A Shiver of Wonder (6 page)

David slapped his forehead. “God, I’m sorry.
I sound like a loon.”

She laughed again. “No. You sound like
you’re in a relationship with Genevieve MacGuffie.”

But he couldn’t continue to make light of
it. “Seriously, Jess, I apologize. It’s the first time we’ve ever
talked, and all I can do is come across like some neurotic wimp who
can’t handle his girlfriend’s past.”

“But if her past is alive in the present…”
She inhaled deeply. “You could certainly handle some things
differently, but I’ll be the first to admit to you that Genevieve
is no walk in the park, no matter
how
sweet those cakes of
hers might taste.”

“She keeps suggesting – jokingly, I assume –
that I go out with Lydia. And there are times I almost want to.
Simpler, more laughter, less expected of me, a
lot
less
angst.”

“And perhaps Lydia has a girlfriend who
could join the two of you on occasion if the fancy strikes
her?”

At that, David couldn’t help but snicker.
“Well, the thought has crossed my mind, but if I can barely handle
one woman, what would I do with two?”

“Bring ’em to one of those meetings. Swap
’em out for another pair if they can’t behave!”

“Mmm. I’ve never been to one of those
meetings, though.”

“Has she ever asked you to?”

“Genevieve? No.”

“Then don’t worry about it. It was at the
store the other night, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. She probably told you about it.”

“Nope! All I got to hear about was David,
David, David.”

“Oh, joy.”

“It’s not so bad. Better than past tense,
like Todd.”

“Ha! Do you get to hear about him, too?”

Jess chortled in reply. “All the time, all
the time. But if you tell her I said that, I’m driving right out
there and dropping one of those Blackberry Buttermilk Cakes of hers
right on your head.”

David smiled. “We will meet, right? Some
day?”

A pause. And then, “Yes. I promise.
Genevieve’s promised
me
.”

“Good. I…”

“Oh, don’t start groveling again! No more
apologies. And David?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve got my number now, and I have yours.
Call if you want. Anytime. I’m on your side, on
both
of your
sides. I liked talking to you, hearing your voice. You’re honest.
And that is something dear sainted Todd was
not
. For a lot
of those seven years those two were together.”

“Really?” David tried to rein in his
eagerness. “Did that have – ”

“That’s not for me to tell you,” Jess
interjected. “When Genevieve’s ready, you’ll know.”

“If we last that long,” he almost
moaned.

“Courage. Fortitude. She’s one of the few
who’s worth it.”

David nodded. “I know.” And he did.
Genevieve was a rarity, an absolute gem underneath that beautiful,
demanding exterior.

“Tell her what we talked about. Or
most
of it,” she added with a giggle. “She’ll want to know,
anyway.”

“Thank you, Jess. Truly.”

“Good night, David. Sweet dreams.”

She’d clicked off before David could return
the sentiment.

He set the phone down on the floor and lay
back once more on the couch. It was a lot to think about, a lot to
think about.

“Damn it, I hate this game! Why do you come
here every week?”

David closed his eyes, willing himself not
to snap back. His visit with Grandpa Wilcott had begun poorly, and
had only skidded downhill from there.

“It’s Gin rummy, Grandpa. It’s a game you
once played every night with Grandma. And I come because I enjoy
seeing you.”

“Bah!” Grandpa threw down the card he’d
picked up, his ninth from-the-pile discard in a row. “Long time
ago. Probably had nothing better to do. Don’t
you
have
anything better to do?”

“Apparently not,” David replied evenly,
picking up yet another card that would have given him Gin before
placing it atop the discards.

The first thing Grandpa had done upon
David’s arrival was to shove the previous day’s Shady Grove Courier
at him. “Isn’t this you? Isn’t that the crap hole you live in?”
he’d asked, a finger jabbing at the stark image of the Rainbow
Arms.

“Yep. But it wasn’t me that got knocked off.
So you’re still stuck with the same offer: you want to walk around
the square a few times or play cards?”

The newspaper had been tossed aside, and
Grandpa had lodged himself firmly in his favorite chair, a
decades-old leather Barcalounger that, when fully reclined, took up
half his floor space.

David always found it amusing that while his
Grandpa had become crusty, irascible, and entirely unable to find
any joy in life, his room reflected quite an opposite sentiment.
Warm family portraits and candid photos of David’s Grandma covered
the walls; the bedspread was a patchwork quilt that had been
crafted by two of David’s aunts; books, hobby magazines, and
well-thumbed motorcycle manuals were neatly lined up in order of
size within two elegant mahogany bookshelves.

Grandpa had kept pictures of his last three
girlfriends on top of his dresser for a while, but they’d
disappeared a few months before. David had decided to leave it
alone.

“HA!” Grandpa had gotten what he’d needed: a
five, to give him fives over a run of three Diamonds.

But then he threw down his hand. “Took long
enough. How the hell could you not have won that one?”

David quickly scooped and racked the cards
before his hand was picked up and analyzed.

“I don’t want to play anymore.” The
Barcalounger began extending. “Why don’t you just go?”

David took a deep breath. “Grandpa, isn’t
there
anything
you want to do? We don’t have to play cards
every week, we can go anywhere!”

“Where? On the Shady Grove trolley?” A
swift, dismissive shake of his head. “I’m done with the world. It
can be done with me.”

“That’s so not true. You’ve got years left
in you!”

“I sure as hell hope not.” The Barcalounger
creaked and then snapped as it returned to its upright position.
“David, I just don’t understand why you’re here. In Shady Grove.
Fine, you’ve got some good memories of visiting years ago. But why?
Why?”

Another long, deep breath. “I wanted to live
somewhere nice. Small town, not large. I wanted to be… independent.
Of…”

“You want to be done with the world,
too?”

“No! I just wanted something simple. Simpler
than what things had become.”

“Well, you got it! Welcome to Dullsville.”
Grandpa’s glare honed in. “You were
doing
something with
your life, David. You were going somewhere, you were living! How
could you trade that in for – ” His hand swept toward the charming
panorama of bucolic, small town America that his window offered. “
– this?”

David rested his eyes on the view. “Easily,”
he replied. “But it wasn’t exactly like I gave up a lot, you
know.”

“You gave up hope!”

Their eyes met again. “Look who’s talking!”
David tried but failed to keep the anger out of his voice.
“Physician, heal thyself!”

Grandpa Wilcott stood straight up, then. And
as David wondered if he was really going to take a swing at his
grandson, he also had to stifle an urge to cry. Not for himself,
but for the toll that time and living took on a human being.
Grandpa’s muscles were rippling, but they were a poor remnant of
what he’d been so proud years before. Even the flash of fire in his
eyes waned quickly, the energy needed to sustain his indignation
not being in abundance anymore.

He had sunk down again. Whump, creak, snap.
“Go,” he intoned.

David stood. He felt enervated, despite
having begun the morning with an optimistic vigor.

“I know you’ll be here next Saturday, no
matter what I say.” But Grandpa wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Just… go.
I’ll see you then. I’ll try not to be such a… turd.”

David nodded. “I love you, Grandpa,” he
uttered quietly. “I really do.”

And then he turned, stepped out into the
hallway, and pulled the door mostly closed behind him.

David had made it most of the way to The
Restful Nook’s main entrance before he reversed course and climbed
the stairs to the second floor. Two right turns and a left later,
he found himself in front of Abby Lowell’s room. Her door was
decorated with art projects: a Valentine made of pressed flower
petals, a pastel rendering of the Easter bunny peering under a
bird’s nest for colored eggs, a Cinco de Mayo sombrero created from
shredded magazine pages.

He knocked.

“Come on in!” sang out.

And even before he entered her room, David
was smiling again, feeling better about himself and the world at
large. “Can I bother you for a few minutes, Abby?” he asked.

“But of course, David!” Abby was up and
moving toward him, already beaming. Her hands reached forward to
clasp his. “I just love it when you drop by. Was Henry his usual
charming self this morning?”

He grimaced. “You could say that.”

She shook her head. “I never understand
that, how old age turns some of us into glowering old lumps of
coal. He was always such a sweet talker, and so energetic. Anyhow!”
She clapped her hands. “Come on, sit down. Tell an old lady what’s
going on in your life.”

David sat as Abby slipped her oxygen cannula
into her nose again, and deftly turned her compressor back on. Her
room was similar to Grandpa Wilcott’s: warm furnishings and
pictures everywhere. But it appeared as if there had been an
explosion of color in Abby’s room. The walls were aglow in bright
yellows, radiant reds, and glistening greens. Picture frames
twinkled with hand-painted designs, and her desk was a work of art
in itself, all moons and stars and brilliant creatures that seemed
ready to leap out of the woodwork to experience life
themselves.

She smiled again. “Might as well start
talking, David. I actually
do
have all day, unfortunately,
but it won’t do you any good to keep whatever’s bothering you
bottled up.”

“I talked with Jess last night,” he began.
“She called me.”

“Really!” She leaned forward. “How is
she?”

“Good. I think. It was the first time we’ve
talked.”

“Ever?” Abby’s lips twisted as she sat back
once more. “I hadn’t realized that.”

“I don’t think she’s come back to Shady
Grove since I moved here,” said David. “And other than a couple
quick trips out of town I’ve had to make for business, I haven’t
left.”

She nodded. “That makes sense, then. You’ll
meet her someday. She can be a trip!”

David laughed. Abby spoke the lingo of
several different generations, all fluently.

“So what did you talk about?” she asked.
“Must’ve been strange for you, no? Your girlfriend’s bestie, who
knows all of her dirty laundry and childhood secrets… did you find
yourself trying not to dive into all that?”

David felt himself blushing. “Well… that was
kind of why she called. I suppose I
wanted
to dive into some
of it. To try to understand Genevieve better. There are so many
things about our relationship, no matter
how
bad or good it
is, that I just don’t get. It always seems like I’m missing some
big pieces of the puzzle.” His hands rose, palms open with the
fingers splayed. “Not that it would fix things if I knew more… It’s
just that… I
want
it to work, I really do. I believe I love
her, more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and…” He shifted
uncomfortably as his hands fell. “I’m sorry, Abby. It seems like
half my conversations lately have involved me apologizing for
rambling on and on about Genevieve. I certainly did last night with
Jess.”

Abby’s eyes remained on his for several
seconds, unblinking as she took in his earnest discomfiture. She
sat forward again, and gently patted his knee. “Jess is a nice
girl, David. Todd was a nice boy. Genevieve is always going to be
Genevieve. Why do you keep dragging yourself over these same
shoals?”

David’s head shook. “I don’t know. I really
don’t.”

Her hand withdrew, and Abby reclined again.
Her countenance was sad, reflective. “I remember the first day I
met her,” she said. “Almost twenty-five years ago. Seventh grade
art class, back when they
had
art classes in junior high.” A
wistful smile appeared as she glanced about her room. “Of course,
she first got my attention when she corrected my pronunciation of
her name. But then, her work! Oh my, what all we teachers wish for,
a student who can appreciate, listen,
and
apply. And
Genevieve was that student, in spades.” She scrutinized him.
“You’ve seen some of her drawings, right? Or her oils?”

He nodded. “Yes. She has a few up in the
house, but the attic is full of them.”

Abby glimmered. “And, of course, she has
several of her newer pieces up at Gâteaupia. But the talent and
skill that girl had would have been nothing without her
determination. I don’t believe I ever had a student work so hard.
If it wasn’t right, if it wasn’t exactly what she’d pictured in her
head, she began all over again. Not with anger or complaints, just
the sheer willpower to do it better, and better, and better. And it
worked! In the two years I taught her, she transformed. From a
skillful creator to a true artist. And no, David,” Abby smiled, “I
am
not
attributing that to my teaching. Genevieve learned
nearly everything all by herself. I merely pointed her in a
direction, and she’d just take off.”

“She always credits you for guiding her,” he
demurred. “And every time I’m in this room, I can see it. The
freeness of form, the touch of whimsy that almost camouflages the
craft.”

“But the craft is still there, David. The
hours, the years spent perfecting techniques, learning how to make
it look easy, look natural. You do understand that Genevieve uses
the same approach with everything she undertakes in life,
right?”