Retreat to Love (25 page)

Anyway, maybe our silence was infectious, ‘cause the breakfast people who showed up (Wren, Theo, Lizzy) were notably quiet as well. I was going to try and talk to Wren when we were done clearing up, but the only one left at the table was Theo.

“Hey,” he said as Caleb and I emerged from the kitchen, holding water-wrinkled hands.

“Hey,” Caleb replied. These two were quite the conversationalists.

“Listen, can you guys come by my studio?”

Well this was a first. Theo had been spending a lot of time in there working, from what Caleb had seen while walking past between our own rooms. But he’d never asked anyone to see his stuff since the
Angel by Starlight
showing. We didn’t hesitate to join him.

In his den he started pacing some, but kept us facing the window so we wouldn’t see over the low wall into his studio. “When I was gone, you know, in the hospital? Okay, so that was a bad time for me, but it did give me a lot to think about. You know, artistically and all. And emotionally, but that’s different stuff, that’s not why you’re here.”

Caleb and I traded glances, still unsure exactly why we were there.

“So what I said before, remember? About the way the work just comes to me, I don’t control it?” We nodded. “Yeah, I know, well, I know now, that was just a lot of bullshit. That was just my way of avoiding confrontation if I offended anyone. I mean, I offended people a lot. I still do, I don’t think that’s changed, I don’t think I want it to change, right?” Again we nodded. His pacing—a cross between professorial and maniacal—combined with all the nodding was making me dizzy. “Because offended is a visceral reaction, and that’s what I want, is something visceral.

“She,” he spat the word towards the north, “doesn’t understand about visceral, even though it’s what she does, too. She doesn’t think of it like that, which is why she won’t ever really make a masterpiece. If she was looking for it, that’d be one thing, because she has the skill and imagination for it. But she’s not, she thinks it’s all beauty and light or something. But not me. I know about feeling it,” he punched his small intestine, “feeling it here, getting offended and getting repulsed and getting angry, and having it come from something exterior, something presented to you, something so powerful you can’t look away from it but you want to, you want to but you’re drawn to it.” He stopped. “Do you know what I mean? Am I explaining it well?”

Personally I wanted people to be irresistibly drawn to my work for different reasons, but I knew well enough what he was getting at.

A deep breath from Theo. “Right, so now, after being there and all, after thinking about this, I can say yes, I do intend to procure the reactions I get, I do want to be in control of my art. Okay?” More nods from us. “So that’s what I’ve been working on since I got back, and I’ve got a canvas I want to show you two, if you’ll look, and tell me, honestly, what it makes you feel, right? What’s the effect, what’s the deep down gut reaction, right?” He gauged us. My head was spinning but I must have looked on board. “So come in.”

Caleb followed me following Theo into his studio. He walked all the way to the easel, but the two of us stopped short in the doorway. Gradually we moved apart a little and closer to it.

The canvas was mostly in reds and blacks, heavily overpainted and almost three dimensional just from the paint layers. A pale gray skinny body, naked to the waist, lay on a stretcher between two red-suited paramedics. The tube emerging from his throat ended at the lip of a gleaming steel basin in the lower left quadrant of the painting. Emerging from the tube were the contents of Theo’s torn-up soul: a profusion of aspirin tablets, torn canvases, shards of his heart, and primarily, a crucifix upon which was mounted a smaller but more intricate version of the gray Theo, the feet end of the crucifix itself emerging from the labia of a be-winged Angelica. She was fellating the dick-shaped lens of a camera.

I glanced at Caleb. He was still contemplating the painting. I glanced at Theo. He was contemplating Caleb. Then he smiled wryly at me, eyes gleaming. “It makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

“But you want to keep looking, right?”

No point in denying it. “I do.”

He nodded. “Look, then.”

I went a bit closer. The details were articulate and deft. As in
Starlight
, he used light and shadow to suggest emotion and highlight the storyline. The first thing you studied, despite it being among the smallest of elements, was the crucifix Theo. But you didn’t see it until you had taken in the scene as a whole: the medics blurred by quick action, the tragedy on Theo’s brow, the betrayal of the Angel. I moved away, to a chair.

“Well?” Caleb had moved away as well, and was looking at Theo.

“Man, it’s great. It’s repulsive, but great.”

“I do feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach,” I agreed.

“Seriously, now? You’re not just trying to prevent me o.d.ing again, right?”

Caleb barked a laugh. “Well, I wasn’t until now. Damn.”

“Naw, I’m not going to. I’m too into life now; I got things to do.”

“I feel like I should approach it with caution, like if I don’t, it’s liable to attack,” I said. “And skill-wise, it’s excellent. The balance and the color and the light, all great. But the main thing is how dangerous but, I guess, fascinating it is. Like a panther.”

“It’s fuckin scary, all right,” Caleb affirmed.

Theo was doing a hyena imitation. “God I’m glad you’re saying this. I didn’t want to show the others, well, you know, not those assholes anyway but the girls, no, cause it still feels too raw to me myself. But you guys, you saved me, in more ways than one really cause if I hadn’t gotten to that damn therapist they had there I never would have realized half this stuff about how I control my work, but mostly you saved me literally, and I never really said thanks about that. So, thanks and all, and thanks for coming to look at it, and I guess I’m holding you up from cooking lunch, which should probably be good because all they’re planning on is cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for dinner, so you two get going and thanks and I’ll check you later.” Oh-kaaay. (And how did he know what Angelica and Brandon were going to cook?) We actually backed out of the studio, whether because Theo was actively herding as he talked at us or because we were subliminally worried about the art attacking us I don’t know. But seconds later we were out the door and on the path to the Main House.

“Well, that was,” Caleb started.

“Yes, indeed it was,” I agreed. “Do you, um ….”

“Want to grab some cheese sandwiches and fruit on our own and not go to dinner tonight? Why, yes, yes I do.” Caleb ran his fingers under my shirt and up my spine, then kissed my neck three fast but sharp times. “Let’s go have that picnic on the rise we’ve been threatening.”

What a relief.

I didn’t see Wren until the next day, and by then, somehow, the moment for talking out the tensions and moving back towards closeness had passed.

Our last week at FireWind was a bit of a flurry. First off, it rained a gullywasher all day Tuesday and Wednesday, and the all-knowing founders hadn’t provided umbrellas or entry mats to wipe mud from our shoes, so for the most part we all stayed in our cabins. Caleb and I dutifully dashed down the path to get dinner going, but we took the easy road of doubling the portions of rice and beans so for a couple of nights anyone staggering in for hot food got to make themselves a burrito or two. Rafa and Theo were supposed to be on breakfast/lunch duty but they’d arranged to each prep one meal a day, and they seemed to be in competition over who could make a more bare-bones meal.

On Thursday, Margie posted a note on the Main House door:

“As the earliest flight out of Austin on Saturday is at eleven a.m., the shuttle will be arriving at eight a.m. for loading and departing at exactly nine a.m. Anyone who fails to make it onto the shuttle will be responsible for their own transportation arrangements. Please remember the telephone in the common room is for local calls only. There will be no lunch served on Saturday, although participants are welcome to pack themselves a ‘to go’ meal after the breakfast service is completed. All participants are expected to have departed, leaving their cabins and work areas in a clean and tidy condition—WITH ALL FURNITURE RETURNED TO ITS ORIGINAL LOCATION—by noon on Saturday. Please speak to me directly if these arrangements pose any difficulty, although you should note special accommodation is not available. Thank you.”

I nudged Caleb. “I think she’s been spying on your cabin.”

“I know. Now I’m worried. What if she has cameras everywhere?” I giggled. “Stop laughing. What if she has cameras up in that tree on the rise?” We had been ever so slightly indiscreet after our picnic up in the knoll.

“I’d wager she does. But there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“Unless we want to give her a repeat performance,” he said, dipping me down swiftly despite my squeal of protest.

“Break it up, you two, this is a family retreat,” Lizzy said, climbing up the porch.

“We were just …” I grinned.

“Yeah, yeah, I saw. What’s that?”

“Dictate from the Sarge.”

She read it. “Just when I was getting used to sleeping in.”

“I know. So, will you help move back the sofa?”

“Sure, we’ll get it after lunch. Have they actually cooked?”

“Nope. Theo came by and tossed a salad, though. I was impressed.”

“Mmmm, mmm, good. I wonder if I can steal his recipe and use it at the new job?”

“I highly recommend it,” Caleb said. “The can of artichoke hearts was an inspired touch.”

“Well,” Lizzy said, “that’s our Theo for you, divine inspiration and all.”

We’d told her, of course, about the painting. But it was funnier to pretend he hadn’t had a work-related revelation.

Zach was coming for me Saturday late morning. Caleb’s flight was at noon, which nixed any hope of his hitching a ride to Austin with us, so I wouldn’t get much of a private farewell. He was going to San Jose for a couple of days to sort out his stuff, and would drive to Arizona to settle in. After I was finished at Gran’s house—or as finished as I was capable of being—I would drive to our new place myself. With plenty of loud music and scheduled stops to keep the old hypersomnia at bay.

Margie joined us for the final dinner, so for once the dining table was crowded. Seating arrangements were mutually careful—Brandon and Angelica were buffered from Theo and Rafa by Margie on one side and Wren and Lizzy on the other. And Lizzy blocked Wren from Caleb and I. It was sure proof of our creativity as a group.

I for one expected Sargie to make a speech, but she was remained quiet. She did tell us all how unique our group had been, among the many previous FireWind participants. She patted at Theo’s hand as she said, “I doubt I will forget this experience,” and he recoiled away. We passed around a contact sheet and filled in our email addresses and phone numbers—I don’t know what Caleb put for address, but I put Frank and Bernadette’s house. It was the first time I’d used their address as a default contact since leaving high school. The rest of my junk mail went to Gran’s house; I’d have to file a change of address card for both places, as well as the damn rental.

Margie promised copies for us all in the morning. But she didn’t leave when dinner was over, or when the brownies and coffee were being served. Brandon and Angelica kept glancing at the door, and Caleb eventually just went to the kitchen and started the dishes. Trying to read Wren and Lizzy’s faces, I got nothing, so I gathered up some cups and followed him. When I went back into the dining room, Theo had left, and Angelica was still, but crying. Lizzy moued at me but no one said anything. So I returned to Caleb.

He was goofing off, pretending he needed to use the sprayer to defend himself from me. I couldn’t stop giggling. The last damn dishes we’d wash there! Domestic life in Prescott was going to be a comparative breeze—not least because Caleb had promised to never make me join him for breakfast. Hello, late mornings.

I pressed up against his back to stop the spray attack. “You done with packing, or what?”

“Just about. I’m going to bring it all to yours in a bit, okay?”

“Sure.”

“What’s happening out there?”

I leaned away from him enough to see through the pass-thru. “Umm, Margie’s still there. The girls are there, but Rafa’s moved on. He said he’d come to ValeSong tonight to help finish off the booze, though. What does she want?”

He shrugged, shoulder blades shifting across me. “Maybe she just likes us.”

“Weird ways of showing it.”

“Yeah,” he turned. “Let’s let the rest air dry, eh?”

Ten minutes after chocolate and Brazilian roast, and he still tasted of peppermint. It was somehow inherent in him. Crap, I was gonna miss his peppermint tongue over the next couple of weeks.

“Hey, no crying, not yet. I can’t cry yet, so you can’t cry yet.”

My internal compass said he didn’t need to hear I might just be crying because of the fear-tinged excitement of self-reliance. I had been through hell and emerged in a spot from which it appeared I could miss Caleb not because I needed him beside me but because I appreciated the way I felt about myself when we were together.

But I would be, I knew, still strong on my own.

Without Caleb. Without Zach.

Without Gran.

I found a dry dishtowel and scrubbed my face. “Well, I have some more packing to do before people show up to drink me out of house and home.”

He kissed my cheek. “See you in a bit.”

“‘Kay.” I skirted past the people still silent at the table. What a tableaux. Not that I was much better a sight, I imagined.

It was time to pack up my machine. I wasn’t sure how much work, if any, I’d get done between FireWind and Arizona, so I brushed it carefully and blew compressed air through the bobbin case to chase out any lingering lint. I unclamped the needle and stored it with the others, checked my embroidery wheel case to ensure I had them all gathered and stored. Then I oiled the machine parts, brushing lubricant as well on the gears within the base plate. I moved on to my spools and bobbins, locking them all down in their traveling case, and dug out the cardboard box where I would nestle the jars of beads, notions, floss, tapes, and pins. Finally I spread large sheets of tissue and set
Nine
Patchy Men
and
Mint Tea Mosaic
upon them, folding each carefully away.

The studio was bereft. I would miss its space—the light and the peace of the woods, the feeling of having everything at my fingertips, yet being able to spread out like I needed.

Before I could sink into a true reverie, Caleb barged in loaded down with camera bags. Sweetly, he was wearing my favorite black jeans.

“Just about done here?”

I stood. “Yeah, I think I’ll do the rest after you go. Zach won’t be here at the crack of dawn or anything.”

“Like brother, like sister.”

“Learn to live with it.”

“I will, thanks.” He started in on my neck again. “How much time till the hordes arrive?”

“Um, not much, I’m afraid. We’ll just have to drink fast to get them out.”

“It’s a plan.”

And indeed, the hordes—or, Lizzy, Theo, Rafa, and later, briefly, Wren—did descend shortly. It was a heck of a lot more relaxing sitting around on the floor with them sipping beer and talking about the ‘what nexts’ of our lives than it had been at the dining table. In deference to Theo and Rafael, we didn’t mention Angelica, though we did have a couple of good laughs at Brandon’s expense. Wren arrived in the middle of Caleb detailing our Arizona plan, and left after half a glass of wine. I attributed her shining eyes to an alcohol buzz, more to salve my own conscious than from conviction. Lizzy gave everyone hugs and walked her out.

“I guess you two are ready for us to leave, then?” Theo asked, draining his longneck. Rafael didn’t say anything, but gathered up the empties around him and stuck them back in the carton.

“It’s cool,” Caleb said, friendly enough but he stood and started tidying, too. I just sat there and smiled.

And then we were two. I made a slow rondo through the cabin, turning off lights, shutting down the evening and shutting out the woods, the suitcases, the people in other cabins and other cities. My dance ended at the bedroom doorway, where Caleb was leaning, watching me, silent and smiling from his eyes but serious from his lips. His ever-minty lips.

“We’ll be fine.”

“Who said we wouldn’t be fine?”

“No one. But you were worrying.”

I laced together our fingers. “No. Not worrying. We will be fine. I may have a hell of a next two weeks, but I’m not worried about the moving across the country part.” Together we moved across the floor, sank down upon the bed. “I love you, Caleb. And,” I smiled back into his eyes, before he could say it, “you love me, too. That’s the beauty. The chaff is getting Frank to not freak about me crossing three states to be with you, and Bernadette to become convinced I can actually survive and do my art at the same time. And if I can get her to stop calling them ‘your little quilts’, so much the better. But even with all of that, even with Gran’s house without Gran, I’m okay.”

“You’re better than okay. You’re fantastic.”

“No, you’re fantastic.”

“No, you are.”

“Well, you are too, then,” I moved into him. “And I’ll prove it.”

The other thing, I thought, hands again memorizing the seat of those black jeans, was when Caleb told me I was fantastic, my little internal note of protest was quiet. I was beginning to truly believe it. And if I cried a little bit more about that, on top of everything else, he never said a thing. Like the first night we slept tight in my bed, he just held my body to his, gently kissed my hair, and let me cry within his embrace.

Despite Sargie Margie’s careful notes, the morning was chaos. I sent a blessing to the sun gods for Zach’s habitual sleeping in, so I could get past all the shuttle bus mania before having to deal with my own packages and bags. As it was, we were hauling
In Sickness and In Health
to Houston to ship it for Lizzy, because she didn’t trust the amount of crating she could accomplish at FireWind. I assured her for the fourteenth time I didn’t mind, and I’d make sure every one of her specifications was met.
A Loner Alone
she was trusting to the airline baggage handlers.

Even without
Sickness
the shuttle was packed full of art, barely leaving room for the artists. At the last minute, Brandon’s ride fell through, so he was going along to Austin in hopes of catching a bus to Tulsa from there. No mention of Angelica joining him or vice-versa spilled out of any conversation, and they were behaving as if they barely knew each other. Apparently she was ready to move on.

Wren let me help her with her suitcase, and clutched me in a good-bye grasp. Caleb stepped away to help Rafa carry up his roll of canvases. Unlike Theo, he hadn’t stretched any of them, or maybe he’d dismounted them for travel. But it was, reportedly, a very heavy tube of work. Not a one of us had seen his painting. I decided he was an enviable genius and let it go. Maybe one day we’d run across a show of his.

We. Yeah, we. Me and Caleb. Going together to a gallery, talking about the artists we knew, and the ones we didn’t. Now that was a life I could picture without needing a telephoto lens.

Margie stood on the porch watching everyone board the bus. “Don’t let her bite you after we’re gone,” whispered Lizzy, coming up behind me.

“Let’s hope Zach gets here soon,” I agreed.

“I’ll call yous from Dublin.”

“You have Gran’s number?” I knew she did, but I couldn’t phrase everything else I wanted to say: she’d been a true friend, she’d only ever done what she felt was right, she’d be deeply missed. I would carry Lizzy’s voice in my head as one of my trusted advisors. I settled for a long hug and a squeeze of her hand.

She pushed those wire-rims back up her nose. “Okay, then, you be good.”