penance. a love story (The Böhme Series) (20 page)

People are afraid of the dark, but I found myself afraid of the light. There was nowhere for me to hide. I remembered Lawrence and what he said on finding m
yself in the silence. I wondered if I could find myself in the light as well. Flashes of Renoir and other paintings from my childhood danced across my thoughts. Why did those come to mind? It always falls back to my childhood and those paintings were the peaceful memories that filled me with hope.

I took a deep breath and sighed. As the breath left my lips, hands rested on my shoulders and I had to close my eyes at his touch. Pressure increased on the tops of my shoulders as he leaned over my ear. "This is the place where you find yourself—the place that isn't hidden. I know it's scary. I can't stay out here long myself. When there's nothin
g left to hide, we break," he said as he kissed the top of my head and breathed in for a moment before lifting away from me. I never realized how alone I was until that moment. Everyone is alone when they face themselves. We can stand against a thousand strangers but run to the far corners of our minds to escape our own darkness.

I couldn't open my eyes for several moments as I tried to hide myself from the emotions raging inside me. He was breaking me and in desperation I tried to hold onto the pieces before they scattered to the wind. I couldn't lose the walls I built.

Stepping away from Hannah, the struggle in her shoulders radiated from her. Guilt was a physical reaction and the expressions she gave while looking at the art haunted me. She wanted to live more than her guilt allowed, but it was as if she were beating her head against a wall each time she drew closer to letting go.

I sat back in the chair behind her and watched the quiet lifting of her shoulders with each breath. I leaned onto my knees, resting my forearms on them and wrapped my hands around each other. The heat was insane and I wondered if I was too. Why did I bring her out here? Why did I even bring her to the gallery? I wanted to know more of the mind she kept quiet. She didn’t say much, except when we were at the café yesterday. Words were minimal with her, though I saw so many forming in her eyes.

She turned to the side in her chair so her left side now faced me. She lifted onto her toes and lowered her feet several times before she spoke. “What if I don’t want to face what the light brings?” she asked in a whisper.

“Well, we go back inside and raid the freezer of Pike’s goodies
.” I smiled as she turned her moistened eyes to me. This was a mistake, I pushed this too fast.

“So it's either sit out here and metaphorically find myself or
go eat ice cream?” she asked on a laugh and used her palm to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“You said coffee was
life changing. What do you think chocolate covered ice cream cones can do? I might add they are also ones stolen from a grumpy old man who collects toys.”

She laughed again. “Since you put it that way, why are we still out here?”

She looked into her lap and rolled her tears between her thumb and forefinger. She watched as the moisture vanished, absorbing the tears back into her for another day. I put my hand toward her and braced myself for the uncomfortable pleasure it gave me. I never held hands until I did with her a few moments ago. I didn’t know what she was expecting from our time together and the anticipation of not being enough for her hung tight to my chest.

I led her through the door to the kitchen and let go of her hand as she went
to take a seat. “I love this,” she said as she ran her hand across the top of the retro black and silver table. “Is it an original?”

“I think so. I never asked and assumed it was one
.” I searched through the freezer, moving bags of frozen peas until I found the cones. “Pike love’s his ice cream and his family owned an old soda shop years ago before it closed. It may have come from there.”

“Who did that?” s
he asked, looking at the ceiling and taking in the mock of Michaelangelo’s Sistine Chapel that used cartoon characters instead.

I brought the box of ice cream cones to the table and handed them to her before flipping my chair around to sit backwards in it. “Oh that is Karl’s work. He’s one of the younger guy’s and said that image haunted him when he was in Iraq. He said the whole time he was there that image was stuck in his mind and when he got back he needed to get it out of him
and put it somewhere. Sid wanted him to put it in the main gallery, but Karl wanted it to be only for us,” I said as I handed her a cone as she nodded and looked across the painting.

“It’s overwhelming being surrounded by this
,” she said before she used her teeth to open the package.

“Why’s that?” I asked as I watched her tear the package back and examine the nuts encased in the chocolate.

She bit into the top of her cone and pulled a piece of the chocolate between her lips, licking her lower lip before she spoke. “Well, I feel inferior because I’m not creative. That’s what’s overwhelming. You’re creative Wynn you’ve never felt that inferiority.”

“I’ve felt inferior many times, believe me. But I don’t believe that you are not creative. Everyone possesses creativity. Gardeners, scientists, knitters, you name it, they create. Our minds are pure creativity. There is something that ignites you Hannah. It's that certain something that makes your blood boil with need to accomplish. If you never do it, you
will
feel overwhelmed and inferior. But once you let go, there won’t be any stopping you. I’m sure of it.”

She leaned back in her chair and ate her ice cream as she looked at Karl’s painting. Without looking at me she spoke, “I used to write.”

"See, I told you.” I waved my hand toward her and relaxed in my chair. "What did you write?"

“I wrote whatever came to mind. As soon as I learned how to read and put letters together, I wrote. My thoughts filled journals and any piece of paper I could find in the house. My mother used to hide her notebooks that she wrote recipes in, because I would steal them from her. She started getting me a new notebook every week. Her weekly grocery list had it right next to the meat and laundry detergen
t.” She laughed as memories filled her eyes. “She still has them in boxes stacked in my bedroom, I'm sure. She keeps everything.”

At her last confession a veil went back up over here eyes in an instant. Her carefree memories now hid behind that veil and I wanted to bring them out again.

“I want to read something of yours sometime.” I hoped that my confession opened the door for her walls to drop again.

She looked at my arms and her eyes jumped to my neck. “I doubt if you read what I write
.” She looked away shyly.

“How do you know?” I sat up and ran my hand over my chest, trying to show pride. “I read a variety of books. I even finished the one you read the other day in Petra’s shop, the chaos one.”

She gave me a shocked expression. “Really? Why?”

I scoffed at her response, “Why did I read it? Well because I wanted to know what had you so enraptured
.” I looked away from her in embarrassment. “I figured if it was something that kept your mind occupied, it must be intriguing.”

She gave a light shove to my shoulder as she ate the last bite of her cone. “Is there more in the box?”
she asked and avoided my declaration to her as if my observation made her uncomfortable.

“Yes, there's one left. You can have it
.” I pushed the box toward her and she took the last one out with a smile.

“Is he going to be pissed?”
she asked.

I rolled my eyes, “The man is the definition of a big kid, of course he's going to be pissed
.” I laughed as she opened the package with a grin.

Inadequacy filled me as I tried to decipher why she didn’t want to speak further on me being intrigued by her choice of book. I
 thought every girl wanted nothing more than to talk about herself. Her avoidance of it left me at a loss. So I decided to give her another one.

“You’re different, Hannah. I like that you’re different. You have your walls, but you don’t put on an act. I like your honesty
.” I looked down as I felt unsure of myself and my statement.

She kept her eyes adverted from me as she finished her cone before she finally spoke. “I have facades and walls, Wynn. But they aren’t strong enough for you. You see right through them and I find myself too weak to keep them up
against you.”

Then as if she hadn’t spoken those words, “What time is it?”
she asked as she grabbed her phone from her purse. “Shit. I have to get going. I'm supposed to help Petra with a few things tonight.”

I stood and picked the box up from the table to throw away and was thankful for the distance between us. My body was tense around her, not from my fears, but from the need to hold her. “I can drop you there
,” I said instead of what I wanted to say. I wanted her to stay with me. I wanted to continue talking with her and find out what makes her feel alive. My hand changed when she took it in the cafe yesterday and I couldn’t go back to the old Wynn. But I also felt as though I were stuck to the ground and couldn’t move forward, without knowing who Hannah Anderson was.

She turn
ed toward the door and paused in mid-step, turning back to me. Without hesitation she pulled me into a hug. She rested her head on my shoulder as she wrapped her arms around my waist. I lifted my hand to her upper back and my joints felt as though I couldn’t move them. I let my hand rest on her head and felt her hair as it rested on my shoulder. I ran my hand down her hair and breathed in the scent that attached itself to my clothes yesterday. “Thank you for this, Wynn,” she said as she squeezed my sides for a moment before releasing me and I kept my arms around her.

I lifted my hands from her back with reluctance as I chased the anticipation she created in me. “These last two days with you have been extra-ordinary
,” she said the last word as if it were two words and not one. That alone made me want to keep holding her.

She stepped away and a sickness filled me as flashes of my mother attacked me. Hannah was pure and real, my mother was neither.
My mom was strong and her sneer filled my thoughts every time I felt some semblance of joy these last two days. She ran from my mind when I was close to Hannah. I should be thanking Hannah, not her me, but instead I let my awkwardness overpower me and watched her walk away.

When we arrived at Petra’s shop, I gave Hannah a quick hug as she thanked me for the ride before running into the store. Petra exited at the same moment and walked toward me with a sly smile. I put my helmet on and climbed back on my bike, avoiding eye contact as she stood next to me. I loved Petra, but I couldn't handle her prying right now.

“Wynn, Wynn, Wynn. I told you,” she said as she put her hand on my forearm and I felt the scratch of her dry finger pads from years of turning pages in books.

“Yes, Petra, you told me
.” I turned from her in hopes that she didn’t notice my apprehension at talking about Hannah. “I see you gave up on your cane gimmick.” I pointed at her hand, trying to avoid the inevitable conversation.

She laughed and brought her hands to her waist. “Yes, no one was buying it. I’m glad you chose to speak to Hannah instead of lurking.”

“Yeah, she was in my drawing class yesterday, modeling.” I looked back toward Hannah as I counted my fingers to try to stay calm and keep my thoughts to myself. I couldn’t share my thoughts before I sorted them myself.

“Modeling? Oh yes, she told me of her other job
.” Petra’s eyes grew wide as realization hit. “So was she—you know?” She smiled with a wink.

“Yes, Petra, she was
.” I didn’t want to have this conversation with her.

“You’re blushing, Wynn
,” she said, her smile growing wider.

“Yes, I am blushing. It happens when your thoughts are drawn to someone you are attracted to being naked. It’s a biological reaction, so don’t think more of it. Blushing doesn't mean happily ever after, Petra. Plus I don’t believe she feels the same way, so I need to tone it down
a little.”

“Oh shut it. Stop your self-depreciating bullshit
.” She no longer smiled as she scowled at me.

My head jerked back at the language she chose to use and I laughed at her change in demeanor. “I have never heard you swear, Petra.”

“I always save them for such times as this. See, I now have your attention, before you couldn't look me in the eye.” She put her hands on either one of my cheeks. “Wynn, both of you need to figure your shit out.”

“How do you know these things?” I let out a quiet laugh at her abrasiveness.
 

“I have my means
.” She tapped the side of her nose and pointed at me. “There is something here and you shouldn’t fuck with it.” She pushed her long salt and pepper hair off her shoulders and set her reading glasses atop her head. “Just let it go its way, my boy, you can do this. Have faith in the universe. Don't over analyze what it has given you.”

She kissed both of my cheeks before smiling and returning to her store. I watched her walk in and take Hannah into a hug. Petra could not go five minutes into a conversation without touching someone. She had the presence of someone from another country, not a woman who lived most her life in the
States. I assume it had something to do with the traditional ways of her family. She told me once that it was different in Europe, with the gypsies in particular. Personal space was nonexistent. She learned that from the years she spent there in her youth.