The memory keeper's daughter - Kim Edwards [67]
He squatted down and held out his arms, and Paul plunged into them, resting his head briefly on David’s shoulder, the bristle of his new haircut both soft and stiff against David’s neck. Paul was slight and wiry, strong, a boy who moved through the world like quicksilver, quiet and watchful and eager to please. David kissed his forehead, regretting that moment of anger, marveling at his son’s shoulder blades, elegant and perfect, stretching out like wings beneath layers of skin and muscle.
“Okay. What was so important?” he asked, sitting back on his heels. “What was important enough to spoil my pictures?”
“Dad, look!” Paul said. “Look what I found!”
He unclenched his small fist. Several flat stones, thin disks with a hole in the center, rested on his palm, the size of buttons.
“These are great,” David said, picking one up. “Where did you find them?”
“Yesterday. When I went with Jason to his grandfather’s farm. There’s a creek, and you have to be careful because Jason saw a copperhead last summer, but it’s too cold for snakes now, so we were wading and I found these right by the edge of the water.”
“Wow.” David fingered the fossils; light and delicate, millennia old, time preserved more clearly than any photograph ever could. “These fossils were part of a sea lily, Paul. You know, a long time ago, a lot of Kentucky used to be under an ocean.”
“Really? Neat. Is there a picture in the rock book?”
“Maybe. We’ll check as soon as I clean up. How are we doing on time?” he added, stepping to the darkroom door and glancing outside. It was a beautiful spring day, the air soft and warm, dogwoods in bloom all around the perimeter of the garden. Norah had set up tables and covered them with bright cloths. She’d arranged plates and punch, chairs and napkins, vases of flowers. A maypole, fashioned around a lean poplar tree in the center of the backyard, streamed bright ribbons. She’d done this by herself too. David had offered to help, but she’d declined. Stay out of the way, she’d told him. That’s the best thing you can do right now. So he had.
He stepped back into the darkroom, cool and hidden, with its pale red light and sharp scent of chemicals.
“Mom’s getting dressed,” Paul said. “I’m not supposed to get dirty.”
“A tough order,” David observed, sliding the bottles of fixer and developer onto a high shelf beyond Paul’s reach. “Go on inside, okay? I’ll be right there. We’ll look up those sea lilies.”
Paul ran down the stairs; David glimpsed him sprinting across the lawn, the screen door of the house slamming shut behind him. He washed out the trays and set them to dry, then removed the film from the developer and put it away. It was peaceful in the darkroom, cool and quiet, and he stood there for a few seconds longer before he followed Paul. Outside, the tablecloths rippled in the breeze. May baskets, woven of paper and filled with spring flowers, adorned each plate. Yesterday, on the real May Day, Paul had taken baskets like these to the neighbors too, hanging them from each front door, knocking and running and hiding to watch them be discovered. Norah’s idea: her artistry and energy and imagination.
She was in the kitchen, wearing an apron over a suit of coral-colored silk, arranging parsley and cherry tomatoes on a meat platter.
“Everything set?” he asked. “It looks great out there. Anything I can do?”
“Get dressed?” she suggested, glancing at the clock. She dried her hands on a towel. “But first put this platter in the fridge downstairs, okay? This one’s already full. Thanks.”
David took the platter, the glass cool against his hands. “Such a lot of work,” he observed. “Why don’t you have these parties catered?”
He had meant to be helpful, but Norah paused, frowning, on her way out the door.
“Because I enjoy this,” she said. “The planning and the cooking—all of it. Because it gives me a lot of pleasure to pull something beautiful out of nothing. I have a lot of talents,” she added, coolly, “whether you realize it or not.”
“That’s not what I meant.” David sighed. These days they were like