The Painting

#74 Brick Wall - Balla Brice

"Are you sure everyone is going to be here?" Impatiently I addressed Lyle.

"You saw me make the calls." She placed her hand on my knee. I hadn't noticed but both my legs were vibrating up and down with anxious energy.

"Are you nervous?" I asked.

She nodded solemnly.

"Did you tell Beth and Ivy?"

"I did."

A week after Lyle started living with me at the B&B she asked my permission to tell Beth and Ivy the whole story. I said yes of course - they'd almost died because of me - the least I could do was give them some context to try and keep them safe. Since then I wasn't sure how much Lyle was filling them in. They talked on the phone once a week but there was never mentions of Monroe or his connections. I assumed Lyle wanted to keep their relationship lighter and not bog down every conversation by reliving that night.

Her openness with Beth and Ivy made me hopeful for the day I would tell Grace. I think I am capable of it now, of being comfortable with my thoughts enough to speak them into existence. Lyle's presence in my life was a constant reminder of the weight of secrecy lifted from my shoulders once I opened up to her.

"I talked to them the day before last. Beth said Ivy is stress baking."

"Then we should visit them soon." I smiled at the thought of a room filled with muffins and cakes.

"We should." She nodded then paused scanning the room once more. I mirrored her gaze. We were down to eleven minutes.

This time I could feel my knee bouncing up and down like a jackhammer. Self-consciously I placed my hand over Lyles and pressed my leg down.

"I can't make it stop." I stifled a pained laugh. "I thought I would be more calm here - like I was at the pond - but I can't stop shaking. I don't know if it's because..." I trailed off. The reasons numbered more than my ten fingers.

"What would Charlotte say about you being here?" The question didn't come out of nowhere. It sat on the tip of her tongue and the edge of my mind for days.

I chose to ignore it at first. It was the biggest question I or anyone had ever asked of me. To read my mother's journal was one thing but to infer her thoughts was another. Instinctively I went to her paintings, trying to draw her energy from the soft brushstrokes.

But every time I came up empty handed.

"I have no idea." My shoulders sagged. "She wanted so badly to make things right - to give Monroe back his money and make a fresh start. My mother wanted to prove to herself that she was strong, strong in her state of mind. She couldn't change the past but she was rewriting her future. She tried." I took a deep breath involuntarily reliving my fall into the moonlit pond. "I don't know what she would think – of me being here, what I have done or am about to do. I'd like to say she'd be proud. But I'll never know. And I need to be able to find my own comfort in that." My knee had stopped shaking and I intertwined my free hand with Lyle's.

"You are carrying on what your mother began. There is no doubt in my mind that she is proud of you. "

Such words had never felt more than words. But today they were tangible, like a warm hug or the guiding light of the moon at midnight. I leaned over to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. When I pulled away a movement caught my attention. A group of business men to my left shifted as some of the suits dispersed leaving a clear view of the narrowest part of the building.

From my first visit I remembered the modern fountain that stood in the nook accompanied by a tasteful portrait of the man I know knew to be Monroe's father in law and the soon to be former CEO of the company.

My breath caught in my throat. I almost didn't recognize the space. Had this all been done today? I tried to think back to the night we snuck in, neither Lyle or I took notice of the narrow space, it was small enough to miss – or at least it was.

The elegant fountain remained but it was hardly useful as a centerpiece compared to the monstrous gold frame hanging from the ceiling. The portrait I recognized instantly from Monroe's office. His steely gaze seemed to take in the entire room while simultaneously staring down each individual with impunity. The painting was too large for the space and part of the frame hung past the fountains spout, covering half of the first tier.

I didn't remember standing or even walking but all of a sudden I was in front of Monroe's portrait. I was a blade of grass in a windblown field as I stood still amidst the chatter that filled the lobby. Imperceptibly the room dimmed as the sun passed under a cloud and the decorative chandeliers struggled to match the natural brilliance. I fought against the shrinking feeling that seeped into my skin, every time Monroe appeared in my life I felt as if a brick had been placed on my head holding me down and compressing me. The bricks grew heavier and heavier as it forced me into the ground, squeezing out all of my energy until there was nothing left.

It was his gaze that pushed me to the floor. Always looking down at me. His daughter that he never wanted bore by a woman he thought he could throw away.

I stood directly underneath it, the full force of a brick wall weighing down on me. The rest of the room faded away as I focused in on the portrait. Twice the size of my own his eyes burnt holes in me as I stared back with all the force I could muster.

"I am meeting with R.M tonight at the Lily Pad Place for the sake of love."

The bricks began to wobble.

My mother, always a creator, someone who could turn blank space into beauty had died trying to do forge a blank space for us. Out of love for me and for herself she wanted a clean slate, free from the moral turmoil that coated Monroe's check.

My palm drifted over my locket before moving to my heart. Today was the final move in a game where the board and all it's pieces were owned by Monroe. Somehow I'd snuck in with the pawns. Frankie and Lyle boosted me onto the chess board and I was running for the king. Yet the painting – it always seemed to be a painting - stopped me. His likeness holding me captive, as if taunting my psyche. If I couldn't handle a egotist effigy, how could I possibly handle the man himself.

A week ago the sight of a dark suit would've stopped me, but today I was edging closer. At the pond I held my own coming within inches of his face to speak for my mother who no longer could. Last night I started the sentence and today I would finish it.

With that I tore my eyes from the portrait, ripping the connection. Monroe would never have such a grip on me. My chest heaved as blocks of red rock shattered upon hitting the floor.

I stood up straight feeling lighter than I ever had. Buoyed, I turned around planting my back at the portraits life like gaze. Lyle stood behind me and I wondered how long she'd been watching me. That question was answered quickly as she took my arm.

"May, we need to go." A look of dismay appeared on her features anchored by the down turn at the corners of her lips. 

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