Chapter Twenty-Seven

elizabeth stared at the blank wall, dirty with dried and patchy

plaster that had been smoothly smeared. She sighed, already feeling at a loss. The wall wasn’t saying anything to her. It was nine a.m. on the building site and it was already overrun by men in hard hats, drooping jeans, checked shirts, and Caterpillar boots. They looked like an army of ants as they rushed around carrying all sorts of materials on their backs. Their cheers, laughter, songs, and whistling echoed around the cemented shell on top of the hill that had yet to be filled by the ideas in Elizabeth’s head. Their sounds rolled down the corridors like thunder and into what was to be the children’s playroom.

At the moment, the playroom was a blanched and pallid canvas, which

only in a matter of weeks was to have children frolicking within it, while outside would be a cocoon of calm. Perhaps she should have suggested

soundproofing the walls. She had no idea what she could add to these walls to bring a smile to the children’s faces when they walked in, feeling nervous and upset at being taken from their parents. She knew about chaise longues, plasma screens, marble floors, and wood of every kind. She could do chic, funky, sophisticated, and rooms of splendor and grandeur. But none of

these things would excite a child, and she knew she had to do better than a few building blocks, jigsaw puzzles, and beanbags.

She knew it would be perfectly within her rights to hire a muralist, ask 197

C e c e l i a A h e r n

the on-site painters to do the job or even ask Poppy, but Elizabeth liked to be hands-on. She usually liked to get lost in her work and she didn’t want to have to ask for help. Handing the brush over to someone else would be a sign of defeat in her eyes.

She laid ten tubs of primary colors in a line on the floor, opened the

lids, and placed the brushes next to them. She laid a white sheet on the floor in the center of the room and sat down to continue her staring. But all she could think of was the fact that she couldn’t think of anything except

Saoirse. Saoirse was on her mind every second of every day.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there; she had a vague

recollection of builders entering and exiting the room, collecting their tools, watching her in wonder as she stared at a blank wall. She had a feeling she was suffering an interior designer’s version of writer’s block. No ideas would come, no pictures could be formed, and just as the ink would dry in a pen, the paint would not flow from her brush. Her head was filled with . . .

nothing. It was as though her thoughts were being reflected onto that drab plastered wall and it was probably thinking the very same thing as she.

She felt someone’s presence from behind her. She gave up staring at the wall and turned around. Benjamin was standing at the door.

“I’m sorry, I would have knocked but”—he held his hands up—“there’s

no door.”

Elizabeth gave him a welcoming smile.

“Admiring my handiwork?”

“You did this?” She turned back around to face the blank wall.

“My best work, I think,” he replied and they both looked at it in silence.

Elizabeth sighed. “It’s not saying anything to me.”

“Ah.” He took a step into the room. “You have no idea how difficult it

is to create a piece of art that doesn’t say anything at all. Someone always has some kind of interpretation but with this . . .” He shrugged. “Nothing.

No statements.”

Elizabeth laughed. “A sign of a true genius, Mr. West.”

“Benjamin.” He winced. “I keep telling you, please call me Benjamin;

you make me sound like my math teacher.”

“OK, but you can keep calling me Ms. Egan.”

I f Yo u C o u l d S e e M e N o w

He caught the sides of her cheeks lifting into a smile as she turned back to face the wall.

“Do you think there’s any chance at all that the kids will like this room just as it is?” she asked hopefully.

“Hmm,” Benjamin thought aloud. “The nails protruding from the

skirting board would be particularly fun for them to play with. I don’t know.” He laughed. “You’re asking the wrong guy about kids. They’re another species to me. We don’t have a real close relationship.”

“Me neither,” Elizabeth muttered guiltily, thinking of her inability to connect with Luke the way Edith did. Although after meeting Ivan, she

found herself spending more time with him. The morning spent in the field with Ivan and Luke had been a real milestone for her, yet when she was

alone with Luke she still couldn’t let herself go with him. It was Ivan who released the child in her.

Benjamin went down on his haunches, placing his hand on the dusty

floor to steady himself. “Well, I don’t believe that for a second; you’ve got a son, don’t you?”

“Oh, no, I haven’t . . .” she started, then stopped. “He’s my nephew. I adopted him, but the last thing in this world I understand is children.”

Everything was blurting out of her mouth today. She missed the Elizabeth who could have a conversation without revealing even the tiniest part of herself. It seemed that lately the floodgates to her heart had been opened and things rushed out of it of their own accord.

“Well, you seem to have a pretty good idea what he wanted on Sunday

morning,” he said softly, looking at her differently. “I drove past you when you were dancing around that field.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and her dark skin pinked. “You and the rest of the town apparently. But that was Ivan’s idea,” she said quickly.

Benjamin laughed. “You give Ivan the credit for everything?”

Elizabeth thought about that, but Benjamin didn’t wait for the answer.

“I suppose in this case you just gotta sit here like you’re doin’ and put yourself in the position of the kids. Put that wild imagination of yours to use. If you were a kid, what would you want to do in this room?”

“Other than get out and grow up quickly?”

C e c e l i a A h e r n

Benjamin laughed and moved his body to get up.

“So how long do you plan on staying in the big smoke of Baile na

gCroíthe?” Elizabeth asked quickly. She figured the longer he stayed, the longer she could put off admitting to herself that for the first time in her life she had absolutely no idea of what to do with this room.

Benjamin sensed her desire for a conversation and lowered himself to

the dusty floor. Elizabeth had to ignore what she could imagine what were millions of dust mites crawling all over him.

“I plan on leaving as soon as the last lick of paint is on the walls and the last nail has been hammered in.”

“You’ve obviously fallen head over heels in love with this place,” Elizabeth said sarcastically. “Don’t the stunning panoramic views of Kerry impress you?”

“Yeah, the views are nice, but I’ve had six months of good views and

now I could do with a decent cup of coffee, a choice of more than one shop to buy my clothes, and to be able to walk around without everyone staring at me like I’ve escaped from a zoo.”

Elizabeth laughed.

Benjamin held his hands up. “I don’t mean to be offensive or anything,

Ireland’s great, but I’m just not a fan of small towns.”

“Me neither.” Elizabeth’s smile faded at the thought. “So where did

you escape from then?”

“New York.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “That is not a New York accent I hear.”

“No, you got me; I’m from a place called Haxtun in Colorado, which

I’m sure you’ve probably heard of before. It’s well known for a great number of things.”

“Such as?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Absolutely nothing. It’s a small town in a big dust bowl, a good strong farming town with a population of one thousand.”

“You didn’t like it there?”

“No, I didn’t like it,” he said firmly. “You could say I suffered from

claustrophobia,” he added with a smile.

“I know how that feels.” Elizabeth nodded. “Sounds like here.”

I f Yo u C o u l d S e e M e N o w

“It’s a bit like here.” Benjamin looked out the window. He relaxed

then. “Everyone waves at you as you pass. They haven’t a damn clue who

you are but they wave.”

Elizabeth nodded and laughed, not realizing it until now. She pictured

her father in the field, cap covering his face, holding his arm up in an L shape to passing cars.

“They wave in fields and on the streets,” Benjamin continued. “Farm-

ers, old ladies, kids, teens, newborns, and serial killers. I’ve studied this to a fine art.” His eyes twinkled at her. “You even get the one-finger wave with the index finger raised off the steering wheel as you pass traffic. You’d leave the place waving at cows if you’re not careful.”

“And the cows would probably wave back.”

Benjamin laughed loudly. “Have you ever thought of leaving?”

“I did more than think about it.” Her smile faded. “I went to New York

too, but I’ve commitments here,” she said quickly, looking away.

“Your nephew, right?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Well, there’s one good thing about leaving a small town. They all miss you when you’re gone. They all notice it.”

Their eyes locked on each other. “I suppose you’re right,” she said.

“It’s ironic though, that we both moved to a big city where we were surrounded by more people and more buildings than we’d ever known, just so we could feel more isolated.”

“Huh.” Benjamin stared at her, not blinking. She knew he wasn’t see-

ing her face; he was lost in his own world. And he looked lost for a moment.

“Anyway.” He snapped out of his trance. “It was a pleasure talking to you again, Ms. Egan.”

She smiled at his address.

“I better go and let you stare at the wall some more.” He stopped and

turned at the doorway. “Oh, by the way, without running the risk of making you uncomfortable, I mean this in the most innocent way possible,

maybe you’d like to get together outside of work sometime? It would be

nice to have a conversation with a like-minded person for a change.”

“Sure.” She smiled, liking his casual invitation. No expectations.

C e c e l i a A h e r n

“Maybe you’ll know some of the good places to go. Six months ago

when I just arrived, I made the mistake of asking Joe where the nearest sushi bar was. I had to tell him it was raw fish before he directed me to a lake about an hour’s drive away and told me to ask for a guy called Tom.”

Elizabeth burst out laughing. It was an unfamiliar sound that was be-

coming more familiar to her these days, echoing around the room. “That’s his brother, the fisherman.”

“Anyway, see you.”

The room was empty again and Elizabeth was once again faced with

the same dilemma. She thought of what Benjamin had said about using her imagination and putting herself in the place of a child. She closed her eyes and imagined the sounds of children hollering, laughing, crying, and fighting. The noisy clatter of toys, feet pounding on the floor as they ran around, the sound of bodies falling, a shocked silence, and then wails. She pictured herself as a child, sitting alone in a room, not knowing anyone and it suddenly occurred to her what she would have wanted.

A friend.

She opened her eyes and spotted a card on the floor beside her. Look-

ing around, she saw that the room was still empty and quiet. Someone must have crept in when she had her eyes closed and left it there. She picked up the card, which had a black thumbprint on one side. She didn’t even need to read it to know it was Benjamin’s new business card.

Maybe imagining had worked after all. It looked like she’d just made a

friend in the playroom.

Sliding the card into her back pocket, she forgot about Benjamin and

continued staring at the four walls.

Nope. Still nothing.

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 417