going to fight this, and we’re going to win.”
My aunt’s eyes unfocused. It was as if I could feel her slipping away, out of her body into a nether space where I couldn’t reach her.
“Please don’t give up,” I said.
Her hand in mine was too relaxed. Limp, almost.
“I’ll paint you anything you want. Please.”
The light returned to her eyes and she chuckled. “You’ve got my number, don’t you?”
“It’s all I know how to do. I mean, I know this has to be hard without Paul, and if I could bring him back for you, I would. But I can’t. I can capture moments, though. Is there anything else you want immortalized and that you don’t have a picture of? Some scene from your time with him that is vivid in your mind, but that no one else ever saw?”
“Oh, there are hundreds of those. Millions, even.”
“Let’s find one. And if you want to tell me long stories until we do, that’s fine by me. I can listen.”
Her hand tightened around mine. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“I’ll stay as long as you need me. My visa’s good for six months, and then I can just take a trip over to Ireland or France and come back in for another six.”
“You’re sure this is okay? I don’t want you to stop living your life for me.”
“I do not miss my life back in Portland. No, this is good. Really.”
Those stormy gray eyes scanned my face again and her lips parted, as if she would say something, but no words came.
I waited and gave her the space she needed to collect her thoughts.
But she gave my hand a squeeze and turned away. “I’m just so tired.”
“Okay, well, I need to leave soon anyway, but I’ll be back tomorrow.”
W hen I arrived back at Nora’s house, there was a tuna casserole on the front stoop. “Ah, there you are,” said a voice behind me.
I turned slowly. Louisa was not whom I wanted to see at the moment, but there she was, striding up the driveway. I wondered if she’d been staked out across the street. “What’s happening, then?” she asked. “Is Nora back in hospital?”
“Um, well...”
“I brought you a casserole. Why don’t I take it inside for you, cut you a slice.”
“No, that’s okay.”
“You’re a painter, aren’t you? That’s what Sister Mason said when I was asking ‘round about you during Relief Society.” She peered up at me with narrowed eyes.
“I am a painter, yes.”
“What kind?”
“Gospel art. The kind of stuff they sell in LDS bookstores.”
“Riiight, I haven’t been to Godstone in ages. That’s where the LDS bookstore is here. Did you know that? Is painting very lucrative?”
“Excuse me?”
“I got the impression Nora flew you out here. Is that wrong? I know some artists make a lot of money, but I’d think for gospel art, you’d be just barely making ends meet. About how much do you make?”
This woman made annoyance a fine art. It was as if she could see every vulnerable spot and hit it with pinpoint accuracy. I felt like I was being pricked with a hatpin over and over. She had me backed up to the door. I nearly stepped in the stupid casserole.
“Look,” I snapped. “Sorry to be rude, but I’ve had a rough day and unless you’re offering to prepare my tax return, it’s really none of your business how much money I make.”
“Or don’t make.”
“Or don’t make.” I stood my ground.
Louisa looked me over. “Are you not going in?”
“No. I remembered I left something at the hospital.” I stepped away from the door.
She rolled her eyes. “Fine then.” And for the second time that day I saw her pivot on her heel and stalk off. This woman had issues.
I waited until she was around the corner before I let myself into the house. I scooped up a happy, wriggling Pip and went back to the computer, where I logged into Skype. My dad was on.
He was nearly always on, given he had an iPhone. I hit the icon to call him and Skype played its plinky notes, then the high pitched
My aunt’s eyes unfocused. It was as if I could feel her slipping away, out of her body into a nether space where I couldn’t reach her.
“Please don’t give up,” I said.
Her hand in mine was too relaxed. Limp, almost.
“I’ll paint you anything you want. Please.”
The light returned to her eyes and she chuckled. “You’ve got my number, don’t you?”
“It’s all I know how to do. I mean, I know this has to be hard without Paul, and if I could bring him back for you, I would. But I can’t. I can capture moments, though. Is there anything else you want immortalized and that you don’t have a picture of? Some scene from your time with him that is vivid in your mind, but that no one else ever saw?”
“Oh, there are hundreds of those. Millions, even.”
“Let’s find one. And if you want to tell me long stories until we do, that’s fine by me. I can listen.”
Her hand tightened around mine. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“I’ll stay as long as you need me. My visa’s good for six months, and then I can just take a trip over to Ireland or France and come back in for another six.”
“You’re sure this is okay? I don’t want you to stop living your life for me.”
“I do not miss my life back in Portland. No, this is good. Really.”
Those stormy gray eyes scanned my face again and her lips parted, as if she would say something, but no words came.
I waited and gave her the space she needed to collect her thoughts.
But she gave my hand a squeeze and turned away. “I’m just so tired.”
“Okay, well, I need to leave soon anyway, but I’ll be back tomorrow.”
W hen I arrived back at Nora’s house, there was a tuna casserole on the front stoop. “Ah, there you are,” said a voice behind me.
I turned slowly. Louisa was not whom I wanted to see at the moment, but there she was, striding up the driveway. I wondered if she’d been staked out across the street. “What’s happening, then?” she asked. “Is Nora back in hospital?”
“Um, well...”
“I brought you a casserole. Why don’t I take it inside for you, cut you a slice.”
“No, that’s okay.”
“You’re a painter, aren’t you? That’s what Sister Mason said when I was asking ‘round about you during Relief Society.” She peered up at me with narrowed eyes.
“I am a painter, yes.”
“What kind?”
“Gospel art. The kind of stuff they sell in LDS bookstores.”
“Riiight, I haven’t been to Godstone in ages. That’s where the LDS bookstore is here. Did you know that? Is painting very lucrative?”
“Excuse me?”
“I got the impression Nora flew you out here. Is that wrong? I know some artists make a lot of money, but I’d think for gospel art, you’d be just barely making ends meet. About how much do you make?”
This woman made annoyance a fine art. It was as if she could see every vulnerable spot and hit it with pinpoint accuracy. I felt like I was being pricked with a hatpin over and over. She had me backed up to the door. I nearly stepped in the stupid casserole.
“Look,” I snapped. “Sorry to be rude, but I’ve had a rough day and unless you’re offering to prepare my tax return, it’s really none of your business how much money I make.”
“Or don’t make.”
“Or don’t make.” I stood my ground.
Louisa looked me over. “Are you not going in?”
“No. I remembered I left something at the hospital.” I stepped away from the door.
She rolled her eyes. “Fine then.” And for the second time that day I saw her pivot on her heel and stalk off. This woman had issues.
I waited until she was around the corner before I let myself into the house. I scooped up a happy, wriggling Pip and went back to the computer, where I logged into Skype. My dad was on.
He was nearly always on, given he had an iPhone. I hit the icon to call him and Skype played its plinky notes, then the high pitched
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