#9 Wet Paint - Peint Fliuch

I finished the dishes and left the gals to mop the floors, and of course new line of gossip.

I went up to the second floor through the back kitchen staircase to retrieve room #9s bedding for the wash and came around full circle to the foyer via the main staircase. I was just rounding the corner that led to a small hallway at the North end of the B&B when I bumped - and when I say bumped it was more of a slam - into someone.

I teetered back on my heels releasing the ball of blankets I'd wadded up as I fell smack onto my ass.

"Shit." I cursed a little louder than I meant to.

The sheets undid themselves from the tight ball and in slow motion fell onto me tangling my entire body in the cotton material. I struggled against the sheets as the king sized bedding enveloped me easily.

Aggressively I clawed at the thin material, I would be damned if my obituary read 'death by hundred count'.

Suddenly, reminding me I wasn't alone, a hand reached down and gingerly pulled the bedding from me. I instantly stopped thrashing about as I met Lyle's calm gaze.

I rarely cared much what I looked like but god I must have looked like a maniac.

Without consulting a mirror I knew my hair was frizzed in all directions and my cheeks were an embarrassed shade of red – all while I sprawled on the ground.

I diverted my gaze awkwardly to the side and mumbled an apology, but Lyle didn't hear. She was laughing - I hoped with me - the sound was deeper than her regular voice and short lived as she extended a hand to me that still shook as the resonation carried through her entire body.

I took her hand in my own slowly, taking the time to study her. The full sound of her laugh stopped but her eyes were still squinted pinching her freckles within the wrinkles that formed around her eyes.

All of the drawings I'd done of Lyle were serious, none of them exhibiting more than a subtle grin modeled off of the controlled looks she gave me at the art gallery. It wasn't that she didn't smile or seem to genuinely take pleasure in humor. It was that her smiles were never one hundred percent, her reactions were like a dam that sprang a leak. But as soon as she noticed the water rushing through the crack she'd patch it up; as if there was something holding her back from showing her true face which I longed to capture.

"You have something you want to tell me?" She posed after pulling me up to stand parallel to her.

I shook my head. "What?"

"You're staring May."

"Oh." I replied sheepishly as color rose back to my face. It was then that I realized I hadn't let go of her hand. I took a step back reluctantly increasing the distance between us and letting her soft fingertips leave mine.

She smiled again, but this time it was more disciplined not the flare of emotion I witnessed just a moment ago.

"Sorry about that. My mind was somewhere else." Lyle ran her fingers through her hair before kneeling to gathering my washing. I knelt next to her to help while my mind toggled between comparing my portraits and her.

Not even in her smile did I notice something that clearly set her apart from my sketches. I followed the subtle 'c' curve of her chin up to her rounded nose then across her freckles to her dark hair which feathered across her forehead. There was nothing I'd missed on the outside. I leaned forward to grab a sheet in front of me while cautiously glancing back. Her eyes were cast down in moderate concentration and I made a mental note to study her eyes more closely.

Grace always said "eyes are the gate to a person's soul" and I believed it.

In fact I'd come to use it as a rule of thumb for my drawings, always beginning with the eyes. They showed intention and directed you on how to perfectly frame them.

"Where was it?" I asked after a brief pause.

Lyle laughed airily. "My mind?"

"Yea did she take a holiday?" I jested flashing Lyle a quick smile. "You know I know of this really great Bed & Breakfast she could stay at."

"I'll let her know when she gets back, but I'm sure she'd want to check the online reviews first."

I waited naively for Lyle to elaborate but she didn't and instead a comfortable silence rested between us as we loosely folded the blankets into a pile. A moment later I stood with the haphazard pile tucked in my arms. I felt a bit like a penguin as I took a wide step to the basement door.

The small hallway where the incident occurred was home to room #3, a family sized place complete with a two beds and a modest kitchenette. Across from it was the basement door that although we posted signage bearing the bulky script of 'employees only' we kept unlocked. There wasn't anything down there but the double set of washer and dryers - which although were priceless for a B&B - Grace figured no one was going to be able to walk them out the door.

"Breakfast is over if that's where you're headed."

"I am late aren't I?"

"Yea, it's becoming a bad habit." I grinned. "Early morning exploring?"

I glanced around and wondered what drew Lyle to the short hallway. There was nothing interesting here for guests, save for the window at the end of the hall that looked out onto a dense tree line. Every now and again you could spot a woodpecker or a squirrel, but Lyle didn't seem like the type bird watch, and even then not from inside.

"You could say that." She nodded stuffing her hands into her pockets and giving me a tight smile.

"Then I will. You don't give me much else to say." I replied matching her smile.

Lyle took my reply in good humor and gave me a small shrug acknowledging her behavior while simultaneously refusing to comment on it.

"I'll see you around then." She waved, but as she turned to leave her gaze momentarily went over my head to something behind me. I noticed because since I'd met her Lyle's eyes were in a constant state of concentration and rarely did she ever break eye contact. It was just for a split second, but it was noticeable that her focus had been briefly interrupted.

After she left I turned toward the basement door to complete my chore, but couldn't help my curiosity and pivoted another one eighty degrees to where Lyle's distraction occurred.

I chewed on my lip thoughtfully as I faced the door to room #3. There was nothing here to distract her, the family staying here - I think the Tobin's - said they were headed into to town after breakfast. I glanced momentarily at the painting that paralleled the basement door frame. It replaced one of my mother's works after I'd brought them home to Unit #16.

The work was another piece donated to Grace by a local artist and her light strokes of summery colors brought feelings of whimsy and warmth into the otherwise simple hallway. Short dense lines constituted a patch of flowers in the midst of a forest as the sun shone down on them like a spotlight. It was not unlike my mother's work in the sense that it was inspired by nature and painted in a realistic style.

I frowned and tried to refocus on my task. Balancing the bundle on my knee I reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. It felt sticky and I licked my hand to alleviate it as I usually did when the unavoidable bit of syrup made it's way too far north. Only this time my fingers tasted sour.

My nose contracted in confusion as I frowned. I looked at my hand as I wobbled in my one legged stance. Fresh paint distributed itself onto my finger tips. There were white splotches on my hand similar to those I'd see on Dania's. I flipped my hand over pondering how the paint could have gotten on my hands after they'd been soaking in water for the last half hour.

I tilted my head up to meet the floral painting that covered Dania's necessary paint job. I waddled closer to it like a pregnant woman, the bunch of linens still stuffed between my arms modeling as my baby.

I could make out a slight smudge where the paint dried unevenly leaving a bumpy surface that could only be noticed from a few inches away. I studied the frame, but concluded that its flat surface was lifted half an inch above the wall and couldn't have made the dent without help.

I replayed the events that transpired a few moments ago to determine how the paint had made it's way to me.

My hands were clean when I left the kitchen, I got the bed sheets. I was in such a hurry and then -. Then I took Lyle's hand. It was the only possible avenue I'd come into contact with the disturbed paint. By touching someone who already disturbed with the wet substance.

My frown deepened. What motivated her to bother the painting so much so she'd gotten paint on her hands? She did seem interested in art while we were at the gallery, perhaps she was critiquing it and just had to touch it - or maybe she was simply fixing it.

It wasn't unheard of for a painting to be crooked in the house as I remembered the sketch that sat in the main foyer.

Wouldn't she have mentioned it then? Not necessarily ,she wasn't a stickler for details or of starting small talk.

I shook my head in the past day I'd become so wrapped up and focused on Lyle that I swear I was becoming a bit paranoid. I needed to take a step back.

I thought about what Grace would say. She would sit me down and pat my hand compassionately then state in her maternal tone that I was just tired, but we both knew it was something bigger.

I'd been at the B&B for less than three years now, and I was growing restless just as Grace warned when she bought me my bike. I'd known it in the back of my head but I avoided openly coming to terms with it. To quell my restlessness I'd been taking on more responsibility at White Pine, volunteering for the late shifts that coupled with breakfast left me only time to sleep.

Drowning myself in work was my way of suffocating out any time to constructively step back and view my life. Or at the very least keep my subconscious at bay.

I hadn't even thought about my mother in the last months, not since...

That all changed when I saw the painting in Bellas Artes - where I'd met Lyle. That's when my mini obsession with her began, or perhaps it began the night I met her.

I shook my head attempting to clear my thoughts before I got in too deep. Today was a big day, I had more important things to do than focus on a guest I'd known less than forty eight hours. I was in a funk - it was perfectly natural to obsess a little bit - no need to psychoanalyze myself.

I looked down at my hand and took a deep breath, my mind was playing tricks on me. I must've touched something Dania contaminated and that was why I had paint on my hands.

I was fine, I just needed a nap and to quit thinking about Lyle I repeated to myself as I marched down the stairs.

-

Hmmm - any thoughts on how the paint got from the wall to May's hand ?

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