The Painting

#70 Out of the Shadows - As Na Scaileanna

Grace gave us the day off, so with a few hours to kill before our trek to the Country Club Lyle and I went on a walk around the property. We wound around the greenspace at a slow pace before veering onto a joint path that led into more hilly terrain.

When we reached the crest of the grassy mound we paused looking out from our perch. Trees circled the mound where grass and moss grew as it was rockier than the rest of the trail. I watched in contentment as a breeze rippled through the pillows of leaves that extended across the field.

"Do you know what you're going to say to him?" Lyle asked.

We'd rehearsed so thoroughly what I would say to Monroe on the phone but never had we talked about what I would say when we met at the pond. I brushed it off each time Lyle mentioned it, but now I could feel her pushing.

"I've been rehearsing it since the day he had me dragged out of the lobby." I spoke honestly. "Maybe even longer."

Lyle hummed in response before going on. "Why do you think he killed her?" The sun was beginning to set and she pulled me to sit down on a flat rock nearby.

The question seemed so obvious yet I could tell it'd been on her lips for weeks. I thought for a moment. There was no reasonable answer, killing someone isn't reasonable or human. To my best effort I knew it didn't matter what my mother had said to him before she'd died, there was no defense for Monroe's action. Yet I so terribly wanted to know. Maybe because I felt it would open my eyes to a broader spectrum of her character. Had she gone begging for more money or for a family?

I held my locket in my hands.

For whatever reason Monroe had killed my mother for his own twisted purposes. There was no sense of guilt or empathy when he confessed his actions to me.

"I think his control was threatened. She was a loose string, no longer affiliated with his company or entangled with him. He had no way to control her and so he..." I trailed off taking a deep breath to utter the words I knew to be true. "I know he murdered my mother. He told me himself, but for some reason it still doesn't feel real. Like I am living in a story - and all of this," I waved my hands around us. "Is just something in my imagination. I know it's cliché but I feel like I should be waking up any moment. There is no way something so shitty – so fucking awful could happen."

I exhaled deeply wiping at my eyes where I expected tears to form. I turned to Lyle. She had put her arm around me as she watched me intently her undivided attention focused on me when I needed her most.

"I wouldn't be able to do this without you."

"I know." A smug grin played at Lyle's lips then she sobered. "You know I never thought I'd share my parents story with anyone again. The only people who knew were out of circumstance. I never wanted it to be an excuse or a crutch because it never really felt like that."

"You didn't want people to pity you." I finished.

"I didn't want people to think I wasn't strong. Most folks assume you're one or the other – weak or strong. And I was so terrified that if I opened up people would think I was weak and then maybe after a while I'd start to believe it too."

"You're not weak Lyle."

"I am somedays." She shook her head and turned to me. "But I'm not scared of it anymore because you're here."

It was dark by the time we reached the cabin. The glow of light behind the bathroom curtain shone through the night as we made our way around to the front door.

"Frankie you ready?" Lyle shouted. "I have to pee you bathroom hog."

Lyle pushed open the door and Frankie snatched the shower curtain over himself so that Lyle could pee in relative peace.

Intending on changing into a less sweaty pair of clothes before heading out I climbed the ladder to my loft and swung open the doors to my closet. After choosing a new pair of semi-clean jeans and t-shirt I grabbed the burgundy jacket that I took from Unit #16 on my first visit.

I sat down on my bed to re tie my shoes when I happened to look over past my feet. The framed corner of my mother's portrait stuck out of my mattress. Lifting my weight off the bed I pulled the painting into the sinking light. Frozen in time she stared from beyond the canvas reminding me of my dreams where she floated in a pool of water. This time she held a different look about her. The serenity in her eyes which had always possessed a calming effect over me dissipated into the background replaced by angst.

I stared for a second more before realizing what I needed to do. Hurrying down the ladder painting in hand I went for the junk drawer at my left. Setting the portrait on my desk I grabbed a hammer and nail and went to work.

Frankie and Lyle emerged from the bathroom to a loud pounding.

"What the fuck?" Frankie covered his ears with his hands as he wrinkled his forehead in annoyance. I ignored the irony that he listened to music at the same volume and same beat all day without complaint

Lyle watched patiently as I threw the hammer and nails back into the junk drawer and grabbed the frame.

"There," A smile rose to my face as I stepped back from my handy work. "My mother was a real woman who deserves to be out of the shadows."

In the middle of the wall dividing the bathroom and kitchen I hung my mother's portrait for the first time. The profile of Lyle sat below her at an angle framing the more colorful painting.

"She looks beautiful doesn't she?" I turned to Lyle and Frankie. A smile graced each of their faces as they took in the portrait. "And kind, and intelligent, strong, weak, and all that I am." I nodded vigorously as I spoke. "I'm ready."

With Mo Soileireacht in hand I marched out the door. 

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