Saturday was another dreary day, but since I’d planned on spending it inside, the weather didn’t matter that much. I picked up the kids at ten, which gave Tom plenty of time to get to Duluth for his conference. Chloe seemed happy as she gave me directions to Jennifer’s house, but when I insisted on going in with her, I could see a pout coming on.
Jennifer’s mother welcomed us inside; Cam stayed out in the jeep. We discussed my plans for the day, and while we waited for big sister, Mom punched her number into my phone. “Just in case.”
Mandy was a cute, fresh-faced seventeen-year-old. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and I got the distinct impression she was a cheerleader and maybe even the prom queen. Her black leggings were tucked into high black boots. A heavy red cardigan hung open, and while we talked, her mother reached over to button it up, telling her daughter that it was chilly outside.
Jennifer and Chloe chattered away, keeping their voices low. I’m sure they thought I was unable to have a conversation with Jen’s mom and, at the same time, be aware they were talking about some boys they were supposed to meet up with.
The second girlfriend, Lena, lived down the street. After giving me directions, Mom ended by assuring me that all four were responsible, good kids. But—just in case—she’d be home all day if I needed help. I knew better than most that even the best kids do stupid things and get into trouble. That’s why, before leaving home, I’d called the head of security at the mall, a nice woman I’d gone through the academy with. Just in case.
* * *
I used to think that retirement would give me so much freedom. No more watching the clock, no more traveling during rush hours. I could go to the movies while the worker bees sat at desks. The grocery store would be a pleasure instead of an ordeal. Weekends would be spent painting, not doing laundry or cleaning the house, which for years had to be done on my off days. Life was going to pass leisurely by. But I never took into consideration that my friends and family were still punching clocks, busy Monday through Friday, nine to five. And if I wanted to spend time with them, I had to work around their schedules. So when I sat in traffic outside of the mall, slowly edging my way up toward an entrance to drop the kids off, I was probably more frustrated than those around me who just took this as part of their normal weekend routine.
Mandy assured me that she’d take good care of her three charges, and before I could say anything, she slammed the door and ran off after them.
Cam seemed relieved when the giggling trio was gone. “Girls are so noisy.”
I agreed but didn’t have to let him know. “So how do you feel about going to the museum?”
“Can we have lunch in the café? Mom was going to take me there, but by the time she gets home from work, they’re closed.”
“Sure, Cam.”
Our conversation flowed easier the more he relaxed. While he told me about school and the new video games he loved, I could tell his Asperger’s hadn’t prevented him from enjoying his life.
As I steered down Third Avenue, toward the front of the museum, I began hunting for a parking spot. Round and round, up and down, there wasn’t an empty space anywhere. Starting, stopping for people, bicycles, strollers, and other cars, my determination was quickly drying up. I had to finally admit defeat and called Nora, who directed us to the employee’s parking lot.
I’d met Nora Rayburn at a watercolor class I took right after Sully died. She had just gotten her masters in European art and was looking to unwind and relax while I, on the other hand, was hoping to find my style, my medium. We bonded over shopping.
After class one night, Nora asked if I wanted to go with her to an art supply store that had just opened. Aside from the fact that I needed some paint, I wanted to get to know this interesting woman better and agreed to go.
It was bigger and more glorious than that three-story candy shop in New York. Such colors! And brushes, paper in every weight and size. I wanted to buy everything in sight. While we oohed and ahhed, pushed our little cart up and down the aisles, we laughed and told each other our artistic visions. How pretentious we must have seemed to real artists. But it was one of the best nights. And since that time, Nora and I became fast friends. When she got the job as executive director at MIA, I threw her a wonderful party, right on the main floor of that art supply store.
Nora met us at the employee’s entrance. After we hugged hello, she looked at my grandson.
“And this must be the handsome and talented Cameron.”
I’d explained beforehand about Cam’s shyness, and she respected his space by not bending to hug him.
After we got inside and shed our jackets, Nora led us to the café. “While we’re eating, I can tell you about some of the things I have planned. How would that be?”
Nora had five kids, which made her the pro when it came to handling children.
“Do they have hamburgers?” Cam asked as seriously as if he were solving a math problem.
“Great ones,” Nora told him.
“And as thanks for taking care of us, this will be my treat,” I said.
“Then I’ll have fries . . . and dessert. How about you, Cam?”
When he laughed, I knew everything would be fine.
* * *
We were given a private tour of the Impressionist gallery. Through my education, I was very familiar with the works of Van Gogh and Matisse, but Cam was eager to see works done by Pissarro.
“Did you know, Grammy, that Pissarro painted this way because it gave him freedom of thought? That’s how I feel when I do my art. I can think anything I want. It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks.”
Nora smiled. “Pissarro was the one who said that Impressionism was a kind of emancipation from tradition.”
“I’m still trying to learn from this kid.” I nodded toward my grandson. “My landscapes and portraits need more . . .”
“Not more of anything, Grammy, less. You think too hard. It probably comes because of being a cop.”
“You don’t miss a thing, do you?”
He smiled, proud of himself.