It was after nine when I closed up at White Pine and the sun had just set over the tree line as I made my way to the cabin. An hour before closing Grace called Lyle out to help her finish folding a load of laundry and I squinted in the evening light to see if they were still out there. Neither of the women were visible and I shrugged, they must have gone into the house through the side door.
It took a week for Grace to fully warm up to Lyle though she stayed cautious for me still worried that Lyle would leave. In the back of my mind I paralleled her worry, would Lyle stay? For how long? She had a life beyond White Pine's cozy corner of Maine's wilderness. Wouldn't she go back to Beth and Ivy? Or wherever she lived before - if there was a place?
With thoughts of the future on my mind I opened the door to my cabin and fumbled for the light switch.
Lyle stood in the middle of the room but I didn't flinch at the sight.
"What are you-" I started as my eyes trailed down to her hands.
A plate stacked with pancakes dripped generously with melted chocolate and blueberries. Sticking out of the top of the creation were five candles. Lyle grinned mischievously.
"Grace told me it was tomorrow so I figured we celebrate a little early."
I raised an eyebrow. "You two have reconciled?"
"She couldn't resist my charms any longer." Lyle winked at me and set the cake down on the scratched coffee table next to a bottle of wine. "So how old are we?"
"23."
"Thank god, I feel like less of a cougar now."
I punched her playfully in the shoulder as we met in the middle of the room and kissed.
For weeks we slept next to each other, careful to keep the appropriate distance. When we held hands it was cautious and we convinced ourselves that the action was just that, holding hands and nothing more. A comfort rather than a sentiment or confession of romance or adoration. There never seemed like a 'right moment', but in truth maybe every moment was the right one - we just never took the opportunity.
Not until our talk in the woods. Now our feelings were out there, creating a pool of our shared thoughts and we soaked in it until our fingers and thumbs became pruned.
That morning I'd woken up in in her arms, my back pressed to her front we curled into a ball underneath the covers. Her sleepy arm draped loosely over my hip and I had waited in thought - afraid that any movement would wake her – until I couldn't take it anymore. I had to see her.
It was four in the morning, and surprisingly I'd woken naturally from my sleep. The summer sun had yet to peek over the horizon and I traced the outline of Lyle's face with my eyes. I knew every detail, every nook, every dimple and freckle.
After last night there was nothing foreign to me.
A blush had risen to my cheeks as I replayed last night's events.
"If there's a bug on my face I'd like for you to get it off rather than just stare at it." Lyle's voice had interrupted my thoughts.
Her voice was low and rough when she woke and I couldn't help but feel a tingle run down my spine as she pulled me closer. My had nose brushed hers and without opening her eyes she brought her lips to mine.
I smiled just as I did now when Lyle pulled away, her hands resting on either side of my face she stroked my cheek with her thumb. "I noticed you added a new drawing to the collage." Lyle indicated upstairs from her place on the couch.
I took a big bite of pancake before I answered. "Keeping tabs on it are you?"
"It's one of the more interesting things in the cabin when you're not here."
I smiled to myself and pulled her in for another kiss.
We sat in content silence finishing off piece after piece of the pancake pile until a thin sliver remained. We agreed it would be best to save it for breakfast and gave ourselves a pat on the back for our self restraint.
As we washed up Lyle brought me a second glass of wine. I dried my hands on the towel and took it following her back into the living room. The deep purples and blues faded from the sky as dusk's flirting colors faded into night. Turning on the delicate desk top lamp I sat criss cross on the sofa next to Lyle and let my head rest on her shoulder as we stared languidly out the window across the room.
"Why have you never tried to draw Charlotte?" Lyle stroked my hair as she took a sip from her glass.
My hand went to my locket as if the silver oval claimed its own gravitational force. "To be honest sometimes I can't remember what she looks like and I have to stare at her portrait for a good couple of minutes to fully remember. But then other times I see her in the strangest places." I shook my head.
"In yourself?" Lyle asked.
"Once or twice," I recalled the night Smith and the police man came to the door of Lyle's home. That was the first time my mother appeared so vividly, the experience was like seeing a ghost. Had she been trying to warn me the men were on their way? Or was her appearance simply a projection of my exhausted and conflicted mind?
"More often she's in an inanimate object, a plate that reminds me of her eye color or a painting that resembles her brush strokes. It's odd, I don't know how else to explain it. Rarely is it her, it's bits of her. Maybe because I've only ever known parts - never a full picture."
I shifted my position to sit across from Lyle, but still close enough where our knees touched.
"I understand." As she spoke she looked down quickly avoiding my eyes.
Was I seeing things right? I had to literally shake my head to make sure I wasn't hallucinating such a tiny detail. For the last month we'd been around each other constantly and so I assumed that like any other feature it had gone into the background, still there but less startling.
I was wrong. In the split second before Lyle abruptly turned her attention on the swirling violet liquid in her cup there it was. A common thread both she and I shared, a look of loss, like looking down an empty well that reflected every secret you carried.
I tried to ignore the questions that bubbled up inside of me. Lyle would tell me when she was ready I repeated over and over to myself until I knew my thoughts were impossible to keep down.
I opened my mouth to speak but she beat me to the punch.
"Will you redraw me?"
I was stunned. "What you don't like the ones I did?" I faked insult while on the inside I was secretly jumping for joy at a chance to try yet again to capture her.
"I just think you'd do better with a live subject," She grinned. "In person."
"Only if you try to draw me as well." I cocked a challenging eyebrow.
"Deal."
We took our task upstairs – as well as the bottle of wine.
Forgetting about breakfast shift the next morning we drew into the night. We mainly meaning me - Lyle gave up after one round though I have to admit her rendering was detailed as far as stick figures go.
After three tries I finally got it right. She faced me at a slight angle her head tilting off to one side into shadow. Two thirds of her features were fully visible which before had bothered me endlessly - that I was unable to capture her full consciousness in the light - but I realized that being hidden was as much a part of Lyle as anything else.
From the shadows is how she appeared to most folks and only those that knew her were able to see into them. Not intrusively shining a fancy new flashlight in the unknown territory, but empathetically. Stepping into the darkness unafraid because she was there to lead you from block to block, story to story in her own time. Patience was what I lacked in the drawings I attempted before.
She was patient beyond my understanding at our first meeting. It was a part of her wall; a boundary that weeded out all those who held superficial interest, and I was one of the lucky few that earned her trust through time.
I hung her new portrait in the middle of the three first drafts creating a triangular pattern. Lyle's pencil and paper twin stared straight ahead at the door of the cabin as if watching over our home.
Our home, I'd never thought in concepts of our and we, but I was beginning to like the ring of it.
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