Exuberance Is Beauty (Book 1)

Chapter 2

"How on earth can you say that?"

"I feel as if I've done something wrong."

"Why? Because you don't have a husband? Eve it's an honor to have your beloved's baby. Don't you know that? People think you are...I don't know the words. You are strong and brave and you're going to be such a loving mother. This way, a part of Nick will always be with you."

I wanted to interrupt her or respond with the truth but I couldn't. I didn't want to lose that status. With her. With everyone. She would tell me how much people liked me, how much she loved me; but it didn't matter. What I'd done was so wrong and shameful.

One day I was in my room, folding the baby's clothes and arranging his dresser when there was a soft knock on the door.

"May I come in Eve?" It was Mary.

"Of course," I walked to the door and opened it.

"The mail just came. There's something from Carmen. And, you have another letter too. Its from a man, addressed from the art museum in Portland."

She waited, not judging me, but curious. I felt as if I'd been caught. That would have been the moment to confess the truth to her. Instead, the lies fell out of my mouth.

"Oh yes. This man. He was thinking of buying the house. He's an artist, new in town. He knew my place in Sellwood was a boarding house temporarily. He'd asked me several times before I left. I just couldn't bear to let it go just yet."

"Of course not. You grew up there. What's the rush anyway? Perhaps you'll want to move back sometime. There's no hurry to sell."

I grew flush as she spoke. All of it seemed like such an obvious deception in that moment. Hearing her say that it was my house, that I'd grown up there. If the story I'd told her about my husband's early death was true, why then wouldn't I have just stayed in my little town? Why wouldn't I have let Carmen and Harry take care of the baby and me?

"Are you all right darling?"

I wanted so desperately in that moment to tell her. Honestly I did. And, I should have.

"I'm just sad thinking about it."

"Here," she said handing me Carmen's letter and retaining Jeff's. "Let's just give Mr. Lambert's letter to Frank and he can handle this business for you."

"No!" I blurted. I had no idea what the letter said, but I knew it would be intimate. I was afraid of what he wanted from me. I felt myself grow queasy. Frank was a strong and virtuous man. He was kind, but I knew he wouldn't accept what I had done. I knew he would not want me to stay if he knew the real story. He wasn't like Mary—or at least I didn't think he was.

Mary looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry. That wasn't my place." She held out the letter. Finally, it was in my hand.

"No. You're probably right. I will let Frank help me. I'm not going to sell the house right now. I'll hold on to this. Mr. Lambert knows how I feel. I'll be down shortly. I just want to finish up putting little Charlie's things away."

"Good. Come down. The girls are coming over for bridge. They will insist on spending time with you and torturing you with their baby games. Lenore says she and the girls made something for you and little Charlie."

When Mary left, I closed the door. The room grew still. I looked out the window at the orchards; a misty fog had descended. It was a common occurrence, but to me the darkness was a shadow on my life. It wasn't going to go away. I placed the letter on the pillow and sat down. Instead of acknowledging it was there in front of me, I let my eyes trace the lines and patterns in the quilt. Once I caught sight of it again, it sent a shock through me. Even the curves of his script. I knew his signature so well. He had signed all of his paintings of me and my garden. The impressionistic sketches of the flowers. After we'd made love the first time, he returned the next day with a small painting of a single red rose. At the bottom of the canvas, in his masculine and neat script he'd written, J. Lambert, 1944.