The Painting

#31 Doubt Part 1 - Amhras Cuid 1

In the elevator Monroe reached into his pocket producing a smartphone that he tapped away at as we descended floors. Instinctively I reached for my own phone but stopped halfway through remembering it'd been dead for the past two days.

Attempting to mitigate the awkwardness I looked around the elevator. There was nothing awe inspiring about it, a panel of fluorescent lights cast an unflattering shine on the matching smooth grey floor and walls.

"Just letting my secretary know where I'm headed." Monroe explained holding up his phone before tucking it inside his jacket.

"I don't think she's a big fan of me."

"She'll come around, anyone who is a friend of mine gains instant respect in this building." He boasted adjusting his deep navy suit jacket.

I was about to ask him what he meant by that when the elevator paused opening on the twenty-third floor. The level was a similar layout of cubicles and walled off offices, but as I scanned the immediate carpeted area there was no one waiting for the elevator much less within twenty feet of it.

"Stupid thing." Monroe reached across me pressing the close door symbol.

It was then that I noticed it. The dingy bulbs reflected off his wrist as he impatiently tapped the button.

His cufflink.

A circle divided into four equal parts, a cross and a star in the top two quadrants.

My mind flashed immediately to the photo of my mother seated neatly at a bench one hundred paces off as the summer wind blew strands of her dark hair. In the foreground a shiny object reflected the intense sun, not a button but a cufflink.

"Those are nice," I pointed to his sleeve casually. "Where did you get them?"

"These are my lucky ones. I got them when I was eighteen years old and I never go anywhere without them." He tapped the silver buttons sewn to his jacket cuff, the pair was identical save for one flaw.

As he presented both of his wrists for me to see the luster on the one furthest from me was much duller - as if it were older. Monroe continued explaining the personal significance of the embellishment but I'd stopped listening.

Why would his so called favorite pair of cufflinks be different ages? He could've had to replace one surely - but why? Signing papers or sitting in a lumbar supported chair isn't strenuous enough of a task to loosen the threads holding it to the impossibly expensive material.

I allowed my mind to travel, maybe he lost one twenty years ago in a tuft of grass while taking a photograph. My muscles tensed as my train of thinking came to a halt. No, I stopped myself. It was too outlandish, like I said it was over two decades ago - but still. I couldn't deny they barred unique resemblance to the lost item I'd noticed years ago in the picture of my mother by the pond.

The pond.

The photo was taken at the same location Mo Soileireacht depicted with fluid brushstrokes - was there any coincidence there? Nervously I stole a glance at Monroe, his features were at rest and unaware of my alarm. Had he lied to me?

My heart dropped, had I allowed him to turn myself against my own mother?

The doors slid open again, this time at the lobby floor. I stepped hurriedly out of the elevator that had suddenly become uncomfortably cramped. I needed to leave, for once what I did not know was no longer an enticing tingle in my chest but a shiver than ran the length of my spine.