Say That Again (26 page)

Jenn scooped herself up a big dollop of mashed potatoes before passing the bowl to Maura. “Heck, Hunter tells me you’re a painter. How long have you been doing that?”

He finished chewing his bite of stuffing and dabbed at the corners of his goatee with a napkin. “Just over a year.”

“Is that all? You must have done some artwork before that — drawing, sculpting, photography?”

“No, not really.”

“Sophia took the pictures,” Hannah blurted out. She corralled her peas into a perfect circle, before herding them onto her spoon three at a time to eat.

“What pictures? And who’s Sophia?” Jenn asked Heck.

Everyone but Hannah was looking at him, waiting to hear more, but not wanting to ask anything outright. Hunter had never mentioned anything to Jenn about Heck being married before because, honestly, it just hadn’t come up. He realized now that was a mistake, information Jenn would have considered critical.

Heck busied himself slicing his turkey into bite-sized pieces. “The paintings I do are from photos my wife, Sophia, used to take.” He pointed to a serving bowl next to Hunter’s plate. “Could you pass me the gravy, please?”

Sensing Heck’s reluctance to talk about his wife, Hunter redirected the topic as he passed the gravy along. “So, Maura, when did you say your first basketball game is?”

From there, the conversation was a little livelier, although none of it involved Heck. Until he set his fork down to the left of his plate.

Hannah stood, her gaze fixed on his fork, her forehead scrunched. “That doesn’t go there.”

“I’m sorry,” Hunter began. “She —”

“No, no.” Heck raised a hand to stop him. “It’s all right. I used to be the same way, wanting everything to have a place and an order.” He glanced at Hannah’s silverware and immediately rearranged his to match. “Like this?”

Hannah nodded and calmly sat back down, then went back to eating her peas by threes.

Jenn gave Hunter a look of astonishment. He shrugged. This was his chance to get his plan back on track.

“Hannah, sweet pea, do you want to show Mommy that picture Heck was helping you paint?”

She popped the last of her peas into her mouth. “Nope.”

“Why not?”

“It didn’t turn out right.”

“Show her anyway. You might be surprised. I bet she’ll think it’s pretty amazing.”

“Okay.” She slid her chair back and ran up the stairs. Thirty seconds later she was at Jenn’s side, holding the painting in front of her.

“That is
so
cool!” Maura said, which in itself was a huge compliment.

At first, it was obvious that Jenn wasn’t sure what it was. Patches of blue and purple were interrupted by the faintest streaks of white. Little stars of yellow and green and orange were scattered throughout.

When she took it from Hannah and held it at arm’s length, her mouth fell open. Up close, there were patterns of color that in themselves were vivid enough to capture one’s attention. But from farther away all the bursts of color and squiggly lines came together to reveal the outline of a dog.

“This is Echo,” Jenn uttered in amazement. She complimented Hannah before turning her gaze to Heck. “How did you teach her to do this? It’s Echo, but it’s ... I don’t know, like she’s looking through a kaleidoscope at him.”

“Mrs. ... Jenn, I didn’t teach her anything. She has a gift. A rare gift. I simply gave her the tools. I showed her how to mix colors, how to load her brush, then I let her loose. This was actually her third attempt. She was quite dissatisfied with the first two. They ended up in the trashcan. I don’t think she could transfer to the paper what she saw in her mind right away. We had the paper on an easel, but the colors kept running. I had offered her acrylics, but she prefers watercolors, which are probably the most difficult to master. So finally, I turned on some Tchaikovsky and we set the paper on a flat surface and this ...” — he nodded toward the painting she held — “is what transpired.”

Jenn’s hand drifted to just above her heart. “This is amazing. Thank you, thank you.”

“Does she like Tchaikovsky?” Hunter asked.

“If insisting that I play it on a loop for three hours is any indication, then yes.”

Joyful tears flooded Jenn’s eyes. She kissed Hannah on the cheek, then handed the picture back to her. “This is much too nice for the refrigerator, Hannah. Can you set it in the living room on the side table by the front door? I’ll check to see if I have a frame for it later and if not I’ll pick one up tomorrow. And Maura, can you and Hannah fetch some dessert plates, the pies, and some extra forks for us?”

When Hannah and Maura left the room, Jenn turned her attention to Hunter. “So, when were all these art lessons going on?”

“While I was building Heck’s mailbox.”

“And that took how many days?”

It was clear to Hunter that while she was astonished at Hannah’s talent, she also wasn’t thrilled he’d kept this secret from her. He had to think quickly before this devolved into something ugly. “Just one, but he also needed help putting some shelving up and fixing a stuck window and —”

“Your husband has been invaluable to me,” Heck offered, rushing to his rescue. “I’m afraid I’m not very good with power tools. If left to my own devices, those projects might never have been completed. I offered to occupy Hannah while he was busy. It turned out rather well, don’t you think?”

Her eyebrows flicked upward. Any steam that might have been building dissipated. “It did, yes. Thank you, again, for letting her use your paints and brushes.”

Still, Hunter wasn’t sure what to make of her reaction. It seemed a little too polite.

Heck lifted his water glass as if to take a drink, but set it back down. “I should thank you, really.” When she returned a quizzical look, he continued. “Ever since I had to set up house without Sophia, I’ve been, well, a bit of a hermit and not always in the best of moods, to put it mildly. Seeing Hannah become so absorbed in using color to create the pictures in her mind ... It fills me with an awe I haven’t known for years.” Blinking, he looked away for a moment. Then, his tone intensifying, he added, “Hunter tells me Hannah had some difficulties adjusting to a classroom setting and that you decided to withdraw her from school, but haven’t resolved the issue of what to do with her until she can enter another school next year.”

“That’s right.” She eyed Hunter sideways. “Why?”

“If you’re amenable to the idea, I’d like to step in and watch Hannah until then. It would give me something to do besides read and paint. Of course, I’d be more than willing to continue with any ongoing lessons with her. I’m no expert in early childhood education — that was my wife’s expertise, really — but I think it would be good for Hannah. And for me.”

Sitting back in her chair, she wagged a finger between Heck and Hunter. “You two have talked about this already, haven’t you?”

“Look, Jenn,” ― Hunter pushed his plate back ― “this just sort of happened. Remember how you say ‘Everything happens for a reason’? Well, maybe Heck moving here was meant to be? If Hannah has a special gift and Heck can help her unlock it, why don’t we give it a try, see what happens?”

Arms crossed, she swung her left leg over her right, her foot tapping in the air. She glanced toward the door to the kitchen, where the sound of plates being set on the counter indicated dessert was imminent.

“You could stay at your job,” Hunter added, trying to tip the scales.

Jenn gave him a piercing glare. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?”

Hunter threw his hands wide. The ball was in her court now. Jenn didn’t like to be pushed into anything.

Just then the girls came into the room, Hannah carrying two plates and Maura juggling three.

Heck cleared his throat. “Take as long as you need to think about it.” He picked up his fork as Hannah set a slice of apple pie in front of him. “I’ll certainly understand if you’re not comfortable with the arrangement.”

“I don’t need to think about it.” Jenn got up from the table. “I’ve already made up my mind.”

She went into the kitchen, leaving Heck and Hunter to exchange a glance.

“What was that about?” Maura placed a pie slice where her mother had been sitting, then sat down with hers and began shoveling.

Shaking his head, Hunter gave Heck an apologetic look. “Sorry, I thought ―”

Jenn returned, carrying a small stack of school books. She set them down next to Heck. “Now, she’s a bit behind, but not too far. And this will only be until late May, so if you could work with her through Christmas, she should be all caught up. How long you have to spend on her assignments each day depends on how quickly she works, if at all. Short stints are best, but if she’s focused, go with —”

She stopped, suddenly aware that both Hunter and Heck were staring at her.

“What? You thought I was going to say ‘no’?” She rolled her eyes at them, shook it off, then said as she left the room again, “Be back in a second. I have to grab the curriculum notes, so I can explain them to you. I hope this isn’t too much all at once?”

“Not at all,” Heck replied after her.

Hannah watched her mother dart up the stairs, then looked at Heck. He winked at her, ever so slightly, and she grinned back at him.

––––––––

A
series of plinks and hums, blending, quickening, going up and down in pitch, drifted from the small device on Heck’s counter. I tilted my head, trying to figure out what exactly was making the noise. It was like the TV, but without pictures or words. I folded back and settled on my belly, studying the little square machine intensely.

Finally, it dawned on me that the sounds were a means of communication I was familiar with. Lifting my snout, I let out a plaintive howl.

A-woo-woo-wooooo!

“He likes it.” Hannah patted me on the head, then claimed her chair next to the window.

We were having lunch at Heck’s kitchen table. Like every lunch, Heck played music from a little black device on the counter. It was very different from what Maura, Jenn, or Hunter listened to. There were no words to it, but something about it was much more dramatic.

“This is by Vivaldi.” Heck turned the volume up. “It’s called “Autumn”. There are actually sonnets that go with it, but they’re much more moving in Italian than English.”

“What’s Italian?”

“Just a different way of speaking. People in other parts of the world have different names for everything than we do. It’s said there are sixty-nine hundred languages in the world today, but that’s a matter of conjecture that linguists argue extensively. Does one count dialects separately? What about dead languages? And are older versions of the same language, such as Olde English, different from modern versions? If you and I went back to the Middle Ages, chances are we’d have a hard time understanding them. One could debate ...” His voice trailed off as he noticed Hannah staring at the plate of lunch meat he was holding. “I’ve lost you, haven’t I?”

She nodded, her eyes still on the plate.

Setting the plate down, he spread the remaining sandwich fixings on the table. Every day, he put out different cheeses and meats, leafs of lettuce, sliced tomatoes, and a variety of condiments. Some days he had turkey and Swiss with Dijon mustard. Others he had roast beef and cheddar with mayonnaise. He never ate the same sandwich two days in a row.

And just like she did every day, Hannah put a slice of Colby cheese onto her white bread, then topped it with a piece of ham so thin you could almost see through it. Never two slices, never whole wheat bread, never Swiss or Cheddar cheese. For a full minute that day, though, she eyed the tomato slices before sliding one onto her sandwich. It wasn’t like Hannah to be spontaneous. Change was something she seldom embraced. This was monumental.

A slice of cheese dangled from her hand under the table. I snarfed it down. It was no secret that she fed me at mealtimes. Heck saw her do it every time and never said a word.

Heck touched a finger to his earlobe. “If you listen to the music, Hannah, you can hear the leaves falling.”

She shut her eyes. Her hands drifted into the air, fingers outspread as if she were reaching for something just beyond her grasp.

“I see them,” she whispered.

Heck smiled. He didn’t smile often, or for very long, but sometimes things that Hannah did made him smile.

When they were done eating, Hannah asked if they could paint now.

“Soon, Hannah. But I promised your mother that we would read out loud today. Did you bring any books with you?”

She nodded and ran into the living room and fetched her book.

“Hmm, Shel Silverstein’s
Falling Up
. A fine book. Delightful poems. But didn’t we read it yesterday, and the day before that? I should think you’d have it memorized by now. Would you like to read one of my books, Hannah? I have so many of them, just sitting in boxes, unloved, ignored.”

She looked unconvinced.

“Why don’t you at least go check the boxes in the spare bedroom while I clean up? If you don’t find anything you like — and there are hundreds of books to choose from, everything from cookbooks, to travel guides, to the classics, to mysteries — then we’ll read from your book again. Agreed?”

Her head bobbed in a ‘yes’. I trotted after her down the hallway. The door was already cracked, so she nudged it open fully.

A room
full
of boxes confronted her. A few, nearest to the door, had been opened, revealing books of various sizes. Hannah pulled out an assortment, some with pictures inside, some just words. Then one by one, she began to sort them into piles by relative size, biggest books on the bottom. She had five different piles going when she stopped and began rearranging them by the colors on the outside.

Frankly, if any of those other boxes contained books, I was afraid this would go on forever. I found a cozy corner next to the register and curled up, preparing for a long nap.

Heck appeared in the doorway. “Just one, Hannah. Don’t worry about sorting them. I’ll do that later. I need to put the trash out right now, but I’ll check on you again in five minutes. Bring one book out to the living room then. We can always read the rest some other day.”