Whistler's Angel by John R. Maxim Page B

art on the walls, mostly Dutch - Vermeer and Mondrian - and a French artist’s portrait of…well, Whistler’s mother. She was in her early thirties when she sat for it.
    A better word would have been squirmed for it, recalled Whistler. The artist had tried for a classical pose. Sitting straight, very regal, chin held high. She wouldn’t do it. The smile, intended to be elegant, serene, looked like that of a woman who was trying not to laugh. Her eyes said, “I just can’t believe that I’m doing this. Please don’t take this seriously. This isn’t me. Get me out of this gown and into some jeans. Oh, hell, go ahead. It’s for Harry.”
    Kate saw that at once. “You must have had to tie her down.”
    “Not me,” said his father. “I knew nothing about it. The portrait was a birthday surprise.”
    “You haven’t told me her name.”
    “It was Andrea.”
    “She’s lovely.”
    “Yes, she was. Even now, I’m still amazed that she married me. One would think that she could have done better.”
    “One would think,” said Kate Geller.
    “Beg your pardon?”
    “Just agreeing.”
    “Well, feel free to contradict me any time.”
    Claudia had also admired the portrait, but she seemed to have something else on her mind. Whistler asked, was something wrong? She took him aside.
    “You and I are going to have separate rooms on separate floors?”
    “We…didn’t sleep together in your mother’s house either.”
    “Are you stalling?”
    “Not at all. But what’s the rush? You’re still healing.”
    He was certainly stalling and a little afraid. That first time…the time that they’d made love while going camping was awkward for its own set of reasons. They quickly became less self-conscious with each other, but Claudia had been right. There was still something missing. The only thing that made it fall short of being great was his awareness that he was still lying to her and that she would eventually find him out.
    Now there were no more lies. She knew who he was. Well, sort of. She had yet to see that side of him. It was now more a question of who Claudia was and how different she thought sex would be. Would she expect celestial trumpets? An orgasmic super-nova? There was only one way to find out, he supposed. He hoped that she would not be disappointed.
    Kate Geller had overheard the exchange. While Claudia was being shown
    to her room, she nudged him again and said, “Adam, relax. There’s such a thing as thinking too much.”
    He asked, “How would you know what I’m thinking?”
    “Daughters talk to their mothers. She knows that you have all kinds of misgivings. She said you told her that you love her. Did you mean it?”
    “Oh, yes.”
    “Then be patient, Adam. You’ll work it out.”
    “Working it out takes two rational people.”
    “You think love is rational? Who told you that? All you can do is follow your heart and dance to the music while it lasts.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “On the subject of irrational behavior, Adam, something seems to be developing between me and your father. Would that bother you, by the way?”
    “Not at all.”
    “Unlike yours, ours might not be a match made in heaven. Here I am, this hick who grows plants in Colorado. There he is, this, well…whatever he is…who’s been known to do a different kind of planting.”
    “Mrs. Geller…”
    “My point is, If I’m willing to dance with the devil, why should you get uptight about an angel?”
    “He’s not a devil.”
    “I know that, Adam. He’s only a man. And Claudia is still just a woman.”
    “Yeah, but…”
    “You’re looking that horse in the mouth again, Adam. There doesn’t have to be any ‘but.’ You ought to try counting your blessings.”
     
    He supposed that he’d never thought of his father in terms of having a woman in his life. There must have been some since his mother died. But perhaps there were none who had gotten to know him before they had any idea who he was. Like Claudia and