A Portrait of Marguerite Page 4

  “God, help me,” I cried out.

  The room hung heavy with silence. I shook my head. When had God ever stepped in to help me? Everything I’d learned in church was a lie. It was embarrassing to think how gullible I’d been in my youth, and frightening how alone I was now.

  Standing in front of Rob’s mirror, I saw a twisted mask with squinting red eyes. Blinking, I staggered into the bathroom, yanked out an arm’s length of toilet paper to blot my face, then glanced into the mirror above the sink. A stranger, someone I didn’t even want to know, stared back. I tried to change my expression to one of dignity, but saw only ugliness and despair.

  The banister supported me as I descended the stairs to the kitchen. Charlie waited by the back door and watched with wary eyes from across the room.

  “It’s all right, little man.” Not true. Nothing about my life was all right. I dragged open the door and let the dog out into the fenced yard.

  The uneaten cinnamon rolls still sat on the counter. I slid them into a plastic bag, careful not to damage the frosting. A sudden torrent of nausea surged through my stomach. In one swift movement, I shoved the rolls into the garbage can under the sink. I pushed down with all my weight, crushing the soft dough. The icing squished against the plastic bag under my palm.

  My knees buckling, I sank to the floor. New tears welled up from a lifetime of unresolved sorrows. I leaned against the cupboard door and allowed the floodwaters to flow.

  When I was a miserable teenager, my mother had assured me I could trust in God. “All things work together for good for those who love the Lord,” Mom had said many times.

  But this sadness was a long, dark tunnel with no light at the end.

  I spied Laurie and Erika milling on the corner one block from my house. I waved, then used a hand to cover my yawning mouth. Had I gotten any sleep? Several times during the night my dreams were shattered by strange clomping sounds. Once, I’d thought I heard Rob rummaging through the refrigerator for a snack, and I’d yanked myself into consciousness. Rob was at school, I remembered in a fog of confusion. Had someone broken into the house? No, Charlie would be barking—unless he was going deaf. No, he’d heard a dog trot by the house this morning and raised a horrific racket. The noise was probably the neighbors wheeling out their garbage cans for tomorrow’s pickup. I was safe—as safe as I would ever be.

  Charlie pranced ahead, yanking on his leash, and I lengthened my last few strides. My gaze swept ahead to the lake, which glittered through the trees like thousands of little suns. The September morning was splendid, but it brought me no joy.

  Laurie looked snazzy in a periwinkle blue jogging suit I’d never seen before. “Have you heard from Rob?” she asked once we’d greeted each other.

  “We’ve spoken a few times. He said his room’s tiny, and his roommate listens to rap music all night.” Our conversation the day before had lasted less than three minutes. Rob had hung up with a quick “Gotta run, I’m late.” When the line went dead, I’d stood with the receiver in hand, feeling glum. In an effort to elevate my spirits, I’d reminded myself how independent I was at his age. My parents had seemed like old codgers. Now I realized how wise they were. And how foolish I had been.

  Erika, her straw brown hair hanging limply, stood with her hands on her hips. “Did Phil show up to drive him?” she asked with a slice of sarcasm.

  “Yeah, and he brought his new honey with him.” My voice cracked, unexpectedly. “Meeting her was quite an experience.”

  Erika’s eyes narrowed, generating a web of crow’s-feet on her otherwise smooth face. “I already hate her,” she said playfully.

  I tried to laugh, but it sputtered out a dry hack. “If I never see that woman again, it’ll be too soon.” The thought of Darla’s farewell smile still made me cringe. It came to mind that she and I were both north poles, our forces repelling each other. With any luck I would never see her again, which would probably suit her, too.

  “I can’t believe he brought his girlfriend to your house,” Laurie said. “Men can be so dense.”

  “Not all men,” Erika said.

  “Yeah, I know,” Laurie said. “Your Jonathan’s a prince.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  Susan, who lived a half mile away, swerved her minivan up to the corner. A moment later she hopped out—a giant stretch for her short legs. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, slogging over to us. “The phone rang just as I was running out the door.” Panting, she dropped her keys in the pocket of her baggy jeans. “How was everyone’s week?”

  “Great,” Laurie said. “Marguerite and I started our drawing class.” She aimed her grin at me. “I can hardly wait until next Monday, can you? Have you been doing your drawing assignment, twenty minutes a day?”

  “I haven’t had time. I’ve been swamped at work. If you’re a realtor, you have to jump whenever a client calls.” The truth was, I hadn’t been busy, nor had I given the assignment a second thought. “How about you?”

  “Yes, I’ve done three drawings.”

  “Good for you,” Susan said.

  Charlie tugged in the direction of the lake. I loosened my hold on his leash and allowed him to lead me. Erika and Laurie fell in on either side of me, and Susan walked next to Erika.

  “Our teacher is outstanding,” Laurie said. “Marguerite, you should go out with him.”

  The corners of my mouth drew back. Remembering my encounter with Henry at the gallery, I felt like using the words arrogant and stuck-up, but I wanted to forget about the incident. “I don’t like his type,” I said.

  “What type is that?” Erika asked.

  “He’s extremely good-looking.” Laurie said.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, although I could see how some women might find him attractive. “And who could get past his personality?”

  Laurie paid no attention. “Henry’s got dreamy eyes that make you forget what you were thinking about. His hair’s graying a little, but even that looks good.” She bumped against my arm. “You should definitely go out with him.”

  Laurie had a habit of talking me into things, but this was one hook I wouldn’t bite. “Let’s change the subject,” I said, whining in a way that would have made my father grumble. He never did spank me as a child, but I would have done anything to avoid his frown. I guess it took a crisis for me to get over that.

  We reached the paved walkway around Green Lake, then merged into the pedestrian lane. I’d walked the almost three miles around this lake so many times, I felt like a train coasting along on a track. Ahead of us two women pushed strollers. From the other direction, a youth on rollerblades, who probably should have been in school, skirted past us. I noticed the breeze kicking up the water’s inky surface, then felt it stroke my face and lift my hair off my forehead.

  “I love September,” Susan said. Her swinging arms bobbed against her wide hips. “It feels good to have the kids back in school.”

  Laurie and Erika jumped into the conversation. The three of them still had kids at home; their words mingled together in my ears like a distant radio with fuzzy reception. Overhead, geese honked. I glanced up to see a V-shaped formation of black wings pounding against the sky as a dozen Canadian geese migrated south in search of warmer weather. I thought about Rob as a little boy. How happy I would be if he were still in grade school.

  “Just think, in a few years, all our kids will be out of the house,” Laurie said.

  I slowed my pace to watch mustard-colored leaves flutter across our path. “After eighteen years, maybe we’ve outgrown being a Mom’s Brigade,” I said. “Do we need a new name?”

  “No way.” Laurie wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and I leaned into her. “We’ll keep walking this lake, even when we’re using canes.”

  “Oh, no,” I gasped as I recognized Bill Sullivan sprinting our way.

  “Hi, Marguerite,” Bill yelled out. He shortened his steps. “How goes it?” He started jogging in place, sweat streaming down his ruddy face.

&n
bsp; I’d met him through a coworker at the office, and we’d dated for almost three months. We had little in common, really, other than we both sold real estate and liked Mexican food. Once, over dinner, I decided he was the most boring man I’d ever met. But I still went out with him again. I was that lonely.

  I didn’t feel like revisiting the past. “Just keep walking,” I instructed under my breath with a horrified snicker that started the women laughing.

  “You’re looking good,” he said, giving me the once-over. “Call me if you want to go out again.”

  “I remember that guy,” Laurie said. She turned her head to appraise him from the back. “He’s kind of cute.”

  “Cute ain’t everything,” I said.

  “Well, if I were single—”

  I lifted an eyebrow.

  “It’s not against the law to look, is it?”

  Twenty minutes later, we stood on the corner saying good-bye. We hugged each other, then split off into our different worlds.

  “Go home and draw,” Laurie called to me.

  I gave her a dismissive wave but carried her words with me.

  Charlie lagged at my side as I entered the yard and closed the gate. I unsnapped his leash, and he moseyed over to his water dish by the back step. Lately, I’d noticed the dog’s hair was thinning in spots, and his eyes were clouding milky gray, probably dimming his vision. I knew he was getting old. But the thought of losing him was more than I could contemplate at the moment. I unlocked the glass-paned kitchen door. Ignoring the dirty breakfast dishes congregating on the counter, I sauntered down to the basement, a large cement-sided storage room with a washer and dryer in one corner.

  In a bookcase crammed with Rob’s favorite childhood books and board games, I found his old sketchbooks. The first one was filled with his drawings from third grade. Hoping to catch the scent of his young fingers at work, I flipped from page to page to examine each picture, and inhaled the musty smell. The next pad, yellowing around the edges, was blank inside. Which made sense. Once Rob discovered sports he’d lost interest in art.

  As I carried it upstairs I could hear Charlie scratching at the kitchen door. I let the dog in, and he began snuffling the floor under the table hunting for dropped morsels of food.

  I checked the clock on the microwave. Henry Marsh had instructed us to draw anything we liked for twenty minutes. But what did I like? It had been ages since I’d observed the world through an artist’s eyes. I contemplated skipping the homework. Twenty minutes was a valuable chunk of time I could use to call a client or check new listings. Henry would never know the difference—especially if I didn’t return to class. Most likely he wouldn’t even notice my absence.

  When Charlie found nothing under the table, he cocked his head in my direction, no doubt hoping I’d forgotten I’d already fed him two hours earlier.

  “Okay, little mister, you’re going be my model,” I said. While I sharpened a pencil, he minced over to his bed, a wicker basket with an orange pad. He gyrated in a circle, then flopped down like a stuffed animal and closed his eyes.

  As I sketched my snoozing pooch, the time zipped by. I put the pencil aside and groaned. The finished drawing looked like nothing more than a chaotic mass of fur.

  “That’s awful.” In college I could draw so well. But over the years, the inkwell had gone dry.

  Charlie opened one eye and glared at me with annoyance. I swear, I could almost read his mind. And that went both ways.

  “You really are just a fuzzy mass, you silly old thing.” I realized I should have chosen a subject with more lineal definition. I gazed out the window at my neighbor’s maple tree, its leaves flashing rust and burgundy, and imagined what it would be like to execute the finest drawing Henry had ever seen. This vision lightened my mood for a moment, but when I glanced down at my real drawing again, I was flung back to reality.

  I double-checked the address as I pulled my Toyota up in front of a dingy cottage perched on a steep hill in the Phinney Ridge neighborhood. I peered out the window to see a flesh-colored house with paint peeling back to reveal layers of turquoise blue and murky brown. Its unkempt lawn looked like it had been mowed several weeks ago, but no one had raked up the matted grass clippings. A laurel bush grew in unruly globs, and a hawthorn tree had been pruned back to stumps.

  “Not much to look at,” I told Susan, who’d asked to see the property. I tried to remember what I’d read on file and the scuttlebutt around the office. “The same couple lived here for forty years. It was remodeled in the fifties and hasn’t had a thing done to it since. When the husband died, the wife moved into assisted living.”

  While turning the front wheels against the curb and firmly setting the parking brake, I thought of my aging parents. My folks had talked about moving to a smaller place some day. That is, if they stayed married long enough.

  As I scaled the uneven porch steps, I warned Susan, “Be careful, and I wouldn’t use that hand railing.” I removed the key from the lock box and worked open the door.

  She passed through the front hall without seeming to notice the curling wallpaper or the warped flooring. “I love it. She proceeded to the kitchen at the far side of the house. “Look at that view of the Olympics.”

  Following her, I caught sight of pale mountaintops jutting above Puget Sound out the window. “You already have a nice view where you live now,” I said.

  “Not this good.” Susan opened empty cupboards, then looked under the sink and found a baited mousetrap.

  “That’s a bad sign.” I sniffed the stale air and detected rancid cooking oil and mold. “This kitchen’s awful.”

  “But it has potential.” A fan of the Cooking Channel, she’d renovated her present kitchen into a chef’s paradise, while my idea of updating was purchasing new dish towels and pot holders, and decanting the liquid dish soap into a glass bottle.

  “I wish I had your energy,” I said.

  We climbed to the second floor, and she counted the two bedrooms. “The upstairs is much too small,” she said, her voice sinking.

  “Not to mention only one bathroom.” Earlier, when waiting in front of Susan’s colonial, with its fluted pillars standing on either side of the front door and shutters framing each window, I’d wondered why anyone would want to leave such a charming home. Four years ago I’d sold the house, then a fixer-upper, to Susan and her husband, Bob. And, several years earlier, the couple had purchased another rundown place from me, extensively remodeled it, and then decided they needed something bigger.

  “You don’t need to say it. I should be content where I am,” she said. “I have everything a woman could want: a terrific husband and three kids and a beautiful home. Is it wrong for me to want more?”

  She was living the life I’d always dreamed of—the kind my parents enjoyed when I was a child. “Are you talking about a change of locations or a change of lifestyles?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure. I seem to get restless every fall when school starts. I think I’m going to utilize the free time, but all I get done is the grocery shopping and laundry. Then the kids come home, and I’m busy fixing snacks and helping with homework.”

  “What else would you want to be doing? You’re welcome to take the drawing class with Laurie and me. In fact, you could have my spot and keep Laurie company.”

  “It sounds like fun, but I’m exhausted by seven o’clock. After I’ve fixed dinner and cleaned up the kitchen, I’m ready for bed.”

  “You’re a wonderful mom,” I said with sincerity.

  “Thank you. I’m glad someone thinks that matters.”

  “It does. It’s the most important job there is.”

  Her dark eyes grew somber. “When I go out to dinner with Bob’s associates or clients, they ask me what I do. When I tell them I’m a stay-at-home mom, they can’t wait to change the subject.”

  I wondered if I’d ever written off housewives the same way. I wouldn’t do it again, that was for sure. “If it weren’t for women like you, workin
g moms wouldn’t have chaperones for school parties or drivers for field trips. When Rob was young, I rarely had time to help. I wish I could have been like you.”

  “But there has to be more to life than taking care of kids and vacuuming the house.” Susan leaned against the wall. “I feel guilty saying it, but I’m sick of being home every day at three, waiting for the bus to show up. With Rob away, you can waltz out the door whenever you want. You’re completely free.”

  “Yeah, I’ve told myself it’s going to be great,” I responded blithely. I swallowed the lump that had been lurking at the bottom of my throat ever since Rob’s departure. Again this morning, thinking I’d heard him, I almost called out his name, only to feel the immediate stab of disappointment.

  “No one tying up the phone or playing loud music,” I said. “And I could use Rob’s room for an office, so I won’t pile papers on the kitchen table anymore.”

  “I’d love an extra room in the house. When Brandon decided to go to junior college for two years, I told him he should stay at home and save up his money. Now, I sort of wish he was living in a dorm.”

  “Hang on to him as long as you can. I miss Rob so much, I feel like I’m going through withdrawal. Like I’m shriveling up.” Putting it into words only made me feel worse, which she must have read on my face.

  “You’ll probably get over it in a few weeks,” she said.

  ”Maybe.” Holding in tears, I fixed my eyes out the bedroom window and stared at the brick house next door.

  She took my hand. “When I’m down, I try to keep busy. Just about any diversion can do the trick.” Her voice turned merry. “I like eating best, but your drawing class sounds less fattening.” She chuckled when I cracked a smile.

  A clattering racket suddenly erupted on the roof above us.

  She cowered, her hands balling under her chin. “Birds?”

  “I hope so.” I dove into my purse to find my keys. “Let’s get out of here before the roof collapses.”