Cast a Pale Shadow(32)
As quietly as possible, Trissa tiptoed about washing up and getting dressed. Nicholas seemed dead to the world. His head was buried beneath his pillow and his fingertips were the only part of his body visible above the tartan coverlet. His muffled snoring made her picture him as a great Scottish dragon under the plaid, which she dare not awaken if she valued her life.
She had chosen a red wool skirt and turtleneck to wear from among Augusta's donations. The strong color made her seem a bit pale but, at least, the high collar covered up the most telltale of her injuries. While Nicholas' coffeepot percolated, she sat down at the desk gathering the books and supplies she would need to take with her. She thought it might be a good idea to bring a couple of extra pencils and a spare pen so she shuffled through Nicholas' desk drawers looking for some. A brown accordion folder was wedged in one drawer and it refused to budge. She poked about with her fingers trying to unjam it and snagged the string loose from the folder. It fell open when the drawer finally pulled free and its contents spilled to the floor. She dropped to her hands and knees to gather them.
They were photographs, a large collection of black and white shots that sparkled with light and clarity. Kneeling on the floor next to the desk, she spread them in a circle around her. There were still lifes and landscapes, farm animals and pets. There was an amusing sequence of three old women, in floppy hats and sagging halter tops, searching for shells on a beach. At least a dozen pictured an indignant, spotted pony with an assortment of costumed children on its back. The children were cute, but Nicholas' camera seemed to make a character sketch of the pony, capturing a tilt of the head or a flip of the tail that signaled its displeasure with its role in life.
Trissa shuffled quickly through the portraits of young women, each of them prettier than the one before, and all of them prettier than she was, with large eyes that seemed to mock her. Or maybe it was the little inscriptions on the backs that dismayed her: "To Nicky with love," "Forever is too short a time," "Love and more than kisses." She didn't want to know that Nicholas had a life before now that included beautiful women. She preferred her little fantasy that he was sent for her alone.
"Oh, jeez, what time is it?" Nicholas groaned from the bed. "I can't believe I overslept like this."
"It's okay. It's still early. I was too nervous to sleep, that's all." Embarrassed to be caught snooping, Trissa gathered the photos with guilty haste. She saw the futility of covering up when several slipped out of her grasp to the floor again. "I'm sorry. I was looking for a pencil. The drawer got stuck and these fell out. I didn't mean to go prying through your things."
Nicholas rubbed his hands over his stubbly chin and pressed his fingertips to his eyelids to wipe them awake. "Don't worry about it. Just dump them on the desk. I'll sort them out later."
When she had them all off the floor, the pile of photos mounded over the desk blotter, and she realized she would never have gotten them back in order correctly. "There are so many of them. And wonderful. They're so full of life, Nicholas. I love the landscapes, especially the ones at the lake. And the pony pictures."
"Daisy. The pony's name is Daisy." Nicholas cinched the sash of his robe and came over to the desk. He pulled a spiral notebook from the open desk drawer and leafed through it. He jabbed his finger at a block printed entry. "See, 'Daisy, Grand Rapids, March.' It's my life they're full of, I suppose. Not so wonderful as it might seem. I'd better shave." He shrugged and limped off to the bathroom.
She was puzzled by his mood. He was probably angry with her for invading his privacy, but was too polite to show it. It seemed to her suddenly that he had treated her with cool politeness for the past two mornings. She had thought it was just the peculiarity of their situation, two strangers forced to live together and get to know each other at the same time.
But now with the evidence of his preferences in women revealed to her in the photographs, she thought she knew what his aloofness really meant. He was stuck with her, plain and battered, and he was not happy. She smoothed the bed and folded the rolled blanket, plumped up the pillows and put away her pajamas.
It would be best if she stayed out of his way as much as possible, she decided. She poured him a cup of coffee and set it to cool on the dry sink. "I guess I'll go on down to breakfast," she said, wishing he'd hear her and tell her not to go. She might have said it too softly, or he might have chosen to ignore her. She sighed, collected her supplies, and left him alone.
*****
Nicholas studied his clean-shaven face in the mirror and frowned. She liked the landscapes and the pony pictures. Cole's, not his. She'd never understand that, how he came into possession of the artifacts of another man's life, and, for convenience and temporary sanity, passed them off as his own. He didn't understand it himself, or didn't want to understand it.
They were a part of his madness, the only proof that he continued to exist in the shadows when reality no longer existed. A pile of photographs and a spiral notebook that said there was a summer that year, after Janey, and it took place in Myrtle Beach.
God, how he wished he knew what normal was and how to be it. For her. For himself. He would not survive if he lost her as he had lost Janey. He splashed his face with Aqua Velva, slapping his cheeks hard to be sure it was Nicholas Brewer who stared back at him in the mirror and not some ghost who stole his memory, who stole his life. He squared his shoulders and stepped out of the room. Somehow, he was not surprised to find that she had deserted him.
*****
At the breakfast table, May and Beverly discussed their Saturday plans with Augusta. All three women were going down to LaSalle Street, the wholesale flower district, to window shop for floral arrangements to decorate the parlors and music room for May's upcoming student recital. Of course, this was to be an expedition for ideas only. The actual flowers would be acquired much cheaper than wholesale. Beverly would rescue what was needed from discarded funeral arrangements at work, and Augusta would transform them into fantastic displays that would rival anything they could get on LaSalle.
Trissa listened to the morning chatter, wishing her plans for the day were as pleasant. When she heard Nicholas coming down the stairs, she turned her attention to her cereal bowl, as if it were vitally important to know the exact number of Cheerios that remained afloat in the milk. Even so occupied, she could not help but notice that he wore a red pullover almost the exact color as hers, except that his heightened his natural coloring while hers washed her out. Next to him, she decided, she'd seem pasty and garish, like a white-faced clown. She plopped the spoon into her bowl with such force that the milk splashed over the side.
"Good morning, Augusta, Ladies," Nicholas said, grabbing an orange from the green glass bowl in the center of the table and taking it to the sink to peel. "You're up bright and early for a Saturday."
"The flower safari is today, remember? No, I guess you missed dinner the night we planned it. May's musicale is coming up, and we have to decorate," Augusta said. "You two make a pretty pair today, all in red."
"Do we?" Nicholas looked down at his sweater, as if just noticing its color.
Trissa winced at his question, sure that it was her inclusion in the compliment that caused it to be asked. She sighed and took her bowl and glass to the counter. "I think we better go, Nicholas."
"I'm ready if you are." He broke off a section of his peeled orange and popped it into his mouth while Trissa put on her coat. She peeked up to see him frown as he turned to apologize to the women. "She's anxious about her tests. I guess I'll have to say goodbye for both of us."
He pushed two more sections of orange into his mouth and wrapped the rest in a twist of waxed paper to take along. Trissa, bundled in her coat, banged out the back door. Leaning against the locked door of his car, she let her head droop forward while a blustery wind tossed her hair so that it covered her face. She brushed her coat sleeve across her eyes.
She did not really look at him when she shuffled out of the way to let him unlock the car door and open it for her, "If I were in charge, I'd give an A+ just for one of your smiles," he said.
"Don't tease. I'm not in the mood." She whisked past him into the car, while she tried to muffle a sniffle by pulling her collar up around her face. He knelt down on the pavement so they were at eye level with each other, but she refused to turn her head toward him. He touched her sleeve. "Maybe Augusta has a little room upstairs I can have," she said, looking down at his hand.
"Why, Trissa?"
"I'm just in your way. You shouldn't be punished for your heroism by having to put up with me."
"Punished?" She clutched her backpack against her chest and she held her eyes squeezed shut. "God, Trissa, how could you think that?
"The photographs. Those women are all so pretty and I am just--"