A Portrait of Marguerite Read online

  God, I need you.

  How I wished he could hear me.

  Three blocks from the office, I felt compelled to make a U-turn and drive the five minutes to Laurie’s home. Coming down her street, I could see the two-story Georgian-style residence, which had recently been repainted a crisp white. Lustrous black shutters hung on each side of the windows, and two neat rows of boxwood lined the brick-paved walkway up to the snappy red door. From the outside everything looked perfect.

  Laurie’s Lexus sat in the drive. She hadn’t shown up for the Mom’s walk on Thursday. According to Erika, Laurie had called saying she was coming down with the flu and was going back to bed. But when I phoned her later that afternoon, she’d sounded fine—almost too fine. I’d asked about her situation with Dave, and she’d said, “Dave left town this morning for a week, and I refuse even to think about him until he gets back.”

  I strode to the front door and reached for the brass knocker. At that moment, the door swung open, and Laurie glided out.

  She stopped short, her eyes widening with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was worried about you,” I said. She couldn’t be headed to the beauty parlor. Her hair looked professionally coiffed, with glossy strands styled away from her face. A splash of scarlet accentuated her lips, and dark liner gave her eyes a seductive look.

  Laurie zipped up her purse and hoisted the strap over her shoulder. “I’m on my way out.”

  I inhaled a whiff of Joy perfume, which I knew she saved for special occasions. “I came by to see how you’re doing and to give you a hug.” I put my arms around her, but she stood as straight as a broomstick, her arms dangling at her sides. I leaned back and appraised her outfit: a slim black knee-length skirt and a leopard-print top.

  “Where are you headed?” I asked.

  Avoiding my gaze, she said, “Downtown. I have an appointment in twenty minutes.” She inched forward, but I blocked her path.

  “A business meeting?” I asked, not budging.

  She glanced at her watch. She was wearing the small gold one with the diamonds on the face. “No, just something I need to take care of.”

  My hands moved to my hips. “I’ll go with you and keep you company. We can talk in the car.”

  “No, that won’t work. I have to run a few errands afterward, then go to the grocery store.”

  A sedan pulled into the driveway across the street. Laurie waved at the driver, a woman, then took advantage of the diversion to sidestep me.

  “I’ll give you a call,” she said over her shoulder. She scurried to her car and unlocked it with a remote key.

  Where was she going? It was too late in the day for a lunch date. If she were meeting someone—

  My mouth went dry. I wondered if I should beg her not to leave. But could I stop her even if I tried? Maybe there was no way to keep a boulder from rolling down a hill once it gained enough momentum.

  “Laurie,” I called after her, using the stern voice I employed when Rob was in trouble. The woman across the street turned her head.

  Laurie’s hand rested on the door handle; she waited for me to catch up with her.

  “You’re scaring me,” I said. “Please tell me you’re not meeting the person I think you are.”

  She wrenched open the door. “What if I am?” She raised her chin defiantly. “Are you going to turn on me too?”

  “We’ll always be friends, but that doesn’t mean I like what you’re doing.”

  “When did you get to be so high and mighty?” she asked, jangling her keys. Then she spun around, dove into the driver’s seat, and slammed the door behind her.

  I stood listening to the engine roar to life. I watched her back her car down the driveway and cruise halfway up the block. The car slowed, brake lights flickering. Then it sped away.

  When I got home, Charlie met me at the door with a meager woof. It had taken several days for the dog to recover the strength in his legs, and he still moved like an old gentleman needing a cane. Hauling him up and supporting his weight on one hip, I listened to my phone messages.

  “Honey,” Mom’s recorded voice said, “would you give me a call?”

  I wanted to call my mother right away, but I waited for the next message to play.

  “Do you think you could stop by my studio today?” Henry asked. “I want to show you something.”

  I played his message two more times. I couldn’t imagine what he could possibly have to show me. A note from Darla? An article on morality?

  “I’m not going,” I told Charlie. There was no point in speaking to Henry Marsh about anything ever again. “I have my friends, my parents, and my son to keep me busy,” I said. “And soon I’ll have a grandchild. Wow.” I was amazed to feel anything other than dread.

  I deposited a kiss on the top of Charlie’s fuzzy head, then set him down and fluffed his coat. He padded over to his basket, tucked his legs underneath him, and curled into a ball.

  As I dialed my parents’ number, I wondered what Mom had on her mind. Was she going to share the itinerary for her upcoming European voyage, or the news that she’d filed for divorce?

  “Hello,” my mother said in her usual way.

  “Mom, how are you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Pretty good, I guess.” The gaiety that I’d heard in her voice the day before had vanished. I pictured her camped out on the couch blotting her tears with a soggy handkerchief. I was about to offer to come over and keep her company, but before I could speak she said, “I know you were being sarcastic when you asked me what Jesus would say. But it got me thinking about God’s unconditional love, how he keeps forgiving me each time I wander off course. Vern was over here pleading for forgiveness, wanting to come home. It’s too early for him to move back, but I agreed to go to a marriage counselor with him on Friday.”

  “Wow.” I felt like jumping for joy. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all week.”

  “Now, don’t get your hopes up too high. I don’t know if I can forgive your father—I really don’t.”

  “But you’ll try?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wonderful. And, Mom?” It felt odd giving my mother marital advice, and I proceeded with caution. “Remember, it took a long time for you two to get to this point. It might take awhile to get things back on track.”

  Minutes after I hung up, the phone rang. Hoping to hear Laurie’s voice, I eagerly grabbed the receiver.

  “I’m just checking to see if you got my message,” Henry said.

  My free hand moved to my collarbone. “I did, but I can’t come over.”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “No, never.” I told myself to stand firm. I’d taken the road of least resistance too many times. “If you have something to tell me, please say it now.”

  “You sound upset. And you have a right to be.”

  “No, I’m not. But it’s better for everyone if we don’t speak to each other again.”

  A long pause followed; the silence crackled in my ears.

  “I’ve hurt you, haven’t I?” His voice tapered to just above a whisper. “I’m sorry, I’ve only been thinking about myself.”

  “No, it’s not you.” Darkness threaded through my limbs as I realized I would never see him again. I felt myself beginning to crumble. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to say thank you for the class and good-bye.”

  “I do mind. We need to talk.”

  This conversation hurt badly enough without prolonging the agony. I thought about hanging up on him, but my hand gripped the receiver. “Here, I’ll make things easier for you. Someone’s threatened to tell you everything about me. You’d be disgusted if you knew the whole story.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Anguish flooded my mind and spilled out in a tangle of desperate words. “What would you think of a woman who got herself pregnant on purpose, then threatened to abort her child if the father didn’t marry her?” I felt like someone had knifed me open to expose my insides.r />
  “I’d think she was young and foolish,” he replied without hesitation.

  The backs of my knees weakened. “You’d be furious at your daughter if she act liked that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes. But I’d forgive her, even if I disapproved of her actions.”

  I felt my throat close with anxiety. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”

  “It’s all right, it’s my turn to listen. I’ll come over.”

  “No, I’ll come there. But just long enough to make you understand.”

  As I drove toward Henry’s studio, I wondered what in the world had made me agree to see him. How could I look him in the eye after what I just revealed? And what good could come of it? I needed to get over the storybook dream that a man—even a friend—was going to fix everything in my life. Another person couldn’t do that for me.

  Coasting down a side street, I saw a brownish orange shape out of the corner of my eye. I jammed my foot on the brakes just as a cat streaked in front of me. My tires squealed as the car jolted to a halt. The seat belt gripped my torso, and my head snapped forward, then fell back against the headrest. Oh, no! I thought. Please, no. I held my breath and waited. A moment later the cat skittered under a car on the other side of the road.

  Someone honked. I checked my rearview mirror to see a UPS truck right behind me. I eased up on the brakes, and my car began to creep forward. My heart beat frantically—as if I were the cat running for dear life. What was wrong with me?

  I turned onto Henry’s block. Telling myself I would only be there for a minute, I rolled into a parking spot in front of his place, leaving more than a foot between the curb and my tires.

  Henry answered his door on the first knock. “Come in.”

  “We can talk here,” I said, backing down one step. “Say what you have to say.”

  “Please come in. I won’t keep you long.” He turned, and without glancing back, strolled around the corner into his studio.

  I watched his wide shoulders, his easy gait. Feeling a tug deep inside, I followed.

  He led me to a canvas sitting on an easel. “I’ve been working on this all week,” he said, standing back.

  I gaped at the full-length portrait. He’d painted me, of all people. I was shocked, as you can imagine. I’d never seen myself so realistically yet beautifully portrayed. Not even in a photograph. I was dressed in a long, flowing dress, the kind I might have worn in college. A gentle breeze seemed to flutter against the silky fabric, impelling me through an open door. The area outside the portal lay tinted with grays and sepias, but I was stepping through it into a lush, flowered meadow that stretched to snow-capped lavender mountains. My eyes were lifted toward the moon. Now here’s the crazy part: He’d painted the same pearly moon and misty halo I had drawn.

  “That’s impossible,” I said.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I painted you without asking your permission,” he said from over my shoulder. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s the most incredible painting I’ve ever seen.” He had captured a youthful innocence that had faded with time. “But I’m not that girl anymore.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  I turned to face him. “Didn’t you hear what I told you on the phone?”

  “Yes, I heard you. But all that took place over eighteen years ago. Why talk about it now?”

  “Because we can never escape our past.” My voice trembled, making me sound like Mom the day Dad moved out. “Someone’s found out what I did and has threatened to tell everyone, including my son.”

  “That’s blackmail.” His voice became gruff, heated. “Who is it? I’ll go set them straight.”

  “No. Please stay out of this. That would only make her madder.”

  “Her? Is it Darla?” The muscle along his jawbone flexed. “Phil must have told her how I feel about you.”

  So Darla was telling the truth? I wanted to hide my face. “But that was before you knew.”

  His hand came out to take mine, but I stepped back, out of his reach.

  “Self-righteous people sometimes have secrets to hide themselves,” he said. “I’ve known a friend of Darla’s for many years.”

  “Vicki?” Thanks to Darla I knew her name. I wondered if Henry realized the woman carried a torch for him.

  “Yes,” he said. “She introduced me to Darla, and I introduced Darla to Phil. Vicki let a nasty fact about Darla slip out awhile ago. Seems she got mixed up with a married man a few years back.” He shrugged, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth. “We could call Darla and give her a taste of her own medicine.”

  “But then we’d be just like her.”

  “True. The best remedy would be not to care whether Darla tells anyone or not.” He moved closer. “What’s the worst thing that could happen if Rob finds out?”

  I considered my son’s distress, especially in the midst of his crisis with Andrea. “He’d be devastated, crushed.” I would do anything to spare him that anguish.

  “His feelings probably would be hurt, but your story illustrates an important lesson: Each life is precious. If Rob ever wonders whether he and Andrea did the right thing by keeping their baby, he could remember his own parents made the same choice. And it was a good one.”

  I felt light-headed, unsteady, as though the floor beneath me were swaying. “I can’t risk it,” I said.

  “Do you think you’re the only one in the world who’s done something they regret?”

  Of course I didn’t. Everyone messed up now and then, but other people’s mistakes were minor compared to mine. I had altered the lives of three people: Phil, Rob, and myself. And the repercussions continued to ripple outward.

  “I’ll share a story with you. I hate to admit this to anyone, but here goes.” His weight rocked forward and his head bowed for a moment. Then he said, “You met my daughter Terry?”

  “Yes, she’s very pretty.”

  “After Barbara died, Terry was on my case about everything. Why didn’t we have enough money to go to Disney World? Why couldn’t she eat junk food in front of the TV instead of doing her homework? Why did she have to go to bed so early when all her friends got to stay up until midnight? You name it, and it was my fault. Her grades plummeted, and her teachers called weekly. Then, when I didn’t think things could get any worse, she was caught shoplifting.” He rubbed one eye. “I called her a brat after the policeman brought her home and threatened to send her to a boarding school for juvenile delinquents.”

  I pictured myself in his place. After his wife’s death it would be painful to be rejected by his daughter. I wanted to assure him that even the best parents lost their temper every once in a while.

  His voice sounded strange, as though he were having trouble breathing. “Terry screamed, ‘I hate you.’ Then she slapped me in the face with all her might. Without thinking my fist flew out and stopped an inch away from her cheek.”

  As his arm swung out to demonstrate, I couldn’t help recoiling. I abhorred violence and couldn’t conceive of a man striking his own child.

  When he saw me cringe, he bowed his head again and expelled a mighty breath. “The Holy Spirit must have grabbed my hand. At that time of my life, I honestly wasn’t strong enough to do anything by myself.

  “I’m not proud of that moment,” he continued, sounding frail. “I’ll never forget the horrified look on Terry’s face as she cowered in fear. I still regret it. My girl could have ended up in the hospital.”

  “How did you both get past it?” Or had they?

  “First, I apologized and promised that when I got angry I’d go somewhere to cool off. Never, never again would I allow frustration and resentment to govern my actions. Then I went in my bedroom and fell to my knees and begged for the Lord’s forgiveness. I was so filled with shame it took awhile for me to accept his gift. But I finally found peace.” He looked me squarely in the eye. “Do you think I deserved God’s mercy?”

  He answered his own question. “No, none of us de
serves it. But God is generous beyond our comprehension, and his forgiveness is free for the asking. Now, have we got that all settled?”

  “Yes.” At least I wanted to understand. And I wanted to know his God and to be made whole, as he had been.

  He glanced at his painting, his gaze coming to rest on my likeness. “I’ve kept myself isolated for so long, afraid of loving another woman who might leave me. I’ve been lonely.”

  “I know how that feels.”

  He slipped his arms around my shoulders with such gentleness and care—as if I were the most precious creature on earth. Then I felt my lips melt into his. The warm current flowing through my veins washed away all doubts and replaced them with happiness. I closed my eyes and let his strong arms support me. If he let go, I would fall to the floor. But I was willing to risk it. When our lips parted, we stood wrapped in each other’s arms like entwined branches.

  “Come on,” he said. We sat down together on one of his chairs. I snuggled into his shoulder, closed my eyes, and let my head rise and fall on his chest. I didn’t ask why he had painted me, or how he’d remembered so vividly what I looked like. I didn’t even question his painting the same moon I’d drawn. None of that seemed to matter anymore.

  When he stirred, I moaned. “Please don’t get up. I want to stay like this forever.” I couldn’t believe I’d just bared my thoughts like a neon sign. But the moment passed and his breathing continued its steady refrain.

  He said, “I have to get back to my work.” Noticing my worried expression, he added, “I’m not going anywhere.” He kissed my nose. “Look at this painting. It’s obvious I’m smitten with you.”

  During the ride home, Henry’s fragrant breath lingers in my nostrils, his sweet taste on my lips. My chest tingles with happiness, although that seems like a mundane word for the bliss I’m experiencing. I’ve never met a finer man, and he cares for me—skeletons and all. Imagine that.

  And I’ll tell you something else. Everything I pass looks alive with color and texture. The trees are ablaze with finery, the sky brilliant, iridescent, and even the telephone poles, arranged in endless repeating lines, invite me to capture their splendor on a canvas.