Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 01 - The Legitimate Way (16 page)

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Third Saturday in November

Donna could not believe how much time passed when she focused on the studio’s wall clock. 2:00 o’clock in the morning! She stretched her arms before realizing one hand still held a paint-laden brush. A glob of blue fell on a white farmhouse on the canvas. She dipped a ragged cloth into turpentine and lifted out the blue mistake. As if awakening from a long sleep, she regarded her finished work. Not a glamorous piece, but neatly done and pleasant enough. She wiped her brush of most of the paint and then immersed it into the crowded mason jar filled with brushes soaking in soap. She re-promised herself to clean the brushes.

When she turned off the four tall lamps facing her canvas, she saw sharp splinters of lightning outside. The thunder was low, continuous. David wouldn’t be there when she slipped into bed. Donna ran her hand over his side of the bed. She asked him the night before, “Why are you not sleeping? Are you upset about something?”

“I’m not unhappy because you were painting,” David said. “My research may not be going anywhere. I may have wasted ten years.”

“That can’t be.” Donna said softly, close to his ear. “Didn’t you tell me, negative results are worth the effort because other experimentalists can skip the false paths in their search for solutions?” She wound her leg across David’s. “Have you wasted the fourteen years you spent with me?”

“You’re a good wife, Donna. Very mature for a girl of nineteen, from the first day we married.” David kissed her. “Roll over and let me rub your shoulders. I’m sure they’re knotted up after working so late.”

Even without her husband’s massage, Donna drifted off into a perfect dream landscape of her canvas farmland. She smelled the golden straw, watched the wind move the heavy heads of oats into patterns not unlike the surf breaking onto a peaceful beach. She reached out her hand to feel the heat of the dream’s summer day only to find David’s side of the bed empty and cold. Donna tried to avoid thinking of the misery living without David would entail. He was her foundation, the steady plank in reason’s sway. What happened?

A steady rain blew at the window.

Sleeping was not David’s strong point. He rose at
5:00 o’clock every morning as if released from a Jack-in-the-Box. Sensing the house was too quiet, Donna rolled out of bed and flung her bathrobe over her shoulder as she ran down the stairs.

She was alone.

Sally stayed with Donna the entire first night of widowhood, but Friday night Donna refused. Her bedside digital read, “2:30 am.” Sleep appeared part of Donna’s lost world with David, a thing remembered but unknown now. She placed a call to Sally at 5:30 on Saturday morning. “When will they let Harry go home?”

“I’m sure he’s at home,” Sally said. “I left him a message, but it was too late for him to call back.”

“I should let you go.”

“It’s all right. The police won’t harm Harry.”

“My brother, Steve, and his wife, will arrive this morning.” Donna felt as if she were talking to her friend from a far off distance. “I feel as if I’m drugged.”

“Well, you’re not.” Sally comforted her. “Sleeplessness must be your way of grieving. No one knows how they will deal with grief until it happens to them.”

“But, I want to think. My mind keeps mulling over the last time David was here. When another person is in the house, I feel more sane. I’ll make you a cup of coffee, if you and John will come over.”

“We’ll be right over. Your body hasn’t absorbed the facts yet.”

Donna cringed at her own unjust marital complaints aired with Zelda. Even David heard her censure before he died. Oblivion seemed a preferred option. “I wish we’d died together.”

“No you don’t. It’s a healthy sign you don’t want to feel the pain of grieving.”

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John and Sally were on their second cup of coffee before Donna made a supreme effort to form a normal question. “Have you been in the studio?”

Sally smiled as if she appreciated the exertion required to carry on a normal conversation. “Did you paint instead of sleeping last night?”

“You’re going to get curiouser and curiouser, if you don’t run up and look.” Donna produced a weak smile.

Sally returned from the studio after only a moment’s lapse. She clapped her hands in excitement. “Marvelous work, yards above the caliber of your regular paintings.” Sally accepted a sweet roll from John. “Emotions do rule expression.”

Donna tried to explain. “I dreamt I was in the peaceful painting. I wondered how it would feel to live on a farm. I was guilty about shopping with Zelda.  In the past, I threw money around until I wasn’t angry, which is not a very constructive option for grief. The terror of living alone without David surfaced somewhere between owning up to my spending addiction and planning my next shopping trip. Then I became paranoid. Do you think Zelda encouraged me to shop in order to share in my budget debauchery?” Donna placed her hand over her mouth.

She felt released from whatever spell kept her catatonic at the table. Perhaps the need to appear rational in front of Sally and John, while facing the gross reality of her husband’s death kept her tethered. She stood and pushed her chair under the table. “I need to paint.”

She couldn’t vomit anymore, couldn’t sleep and needed some activity to relieve the longing for David’s return. She walked Sally and John to the door.

Upstairs, a fresh canvas stared back at her.

She spread black into all four corners, letting the forms create billowing folds of purple darkness. Halfway down Donna spread a yellow sea crashing into a granite-strewn coast. The heavens she painted white with one, then two trailing clouds of blue rain. In the foreground, she positioned one red and bleeding heart, folded over the edge of a rock like Dali’s pocket watch. She added finishing blue tints to a black crow’s feathers, who busied itself with the meat of the painting’s heart.

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Donna’s phone rang.

“Has your brother arrived?” Sally asked. “It’s past noon.”

“No.” Donna took the brush from her hand. “Not yet. I finished another painting.”

“I’ll be right over. John’s busy at the yacht club hotel.”

When, Sally arrived and absorbed the new painting’s message, she sat down on the floor of the studio, bowed her head and wept.

Donna squatted next to her and stroked the older woman’s white hair. “Don’t cry for me. I’ll be all right.” She helped a calmer Sally to her feet. “Time for lunch. Come and keep me company.” She followed Sally down to the dining room. She felt as if a zombie claimed her soul during the long morning.

Zelda and Professor Paul St. Claire, David’s advisor, were talking quietly at the dining room table when Sally and Donna entered. “Professor, is Harry home yet?”

“I’m not sure.” Professor St. Clair rose and embraced her, kissing the air on both sides of her head. “I’m so sorry to hear about David’s fall.”

“Yes, but not from grace.”

“What?” St. Claire asked.

“I apologize. I haven’t slept much since the police told me what happened.”

Sally prepared eggs and bacon for the group. Zelda helped by making a ton of toasted English muffins. “Zelda,” Sally said. “Ask Donna if you can go up and see her latest paintings.”

“No.” Donna said before Zelda could think about it. “I better rest after lunch. Sorry, I’ll show you the paintings very soon, but not now.” Donna wasn’t sure what she thought about her new paintings. She definitely did not want to deal with others knowing the state of her soul. If they compared the angry painting from the previous night with the peaceful farm and the grief-driven one, they might misjudge her. She was sure of one thing; she would never be fully restored after losing David.

At least Donna noticed her taste buds resurrected their heads long enough for her to enjoy the salty bacon. She spread a coating of honey on half of a muffin.

“Not too good for you.” Professor St. Claire commented.

“Neither is losing a mate.” Donna then apologized for the second time. “Sorry. Not thinking clearly this morning.”

“Understandable.” Professor St. Claire said. Zelda and St. Claire exchanged a glance and then said their good-byes.

“How close is Zelda to Professor St. Claire?” Sally asked after they left.

Donna wondered if her suddenly single status helped her realize the nature of the couple’s relationship. “Zelda watches every move St. Claire makes. I do know their condominiums are next door to each other.”

“I’d want a connecting door.” Sally almost giggled. Donna laughed, then covered her mouth, embarrassed by their levity. “Donna?” Sally scolded. “Give me a break here.”

“Neither of them would have to haul their asses out into the rain to go home.”

“See.” Sally smiled. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

“Humor is a savior of mankind.”

“One of them.” Sally agreed.

Then they heard the front doorbell. “That must be Steve.” Instead, Donna escorted John into the dining room. “Have you had lunch? We might be out of eggs.”

“Plenty of eggs.” Sally got busy with the frying pan. “I do need to review the case with John.”

“The case?” Donna asked.

“You don’t think Harry could harm David, do you?” Sally only knew the short professor by sight. “I’ve not said more than two words to the man, but he doesn’t seem to own a mean bone in his body.”

“I know he didn’t harm David,” Donna said. “I wish I could talk to him to hear how the accident happened.”

John rubbed his baldness as if friction on the outside would make his brain come up with something significant. “Maybe Professor Terkle did try to stop the fall.”

“I wonder if we could talk to him.” Sally asked.

“You might need somebody’s permission,” John said. “Does Harry live alone?”

Donna sat down to watch John eat. “Won’t the university investigate the accident thoroughly? I can’t imagine they’ll be happy about a professor accused of murdering a colleague.”

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Last Saturday in November

Norman Leonard, David’s son, resented his older brother for lording it over him.

“We’re responsible for her now.” Joseph telephoned the night after the accident from
Arizona. “Proper.” his brother called the necessity to visit Donna every day until the memorial service.

Norman wanted no part of polite, duty calls; but he agreed to stop by his father’s house once a day until Joseph managed to arrive. Legally all his father’s property was one-third his including, he supposed, the house Donna was presently living in. It would be pleasant to live somewhere away from his own mother’s new husband,
Chester Pierce. Even Chester surprised him by sending along solicitous messages for the young widow. If his mother owned the stamina not to break down in front of them, Norman felt inclined to shoulder the unpleasant task of visiting his stepmother.

Norman arrived after lunch, just in time to meet Donna’s older brother, Steve Morgan, and sister-in-law, Kate. The house was filled with people. Donna didn’t need watching over.

“We’re staying at the Campus Inn,” Kate informed Sally.

Sally took
Norman aside. “Did you know Professor Terkle?”

“Yes,”
Norman said, “He was always irritatingly kind.”

Professor Terkle’s maid, Henrietta, was
Norman’s lover. Norman’s mother originally hired Henrietta when they were still able to afford a professorial standard of living. However, once Norman finished his Masters in Creative Writing and his father, David, stopped supporting them because of his young wife, Norman’s mother let Henrietta go. Inconvenient it was now, with Henrietta being married and all, to find a time and place for a romantic rendezvous. Henrietta no longer expected Norman to rescue her from a life of drudgery. Admittedly, he never intended anything past his immediate needs. Professor Terkle knew the lay of the land, but he was too gentle to confront Norman about his affair. Now Terkle was under some suspicion about his father’s accident, actually sitting in jail, a ridiculous situation. “I know Terkle too well to imagine a sliver of hostility anywhere in the man, especially against his professional partner in research.”

“For as long as you need us.” Steve finally let go of Donna’s shoulders. “You look awful.”

“Oh, thanks.” Donna laughed at her brother.

Norman knew his frown showed his disapproval. Sally offered him an excuse for his stepmother. “She hasn’t slept much.”

“Hormone swings mimic grief.” Steve directly addressed Norman.

However,
Norman could feel his frown did not disappear. Embarrassed at his inability to control his face, he thought it best to leave. “Donna, call me if you need anything.” He bolted for the door.

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“Were they close?” Kate asked.

Donna rolled her eyes. “I’m sure
Norman will miss David. He’ll manage to enjoy his third of the inheritance. The boy has not experienced an eight-hour day of work in his life. Nor will he, now.”

“How many years older than you, is
Norman?” Kate asked.

“Seven.” Donna said and added because she knew Kate really could care less. “I was nineteen and David was forty-seven. He would have been sixty-one this March.”