Big Lies in a Small Town - Diane Chamberlain Page 0,85
to pick me up after school sometimes, and they’d have these screaming, crying fights with each other. When I was little, I tried to get between them. Get them to stop fighting. When I was older, I just hid in my room.” I shivered with the memory. Sometimes I thought one of them might kill the other. Sometimes I actually wished that would happen. “They’d have friends over and everyone would get puking drunk and they’d expect me to clean up after them,” I said. I remembered my mother calling to me from her bedroom, asking me in her fake sweet voice to bring her the basin. I couldn’t have been any older than Nathan. I pretended not to hear her, burying my head beneath my pillow. “My parents never told me they loved me, Oliver,” I said. “Not ever. Not once. You tell Nathan, don’t you?”
“Of course. All the time.”
“He’s a lucky kid,” I said. “He’s surrounded by grown-ups who love him.”
Oliver stood up and walked over to me, pulling a handkerchief from his pants pocket. He handed it to me, and I burst out laughing as I got to my feet.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“You actually carry a handkerchief?” I asked. “I think you’re the only guy I know under fifty who carries a handkerchief.” I blotted my eyes, and when I handed the handkerchief back to him, he was smiling at me.
“Aren’t you glad I had it?” he asked.
I nodded. Rubbed my nose with the back of my hand. “You know,” I said, “Nathan’s a kid. Maybe he shouldn’t get to make this sort of decision on his own.”
Oliver shrugged. “It’s not a big deal,” he said. “I get him for Christmas this year. He and I can take a trip somewhere then. It was just the … the kick in the gut that got to me.”
Impulsively, I reached out to hug him. “I would have given anything to have a dad like you,” I said softly, my lips against his shoulder. The muscle and bone of his back felt good beneath my arms. I hadn’t touched another person this way in well over a year.
He squeezed me gently, then let go. “Thanks for putting everything into perspective for me,” he said. “And I’m sorry for what you dealt with as a kid. You act tough, but you’re pretty soft inside, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m fine,” I said, and at that moment, I did feel fine. Fine, and something more. I was standing so close to Oliver, and I had a sudden urge to run the back of my finger over his cheek, the place that was always a little pink. When I first met him, I thought those pink cheeks gave him a boyish look. This close, though, I could see the gray shadow of his beard beneath his skin, the cut of his cheekbones, the sharp angle of his chin. He seemed anything but boyish at that moment, and as I turned back to my mural, I was surprised by a sudden pang of desire.
Chapter 36
ANNA
February 1, 1940
Today was the day they would stretch the canvas, the chore more intimidating than Anna had imagined. Fortunately, she thought, she had lots of help. Jesse and Peter, of course. Then Pauline arrived with Karl in tow, dressed in his police uniform and carrying a toolbox that she knew would prove invaluable. He looked so handsome. Anna hated to see him get the knees of his pants covered in sawdust from the warehouse floor, but he got down on the filthy floor, seemingly without a care. Anna felt some envy of Pauline as she watched Karl set to work with her young helpers. Someday she’d find a man with whom she wanted to build a future, she thought. For now, though, she was married to her mural.
Pauline wore her usual skirt, blouse, and hose, so Anna knew she wouldn’t be much help with the stretcher, but she cheered everyone on from one of the chairs near the paint table. Anna, Karl, and the boys ignored the cold of the concrete floor as they knelt and sat and twisted to tack the canvas to the frame. Anna used the hammer a bit, but was careful not to place the tacks too deeply. The tacks would have to be removed when the mural was complete, and the thought of digging those tacks out again with the claw end of the hammer wasn’t pleasant.