It was perfect and I could easily see how the light from the window would radiate the canvas perfectly for human eyes. Anna had a sweet little set up going on for herself and I noticed a large piece on an easel, next to the window. “Do you mind?” I asked and gestured toward the portrait, asking permission to inspect her work.
“Of course, I would love for you to give me some feedback about this piece.”
It was a portrait of a young girl standing on the beach. She was a beautiful child with dark curls cascading down the back of a long, white, sleeveless dress. Her body faced the ocean’s water while her face was turned, peering back over her shoulder, as if hearing her name called. The wind had blown loose strands of hair about and her hand was lifted, as if to brush them out of her face. A small, frontal view of the same child stood in the heavens above the ocean’s water, looking down upon herself on the beach.
I leaned closer, drawn to the eyes of the girl, to study her use of color. She achieved multi-dimension like I’d never seen and I saw a reflection in the girl’s eyes. What was in the reflection? As I stood trying to make out the reflection, I heard a soft, unrecognizable whisper.
I turned my attention to Anna and said, “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
She was waiting for my assessment and was disappointed I had yet to voice my opinion of her work. “No, dear, I was just watching you study my painting.”
I turned my attentions back to the portrait and approached an awkward stage of staring, but I didn’t care. I was mesmerized by the care taken in the details and a few moments later I heard the whisper again, this time, certain it wasn’t Anna.
“I ask that my misplaced heart no longer wanders, lost and wounded, and finds it’s way into the arms that love me.”
I heard the words clear as a bell and recognized them. They were the words I had used more than twenty-one years earlier, at the moment I should have met my true death and I had never repeated them to a single soul.
Anna cleared her voice, breaking the awkward silence and I didn’t mention the whisper again, for fear she would find me insane. “Mrs. Emerson, this is incredible. Is it inspired by a real child?”
She happily answered, “Yes. It’s my granddaughter. It’s a scene from a repetitive dream she has and I have heard about it so many times, I felt I knew it intimately. This has been a work in progress for a year. Each time it wasn’t quite right, she would describe it to me again and I finally finished it last week. She says I have captured it just as she dreams it.”
Anna’s talent was incredible. It was natural and couldn’t be taught and I wasn’t certain she realized how incredible her work was. “You are an amazing artist, Mrs. Emerson. I may be too ashamed to show you my work.”
“Never. All artists’ work is special, in it’s own way,” she said as she laughed, then continued, “Well, Mr. Brennan, you passed the only requirement. You love my art, so I think you have found a new residence, if the quarters suit you. You’ll have plenty of room in the basement to work, but before we go downstairs, let me show you the rest of the house.”
She proudly gave me a tour of the house I built almost three lifetimes ago and she had no way of knowing that she led me through a tour of my past. I obediently followed her as she led me through room after room, and while the decor and furnishings were different, the general design of the era remained intact.
We entered what was once my bedroom and Anna continued, “This is our granddaughter’s room when she stays with us.” The room was tidy and consistent with the era. “It won’t be quite so organized when she visits.”
This is where Marsala ended my human life and robbed me of the future I planned in this home. This should have been the home I shared with a wife and family. Our children would have played on the double staircase, while their mother sipped tea on the front porch with her friends. We would have grown old together in this house and died together, the normal way.
I could no longer mourn what should have been because it only made me more bitter and wrath had been my lord for too long. I reminded myself I came here to rid myself of the rage because it was the key to ridding myself of this lingering wretchedness.
“Curry, do you feel alright? You look a little pale,” Anna said, with a worried look on her face, and being the mother she was, she reached for my forehead to check for a fever. “You definitely don’t have a fever. You’re on the cool side.”
“Yes, ma'am. I feel fine. I was just lost in thought, I guess,” I explained.
“I think you should join us for supper tonight. Maybe you need to fill your stomach with a warm, country cooked meal. That will fix you right up,” Anna warmly invited.
Uh oh. I wasn’t expecting that. Think. Think. Think. “I would love to, but I stopped and got something in town. How about another time?”
“Only if you promise.”
“I promise,” I lied, knowing I would never join her for a meal.
“When would you like to move your things?”
“Is Saturday too early?” That gave me a few days to prepare and purchase the things I needed.
“Perfect. We’ll see you on Saturday.”
I said goodnight to Anna and Grady and thanked them for allowing me to rent the apartment before I drove to the hotel room I currently called home. Later that evening, I found myself unable to do anything, but think about the little girl’s portrait in Anna’s studio and didn’t understand why I couldn’t get the child off of my mind. The depth of her eyes haunted me and I felt her stare, well beneath my surface. Strangely, her angelic face had found that unknown place within me that pleaded in my defense all those years ago.
I could feel the mystery of my escape from Marsala threatening to reveal itself and although I was happy to get the answers to my questions, I dreaded the task before me. It was time to tell Solomon the whole truth about the day I first walked in sunlight, and unfortunately, that meant exhuming memories and secrets I’d rather leave buried.
Chapter 4
The next few days passed quickly as I prepared for moving day. Daytime moving wasn’t a problem for me because my aversion to sunlight was practically nonexistent. However, sunlight was a problem for Solomon, so I moved the things that were humanly possible to do alone and waited on his arrival to move the heavy items like furniture.
It was a good reason to have my best friend over to my new home and while here, I would break the news that I had been a lying cur dog for the entire time we’d known each other.
I arrived with my new possessions loaded in my truck and Anna stood at the kitchen door with a set of keys to my new apartment. “I know you are eager to settle your things. Do you need any help?” she asked.
As I looked at this sweet little aging woman, I wanted to laugh. Had I given her the impression I was the kind of guy to put a grandmother to work lifting my moving boxes? I was certain she didn’t consider herself old nor feeble and I didn’t wish to offend my new landlord, so I took the safest route and said, “I have a buddy coming to give me a hand, but I certainly appreciate the offer,” I said and cringed while I waited to see if my response offended her.
“Fair enough. We’ll be having supper around seven if you would like to join us.”
“I would love to, but I’m afraid I’m getting a late start on moving my things. Would you consider issuing another raincheck?”
“Okay. I’m going to let it slide one more time, but this is the last time,” she laughed.
I could see she was going to be persistent on this eating thing. “Yes, ma’am, I understand.”
“Please let me know if you need help. Chansey will be back in a little while and I can send her down to help you,” Anna stated.
Chansey? Who was that? “I’m sorry. I was under the impression you and your husband were the only residents here,” I questioned, in the form of a statement. I was prepared to live among two aging adults, but this was a curveball I wasn’t expecting. Even if it meant I wouldn’t accomplish my goal, I couldn’t ta
ke the chance of putting someone in danger. I inhaled deeply, searching for the scent signaling me to the presence of another, but I detected nothing, only registering the scents belonging to Anna, Grady and a divine peanut butter dessert.
She began to make her way to the kitchen and replied, “Our granddaughter, Chansey, decided to spend summer break with us.”
Excellent. This was an unneeded wrench in my plan and I would immediately be forced to start lying and sneaking to investigate the unknown resident. Recalling the sweet smell from the kitchen, I reopened my invitation. “Mrs. Emerson, I do have something of a sweet tooth. Will you be serving dessert after dinner?”
“As always,” she answered in her perfect southern accent.
“Perhaps I could swing by for a bite of something sweet?” I suggested.