20. A Moment of Normalcy

A MOMENT OF NORMALCY

MADDY

The apartment attached to the clinic was small only by Lane family standards. By inner city standards, it was a palace. It had an open floor plan, with the kitchen, living room, and dining room all flowed into one another. Soft native rugs were scattered across the clay tile floors. The walls were a neutral, soft beige, perfect for adding framed artwork.

The smaller bedroom easily accommodated a double bed, a huge dresser, and opened onto a walk-in closet. The larger one could easily double as a second living room.

I look over at Andrew as we stand in the wide hallway, and he gives me a nod, indicating the smaller room with a quirk of an eyebrow. We were quickly learning to read each other's cues. It felt odd, but kind of good, to share decisions.

"Put my things and Andrew's in the small bedroom," I say.

"Are you sure?" Charles asked. "It might be a little close for sharing after a while."

I shake my head. "Andrew and I will be sleeping in our bedroom. We will have the living room and kitchen where we can place computers or similar items. Our apartment and the attached patio will be Paul's world until we can get this mess straightened out. He needs the space to . . .to . . .do kid things," I end lamely.

Charles and Richard study both of us for a moment, then seem to reach a mutual decision of their own.

"Very well," Charles said. "Andrew did say that the house was your domain."

"We've already discussed it," I say firmly.

Richard burst out laughing, but did not explain the reason for his mirth. Andrew gave him an irritated look. "Still cutting up, I see," he said.

"Of course," Richard replied. "Life is too short to be dull and stodgy – something I could never seem to convince you of."

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Charles said. He slipped out the door, and returned a few minutes later with the head mover. The mover nodded, and he and his crew quickly brought in our furniture and boxes of belongings.

Andrew caught the attention of the head mover, and spoke to him in a low voice. The mover looked at him, looked at me, then nodded. I was pleased to see that the result of the discussion was that the most commonly used kitchen items were stowed in the lower cabinets where I could easily reach them.

When I entered Paul's room to see how things were going there, I was surprised to find the crew attaching frames with big sheets of tear-off paper.

Paul seemed just as confused as I, for he gaped at the proceedings, then sidled over to me and asked, "Do you know what they are doing, Mom?"

One of the movers climbed down from a ladder and said, "It's a surprise birthday gift from Mr. Lane, Mr. Emory and Mrs. Moor. They said that Paul has a birthday coming up, and wasn't going to get the celebration originally planned for him."

Andrew stuck his head in and said, "Oh, good. My sister was able to get the stuff."

I gave him a stern look. "When did you have a chance to speak to either of them?"

"Text message," Andrew said. "Early this morning. I hope you don't mind. I wanted to surprise Paul, and you. But I don't want to spoil it by saying anything more."

Paul said, "I guess I'll be able to attach my posters to these. And I won't have to worry about holes in the walls."

"That you won't," Andrew said. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but Rylie followed the last of the movers in. The fellow was carrying two large cases.

Rylie carried two large flat packages in her arms. "Let's spread these out," she said. "One goes on the floor, the other on the bed."

The floor package turned out to be a large rug that had a pattern of paint pallets and paint spatter on it. The other package was a bedspread with similar design.

"It's not a carousel or ferris wheel," Andrew said. "But this is from the three of us. I hope it makes up for not spending the day at the fair."

Paul looked at me.

"Go ahead," I say. "Open it. I don't know what it is, either. So it will be a surprise to both of us."

I had planned to give Paul money for the fair as his birthday gift, as well as our tradition of new clothes. It wasn't the only time I bought new things for him, but I tried to make his birthday clothing special to take the sting out of receiving such ordinary items.

The first box held a rather odd cabinet. Its top opened up to a storage area with compartments of various sizes. Beneath the compartment area was a series of wide, shallow drawers. Paul looked puzzled when he opened them to reveal a variety of papers.

Paul then opened the other box and let out a squeal of excitement. On the top of it was a wooden case. Inside the case was a paint pallet, trays of watercolor cake paint, tubes of watercolors, and tubes of acrylic paint. The pallet had sheets of peel off wax paper for easy clean up.

A long narrow case held an assortment of brushes, two more ordinary containers were filled to the brim with wax crayons, colored pencils, and double-ended art marking pens.

Beneath it all was a bulky box that, when opened, revealed a projector.

Rylie says, "I know you had your heart set on putting up your posters, but with this you can project them onto the big wall hanging easels and reproduce them. You can make changes, and paint them different colors. If you get tired of making stills, I'll show you how to connect the projector to your computer and animate them to make your own movies."

"Wow!" Paul exclaimed. "Thank you Aunt Rylie, Charles, Andrew!"

"Maybe with your favorite poster?" Rylie suggested. "There are plenty of sheets of paper on the wall easels, so you can make different versions of it, and even throw away the ones you don't like."

"I've got one more thing," Charles said, moving out of the doorway. One of the movers wheeled in a large trash container. Stenciled on the front of the container was the legend, "Experiments that didn't make the grade."

I laugh. "Perfect. That should help make clean-up easy."

"Speaking of clean-up," Rylie says, "Don't pour your paint water down the sink, Paul. Put it in a utility bucket and put it down the filtered drain in the courtyard."

"Okay," Paul says, already rolling out one of his favorite posters onto the pick-up surface of the projector.

Rylie goes over and helps him position it, and focus the projection onto one of the wall mounted pads of paper. "I'd suggest using a soft graphite to outline the picture," she says, picking up one out of the art box and demonstrating how to hold it.

With the master artist supervising the junior artist, the rest of us slid out of the room and left them to their work.

"You could not have given him a better gift," I say to Andrew. "Thank you. All of you. But how did you know?"

"Any kid who collects art catalogs has a real love of making stuff," Andrew says.

"Rylie used to sneak paints and colors in her room because our mother didn't approve. She absolutely threw a fit when Rylie won a scholarship and enrolled herself in the New York School of Visual Arts. When Rylie started designing clothes for herself and her friends, Mother had a hard time deciding whether to be horrified or proud of her."

"Which won out?" I ask.

Andrew shakes his head. "No idea. I went to Africa, then Mom and Dad drowned. But I think she was mostly proud."

Austin adds, "Rylie is delighted to have another artist to teach. She had such a good time helping Julia. I think she was a little disappointed when Judy-Rudy used her skills to draw anatomy, and then went to med school."

I have the feeling that I am swimming out of my depth. "I can't imagine keeping a child from doing something they enjoy so much, especially since it is harmless."

"Mostly harmless," Austin says. "Rylie was careful in selecting the paints, but most of them are not intended for use on the human body. She did put in some body paint and some soap crayons – just for fun."

I laugh. "I won't ask, but I did notice that the surround in the bath is white."

Austin grins. "Probably won't stay that way long. Rylie still loves to decorate the surround – I never know what I'll find when I go in there."

As if her name called her, Rylie slipped out of Paul's room, closing the door behind her. "He's got the hang of it," she says. "Now it's time to let him explore on his own. The rug and spread are both washable, and most of the paints will come out of fabric with regular soap and water."

"Thank you," I say. "And not just for that. Paul loves to draw. I could never afford the big art sets, so he's had to make do with regular school supplies."

"He seems to be enjoying himself," Rylie says.

"Don't worry about damage to the room," Charles adds. "When the two of you move into your own place, everything will be redone for the next resident. I just hope it is big enough."

I glance over at Andrew, who is keeping his face impassive. "It will be fine," I say. "At least I don't have to worry about a long commute to work."

"Very true," Charles says. "Which was the whole idea of setting this up. Secure, safe, and convenient."

"We should be going," Austin says. "I have a meeting in thirty minutes. Do you want to ride with me, Rylie?"

"Of course," she says, smiling warmly at her husband.

"I need to be going, too," Charles says. "We can let ourselves out."

The door closed behind them and the movers. We were alone in the apartment except for one absorbed young artist.

Andrew and I look at each other. "Now what?" he asks.

"We have the rest of the day off," I say.

"Make some lunch then hide in our room?" Andrew asks.

"We could do that," I say. The thought of an afternoon without interruptions did have its appeal. "But what about Paul?"

"Feed him, give him the remote so he can access all the channels on the TV, and our phone numbers. Then lock the door to our room," Andrew says. "We'll be reachable, but not visible."

I nibble on my thumb cuticle, still not sure. "Is this good parenting?" I ask rhetorically.

"I don't know," Andrew says. "But it does guarantee that he won't enter our room just when things are getting interesting. If he really needs something, he can call us or knock on the door."

I think about it, while I make sandwiches for all of us. Andrew checks the cabinets, pulling out chips, packaged cookies and individual fruit tubs. It wasn't a fancy lunch, but it had some resemblance to a balanced meal when I discovered a tray of pre-cut veggies to go with it all.

I tap on Paul's door. He emerged, somewhat paint smeared but otherwise none the worse for wear. "How are you doing?" I ask.

"Great!" he says enthusiastically. "I found The Last Air Bender on TV. I'm making a surprise while I watch it . . . so maybe, if you two could not come in until I ask you?"

"Sounds good," Andrew says briskly, before I can say anything. "Your mother and I would also like some private time. You have our numbers, and you can always knock on the door."

Paul looks at us and wrinkles his nose. "You aren't going to be kissing, are you?"

Andrew grins that patented Lane grin, and I feel my face grow hot.

"Ewww!" Paul says. "I'll be very sure to knock."

Andrew says, "We might or might not get to kissing. But your mother and I have some catching up to do. We had one glorious week more than nine years ago. We aren't even sure if we still like each other."

Paul took a big bite of his sandwich and chewed. "I guess that makes sense," he says. "Let me know what you figure out, all right?"

"I'll be sure to do that," Andrew says solemnly. "It is always good to know where you stand with people."

I nibble at the cuticle on my thumb and wonder. Will I be able to handle two Lane men in my family?