#10 Inspiration - Inspiration (Part 1)

True to my word I kept Lyle out of my thoughts as I kept busy with work. I'd even gone out of my way to participate in Evelyn and Dania's line of gossip which continued to focus on the impending affair between Mrs. McCarthy the man who I helped identify as Mr. Jones.

I told the girls about the men's reluctance to relinquish their first names and they naturally concluded Mr. Jones and Mr. Smith must be in the witness protection program, either that or foreign royalty.

I went along with it as I waxed the sturdy oak tables until it came time to collect my triple load of laundry from the clothesline. Our dryers were as good as gone during the summer months as Grace encouraged us to take advantage of "our beautiful lady sun."

She was low in the sky as I traveled across the gravel driveway to the green scape beyond my cabin. Light poured out from behind the tree line a few hundred feet away. The space was about the size of a football field yet it was shaped more like a fishbowl. At the back stood a line of pines that shielded our hiking trail. To the sides ran leafy trees that became more intermittently spaced as the line curved around to where four of the five cabins stood.

The one farthest South from the Tudor home was the largest and where Grace resided. It was laid out much like mine except it had an extensive backroom that she'd made a mini master bedroom for when Tony slept over.

A dense collection of oak and maple trees separated her home from the next three guest cabins varying in size. Mine was isolated from the group and on the left side of the main house if you were giving directions from the doorway. A few trees grew in clusters around the East and West walls that made the cabin look hidden so that guests wouldn't accidentally mistake it for theirs.

I walked quickly on the partially browned grass knowing I needed to get the bed sheets taken down and folded before we set up logs for the bonfire. The air was crisp, no longer humid from last nights or any impending rains.

I knew this because Grace had spent the entire day checking weather reports and radars every ten minutes anxious that a last minute storm would ruin our bonfire. Finally after making a pro and cons list, calling Tony twice, and consulting the girls and I, she'd shut her laptop and declared brightly that we were on for tonight.

Dania and Evelyn were promptly sent into town to purchase the necessities of chocolate, marshmallows, and graham crackers - even though we all knew in the basement there was a large enough supply to survive the apocalypse .

I couldn't blame her for being extra prepared. Tonight was the first bonfire of the summer months and everything needed to go perfectly especially when we had a full house.

Grace started our monthly events two years ago as an attraction that brought in townies from the community as well as our own tourist guests, even the mayor came last year which was an enormous deal and got us in the local paper - Grace had it framed.

It would be an understatement to say that Grace adored the bonfires. Not only were they a giant social event that enabled her to flaunt her charming self but it brought loads of publicity for the B&B.

All treats and yard games were free but we put up a jar at the entrance that asked folks to make a donation so that we could fund our parties. Most nights we broke even, but Grace expected that tonight's was sure to be our biggest yet and with the large number of folks coming we might even expect to make a small profit - which of course wasn't her top priority but it sure as hell didn't hurt.

Personally, I couldn't get myself to a Grace level excitement about the bonfire - not that I could ever come close - but I didn't mind them too much. I loved being outside at night, but because of my intense work schedule I usually went straight to sleep after my shifts. Leaving me no time to sit out on my matchbox sized porch to stargaze or bask in a full moon's glow. Guests mostly fended for themselves which allowed me - even though I was technically on hand - a night to relax. Often I'd go off to a quieter patch of the green scape and lay down to watch the stars until someone inevitably called for me.

The party went until midnight, but was far enough away from the house that the noise didn't carry too harshly. Plus I'd convinced Grace to push the next morning's breakfast an hour back allowing all of the guests and staff to sleep in on Sunday morning.

I neared the post that stood two thirds of the way into the middle of the green space. Setting down my empty basket I ran my hands along the blankets I'd pinned up a few hours before. The sturdy line ran several yards stopping at the limb where it was tied. The black cherry tree was rooted a few feet away from Grace's cabin providing shade to the South side wall and the sweet smell of the simple white flowers wafted through her windows.

Pleased that none were damp I unclipped the first one, pinning the clothespin to the bottom hem of my shirt. I struggled to fold the king sized sheet as a gentle breeze rippled through it. I ignored my instinct to lay it on the ground to make the process easier as I knew Grace would use her powers of intuition to find out and scold me for dirtying it.

I sighed, blew a loose piece of hair out of my face and stretched my arms as wide as they would go then folded the halves together in front of me. It was extremely wrinkled and uneven. I shook the material hoping like water it would redistribute evenly.

It didn't.

"Fuck me." I swore. I knew I had less than an hour before I needed to grab the stones from the side of the house to make the fire pit. I shook the blanket again but to no avail.

"Need some help?" A casual voice chuckled from behind me.

I pivoted on my heel to meet Lyle who was watching me, an amused expression on her face. I tilted my head to the side and narrowed my eyes.

"You seem to be catching me at my worst moments." I wondered aloud.

My tone was light but in my mind I was serious. First when I unwittingly wandered into a gallery drawn by my subconscious, then when I literally ran into her and tangled myself in a million dirty sheets, and now I was swearing at the same slightly cleaner bed spread. Then again, maybe it had nothing to do with Lyle and I was always a walking catastrophe.

Lyle responded without missing a beat. "I do my best." She bent to pick up the opposite end of the blanket.

A gentle wind rippled through her simple dark green v-neck that was tucked into her jeans. The deep green contrasted her light eyes and I remembered the mental sticky note I'd placed at the back of my brain.

"I was out for a walk." She offered as she shook out the dull white sheet.

"I would expect nothing from a simple vacationer." I replied with a sly smile doing my best to keep my curiosity towards Lyle's vague answers at a minimum. I had to keep my whopping eight hour streak on track.

Lyle let out a forced laugh acknowledging my sarcastic concession that she was here on vacation and nothing else. She readjusted the neatly folded sheet in her hands before creasing the linen in another fold.

"The trails are nice." She went on. "Very picturesque."

She neared me with her folded edge and stopped a foot away as she voiced her observation. Her fingertips touched mine lightly as we brought the opposite halves of the blanket together. Instead of taking it away I held our position and nodded encouraging her to go on.

"Must be inspiring for artists who to live around here, what with all the natural beauty." Her soft green eyes met mine and for a moment I wasn't sure if she was completely referring to the landscape.

I nodded mutely taking the moment to examine her eyes.

The promise I made to myself was before my flimsy resolution to stop thinking about Lyle, and besides this was for my art not snooping.

Flecks of brown seemed to extend beyond her eyes as they reflected in the setting sun. Had I portrayed them correctly? My mind flickered back to the sketches surrounding my mattress. Had they lept off the page in the same way they attracted and commanded attention in real life?

My eyes traveled slightly lower where they caught a deep purple color that set below her eyes. She did little to cover it with any make up and my mind instinctively began to question. Did she get as little sleep as I? What was she doing that cut into her sleep time? It wasn't like she was waking up early to come to breakfast.

I squinted in thought before Lyle casually turned to the thick line of pine trees.

"Do they inspire you?" She ventured her fingers inched a bit closer to mine so they rested over top of them.

The movement caused my heart to quicken but at the same time her question led my forehead to wrinkle. Was she asking about my drawing? And if so how in the hell did she know?

"The stains on your shirt, you've been drawing. Well either that or you got into a fight with a pencil sharpener and lost." A grin spread to her face as she looked me up and down.

I mumbled an expletive and looked down at my shirt, I still hadn't managed to find a clean one. Instead I'd spent the whole day walking around with a jumble of stains permanently set into the baby blue material. Grey lead laden fingerprints decorated the hem of my shirt where I'd pulled on it absent mindedly during my drawing. The fingerprints led a path up to the pool of what I discerned to be strawberry juice and cautiously entered it as if they were stepping stones in the pink pool. To me it looked much like an abstract painting.

Maybe I could hauk it to some hipster in California.

"I'll have you know if I got into a fight with a pencil sharpener I would win." I retorted confidently taking the sheet from her hands. I placed it neatly in my basket before grabbing an unbleached mattress cover.

"And to answer your question I suppose they do inspire me, I think nature inspires us all doesn't it?"

"What do you draw?" She continued matter-o-factly repeating the folding actions before meeting me in the middle again. This time only briefly as I hastily took the sheet to the basket.

"Stuff." I answered bobbing my head a bit in imitation and grabbing a pillow case off the line to throw at her. She caught it easily and laughed indulgently.

It was a contrasting feeling to be on the other side of the conversation. Now I was the subject rather than the one casually dishing out questions. It was so much easier.

I didn't have any anxiety to find the answer, I was merely here and whatever I said went. Plus it was proving quite fun to turn Lyle's answering style on her.

"Any of it something I may have seen at the house?" She motioned with her head to the Tudor home behind us. By this time the automatic outdoor lights were switched on and the old lantern above the door glowed invitingly.

I paused. Technically Grace believed I did, since I led her to equate my mother's work as my own. Maybe Grace mentioned it to Lyle and that's why she asked. I took a second debating on whether I was to claim the few paintings that were since relocated as mine.

No harm in continuing the charade, right?

"I used to." I replied simply.

"Why aren't they there anymore?"

"We found some better works to take their place." I responded nonchalantly as we moved down toward the end of the clothes line. The work appeared to be going faster as Lyle asked and I answered.

"I'd like to be the judge of that."

Her direct reply caught me off guard. I opened my mouth but hesitated and instead turned away and hid my face behind a twin sized comforter.

Grace was the only person who'd seen my art - my true art - and only once when she'd come over to my cabin. She was the exception yet again to something I tended to keep private. My art was an unseen connection to my mother. An invisible cord that kept us in some sort of one way conversation transmitted through brush and pen strokes.

I saw her paintings and responded to them with my own take on life.

Ever since I discovered her brilliant artistry in Unit #16 I was captivated. Art became my source of calm, my own world that I could loose myself in at will. Since I'd developed my own style my world increased exponentially, a small town turned into an entire universe with limitless possibilities.

Although our styles were to the regular eye polar opposites, her's wistful and full of color contrasting my sharp, edgy and colorless works. I felt undeniably close to her when I worked. It wasn't just the finished product that facilitated the relationship, it was the process. I liked to believe that we thought in the same way, tempered the same lines and followed detail in mirror order. I would never know for sure, but it wasn't an outrageous possibility.

I worked to dull the edge of sarcasm as my carefully chosen words felt sharp in my mouth. "Then you'll be the first to know when I make my debut at the Louvre."

Characteristically Lyle didn't flinch a muscle keeping her concentration on folding a bath towel before walking over to me and tucking it into the basket which was now overflowing.

"I'll be happy to get the invitation."

"Good then."

-

Promises are meant to be broken .. right ?

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