The memory keeper's daughter - Kim Edwards [83]
“So you’re the inspiration for this study,” he said, turning to include Norah.
“I suppose,” she said, brushing sand off her wrist. “It’s a bit hard on the skin,” she added, aware suddenly that the new bathing suit left her nearly naked. The wind moved over her, moved through her hair.
“No, you have beautiful skin,” Howard said. David’s eyes widened—he looked at her as if he’d never seen her before—and Norah felt a surge of triumph. See? she wanted to say. I have beautiful skin. But the intentness of Howard’s gaze stopped her.
“You should see David’s other work,” Norah said. She gestured to the cottage, tucked low beneath the palms, bougainvillea cascading off the porch trellises. “He brought his portfolio.” A wall, her words; also an invitation.
“I would like that,” Howard said, turning back to David. “I’m interested in your study.”
“Why not?” David said. “Join us for lunch.”
But Howard had a meeting in town at one o’clock.
“Here comes Paul,” Norah said. He was running very fast along the edge of the water, pushing through the last hundred yards, his arms and legs flashing in the light, the wavering heat. My son, Norah thought, the world opening for an instant as it sometimes did around the very fact of his presence. “Our son,” she said to Howard. “He’s a runner too.”
“He has good form,” Howard observed. Paul drew close and began to slow down. Once he reached them he bent down with his hands on his knees, dragging deep breaths into his lungs.
“And good time,” David said, glancing at his watch. Don’t do it, Norah thought; David couldn’t seem to see how much Paul recoiled at David’s suggestions for his future. Don’t. But David pushed on. “I hate to see him miss his vocation. Look at that height. Think what he could do on a court. But he doesn’t give a damn about basketball.”
Paul looked up, grimacing, and Norah felt a flare of familiar irritation. Why couldn’t David understand that the more he pushed basketball, the more Paul would resist? If he wanted Paul to play, he ought to forbid it instead.
“I like running,” Paul said, standing up.
“Who can blame you,” Howard said, reaching to shake hands, “when you run like that?”
Paul shook his hand, flushing with pleasure. You have beautiful skin, he’d said to her, moments ago. Norah wondered if her own face had been so transparent.
“Come to dinner,” she suggested impulsively, inspired by Howard’s kindness to Paul. She was hungry, thirsty too, and the sun had made her light-headed. “Since you can’t come for lunch, come for dinner. Bring your wife, of course,” she added. “Bring your family. We’ll build a fire and cook out on the beach.”
Howard frowned, looking out over the shining water. He clasped his hands and put them behind his head, stretching. “Unfortunately,” he said, “I am here alone. A retreat of sorts. I am about to be divorced.”
“I’m sorry,” Norah said, though she was not.
“Come anyway,” David said. “Norah throws wonderful dinner parties. I’ll show you the rest of the series I’m working on—it’s all about perception. Transformation.”
“Ah, transformation,” Howard said. “I’m all for that. I’d love to come to dinner.”
David and Howard talked for a few minutes while Paul paced along the waves, cooling down, and then Howard left. A few minutes later, standing in the kitchen, slicing cucumbers for lunch, Norah watched him walk far down the beach, there and gone and there again as the curtain caught the breeze. She remembered the dark burn on his shoulders, his penetrating eyes and voice. Water rushed in the pipes as Paul showered, and there was the soft rustling of paper as David arranged his photos in the living room. He’d seemed obsessed over the years, always seeing the world—seeing her—as if from behind the lens of a camera. Their lost daughter still hovered between them; their lives had shaped themselves around her absence. Norah even wondered, at times,