All About B.A.D. (14 page)

Every “first” was followed by a line of descriptors, making certain the details stayed fresh and clear and memorable. Repeating a great adventure was still that: a repetition. She wouldn’t let hers become stale. For the rest of her life, Lilly would pull from this list to rescue what would become commonplace from being mundane.

First time in an airplane, to ride in a taxi, stay alone in a hotel, be totally responsible for herself. It was an impressive catalogue of events meticulously recorded. The sojourn to Atlanta was also an adventure filled with surprises. She learned she wasn’t frightened to fly, to mingle with strangers, to share her ideas, to be alone. Lilly had no way of knowing if this store of experiences would be joined by others and so every moment was played and replayed in her head. As the carefully scripted synopsis of “firsts” was cloned in the copier, the realization struck her that from the time she stepped out on the tarmac until pushing the button on the Xerox machine, she had not once thought of Paul. Her smile was instantaneous. She was ready to move on.

True to her word, Bertha had made certain Lilly had the means to go to Atlanta. There were three new outfits, an airline ticket and “a little cash for extras”. Mother and daughter shopped, packed, and talked over the adventure to come. It was the most fun the two had since abandoned by her father. The big surprise was the amount of money Bertha still had at her disposal once everything was ready for Lilly. Bertha began thinking about tiny home improvements, adding a bit of “freshness”, a dab of comfort. She had also been eyeing a secondhand truck one of “her engineers” was selling. 

Lilly knew how hard it was for her mother to let her go, but in the end, the experience enriched both their lives. Lilly had her list of firsts and Bertha had independent transportation.

Josh watched Bernadette as she nuzzled the baby’s neck, kissed his belly, played Three Little Piggies with his toes. Her breath tickled the inside of his ear, causing Connor to laugh. The child was obviously happy. He was also enjoying the bounce of the truck; every little up and down brought bubbly gurgles from Connor’s throat. Josh’s smile grew even larger as Conner attempted an indecipherable conversation with his mother.

Bernadette felt grateful—for Conner, Josh, the food Payne insisted she pack and the ride back to the apartment. She would soon be leaving this place for the House of Many Colors.

The downstairs of the Victorian manse was ablaze in lights. Josh pulled up slowly to the curb, parking behind a blue Cadillac. They hadn’t expected anyone to be home.             

“Maybe I’ll just go in with you and check things out.”

“No, that’s okay, Josh. You’ve been great, but I suspect it’s only Arthur showing prospective tenants around. He probably thinks I’m staying over somewhere tonight and just hasn’t made it upstairs yet to the apartment.”

“Well, I’ll wait outside on the porch until you give me a sign that everything’s okay. Come to the door and wave or something just so I’ll know.”

“Okay. And thanks again for the ride. I’m not sure what Wanda and I would do without you, Josh.” She leaned across the seat and bussed her lips across his cheek. 

Bernadette heaved herself and Conner out of the truck and started up the walk, Josh trailing behind. The door’s familiar creak announced their arrival.

Not expecting a greeting, Arthur’s “Hello!” caught her off guard. He stepped in the doorway as she started to cross the hall into the studio.

“Working late, Arthur?” 

“I didn’t expect you back so soon. I’ll just finish up in here and—”

“Miss Donahue?” Peeking from behind the door was a tall, distinguished-looking woman who Bernadette guessed to be in her late 50s. Arthur planted himself more firmly to block the woman’s exit, but she expertly nudged him out of the way, dismissing him without missing a step.

“Are you Miss B. Donahue? Are you the Artist in Residence here?”

“Yes, I’m Bernadette Donahue. Have we met?” She was startled by the woman’s directness and matter-of-fact questioning.

“No, not until now. My name is Kathryn Abbott.”

Bernadette couldn’t place her. Workshop? No. One of the Bertans’ occasional visitors? The woman had an air of wealth; that was probably it.

“I invest in new talent and it is my belief, Miss Donahue, you have it. ‘The Kite at Sunset’ and ‘Small Child at Water’s Edge’ are now prominently displayed in my office.”

Arthur’s cough was falsely dry, clearly meant to grab attention. “Mrs. Abbott, why don’t I call you tomorrow so we can finish our bit of business? I’m sure Miss Donahue and Conrad are ready to retire for the evening.”

“Conner, Arthur.” Bernadette smiled at the woman, trying to appear unfazed while hiding her outrage. “Mrs. Abbott, I’m not sure I understand what you mean. Those particular paintings are on loan to Mr. and Mrs. Tom Bertan for their new business in Dallas.”

The woman turned to Arthur and huffed. “Arthur, as her agent, I would have thought you’d told her ages ago.” She shook her head and continued speaking to Bernadette, “No, I paid the listed price for both and I am here to purchase the one depicting the house. There is the possibility that I will be the next owner and I would like the painting to remain here.”

An unnatural cough erupted into spasms as Arthur tried to take Kathryn’s arm, ushering her out of the room. She brushed him off with a flip of her wrist and a question.

“What does this mean, Arthur?”

“Just a little surprise, Mrs. Abbott, that’s all.” 

Conner knew instantly when his mother lost her softness. Startled by the abrupt change, he let out a yelp; a small stream of tears followed. Stifling rage, his mother held him too tightly.

“Mrs. Abbott, I wasn’t aware those pieces had been sold. Do you mind if I ask the amount paid? I would like to make certain Arthur gets what he deserves.”

“Two thousand each. Of course, I understand why your larger one—especially as the studio’s trademark—is worth more.”

Again Conner felt a change. Tightened into knots, his little body squeezed out loud cries which immediately caught the ear of the man waiting patiently outside for a sign. Joshua bounded through the doorway and headed straight for the little boy, while taking in the strained scene before him. Conner all but leapt into his arms, sobbing out of control, terrified. 

“What’s the problem, Bernadette?”

“Josh, this is Kathryn Abbott. She has been telling me how she’s the owner of two of my paintings, thanks to Arthur who has taken the role of my agent. Except, of course, he failed to tell me.”

Calm rage was unfamiliar to Arthur Fetters but he immediately understood its potential.

“It’s a simple misunderstanding, that’s all. One we should deal with tomorrow when the child isn’t so tired. Maybe you should take him upstairs.” As the suggestion left his lips, it was obvious he’d made a strategic error.

Crooking Conner in his right arm, Josh grabbed Arthur with his left. 

“Good idea, Arthur, let’s take it upstairs!”

With the iron grip on his arm, Arthur Fetters had one way to go. Two men and a crying child headed up the steps.

“I’m sorry for my son’s behavior, Mrs. Abbott. This is a little unusual for him—for all of us.”

“I have two grandchildren and a pretty quick mind, Miss Donahue. Instead of apologies, how about an explanation?”

“Mrs. Abbott, I’m not sure what to say or where to start. Arthur Fetters isn’t my agent or anyone else’s. He works for the people who own this house, Mattie and Tom Bertan. According to him, the paintings you mentioned were on permanent loan to the Bertans. I had no idea they’d been sold. As far as the painting of this house, Arthur said the Bertans had changed their minds and requested it be shipped to them tomorrow. I will talk with them as soon as possible and try and clear all of this up. I really apologize and as soon as I can figure what to do first, I know we can work something out.”

“I believe I know exactly where to start, Miss Donahue.” The intelligent face was all but beaming.  “And don’t worry, because I know someone you may want to call.” She reached into her fine leather bag that hung from her exquisite silk-covered shoulder and plucked out a card, handing it to a somewhat startled artist.

Bernadette read the words slowly aloud.

“Kathryn Abbott, Attorney-at-Law.

A threat, a welt, and a well-placed call convinced Arthur Fetters to relinquish some of his “retirement” funds to Kathryn Abbott. She, in turn, paid Bernadette for the two paintings hanging in her office as well as the one illustrating the property. Kathryn Abbott informed Tom and Mattie of all that had happened. The Bertans also tired of their involvement with Arthur, this not being the first time he had pocketed someone else’s money. Arthur’s second chance gone, they decided to prosecute. To defray guilt and explanations, Mattie sent a “goodbye” check to Bernadette. The young mother had more money than she’d seen in her entire lifetime, the same amount Tom Bertan usually paid for a suit, a tie and a pair of handmade shoes.  

Splotches of purple dotted the walls and, unintentionally, the floor and ceiling. Sunlight marched across the differing shades, defining them as one tone then another, and again as something else. Bright, dark, bluish, bright again. Changing, shifting, creating doubt about choice and direction. 

“Beautiful!” Wanda Payne loved the dance of pigment.

“Confusing is more like it. They all look the same.”

“Only in the dark, Stephen.”

The young man’s concentration did nothing to help him separate the subtleties, but admiration for the woman kept him trying. 

“The one on the far left—it’s the happiest.”

Morning Glory Infusion. She copied the name on a piece of paper and handed it to him.

“One gallon should do it. Tell them it’s for Wanda Payne. You’ll get a discount.”

Judging by the color explosion in the tiny trailer he called home, Stephen didn’t doubt it. He was more of a black-and-white person. It had taken time for the palm trees, elves and the peeking animals wandering around the walls to creep into his imagination. Once accepted, their appearance seemed natural, often helping him stay alert, focused.

With one decision made, Wanda started on others. She wanted Bernadette and Conner to be more than comfortable; she wanted them settled. She moved around in sporadic bursts, honoring her limitations. It was all coming together.

This move would be different. Their clothes would take three large garbage bags and a newly acquired suitcase instead of a single sack. Conner’s furniture would fill half of Josh’s truck. The haul would be rounded out by a few boxes filled with toys and Bernadette’s art equipment, plus one added possession: money of her own.

Bernadette took the sling Deah had made for Conner as an infant. Before folding it carefully, she breathed in his scent. She hadn’t been ready for him to outgrow the little nest that kept him snugged to her body. Now he was all about movement and exploration. Cloth rigging kept him from spilling down the spiral staircase from their apartment into the hallway below. Being in a smaller, one-story house would suit them just fine. Especially one where they were eagerly awaited.

Evening found them in the newly painted room ready for a quick dinner and a long bath. Bernadette cleaned the kitchen while Wanda filled Conner’s tub with water and a yellow duck. It was good they all loved the water, as Conner had a generous way of sharing his bath. Toweling off his squirmy body, Bernadette was again struck that she had given birth to this little being. She had learned to take care of his needs—thanks to Wanda, Josh and a trio of others. She had also learned she could love. His grip on her emotions sometimes startled her. It was strange. His presence had dictated changes in her thinking, derailing plans in the making. She, the iron-willed mischief-maker, had been thrown into an unknown world which had eroded her courage and ebbed away confidence. Yet here she was, intact, with a son she loved and who depended upon her. The realization was a punch to her heart and ignited a spark. She could still fight. Next time, she decided, it would be for something instead of against everything.

A shift in roles, barely perceptible, surfaced among the new family. Wanda slowly became the ward due to her ebbing strength while Bernadette became her guardian. It was a role she relished while repaying an unspoken debt. She made certain Wanda followed the doctor’s schedule of medicines and exercise. She assumed daily household chores and learned about the mounds of paperwork that trailed cancer patients. Wanda kept a sharp eye on Conner. Whether in his swing, scooting around in his walker or practicing standing, she talked, sang or read to the little audience of one. All flourished under the arrangement. When he slept, Wanda often nodded off or talked Bernadette through the business of running a café or the art of cooking comfort food. Only in the late afternoon was there time for watercolors and brushes to make their appearance. 

Between the House of Many Colors and the small trailer was a tenderly cared-for garden, presently overseen by Stephen. Wanda shared the same affinity for struggling plants that she did for needy people, and much had been rooted over the years. They, too, had blossomed under her care. Stephen preferred well-groomed order and trimmed precision but feared shearing off a favorite cutting. The compromise was a neatly mown lawn fenced-in by a chaotic tumble of plants in a Technicolor array. It was one of Bernadette’s favorite places, its beauty often spilling over onto her sketches. Stephen appreciated the area more for catching a nap in the hammock that hung between two large oaks. Without his knowing, Bernadette often made quick sketches of him sprawled in the jute netting.

No further conversations about his upcoming trip had transpired and that had Bernadette wondering if she and Conner would be riding along. Embarrassment kept her from broaching the subject. She would wait for either Wanda or Stephen to bring it up again. The thought of going home was both appealing and frightening, but Bernadette needed to make amends. It felt like the next step in moving forward. She wasn’t sure if her folks were ready. Here in the garden, all things seemed possible. What would be the reality?

“Hey!”

Bernadette jumped at the unexpected voice. She hadn’t seen or heard him approach.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you knew I was here.”

“Guess I was somewhere else in my thoughts.”

“I wanted to talk to you a minute about you and your son riding with me next weekend. School has been super busy lately and I haven’t had time to check with you to see if you are still interested in going. You’re welcome along if you are. I’m planning to leave next Friday afternoon after my last class and drive straight through.”

It was all matter-of-fact—no emotion. A serious question looking for a straightforward answer.

“Stephen, I’ve been thinking about going home a lot lately and if you really don’t think our tagging along would be too much trouble, the answer is yes.”

“Nope. Like I said, the drive can get to be boring.”

Still no show of emotion. Bernadette worried about the sincerity of his offer. Was it all for Wanda’s sake? 

She made her decision. “Maybe we can liven it up a bit.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you here at 12:30.” 

“Great. Thanks, Stephen.”

“My pleasure. See you then if not before. Now I’m off to look in on my star patient to see how she’s doing.” He walked to the house and disappeared through the door.

In the span of a few minutes, Bernadette’s thinking had gone from wondering if and when she would go home, to what would be waiting there for her and Conner. Neither thought was completely comfortable.