Just One Thing (2 page)

“I never thought of it like that.”

“Looking at something in a new way, that’s what every artist tries to do.” Lexie realized that sounded rather pretentious. After all, she wasn’t really an artist; she was just a college student studying art. She didn’t fool herself into thinking she was the next Van Gogh. She wanted to teach kids, and inspire them to love art as much as she did.

“An art major, huh?” He scooched a bit closer, edging his way onto her makeshift blanket.

“Well . . .”

“And that was that.

“Lee sat next to me for two hours on the quad and we talked. He was the second of two sons, liked the certainty of numbers, and hadn’t dated anyone seriously since his last girlfriend, the year before. We talked about my loathing of all things chemical, my love of pottery, and my plans to become an art teacher.

“Lee told me that he had a bachelor’s in accounting. He was working at a local firm, but still took classes because he was working on his master’s.

“And I was right. He was twenty-five to my twenty.

“He was right as well. We fit. Not just the names we’d chosen for ourselves or because of our monograms. Us.

“Two months later, I married him.

“I know it was fast and I’d throw a fit if my daughter did something like that, but I was young and in love. At the time, I believed that kind of love was invincible.”

“You married a man you’d only known two months?” Sam sounded incredulous. “How’d your parents react to that?”

“They were pissed. They refused to pay for any more of my college. But thankfully, Lee and I were poor enough that I qualified for all kinds of grants.

“We lived in a small apartment two blocks away from campus. I painted the walls yellow and decorated it with thrift-store treasures.

“We were happy. Poor and busy, but really, really happy,” I told Sam.

He’d listened attentively as I told him this week’s story. Oh, we were interrupted on occasion by customers, but Mondays were a slow day at the bar, so there weren’t too many.

“Where is Lee when you come here on Mondays?” Sam asked.

“He’s no longer with me,” I said simply, though there was nothing simple about me and Lee.

I’d finished my beer. Just one. I never had more than that. I never had less than that. One Killian’s because Sam didn’t have Guinness on tap.

“I’ll see you next Monday,” I said as I left the bar.

I walked back to the cottage in the early evening dusk. The sun seemed to want to hang on to each moment of the summer as much as I did.

I loved the smell of summer evenings. The air spoke of damp green things and dirt. But tonight, I caught the first hints of decay. Of plants that were done with their summer’s work and ready to rest.

Rest.

The one Killian’s and a long walk to and from the bar were enough that I knew I’d sleep tonight with Angus at my side.

He was a bed hog. But there was a comfort in curling up on my little corner just like I’d done since I was twenty and married to Lee.

I’d forgotten how to sleep in the middle of the bed.

That night I dreamed of my wedding day.

Lee and I eloped to city hall. It could have been a sad way to start a marriage, but we’d written our own vows. Maybe that’s why I remembered the simple civil ceremony with such poignancy. Lee went first.

“Chemistry studies the structure and composition of matter and the changes it undergoes during a chemical reaction. That totally describes my relationship with you, Lexie. My life had a structure before you came. It had the same rhythm and certainty as the numbers I work with. But that changed when I met you. That day on the quad while you were cursing your chemistry class, there was a chemical reaction that fundamentally changed the reality of me. After that moment, I was no longer a man who saw life in black and white—you’ve shared your artist’s vision and I can see so many colors and nuances in everything around me now. You are a part of me—the best part of me, Lexie—and this marriage only formalizes that.”

He took my hand and slipped the ring on my finger as he whispered, “I love you, Lexie. Always.”

It was a lovely memory.

A lovely dream.

I got up before the sun rose the following Monday. While I no longer taught school, the need to get up and go somewhere was deeply ingrained. I’d developed a new rhythm here at the cottage.

I got up on weekdays and took Angus with me while I walked to the top of the cottage’s long drive to get the paper. I went inside and read it as I drank my coffee. Afterward, I worked in the garden, or I went to the barn that served as my studio. The rough hemlock walls were dotted with prints by friends and other art I’d collected over the years. There was a potbellied stove that at this time of year got very little use, but would soon be lit daily. My pottery wheel and kiln stood in one corner and the huge, handcrafted loom in the other. In the middle of it all was a long, wide table that I could use for various projects.

I ran my fingers over the loom. Lee and I had found it while we were in Montana. He’d gone for an accounting conference for work, and I’d come along. We’d spent a day touring the countryside. Just two kid-free adults. We did all the things the kids would have whined about. We ate a long lunch. We walked through a cowboy museum.

Lee had spotted the loom at an antique store. I’d protested that though I’d once woven a rug in a college art class, I didn’t know anything about weaving. I’d protested that it was too big, that it cost too much, that we had nowhere to set it up. Lee had bought it anyway and brought it here. He started converting the old barn at camp into my summer workshop. “Make me something beautiful,” he’d said.

Lee had been on my mind all week, since my one-thing last week.

Thinking about him didn’t hurt as much as it once had.

I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing. Just as I wasn’t quite sure if Sam’s one-things were good or bad. They interrupted my hard-won, quiet peace. They stirred up my thoughts and displaced the static I’d cultivated for the last year.

I worked at the loom all day. I threw the boat shuttle through one last time. Other than that one ill-made rug, I didn’t know anything about weaving, though I’d read enough to muddle my way through. I’ll confess; I liked the freedom that came with not being overly educated about its history and rules.

I studied my project for a minute. Sighing, I covered my work. Though the barn was as sparkling clean as a workshop could be, I made it a habit of covering the tapestry, not only to keep dust off it, but also to put it to rest in my mind.

It didn’t really help. The tapestry was the only project I was thinking about these days.

I ate a salad made from garden vegetables for dinner and fed Angus. He ran amok in the woods for about fifteen minutes, chasing anything that moved, and probably a bunch of things that only existed in his mind. Tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, he came back and collapsed on the braided rug in the living room where he’d sleep until I returned.

I left for Sam’s.

It was a bit chillier than last week. One step closer to winter.

And winter here in northwestern Pennsylvania was long and cold.

Would I still be able to walk to Sam’s? I’d driven the first few weeks I’d gone to The Corner Bar, but I’d walked ever since. It was only a couple miles. That wasn’t a bad distance during the spring, summer, or fall, but maybe it would be too much when it turned cold? I wondered if I was forced to drive in the winter, would it change the feel of my Monday evenings?

I reached the weathered, cedar-clad building and opened the door. Three tables were occupied and there was one guy sitting at the bar. I recognized him after all these weeks and nodded. I walked to the far end and to “my” seat. Sam smiled as he slid my Killian’s in its iced glass to me and announced, “One thing.”

“Lee and I had three children.”

“Constance, Conner, and Gracie, get off the roof.” The twins were eight and Gracie was seven. The garage roof was their preferred playground, no matter how many times Lexie hollered.

Heathens.

She thought she’d simply said the word in her head, but realized she must have said it out loud because Lee laughed. “You wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Maybe I would,” Lexie countered. “Someone’s going to end up falling off the garage and breaking something. And seriously, between the three of them, I’m on a first-name basis
with all the staff at the emergency room. If I take them in too many more times, someone’s going to call Children’s Services. I mean, when I have to tell the nurse that a child rode her bike into a parked car, it sounds lame, even to me.” Gracie still had a slight scar below her lower lip from where she’d put her tooth through it. Her face had left a slight dent in the car that belonged to one of the college kids renting the house down the block. It was a clunker and he’d said of all its dents, that one would be the most interesting. Lexie smiled as she remembered and wondered what he was doing now.

Lee laughed as he hugged her. “I used to spend my summers at my grandfather’s. Grandma would let me and John out after breakfast, then let us back in at bedtime. We did all sorts of things that would have turned her hair grey, but she never asked and we never told, so it all worked out.”

“I’m not sure the neighbors would appreciate me just turning the heathens loose on the neighborhood for a whole day. Mrs. Mickey, next door, already calls me every other day to complain that the kids’ balls are in her backyard.”

“I was thinking maybe we should buy some land and have a summer cottage. The kids could run the woods to their hearts’ content and there’d be no neighbors to complain. And might I add, no very tempting garage roof.”

Lexie knew her husband and so knew that glimmer in his eyes. “You’ve been thinking about this.”

He nodded. “There’s almost twenty acres I’d like to go look at. I thought we could pack up the heathens and a picnic and make a day of it.”

She smiled and nodded her head. Lee looked relieved.

“Don’t mention buying it to the kids,” she warned. If they heard that, they’d never stop pestering about it.

Lexie packed an impromptu picnic, then herded the kids into the car.

“Mom, she’s not bringing that old thing,” Constance whined.

Gracie clutched her beat-up orange blanket closer and staunchly defended its inclusion. “It’s a picnic. We need blankets to sit on.”

“She’s right.” Lexie winked at Gracie, who smiled. That was Gracie . . . smiling seemed to be her default expression. She was sitting in the center of the backseat with Conner and Constance on either side. They say twins have a natural closeness, but Lexie’s two Cons always seemed to be at odds with one another. They picked and prodded until someone was screaming.