20

THE MEETING WITH Brenda Todd did little to move John in one direction or another, in thinking or action. He hadn’t found the visit with her disturbing, enlightening, or satisfying. There was no reason to weigh it, assess it, or even to remember it.

Ruth was naked. She was sitting on a stool in the studio. The late afternoon sun pushed warm light against her back and over her shoulders, a contrast to the cold and standoffish greeting Lisa had offered her at the door of the main house. John scratched with charcoal on a canvas as he studied his model.

“You realize, of course,” he said, looking at her, then at the canvas, “that I’m painting fruit over here and that I’m just enjoying you.” And he was painting fruit. Apples. She was exquisite, and the way the light kissed her body made him want to paint her. Looking at her cleared his head.

“Weeks in the hospital,” Ruth said ponderously. “He’s lucky. That was a bad fall.” She jerked as if chilled. “I can still see it.”

He agreed and nodded, but he really wasn’t listening. He was happily lost and content with his eyes on her. He was smiling stupidly, he thought, but he didn’t care.

Katy appeared in the doorway. Ruth moved to reach for something to cover herself, but John waved to her to relax. He was surprised that he felt so relaxed.

“Come on in, Katy,” he said. “Ruth is just sitting for me while I paint.”

Katy walked to her grandfather, smiling uncertainly at Ruth. She giggled a bit.

“Yep,” John said. “Ruth is being my model.”

Katy stepped around and viewed the canvas. “Those are apples,” she said.

Ruth grabbed her jeans. “John,” she whined with one leg in, “you really were painting fruit.”

“I told you that.”

She pulled on her blouse and began to button it. She let out an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t believe you.”

“I told you exactly what I was doing.” He winked at Katy. The child was happy, seeming to feel privileged to be let in on something intended for adults.

“Why are you getting dressed?” Katy asked Ruth.

“I’m cold,” said Ruth.

“I’ve seen my mother and father naked. We used to take showers together. I even got to watch my daddy’s operation.”

“Operation, Katy?” asked John.

“Yeah, he had a vectomy.”

John looked at Ruth, then again at Katy. “Are you trying—” He stopped. “Vasectomy, Katy?”

Katy nodded. “Doctor Newton let me and Mommy watch.”

John squeezed some paint from a tube onto the palette, then with a knife began to fill in the apple. “And when was this?”

“I don’t know. Last year.”

“What did the doctor tell you about what he was doing?” John asked.

“He pointed at things and told me what they were. Daddy told me he was getting fixed, so I wouldn’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“He told you that?”

“He says now that it didn’t work.”

“Well, that happens,” John said. He looked at Ruth again. Her eyes had grown wet and she looked away. John wanted to be mad, needed to be mad, but it wasn’t there. The anger would not come. Perhaps the operation hadn’t taken.

The lights went out. John saw that the lighted face of his bedside clock had gone dark. Dusk was just coming on when the power failed, and the air felt very still.

“This happens every year,” Katy said.

John stood and stretched. “Let’s go see what your mom is up to.”

Katy ran ahead. Ruth caught John at the door, kissed him and hugged him. He held her close and thought he heard her whisper something.

Upstairs, Lisa was calling the power company. “It’s always the same,” she said, holding the receiver away from her ear. “They put you on hold, then tell you it will be three hours. They’ve got predicting the duration of an outage down to a science.” She hung up. “Why should I wait? They’re just going to tell me three hours.”

“Ice cream,” John said.

“What was that?” Ruth asked.

“Come on, Katy,” he said. “We’re going to get some ice cream. With the electricity off, they’ll give us as much as we want.”

“I’m sure they know it’ll be back on soon,” Lisa said. John looked at her directly for the first time since coming up from the studio. “We’ll assume they don’t know.”

Later, John was alone with Ruth. They walked along the beach, a stiff breeze pushing them together for warmth. They had not talked about what Katy had said. They would not be talking about it.

“Would you like to ride into Newport with me tomorrow?” Ruth asked. “Have lunch there?”

“Sure.”

“I’m meeting my mother at one.”

John felt her searching for his reaction. He thought he showed none but said, “Your mother? You’d like me to meet your mother?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I think you’re special and I’d like her to meet you. That’s all.”

“I don’t know.”

“She won’t bite you.”

“Don’t be so sure.” He kicked a piece of driftwood. “I don’t know if it’s wise.”

“This isn’t such a big deal. She’s met several of my boyfriends.”

John laughed at the sound of it all.

Ruth looked at the ocean and was silent for a minute. “I think I’m in love with you,” she said finally.

He could find no flattering light in which to view himself. Were he to imagine a more involved relationship, an attempt at something enduring, it would certainly be a testimony to the foolishness of an old heart. And if he didn’t want it, then he was a lecherous cad, a child-molesting, sorry excuse for a man. He looked at her and wanted to tell her he loved her, but he couldn’t.

She clung to him as they walked.

“So, you want me to meet your mother.”

She said nothing, just held on. Somehow he had told her that he loved her, too. He felt her fear and his. Here they were, he thought, two fools colliding in the night. Things might evaporate when discussed—in the back of his mind he counted on this—but tonight they would be afraid.