Love's Awakening (22 page)

Celia rose as well. “Erin loves you,” she whispered.

Oliver’s chest constricted. “She does?”

Slight, lopsided grin. “Very much. Does she have a picture of you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, she wants one.”

“She told you that?”

“No. Look at her. Just look at her.”

Oliver did not want to, not quite, but he forced his gaze to Erin. The girl was tracing the edges of a photo frame.

“She loves you,” Celia repeated.

“I love her, too.”
Meaning,
I
love
you.

“I know you do,” Celia said softly.

Chapter
Twenty

Two weeks later, Celia started work as manager of a new branch of Staples. Roses from Richard arrived at eleven o’clock—
Roses
are
red,
violets
are
blue,
have
a
great
first
day
at
work,
dear
Celia!

Shirley must not have told him about Oliver.

Celia called Richard after work to thank him. “How have you been?” she asked.

“Not bad. I’m working on a special project. I’m pleased at how it’s coming along.”

“Oh yeah? What project? Don’t leave me in suspense.”

He laughed. “You’ll see soon enough. I hope.”

“Come on.”

Another laugh. “Okay, okay. I’m taking an art class. I’m drawing different things, but mostly David. I keep seeing him on the boat, the wind in his hair on his birthday two years ago. I’m trying to capture that. I keep failing, but I’ll capture it someday.”

“Wow. That’s amazing.”

“The class has an art show at the end. Maybe you could come up in December for it.”

“I’d love to.”

“Do you think you could help me with the drawing of David in the boat?”

“I’m not sure how I could.”

Richard cleared his throat. “Celia, what was David keeping from me and Shirley?”

“What?”

“David had a secret. I never asked what it was. Figured that was something best between a mother and son. Thing is, I don’t know if Shirley noticed. I never told her.”

“Oh.” Celia glanced around her. She was in her bedroom, on the bed. She saw the walls David had painted, the furniture he had picked out. All long before he married her.
Richard
deserves
to
know.
He
can
handle
it.

“Okay, Richard,” Celia said, and she told Richard about his son. Maybe Richard could capture the real David, like he had captured the real Shirley.

*****

One week later, Oliver paused in his father’s doorway. Shirley was reading to David in the wheelchair. “Tommy proceeded leisurely. By the time he reached the bend of the staircase, he had heard the man below disappear into a back room,” Shirley recited.

Oliver shifted his attention to David, who appeared about the same. He wore black sweat pants and an Atlanta Braves T-shirt.
That’ll
be
fun.
Erin was a New York Mets fan. “All right,” Oliver whispered. He glanced at Sherelle, Malcolm and Erin, who waited by the snack machine.

Sherelle gave Oliver a little smile, and he grinned back. Oliver had called Sherelle, and they’d had an hour-long conversation. A heart to heart. They’d ironed out their issues. Come to a new understanding. Oliver had told Sherelle that she, Sherelle, was the children’s mother and Malcolm their father, period.

Sherelle said she knew, but…

There would always be a but, she admitted. However, Sherelle said she had always told the children they were special because they had two mommies and daddies. “And, Oliver,” Sherelle added, “I mean it. You gave me two wonderful children. I know it was hard for you and Shannon, and still is. It’s hard for me too, but these kids need all four of their parents.”

Now, Oliver held up his pointer finger and mouthed: “One minute.” He’d warned Sherelle, Malcolm and Erin that his grandmother would likely be there.

Oliver entered the room. “Clearly no suspicion attached to him as yet,” Shirley read. “To come to the house and ask for ‘Mr. Brown’ appeared indeed to be a reasonable and natural proceeding.”

“Grandma, excuse me.”

Shirley glanced up. “Oliver!” She got up and hugged him tightly. Oliver had not seen her since the Peaks of Otter trip, and if Shirley was angry at Oliver for the relationship with Celia, she did not show it. “Hi, Oliver baby.”

Oliver broke apart from Shirley. “Grandma, I’ve brought someone to meet Dad. Three someones, actually. They’d like to meet you too.”

“Who?”

Oliver took a deep breath. His father had told Shirley about the children. He had to have. “The woman’s name is Sherelle, and the man’s name is Malcolm. The girl’s name is Erin. Grandma, she is thirteen years old. She’s my daughter.”

Shirley did not blink. No surprise. Just a plain, contained face.

“All right, Grandma? I’m going to bring them in.”

Shirley swallowed, and her face collapsed for a second. “Yes, yes, please do, dear. What…what about the boy?”

“Paul. He, uh, he didn’t want to come. Anyway.” Oliver took his grandmother’s hand. He studied it, really studied it for the first time. Shirley’s hand possessed character. Experience. Her hand had lived. Shirley wore her wedding ring, a gold band with a small, simple emerald. Her skin was wrinkled. Precious few liver spots, though. She was in good shape. She would live a long time, and Oliver was glad. Very glad. He brought the hand to his lips and kissed it. “I love you, Grandma.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Oliver brought Shirley out to the hallway. Sherelle and Malcolm gave nervous smiles. Erin, an even more nervous smile.

“She’s—she’s black,” Shirley said. “Oliver, your daughter is black.”

Oliver laughed. Laughed so hard tears came to his eyes. He guided Shirley to Erin and Sherelle. “This is my grandmother, Shirley,” Oliver said. “This is Erin, and these are her parents, Malcolm and Sherelle.”

“Hi, Shirley,” Erin said.

Shirley smiled, a light in her eyes. “Hello, Erin. I’m glad to finally meet you. Oh my. You’re a beautiful girl, aren’t you?”

*****

Celia missed visiting David. Well, not visiting David per se, but getting away. Pinewood had been like an oasis. A pause in rushed life where she could slow down, stay as little or as long as she liked, cradle her son and listen to Shirley read.

Instead of going to Pinewood, Celia left Caleb with her mother and went to Almond’s. She nursed a drink or two and people watched. Janet had not asked Celia again about her “mystery” lover, and Celia was glad. She was not sure she could have kept Oliver’s identity secret.

Every time Celia was at to Almond’s, she hoped Oliver would walk in. This bar was where Oliver had used to hang out before the wreck.

But no Oliver.

*****

Erin took an instant liking to Agatha Christie. She would be a star someday, that Erin. She did voices and dialogue great. She and Sherelle visited Pinewood every Wednesday evening from seven to eight, because that was what Erin wanted. Erin and Shirley took turns reading, while Oliver and Sherelle listened, or more often, worked on a crossword puzzle together. Sherelle was dyslexic and had worked hard to overcome it. Oliver had not known that about her.

David had a stroke in October. A minor one, the doctors said. The only visible change was the droop on the left side of his face. The droop would get worse as time progressed, according to David’s primary doctor, Peter Aronson. A small blood clot had caused the stroke, he explained, but the stroke had not been as bad as originally feared.

David could still blink and move both of his eyes.

David had a second stroke, and then another. David got more urinary tract infections. And a fourth, tiny stroke. Yet David lived.

*****

Richard’s art debut was at a small gallery fronting the Providence Harbor. Celia, with Caleb in his stroller, walked in fifteen minutes after the show started. She was staying at a hotel; she assumed Oliver and Shirley were staying with Richard.

Many, many groupings of paintings greeted Celia, and she was not sure where to start. Where to find anyone she knew. She wandered around. Most of the work was pretty good. Amateurish, though.

She would be polite with Shirley. More affectionate with Richard.

With Oliver…well. Who knew. The time away from Oliver had not dulled Celia’s feelings. Oliver continued to be on her mind a lot, but Celia knew it was right that Oliver had left her alone. That she had left Oliver alone. They needed to get their shit together before they could give themselves to each other. And Celia was almost there. The months had given her enough distance and perspective to realize that her connection with Oliver was indeed real. Genuine. The connection was more than being caught up in an emotional, charged situation.

However, maybe the time apart had caused Oliver’s feelings for Celia to diminish. The possibility tore Celia in two directions. The first direction: dulled feelings were good. There would be no need to get into a potentially thorny situation. The second direction: oh, no. Celia wanted to be with Oliver, ached for Oliver to touch her, nibble her breasts, kiss her, look at her. She wanted Oliver in her arms, or she in Oliver’s arms, and have them laugh together. At least an upside existed for whatever direction they were headed for.

Celia felt a touch at her elbow, and then her father-in-law gathered her in for a bear hug. He did the same with Caleb.

“You look great!” Celia enthused, and Richard did. Immersing himself in his art had done wonders. His eyes were vivid, they shone, and he wore a red bowtie.

“You too.” They chatted a few minutes, and then Richard led Celia to his work. “I’m showing twenty-five drawings,” he explained.

“Did you get the boat picture right?”

“No,” Richard admitted. “I tried and tried until my instructor told me: ‘You know what? You can’t replicate a perfect moment.’ So I created another. Tell me what you think. It’s David waking up. My imagining of it, anyway.”

The drawing was titled
Spring
and formed the centerpiece of Richard’s exhibit.

Celia approached the drawing. David’s eyes were open, but blank, and Celia’s mood fell.
Nothing’s
changed.
Richard
failed.

Celia did not have the heart to say so, of course. “Richard, it’s very—” Her flesh prickled. From this angle, yes…there was recognition in David’s eyes. A sparkle. David aware of her. Celia felt David call out to her:
Celia!
Celia!
A grin struggled to break free from David’s lips, but he was too weak. He looked like he was grimacing instead. Celia inched toward him. Probably if this was the real David, he would smell good, no longer like nursing home. Someone would have sprayed cologne on him because he was becoming a person again. A person who would want his wife and baby son? A person who could accept that he was a woman and move on?

Celia, a strange heaviness and a strange lightness in her chest, turned to Richard. She threw her arms around him. “You did it. It’s perfect. Congratulations.”

*****

Shirley and Oliver emerged a few minutes later, Shirley’s eyes red and puffy. The realism of the picture, and the hope contained therein, had apparently sent Shirley off in tears. Celia noticed that Shirley went up to Richard, clutched his hand, and kissed his cheek. Celia hoped they would find their way back together.

She ventured a look at Oliver too, for as long as was appropriate.

Oliver.

Oliver.

His hair was longer, almost shoulder length, and he was lovelier than before. He gave her a soft smile. A fearful, nervous smile. The look was so galvanizing it sent a tremor through Celia. Oliver loved her, plain and simple.

Celia became aware Shirley and Richard were watching. She smoothed her shirt and proffered a grin. “Hi, Shirley.”

“Celia.” Shirley attempted a smile and bestowed a real one upon Caleb. “He’s gotten big.”

“Yes,” Celia said. “He has.”

Celia and Oliver went to the beginning of the series of drawings. The first one was titled
Birth
and showed a baby in the arms of its mother. Celia recognized the mother as a younger Shirley. So this was David as a baby.

“Your grandfather is so good,” Celia murmured.

“He’s done Dad’s entire life, hasn’t he?” Oliver’s tones were awed.

“Looks like it.”

“You smell good,” Oliver said, brushing his hand against Celia’s.

“So do you.”

Oliver laughed. “I’m not wearing cologne.”

“You smell good anyway.”
Must
be
pheromones.
“How is Erin?”

“She’s good. She enjoyed meeting you. A lot.”

“I enjoyed meeting her too. How’s work? School?”

“Good. Good. How’s your stuff?”

“Good. Great.”
Enough
of
this
small
talk.
Celia wanted to slip her hand in Oliver’s, tell Oliver she loved him, and kiss Oliver forever and ever. But no romantic interlude happened. Instead, Oliver and Celia saw David as a teenager, David at his first wedding, David and Therese with their baby son, David in the hospital bed with sickly Therese, David kneeling at Therese’s grave, David marrying Celia, David in the hospital after the wreck, Shirley reading Agatha to David, David at Pinewood (titled
Hibernation
) and then, of course, the glorious
Spring
.

David grinning widely. David holding Caleb. David in physical therapy. David walking with the help of a cane. David with increasingly feminine features, David with growing breasts and long hair, David with a slightly older Oliver and two beautiful dark-skinned young adults in purple graduation gowns. David with long white hair and wearing a dress at Caleb’s graduation—with Celia.

The last drawing was titled
Happy
at
Ninety
, and showed an old woman, David, in a wheelchair and surrounded by her family—Celia, Caleb, Oliver, Therese, Erin, Paul and even Shirley and Richard, who would be long dead by then.