The remains

Chapter 11

I finally arrived at the studio at a little past nine-thirty.

My stomach sank when I saw Franny.

Franny in attendance, the second day in a row. Even though he was the studio’s Painter-In-Residence, his visits usually averaged once or twice a month, depending upon his production as an artist. Usually he brought in a completed or near completed piece, just as he had done yesterday, and in turn we offered him advice on how to improve upon it. This of course was all a big joke since Franny’s talent far surpassed our own.

While two gray-haired, ‘retired’ women worked studiously at their easels on the far side of the brightly lit studio, Franny occupied his favorite corner of honor, round body partially hidden by what looked to be a brand new canvas.

My beating heart would not let up. Like yesterday’s ‘Listen’ canvas, I knew instinctively that this painting had my name written all over it.

Robyn caught sight of me just as I hung up my knapsack inside a wood cubby that once-upon-a-time housed the little jackets and mittens of long grown kindergartners.

“Becca honey,” she said in her animated sing-song voice. “You are not going to believe this.”

I swallowed. Shooting a forced smile from across the room at the two retired women, I reluctantly made my way toward Franny and Robyn.

“Okay kids,” I said, “keep your clothes on.”

“Okay kids,” Franny chanted while rocking on his stool.

“Wait,” Robyn barked, coming around fast from behind the canvas. “Close your eyes, Bec.”

“Come on, Rob, I’m not in the mood. I haven’t slept-”

“Just do what I say,” she demanded. “This is magnificent.”

My heart pounded; stomach twisted and turned.

No choice but to play along.

I closed my eyes. But just to make sure I wasn’t cheating, Robyn propped herself behind me, masked my eyes with both her hands. From there she led me around to the business side of the canvas where I stood directly beside Franny. Pressed up against him actually. As usual, he smelled like he’d just taken a bath in Old Spice.

“What you’re about to see,” Robyn said, “took the master only eight hours of non-stop painting.”

Thus all the fuss?

God, I felt like back-kicking her. If only my heart weren’t pounding so hard.

“Come on, Rob.” She pulled her hands away.

When I opened my eyes it felt like two charcoal pencils were being shoved up into my eyeballs. This painting, as opposed to yesterday’s, contained no abstract squiggles and dashes. But very much like yesterday, it depicted a rural landscape. Accordingly, Franny had chosen to paint the piece using sublime colors-greens, browns, soft yellows and oranges, blues and even ocher.

But it was neither color choice nor style that robbed me of my breath. What shook me up was the field of tall grass. Beyond it I saw a stand of trees that marked the beginning of a thick dark wood. No question about it, the field and the woods were just like my dream-the recurring dream where I am following Molly. Or, more precisely said, the dream which was not a dream at all, but the re-creation of actual events that took place almost thirty years ago to the day.

There was something else too, something I recognized in the tall grass. It contained the word ‘See’. Maybe you had to really search for the previous day’s word, but not this one. To me it was obvious that the letters that made up the word S-e-e were transposed onto the canvas in the play of yellow sunlight on brown grass. But even with the word that obvious, I didn’t open my mouth up about it. Nor did I mention that the scenery matched that of my dream.

But then if the word was so obvious, why didn’t Robyn say anything about it?

“Earth to Becca,” she said, breaking me out of my trance. “Earth, Becca. Earth.”

“Earth,” Franny said. “Earth.”

I pulled my eyes away from the new painting, focused silently upon Robyn’s face, her blue eyes.

“You’re right,” I said, half under my breath. “Incredible… for only eight hours of work.”

But I don’t think Robyn heard me at all. She took a step back, squinted.

“Whoa, girl,” she said. “You’re so white you look like you’ve just seen your own ghost.”

She couldn’t have been more right. That’s when everything inside me fell-a total organ slide. Sliding myself out from behind Franny’s painting, I made a beeline for the bathroom.