”
“I meant the Aherns,” Laurie quietly chuckled. “But yes, the baby probably helps keep her focused. I suppose she has no idea when he’ll be home.”
“From what I learned, no, probably not. I nearly called her tonight, but….” Stanford stroked Laurie’s cheek. “But that wouldn’t have been fair, pestering her when I was nearly out of my mind wondering about you.”
“Damn snow,” Laurie laughed. “But I made it, and you know why Eric’s been gone, and….” His voice trailed off, then he cleared his throat. “I’ll need to call Mom tomorrow, but I’ll let her tell Aunt Wilma. He looked so lost, no, not lost. He looked like he knew exactly what was coming, and it scared him to death. That’s it Stan. Seth knows if he goes to Caffey-Miller, everything’s gonna change. I think he’s trying to decide if it’s easier to die or to try to find a reason to live.”
Stanford grimaced, then nodded. “What’ll you think he’ll do?”
“God, I wish I had some idea. At least it’d give Mom and Aunt Wilma some comfort. But you know what? I don’t think even Seth knows. That’s the worst of it. If he….” Laurie choked back a sob. “If he kills himself, it’ll be out of fear. Whatever the future holds is just too damn bleak to face. He fought over there Stan, he fought and managed to come home, but now whatever he can’t face is worse than killing Koreans. Jesus, can you imagine that? Why’d he come back if this was gonna be the result? Why not die over there like Sam’s friend Larry and….”
And Sam Ahern’s best friend; Stanford knew whoever that man had been, Sam had lost him. He’d casually mentioned that Larry didn’t go home to Huntsville, Alabama, but Sam never revealed what had happened to Josh, from Natchez, Mississippi. Josh who, Stanford had sometimes pondered, when his mind permitted that snippet some room. Josh and Larry had died, but Seth and Sam had come back. Sam seemed in good shape, maybe that was due to his wife, but Seth was walking a tightrope. Would he fall, Stanford mused, as Laurie remained quiet. Or would Seth pull himself together, with the assistance from doctors trained to deal with these sorts of traumas. Maybe Seth did need to sp
eak to Sam, or maybe….
“What?” Laurie broke the silence. “Stan, what is it?”
Only in their most private moments did Laurie utter that nickname, one he had started using shortly after the men had met. Not even Stanford’s parents called him Stan, but Laurie did, after Agatha was gone, and usually when the lights were low. Lawrence had been discarded as soon as Stanford made his feelings known, and sometimes Laurie teased that they were more like Laurel and Hardy, such differing personalities, yet tied at the hip. Stanford gripped Laurie’s hands, then kissed him again, wishing all he considered could be translated through affection.
As Laurie pulled away, his gentle nod seemed to grasp what Stanford couldn’t say. Then Laurie turned around, putting the grate in front of the fire. “Time for bed,” he said while yawning. “We can talk more about this in the morning.”
Stanford nodded, following Laurie to their room. He wasn’t sure if further discussion would arise, but at least after they made love, Stanford would get a decent night’s sleep. Eric Snyder was visiting his father, who was dying in prison, and Stanford was certain Eric would be home after that event had transpired.
On the third Sunday in Advent, Lynne sat between Renee and Sam, trying to concentrate on Father Riley’s sermon. She was used to the structure of the liturgy, even if Advent altered some of the chanting. The hymns were Advent-based, and while she didn’t know any of them, she tried to join in. Renee and Sam had strong voices, and were well versed with all of the tunes. Lynne coasted along, her mistakes drowned out by them and the rest of the congregation. Since the beginning of Advent, most of the pews were full, and Sam had mentioned they would need to arrive early next Sunday night, or else they’d be the ones standing in the manger.
No room at the inn or in the church, he had laughed, and while Lynne had been glad for his humor, she wondered how differently she would feel if Eric was beside her, gripping her hand, maybe even caressing the baby. Sometimes Renee patted Lynne’s growing belly, but unless Lynne set Sam’s hand on that bulge, he kept his distance. Then Lynne smiled; little room remained now, for they were packed like sardines within the church.
She enjoyed the cadences, like hymns all their own, be it chanting after Father Riley or with him, or just listening to his sing-song tone throughout the service. She wasn’t sure about believing in a pope, or that Mary never had another child. While she was Jesus’ mother, she’d also been Joseph’s wife. Lynne wasn’t certain about celibate priests, or the nearly invisible roles women played. Hadn’t it been all women who sat at the foot of the cross when Christ died, she mused. If that was true, why were women barred from a priest’s private life, relegated to nunneries.
But past those issues, Lynne strongly felt called to Catholicism, yet she wasn’t going to do more than attend mass, although she longed to take communion. Something about that sacrament made her ache when she was left behind, as the rest went up for the bread and wine. All but young children accepted that gift, for Lynne had been studying Catholic teachings and the accompanying rituals. They were soothing, which over the last few days had been necessary. She still wore the opal pendant, but her dreams had been stormy. Was Eric in Vermont? She had nearly called Stanford yesterday, but had refrained. Instead she had read the Bible Renee had loaned her, struck by one particular passage in Matthew. Christ admonished his followers that the least they did for others, they had done for him, and consequently what they had not done had been denied to Christ. If Eric was tending to Seth’s needs, well, that was doing as Jesus taught, just as Eric had done for his own father. Lynne couldn’t interfere, not that calling New York was meddling, but even if Stanford had gone to see Seth, he wouldn’t make anything of a stray hawk who happened to be loitering. And that was if Eric had traveled that far already. How fast could he fly, Lynne wondered, losing interest in the sermon. Did cold weather hamper his wings, could he find anything to eat? All animals would be snug in burrows and other hiding places. Why now, during this season, she rued. Then she sighed, as everyone stood. Lynne did too, glad for something to do. Usually church took her mind from her missing spouse, but what she had read yesterday seemed to have placed Eric right in the middle of the service.
A hymn would be next, then the Nicene Creed, spoken during Advent instead of the shorter Apostles’ Creed. Then the prayers, followed by the peace, which Lynne particularly relished, as everyone shook hands with those around them. Peace be with you was the greeting, which led all to take their seats as communion was prepared while the offering was gathered. Then Lynne would sit quietly while parishioners filed toward the front, kneeling in front of the altar, waiting for a wafer and the communal cup. Lynne loved all the steps, which were easy to follow, and quickly absorbed as the rites of worship. She smiled, as Renee and Sam said the Nicene Creed from memory. Lynne usually said it while looking at the book. But she was late in finding the right page, and by the time she did, they were done.
She did participate in the prayers, chanting Lord, hear our prayer after Father Riley had said his part. Then she stood, shaking hands with those young and old, most with smiles, some gazing at her dress, which hung loosely over the baby. The frock was new, and would be serviceable for what remained of Lynne’s pregnancy.
Then Lynne’s legs buckled, and she swayed. Sam steadied her, then as everyone sat down, Renee escorted Lynne to the ladies’ room. Lynne splashed water on her face, but was ashamed at the reason for her swooning. Renee didn’t ask why, maybe she knew. Lynne had been pleased for a new dress, but would Eric see her in it?
Would he miss their baby’s birth, would he even come home? The last few days the temperatures had plummeted, winter having arrived. While the baby was due just as spring began, there were still three cold months to endure. Where was he, she nearly blurted.
“He’ll be back, hopefully it won’t be too much longer.” Renee’s voice was soft, and she massaged Lynne’s shoulders. “You’ve been so strong, but Lynne, it’s okay to….”
Then Lynne began to weep, gripping the sides of the sink. She hated feeling scared, for that was the overwhelming sensation. She was frightened for him, and for herself. She didn’t want to have the baby in the hospital, but in their bedroom, with him at her side. She wanted him to paint her, for she didn’t look the same as when he’d left. She wanted him to be lingering outside the restroom, then he would envelope her within his grasp, whispering how much he loved her. Then perhaps they would leave the service while communion was offered. And instead here was Renee, missing that sacrament. “Go take communion,” Lynne warbled.
“It’ll be there next week.”
Lynne stared at Renee, who looked like a huff or a cluck was imminent. Then Lynne managed a smile. “Are you sure? What if Jesus returns tomorrow?”
“Then I’ll be begging him to let you and Eric come with us. He’s ministering to someone, Eric is I mean. And you’ve done your time as a nurse, you’re both covered in my book.” Then Renee looked toward the ceiling, crossing herself. “Forgive me Father, but that’s how I see it. Eric’s doing your work goodness only knows where, and Lynne’s done it and will do it again when he comes home.”
The strength of Renee’s faith wove through her words, striking Lynne with their certainty. “Well, from your lips to his ears.”
“That’s all we can do sometimes. Look, you wanna sit in the car for the rest of it?”
Lynne shook her head. “No, it’s freezing out there. Give me a minute, but you go, get in line.”
Renee nodded, then smiled. “Take your time.”
Lynne heard the bathroom door open, then close. She splashed more water on her face, then used the toilet. By the time she left the restroom, the last of those waiting for communion were being served. She loitered at the back of the church, not wishing to interrupt. Then she stepped into the foyer, sitting on a folding chair left near the door. Cool air seeped through the cracks, but it was refreshing. Maybe wherever Eric was, it wasn’t too frigid there. Maybe he had turned around and was o
n his way home, maybe….
An older woman stepped toward her, and for a moment Lynne wondered if she had taken her chair. The woman motioned for Lynne to stay seated, but she stood next to Lynne. “Are you all right honey?”
Lynne nodded, but a wave of tears rolled down her face. “Just part of being pregnant.”
“Is this your first?”
“Uh-huh.”
The woman smiled, then patted Lynne’s shoulder. “You don’t remember me, but a few years ago I was one of your patients. You’re married to that painter, aren’t you?”
Again Lynne nodded, then she smiled, as the woman gave her a handkerchief. Lynne wiped her face, blew her nose, then sighed. “Sorry, I don’t recall you, but….”
“You nursed a lot of people, it’s no bother. I just wanted to see if you were all right.”
“I’ll be fine, thank you.”
The woman wore a hat and a heavy coat, but she knelt by Lynne’s side. “I’d just taken communion, saw that you weren’t sitting with Renee and Sam. Then I felt, well, obliged to come looking for you.” The woman chuckled softly. “Obliged is a mild way of putting it. When God asks me to jump, I stopped asking how high ages ago.”
Lynne gazed at the woman’s warm brown eyes, her crows’ feet, and the lines around her mouth. She couldn’t place her, rare were the time she recognized a former patient. But this woman exuded peace; she grasped Lynne’s hands, which had been cool, but now they were warm to the touch, from this woman’s touch. Then Lynne wanted to sob; was someone offering Eric a similar gift of….
“It’ll be all right, don’t worry. Wherever he is, he’ll be back, and sooner than you think. Soon enough,” the woman chuckled. Then she patted the baby, who kicked from the pressure. “A girl, I think, although I’m wrong half the time.” The woman smiled widely. “If it’s a boy, don’t blame me.”
Lynne nodded, but couldn’t speak. Instead she squeezed the woman’s hands, noting gray hair peeking out from under her hat. She looked like a grandmother; Lynne’s mom would be a similar age, had she lived. Other than Michael Taylor, Lynne and Eric’s baby had no grandparents, not that this woman was offering to fill that role. Her objective was different, Lynne felt. It was for that moment, ministering to Lynne as Lynne had once done for her.
“What you do for the least of my brothers, you’ve done for me.” The woman’s tone was soft, but Lynne didn’t miss a single word. Then she stood, again patting Lynne’s shoulder. She walked back to where a hymn was being sung, not one that Lynne knew, but the woman began singing as she exited the vestibule.
Was Eric ministering to his father, or to Seth? Or maybe someone else entirely, Lynne pondered as voices surrounded her, even where she sat, apart from the rest. But she wasn’t alone, even if Eric was gone. Lynne stood, then rejoined Renee, who smiled at her. Maybe Lynne wouldn’t wait until Eric returned to join St. Anne’s, or to set those wheels in motion. Or if she couldn’t become an actual Catholic, she would attend services, saying the prayers and offering the peace. This manner of worship had been brought to her attention for a reason, she decided, sitting at the end of the pew, allowing Renee to scoot next to Sam. But Renee grasped Lynne’s hand, and Lynne gripped back. And hopefully someone was being this kind to Eric, Lynne prayed, as Father Riley blessed them, sending them on their ways.
Chapter 44
The Hawk: Part Three Page 4
