Four months after Eric left, John Kennedy was elected president of the United States. Like the Aherns, Lynne had voted for the young Massachusetts senator, and all were elated with his victory. The Electoral College results were decisive, but the popular vote had been won by the slimmest of margins, and for several days, a Catholic president was all anyone could speak about at work. Those who had voted for Vice President Richard Nixon said little, but Kennedy supporters were vociferous, especially those Catholic. Renee temporarily gravitated back to that circle, but as Eric’s absence lingered into the middle of the month, she returned to Lynne’s side, speaking about Thanksgiving, and that Sam was eager to try new recipes. Lynne would make boysenberry pie, and the threesome would spend that holiday at her house. Sam was at the Snyders on the days Lynne worked, but on Monday the twenty-first, she gave her notice, which was accepted without comment. Her last day would be Friday, December second. But if she could find someone to take her shifts, she could vacate her position accordingly.
Lynne’s presence at work wasn’t a hindrance, but now that the election was over, the gossip had drifted back to her missing husband. Most people assumed he had simply left his wife and their boring small town existence for the lure of fame, and other women, in New York. Lynne knew exactly what those loose tongues said about her and Eric; he had a mistress, perhaps a few of them. What did he need with his spouse and this little town?
On Thanksgiving morning, Lynne woke early, all the blankets having fallen to the floor. She still slept on the sofa, and she peered out at another heavy frost covering the ground. Then she glanced at the clock over the fireplace; it was seven, and she shivered, both from the cold, and that the Aherns were coming in half an hour, to start the turkey which waited in her refrigerator. Slowly she stood, shaking herself, then she gathered the bedding. She hauled it upstairs, plopping it on her bed, then used the toilet. She had bathed last night, and quickly brushed her hair, then dressed. She gazed at the pile on her otherwise tidy bed, then shrugged. Renee was aware that Lynne hadn’t slept in that bed since Eric’s departure, and Sam probably knew it too.
Coffee was brewing as Sam and Renee arrived, and the conversation was chipper, despite the frost and Eric’s absence. Lynne felt that deeply, then smiled to herself, wondering if the main course had anything to do with it. She finally brought it up, causing a momentary silence, then laughter rang out, shared by all three. Lynne noted that previously Eric never had an aversion to poultry when he returned, but in March, he had avoided chicken for a few weeks. Sam said he would gladly take home all the turkey leftovers, but Lynne wanted some, which she would eat as sandwiches with Sam’s homemade cranberry sauce. She had two days of work next week, but had found replacements for the rest of her shifts. Tuesday was her last day, and she couldn’t wait to be home.
Not that she knew what she would do, she said, as yummy smells filled the kitchen. The trio sat at the table, sipping coffee, the big tasks finished. The talk went from Lynne’s free time to what a new president might do, a Catholic president, Renee drawled, then giggled. “Some of those doctors think it’s gonna be the end of the world.”
“Some of the nurses do too,” Lynne smiled. “And patients and….” It was an odd thought, but then Lynne shrugged. It wasn’t that strange compared to the man she had married, or the man with whom Stanford lived. Then she smiled; had Stanford and Laurie voted for Kennedy? Lately, when Lynne thought of Stanford Taylor, she lumped Lawrence Abrams alongside him, but she never thought of Lawrence other than as Laurie. He was a good match for the sometimes wooden art dealer, although Laurie was in the same profession, but he represented sculptors. Maybe that made the difference, or maybe they were like Sam and Renee, for she was more social than her husband. Then Lynne gazed at Sam; maybe, before the war, he had been more like his good-humored wife. Then Lynne sighed. When Eric returned, how would he change?
She assumed he would eventually return to his normal human form; to think otherwise was defeatist. But emotionally, might he be permanently altered, and not simply from living as a hawk for months on end. He was hoping to find his father, a man who had…. Lynne blinked away tears, then stood, stepping to the sink. Eric had felt compelled to find him, for reasons Lynne couldn’t consider. She had tried, late at night, when sleep eluded, but those sorts of musings weren’t conducive to peaceful rest. But Eric hadn’t been able to flee from them; those ideas had driven him far from her. Something inside Eric had demanded resolution, if not for himself, then for a man who had….
A strong hand gripped her shoulder. “Lynne?” Sam spoke softly, then cleared his throat. “Lynne?”
She turned to see another who had voluntarily left his wife and family. But Sam’s aims had been patriotic in nature, or maybe they were testosterone-driven. Something about mayhem, even under the guise of heroism, was tied to the male species, and there was nothing women could do to halt that dangerous allure. Lynne had no doubts to how Eric felt about her, but still he hadn’t been able to stop from changing, then leaving. Renee hadn’t kept Sam at home, but what sort of man had he been before Korea?
That question, and others, were too weighty to be aired, and Lynne smiled, then wiped her face. “I’m so glad you’re both here today, that we’re together.” Was it harder to celebrate here than if they had been at the Aherns, but there wasn’t a choice about that either. After next Tuesday, Lynne would remain behind the walls of their property until Eric returned.
Sam nodded, then squeezed her hand. “I’m glad we’re here too. Hopefully we’ll be celebrating Christmas at our place.”
“Hopefully.” Lynne smiled, unable to fathom Eric gone that long. She inhaled, then returned to her seat at the table. Renee’s face was damp, but she also smiled, then reached over, grasping Lynne’s hand. Lynne nodded, wishing for many things. But at least she wasn’t alone.
As Sam packed leftovers into the basket, Renee and Lynne stood in front of the fire, warming their fingers. Then Renee put on her gloves, her coat, hat, and scarf waiting on the sofa. “Call if you need anything. I don’t go back until Saturday, so….”
Lynne nodded, then hugged her friend. After Sam dropped off Renee at the hospital, he would probably stop here, have some coffee with Lynne. Once Lynne was done with work permanently, that would be Sam’s routine, until…. Lynne released Renee, then watched as Renee donned her coat and wraps. Lynne walked her into the kitchen, where Sam was already dressed for the weather, which had turned bitter as night fell. Lynne would keep the fire going until she grew tired, but that didn’t happen until late. She liked falling asleep to the cracks and pops, dying flames easing her to slumber.
She hugged Sam, then went as far as the kitchen door, but Sam told her to stay inside. She left on the front light, locked that door, then checked the sink and counters. Sam had cleaned them, and she smiled, then headed back into the living room.
She wouldn’t have to cook for days, although Sam and Renee had taken the rest of the pie. It wasn’t close to bedtime, but Lynne decided she was done for the night. She went upstairs, dressed for bed, lugging down blankets and the flannel sheet which she laid over the cushions. She made up the sofa and got under the covers, snug still in her robe. She wouldn’t take that off until she had put the grate in front of the fire.
For an hour she read, but her eyelids weren’t heavy. Her heart ached, for this was the first Thanksgiving she and Eric had been apart. He had never been away for a major holiday, which now that she thought about it was quite a blessing. If he wasn’t home by Christmas…. She scoffed aloud at that notion, then sighed inwardly. It was coming on five months, and now she was getting worried. She had tried to shut that out, but something about his absence on that day had weakened her defenses. They had celebrated Thanksgiving with the Aherns before, but sometimes it was a day or two early, or late, if she and Renee were working. How had Eric always managed to be home for these random but special events? And why this time had he been gone so long?
She avoided the more gri
m possibilities, yet, as the fire died away, she couldn’t stop her mind from edging in those directions. If he had been shot, or injured while battling another animal, would he have stayed as a hawk, or transformed back into…. Lynne shook her head, tutting aloud. She sat up, then stood, taking off her robe, then gazing at the fire. She still had to put the grate in front of the coals, which burned a bright orange, reminding her of the painting Eric had made of the fire. It was up in the storage room, but the rest of the house wouldn’t be this cozy. Lynne dawdled, feeling chilled in only her nightgown. Then she put back on her robe, stepping into her slippers. She set the grate in front of the fire, then headed to the stairs. Both Sam and Renee had seen that canvas, agreeing with Lynne that it evoked genuine heat. Lynne smiled, wondering if even on that cold night, might Eric’s magic remain.
It took her several minutes to locate the painting, which she found by a strange but actual warmth emanating from under the sheet which concealed it. She set it on an empty easel, then stared at the vibrant colors, unable to deny that the canvas was indeed warm. Yet, the paint was solid, the brushstrokes intact. She traced over them, then a wave of sadness enveloped her; she had watched him create this masterpiece, which wasn’t an ordinary painting. Through her fingertips she could feel the heat, but it wasn’t merely a temperature difference. Her husband waited in these flames, and tears fell down her face, as she could sense Eric’s heart, beating within the layers of paint. What she would give to lay her hand on his chest, and note that muscle right under his skin.
She removed her hand, then stared at it, not at all cold, although she should be, for she could see her breath. Was this house possessed, was the property haunted, but she wasn’t scared, only ensnared by the isolation. Then she inhaled, noting a hint of that unknown scent, mysterious and calming. It made her cry, but not from sorrow. She called her husband’s name, wondering if wherever Eric was, could he smell that healing, optimistic aroma? Then she smiled. The Aherns were praying for her.
Maybe it was just Renee, but more likely it was Sam, and Lynne wiped her face, then chuckled. Taking one more look at the painting, she fought the urge to touch it, for her fingers were damp. Instead she placed her palm right over what looked to be the hottest part of the fire. Definite heat radiated from the canvas, making her giggle. She set that hand on her cheek, it was warm! Then she closed her eyes, meditating for seconds. She wasn’t sure if that was a prayer, or merely a momentary silence. But it was enough to ease her throbbing heart, then send her from the room, back to the sofa, where she lay down, falling into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.
On Friday Lynne cleaned house, then ate dinner with Sam and Renee, who just happened to stop for a visit. Renee lamented having to work the next day, but Sam said she wouldn’t miss much, as the pie was at their house. Lynne laughed, noting she could make another, but she actually was hungry for a pumpkin pie. Sam said they could bake one together, and Renee could have some when she was done with work. Lynne smiled, noting that Sam and Renee didn’t have to spend all their free time at her house, but Renee laughed, adding she liked the restless nature stirred by all of their comings and goings. The gossips were now at a loss for what to make of Eric’s absence and Sam’s presence at the Snyder home.
Amid those exchanges, Lynne didn’t speak about having inspected Eric’s painting, but after the Aherns left, again she took the stairs, spending half an hour in front of that fire, which was just as warm as last night. Feeling rejuvenated, she headed downstairs, reading until her eyelids were droopy. Again she slept well, stirring to light snow dusting the garden.
She dressed, started a fire, then made coffee. Sam knocked on the kitchen door promptly at eight fifteen, but they took their mugs into the living room. The roads had been treacherous, as snow rarely fell, and few people thought to drive carefully. The forecast was for sun later, but Sam wasn’t sure. Lynne knew his thoughts; winter had been threatening since September. It wasn’t going to wait any longer.
Lynne stood, going to the French doors. The backyard sparkled as powdery snow wafted from the sky. Animals had probably sensed the early onset of winter, all safely tucked into burrows or having migrated to warmer climes. Eric had promised to be home before now, but what was a man’s promise against the elements? And what about all that he had learned, if anything; he had gone searching for a brutal, selfish criminal, who also happened to be his father. Lynne gazed back at Sam. She had no idea what scarring battles he’d witnessed, or what his hands had wrought. Bloodshed was endemic to the human race and in the animal kingdom, but why? Lynne turned back to the French doors; so much beauty existed, there in her snow-covered garden, up in the storage room, and within families where children…. Lynne closed her eyes, as a request formed in her mind. Please, she began, please bring him….
“Home,” Sam said softly. “Amen.”
Lynne whipped around, seeing Sam seated on the sofa, his hands clasped together. “Do you read minds?” she whispered, her voice cracking.
He nodded, then joined her. “Sometimes I even get it right.” He smiled, then put his arm around her. Together they stared through the glass doors, and Lynne wondered if she could will her husband’s return. Maybe if she and Sam prayed hard enough…. Then she began to cry.
Sam held her as she wept, the only other sound that of a crackling fire. When she was calm, he gave her his hankie, and she blew her nose, then wiped her face. Then she gazed at it, was it the same one from earlier that year, when he had thought she was an insane liar? She smiled, then giggled. “You don’t think I’m crazy anymore.”
“Well, a little touched. But that’s from being the wife of a talented artist, nothing you can do about it.”
She nodded, then sighed. “I’ll wash this, and give it back to Renee.”
“Just keep it. I’ve got plenty.”
They glanced at each other, then to the garden. Then Lynne stepped to the fire, warming her back. “Eric just uses old paint rags. You’re more refined Sam Ahern.”
“I’ve mastered a few social graces. Maybe not as many as Stanford Taylor, but….”
Lynne smiled. Then she squinted, staring outside through that new glass pane. Had she seen something, or were her eyes playing tricks. “Sam, look outside.”
He turned, as she rejoined him. “What?” he asked.
Lynne pressed her palms against the glass. Her heart began to skip beats, as again a flicker caught her eye. “Oh my God,” she cried, opening the door, ignoring the cold and the snow. She ran to the edge of the bare patio, shielding her eyes from the glare, as sun peeked through clouds, reflecting on the glistening snow. “Eric? Eric!”
“Did you see him?” Sam asked, now standing beside her, staring into the sky.
The squawk answered Sam’s question, but it was sickly noise, coming from the far end of the property. Both heard it, propelling them down the path. They were stopped by the thicket, and Lynne breathed hard, again calling Eric’s name. “Honey, Sam’s here, it’s just the two of us. Eric, are you all right?”
An eerie hush permeated the overgrowth, which even under the snow looked prickly and hazardous. Lynne softly tapped her foot, her heart pounding. “Eric, honey, if you can’t talk, that’s all right. Just, oh please, make some sound, if you can.”
Seconds passed, then Lynne stepped as close to the thicket as was possible. Suddenly a painful screech pierced the silence, making her shudder. “Eric? Oh baby….”
“Go back to the house Lynne.” Sam’s voice brooked no dissent. “Stay in the kitchen until I call for you.”
“What?”
Sam stepped between her and the brush, from where rustling could now be detected. “Lynne, just do what I say, please. Please?”
She tried to look past Sam, but was caught by his huge blue eyes. He pointed to the house, nodding frantically. “Please go, now. As soon as I get him inside, I’ll call for you. Please Lynne, now!”
A long, sickening caw emerged from the thicket, making both Lynne and Sam peer into the o
vergrowth. Lynne swallowed bile that had been slowly creeping up her throat. As it returned to her stomach, she nodded, taking heavy steps up the path. When she reached the stilled fountain, she turned back, but Sam had gone into the thicket. His voice was muffled, but she detected a unique tenderness as Sam muttered Eric’s name.
She stayed in the kitchen, although it had been hard not to peer through the doorway as she heard Sam enter the living room, his breaths labored. She only noted one set of footsteps, taking the stairs with care, but Sam hadn’t asked for assistance. Nor did he ask for her after several minutes, but she did close the French doors, returning to the kitchen, aching for Sam’s call.
She listened for other things, but the tub wasn’t filled. The house didn’t smell of bird, or not in the downstairs. Lynne made another pot of coffee; she felt this day would be a long one. But she didn’t call the hospital, mostly because if she did that now, Renee would fret. Better to wait until Lynne had something concrete to tell her.
When Sam came downstairs, Lynne waited for him in the kitchen doorway. He looked wary, but with an air of understanding. He led her into the corner of the living room, which Lynne realized was as far from her bedroom as possible. “How is he?” she said.
“He’s not human yet, but he knows he’s home. I don’t want you to see him until he’s….”
“Sam, he’s my husband. I love him no matter….”
“Right now he’s not that man.”
His tone was definitive, as when he had told her to go into the house and to stay in the kitchen. “Please Sam, it’s been almost five months and….”
“And I don’t know how long he’s gonna be…compromised.” He sighed. “Lynne, this isn’t just my opinion. Eric doesn’t want you seeing him like this.”
“If he’s not a man yet, how would you know?”
Tears formed in the corners of Sam’s blue eyes. “Lynne, please. Go to my house, but drive carefully. You’ll need to pick Renee up from work. Then she can drop you off at our house and….”
“So Renee can see him, but not me? I’m his wife Sam, I’m….”
“You’re too close to him.” Sam grasped her by the shoulders. “He needs objective carers. He needs….”
“Me,” she cried, trying to shake off Sam’s hold. “Please, I just wanna….”
“No Lynne, not now. He’s not even….”
“What? He’s not what Sam?”
Sam released her shoulders, then stroked her face. “I don’t know, except that I have never seen a soul so tortured. But I do know the last thing he wants is for you to see him like this. If you love him, please do what I ask, what he wants. He doesn’t wanna hurt you any more than he already has.”
The agony in Sam’s voice pierced Lynne’s heart, as if Eric was speaking through this man. She gazed toward the stairs. Eric was up those steps, to the right. He was so close, but…. She nodded, her heart pained beyond anything previously experienced. Then she shut her eyes; Eric ached that badly too.
Whoever Eric was at that moment knew only anguish, and her presence was a part of his torment. Again she nodded. “I need to get my coat and….”
“Stay here, I’ll bring your things. And tonight, I’ll have Renee pack some of your clothes and….”
“Sam, I’m sleeping here tonight. This’s my house and….”
A shrill but weak squawk interrupted. “Lynne, please, a few days. I’ll be right back.” Sam fled up the stairs. With each step, Lynne’s heart took a beating, or maybe it was still reeling from that sound, which wasn’t that of a man. What was it from, she wondered, and how long would the transformation take?
_______________
Liner Notes
I started this novel in October 2013; at the time, I assumed I’d be penning another short story, the form I had been working in for much of that year. However, at nearly halfway completed, The Hawk currently stands at over 300,000 words. Never before have I embarked upon such a large project.
Over the last eighteen months, other than poems for NaPoWriMo, I have written nothing else. Quilting has overtaken much of my free time, as has caring for my family; recently I have become a grandmother. I have also nursed my father through the end of his life, which fell upon the heels of my first grandchild’s arrival. Now back at home, it’s time to delve once again into writing. No better way than to release this behemoth in a serialized, beta-type manner. As further parts are published, please bear with this author while grandchildren, fabrics, and a new familial normal take precedence. In the meantime, thank you for joining me on this journey, which is a search for my Father, as well as Eric’s. As this is a novel in progress, comments concerning this tale can be sent to [email protected].
About the Author
Anna Scott Graham was born in 1966 in Northern California. A mother and grandmother, she lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, some hummingbirds, and numerous quilts.
The Hawk: Part One Page 21
