Salem's Sight (11 page)

“
No, I’m cool, really.
You’ve helped so much. And I’m trying to understand why my mother
does the things she does. I know that she didn’t move us here just
to make me crazy. You helped me see her point of view. She really
thought it would help.”

He stared at me for a moment, like he
was trying to look past my eyes and into my soul. “Has
it?”

“
In a way, I guess. I mean
it’s not a constant reminder anymore. And with the whole new life,
well there’s a lot more to focus on. I guess it helps.”

“
So you forgive
her.”

He was pushing it. If you couldn’t
continually blame your mother for everything that went wrong in
your life… well, you’d have to… grow up.

“
You know as well as I do
that it was an excuse. The one I didn’t forgive was myself. I
shouldn’t have lived if he died.” Okay, there, I’d said it.
Admitted out loud to the thing that ripped at my soul. I shouldn’t
be alive. There were times when I wholeheartedly believed it. Those
were the times when darkness enveloped me and blotted out every
spec of happiness I ever knew. Then there were the normal times
when I was merely depressed. Sadness gripped me but I Knew it’d
decrease eventually. I knew I was meant to overcome what happened,
I just didn’t like admitting it.

He jotted something down on his
notebook and it made me anxious. “Do you believe that?”

Damn, this man had definitely taken
classes in how to dialogue with questions only. I felt like I was
in a skit from that old comedy show where you are only allowed to
ask questions and the first one to screw up loses.

“
Yes. No.” And this was a
trick question. “Sometimes. Part of me knows it’s stupid, and the
other part can’t get over that if I’d been in the front seat where
I belonged, I’d be dead too.”

He nodded as if he was taking it in
and mulling it around. Then he floored me. “What if your mom had
been in the front seat?”

Now he was definitely giving me a
headache. I put my hands in front of my face to block out the image
and to block out the light. I’d been getting migraines since the
accident and had a feeling one was coming on.

“
No, I can’t think about
that. She wouldn’t have been. He always picked me up on Tuesdays. I
can’t imagine how I would have gone on if I'd lost them
both.”

Why was he doing this to me? This
wasn’t helping any. Oh, how my head hurt. He was giving me just
enough time between the questions to consider more than I wanted
to. And it was turning into a full-blown migraine.

“
Don’t you think that’s
crossed your mother’s mind?

He had me again. Of course my mother
thought of that. Which was probably the real reason we were here,
so she could start fresh and also be too focused on everything else
to think about the accident. She couldn’t handle it
either.

Because memories hurt right now.
Scraped across exposed wounds, raw and still bleeding. I nodded; it
was easier than trying to speak.

“
It’s called survivor’s
guilt, if that helps. And Salem, it’s very common.” He paused for a
second and stared through my façade. “But I still think there is
something else, something that’s only been added on
recently.”

Okay, so I needed to throw him a bone.
He wasn’t stupid and if I didn’t give him a problem he’d know I had
something to hide. I sighed, this wasn’t really a big deal to me,
but hey, it was the best I could come up with.

“
Do you think it’s okay
that I sort of, well that I’m friends with your son?” Please let
him fall for it, I prayed.

Having a conversation with Doctor
Martin sometimes seemed like watching a news broadcast where there
were two anchors and one was in a foreign location. A question
would be asked and then the reporter would stare for a second
before the question seemed to register. Like there was some sort of
delay. Only I knew with Doctor Martin it was because he was a
muller. He’d mull over the question and then slowly, deliberately,
ask a question back.

“
Does that bother you? That
Robby knows you’re a patient?”

Yes, he was going for it. What a
relief. “No, but he’s asked me over later. I just don’t want you to
feel uncomfortable with me at your house. You know, think, oh no,
there’s a crazy kid in my kitchen,” I said a little
theatrically.

He had a smile like Robby’s and it was
just as charming, for an old guy.

I touched my cameo, which I’d put back
on this morning and decided to go for a little more truth. “I… like
Robby and I think he likes me. I know my mom will think he’s great
when she meets him. But you’re not being introduced to some girl
your son likes, he’s bringing home one of your
patients.”

Another Doctor Martin ten-second
delay. “Are you asking if I approve?”

I hung my head; I couldn’t help it. I
was a little afraid of what he really thought of me. I mean, there
he was, the head shrinker with the fancy degree and there I was
temporarily playing the emotional basket case.

His voice was smooth and soothing.
“You’re a lovely young lady Salem and I think you’re just what
Robby needs. He took his mother’s death very hard. You can be a
comfort to each other.”

My eyes started to well a little.
First, because he didn’t mind I was with his son, and second,
because it wasn’t fair that I was feeding him a load of crap to
avoid mentioning I brought a little something extra to the
relationship.

He handed me a tissue. “I’m glad,
really. And I’m sure he’s part of the reason you’re doing so well
also.”

“
Him and Skyler, my kitten.
That little ball of fluff…” I shrugged unable to find the right
words.

“
Pets can do
wonders.”

Yeah, they can point out when there’s
a ghost in the room, I wanted to say. But I couldn’t.

****

“
Wow, so you get this all
to yourself?” I asked as I checked out Robby’s personal space. It
was amazing. He’d taken an old barn and turned it into an artist’s
studio. Paintings filled the wooden walls making it appear like a
gallery opening was in progress. His work-space occupied the center
of the large room, complete with multiple easels, a table for still
life paintings, and an old kitchen island piece that housed
palettes and paints.

“
I’m glad you like it. Take
a look around.”

It was an invitation to look at his
paintings and I jumped at the chance. There was a portrait of a
woman that was so lifelike it almost didn’t seem possible that a
teenager could have produced it. “You did this?” I asked a little
unsure.

He nodded. “My mom.”

He didn’t even need to say it. I knew
by the expression of love on his face that it couldn’t be of anyone
else. It was the same way I looked at my dad’s picture.

“
My father wanted to put it
in the house, but I needed to have it here. She hangs out with me
when I create. I guess you could say she’s my muse. Well one of
them anyway.”

The corner of his mouth turned up in a
grin and I blushed at the implication he made. The thought of being
his muse made me a little nervous and my next step sent me tripping
over my backpack. Robby grabbed my arm to steady me, which only
made me blush more. I took a deep breath and focused on the
painting to gain my composure.

“
I can see why your dad
would want this. It’s like a photograph, but better. And she’s
beautiful. You’re so talented, he must be so proud of
you.”

Robby laughed bitterly. “Not proud
enough.”

Okay, so this was a new development.
From the way his dad acted, he seemed proud. Robby probably just
didn’t see it. “Why do you say that?”

Robby looked at me like he’d said too
much already. Then he shrugged his shoulders. “I want to go to
Rhode Island School of Design and pursue art, but my father wants
me to go to URI or any other traditional college. He’d love for me
to go into medicine like him.”

“
Yeah, most successful dads
want their children to follow in their footsteps. That’s like
normal.”

I saw his hands ball into fists. “But
I made it clear that it just wasn’t happening. Since then he wants
me to get a business degree or something like that. He says I don’t
need to know more about art, but do need something else to fall
back on. He seems to think I can paint as a hobby.”

It was hard to believe that Robby’s
dad, who had such insight into others, was completely clueless
about what would be best for his own son.

Why did so many parents lose all
intelligent thought when it came to their own kids?

“
It’s your life though.
Ultimately, it’s your decision. Your dad can’t decide what you’re
going to do with the rest of your life.”

He looked down at the ground and
sighed. “And what about you? Do you know what you want to do when
you graduate?”

Hang up a sign and tell fortunes.
Nope, couldn’t say that. “Um… I’m not sure. Go to college,
definitely, but I’m not sure what I want to do yet. I figure half
the people who go, end up changing their major anyway so I don’t
have to decide right away.”

“
Smart move.”

“
So are all of these
yours?” I asked wanting to change the subject.

“
No. Upstairs in the loft
there are some paintings done by my grandfather’s brother. He must
be who I inherited my skills from,” he said then seemed embarrassed
at how boastful it sounded. “There’s one painting in particular
that he did… well it’s the reason I wanted you to come
here.”

I smiled half-heartedly. And here I
thought that he invited me here because he liked me. I mean it’s
not like I thought he was going to beg me not to date anyone else,
but I thought he was at least interested.

How humiliating. “So you wanted me to
come here to see a painting a relative of yours did?” I
asked.

He must have sensed my discomfort.
“No, that’s not the only reason.” He stepped a little closer and
his voice softened. “I wanted to see you again.”

That’s all he needed to say. I’d look
at a whole gallery worth of any old guy’s paintings as long as I
could view them with him.

“
But I mean the reason I
wanted you to come out here rather than meeting anywhere else was
the painting. You’ll understand once you see it.”

He pointed toward the loft. I wasn’t
big on climbing thin wooden steps, but not much choice
here.

“
After you,” he said and
pointed again to the ladder.

Great. Now not only did I have to make
the climb, but I’d also have his head leveled with my butt the
entire way up. How flattering.

I started the ascent and when my knees
reached the landing I rested them there and leaned forward into a
crawl position. After inching my way further a few feet, I stood
and realized how foolish I must have looked to Robby the frequent
climber. He didn’t crawl like a baby, but instead grabbed the
handrail and walked in the way anyone with any intelligence would
have.

Did I fail to mention I’m afraid of
heights? I’m sure my pallor gave him a clue.

The loft had two large doors that
opened out. It must have been used to pitch hay. Robby opened them
and the sun blasted through. He pointed to one canvas on the wall
and I walked over to it. He stayed where he was and didn’t crowd
me.

The painting was of a Rhode Island
summer, most likely the fourth of July because the people in the
painting were holding sparklers at a picnic. You could tell it was
old, of a time gone by. The young women in the painting were
wearing long pale peach sleeveless dresses. Possibly thin cotton or
more likely chiffon.

My breath caught and I understood why
he wanted me to see this. As I looked closely, so many things made
sense. Like why he looked at me so oddly the first time he saw me.
See, for him it wasn’t really like seeing me for the first time,
because there I was in the painting.

I looked more closely and my knees
began to buckle. The girl in the picture who looked like me, well
she was also wearing my necklace.

No wonder he was interested in it. He
must have thought he entered land of the freaks when I appeared on
the scene.

I looked at him hoping for an
explanation. It didn’t take long.

“
My grandfather’s brother
died in the war. That’s why we don’t have many paintings by him. My
Great-grandparents kept them and displayed some of them in their
home. Being the only other child my grandfather inherited them and
they graced the walls of his house too. Still do. Except for the
few that are here, like this one.”

He nodded at the picture of … well…
me. “So how did you end up with this one?” I asked.

“
I’ve always loved this
picture. I’m not sure why, but I always have. My mother did too.
When she was so sick, at the end, I asked my grandfather if we
could move it into her room so she could enjoy it.”

My heart was breaking for him and I
knew what it cost to tell me about it. But at the same time it made
me feel good that his mom enjoyed a portrait of a girl who
resembled me. It somehow made me close to her.