well, but he begged off, using the excuse of a stomachache.
The week passes. A storm rolls in from the northeast. Pellets of rain hit the windows. To walk outside to the car is to be blown forward with such force that one trips and stumbles. The rain lasts for days, and Sydney forgets what the beach looked like in the sunshine. It seems that it has always been raining, that this is what she signed up for.
Sydney spends hours in Julie's room. Sometimes she teaches the girl math, but mostly she watches Julie arrange objects and draw them. Sydney is slightly amazed that neither of the parents realized their daughter's innate gift. Perhaps they thought that because there seemed to be a deficit, there was little point in probing. But were there not childhood drawings? Paintings Julie brought home from grade school?
Julie is drawn to pears. Sydney attributes this to something more than just the coincidence of having a bowl of pears on the granite counter when she gave Julie the supplies. Sydney herself is intrigued by the shape of the fruit, the bulbous heavy bottom, the way it sits off-balance, the flat planes of the skin, which she has never noticed before.
Julie sets the pears in relation to one another on the dressing table that used to hold her hair ties and jewelry. She attacks the drawing assignments with the same intensity she brings to thousand-piece puzzles.
Occasionally, Sydney catches herself wondering what Jeff is doing. She pictures him in an airless office in a nondescript building at MIT. She tries to guess what he wears to work. A dress shirt and khaki pants? Shorts when there are no formal classes? Does he leave his desk to go to lunch? Does he walk through the rainy streets of Cambridge to his apartment, a worn canvas backpack slung over his shoulder? And what does he do when he gets home? Sprawl in a chair, watch the Red Sox, and drink a Rolling Rock? Does the phone ring, Victoria on the other end? Will Vicki have plans for the evening?
Toward the end of the first week, Sydney breaks out the paints. While Julie has been drawing, Sydney has been reading art books. She has had to go back to Portsmouth for supplies she didn't know would be needed. Turpentine. Linseed oil. Tracing paper. Sydney explains to Julie as best she can the concept of an oil painting--gessoing the canvas, painting the background first, the need for patience while the paint dries. Sydney parrots the text.
Julie draws three pears on the canvas. Pear shapes are entirely sexual, Sydney discovers, a fact to which she has never given much thought. Sydney cannot say what part of the anatomy, male or female, they resemble, but there is no mistaking their suggestiveness. She wonders if this is the appeal of the pear for Julie. She wonders, too, if Julie is aware of this.
Julie is tentative with the paint, and the results are rudimentary. Patience, however, will not be a problem. Julie has the patience of a monk illuminating a manuscript. Sydney watches her apply ocher paint over a green background, then leaves the room to have her lunch. She steps outside for a walk in the rain. When she returns to the house and enters Julie's room three hours later, the girl is still working on the same area of canvas as when Sydney left her.
Julie appears not to be aware of Sydney. She doesn't eat unless Sydney puts a sandwich beside her and nudges her elbow. Julie is lost in a place Sydney has never been. Perhaps, Sydney thinks, Julie has done poorly at school because too much was thrown at her at one time. Possibly she needed to do only one activity for weeks. This strikes Sydney, as she watches Julie, as sound educational policy.
Mrs. Edwards is disapproving.
"All very well, the painting, but what about the SATs? I specifically said Julie was to do two hours a day of math."
Sydney later hears Mrs. Edwards in discussion with her husband, the words unclear but the tone distinct. Mr. Edwards takes the blame. He cannot be fired.
Sydney makes a mental
The week passes. A storm rolls in from the northeast. Pellets of rain hit the windows. To walk outside to the car is to be blown forward with such force that one trips and stumbles. The rain lasts for days, and Sydney forgets what the beach looked like in the sunshine. It seems that it has always been raining, that this is what she signed up for.
Sydney spends hours in Julie's room. Sometimes she teaches the girl math, but mostly she watches Julie arrange objects and draw them. Sydney is slightly amazed that neither of the parents realized their daughter's innate gift. Perhaps they thought that because there seemed to be a deficit, there was little point in probing. But were there not childhood drawings? Paintings Julie brought home from grade school?
Julie is drawn to pears. Sydney attributes this to something more than just the coincidence of having a bowl of pears on the granite counter when she gave Julie the supplies. Sydney herself is intrigued by the shape of the fruit, the bulbous heavy bottom, the way it sits off-balance, the flat planes of the skin, which she has never noticed before.
Julie sets the pears in relation to one another on the dressing table that used to hold her hair ties and jewelry. She attacks the drawing assignments with the same intensity she brings to thousand-piece puzzles.
Occasionally, Sydney catches herself wondering what Jeff is doing. She pictures him in an airless office in a nondescript building at MIT. She tries to guess what he wears to work. A dress shirt and khaki pants? Shorts when there are no formal classes? Does he leave his desk to go to lunch? Does he walk through the rainy streets of Cambridge to his apartment, a worn canvas backpack slung over his shoulder? And what does he do when he gets home? Sprawl in a chair, watch the Red Sox, and drink a Rolling Rock? Does the phone ring, Victoria on the other end? Will Vicki have plans for the evening?
Toward the end of the first week, Sydney breaks out the paints. While Julie has been drawing, Sydney has been reading art books. She has had to go back to Portsmouth for supplies she didn't know would be needed. Turpentine. Linseed oil. Tracing paper. Sydney explains to Julie as best she can the concept of an oil painting--gessoing the canvas, painting the background first, the need for patience while the paint dries. Sydney parrots the text.
Julie draws three pears on the canvas. Pear shapes are entirely sexual, Sydney discovers, a fact to which she has never given much thought. Sydney cannot say what part of the anatomy, male or female, they resemble, but there is no mistaking their suggestiveness. She wonders if this is the appeal of the pear for Julie. She wonders, too, if Julie is aware of this.
Julie is tentative with the paint, and the results are rudimentary. Patience, however, will not be a problem. Julie has the patience of a monk illuminating a manuscript. Sydney watches her apply ocher paint over a green background, then leaves the room to have her lunch. She steps outside for a walk in the rain. When she returns to the house and enters Julie's room three hours later, the girl is still working on the same area of canvas as when Sydney left her.
Julie appears not to be aware of Sydney. She doesn't eat unless Sydney puts a sandwich beside her and nudges her elbow. Julie is lost in a place Sydney has never been. Perhaps, Sydney thinks, Julie has done poorly at school because too much was thrown at her at one time. Possibly she needed to do only one activity for weeks. This strikes Sydney, as she watches Julie, as sound educational policy.
Mrs. Edwards is disapproving.
"All very well, the painting, but what about the SATs? I specifically said Julie was to do two hours a day of math."
Sydney later hears Mrs. Edwards in discussion with her husband, the words unclear but the tone distinct. Mr. Edwards takes the blame. He cannot be fired.
Sydney makes a mental
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