by Mr. David R. Dorrycott

Chapter Twelve

Firstday Dinner

A sound of crumpling paper filled Sara Karst’s cold studio apartment. It was followed moments later by a low groan of frustration. “Why can’t I draw anymore” the young woman asked herself. She threw her wadded bit of paper towards an overflowing waste basket, missing by several feet. “Two months” she continued, pressing her hands to her temples. “Two months of junk.” She looked over at a special painting of her lost friend Amanda. “What’s wrong with me” she asked the voiceless canvas.

Of course that was the problem Sara knew. Amanda was gone. Gone never to return. Months had passed before it finally built up enough to affect her talent, putting up a block she couldn’t possible break through. She’d have to find a way to deal with Amanda’s loss. It was something she hadn’t done even with her own mother running off so many years ago. Of course her mother had come back, but even today the things that cult had done to her were still evident. She pressed harder on her temples, pushing the pain of over tensed muscles back. “If only you’d had that seventy years you wanted” she groaned, “But you didn’t. I didn’t. We didn’t.”

Her self despair was interrupted by a knock on her door. Absently she discounted her landlord, he only showed up when the rent was due. That she’d payed three days ago. It was Firstday, so even the neighborhood missionaries were out of the question. Not that any bothered Sara anymore, at least not after the first punch. Same with her father. He was on the family boat with Sara’s little sister teaching her how to drown bait just as he’d taught her. He’d invited her, but she was still having trouble being near Amanda’s last ride. No mail today so who? “Minute” she called, standing to hunt for the old baseball bat she kept for ‘unexpected visitors.’

Stopping next to the door she readied her bat. “Who’s there?” she asked.

“Thomas and Patricia” came Mr. Almertain’s deep voice. “May we come in?”

Relief washed over Sara. In her neighborhood you never really knew who was on the other side of your door, and the recent riots hadn’t helped things one bit. Setting her bat down she released the half dozen locks on her door, opening it to find her visitors waiting with packages in their arms.

“You never came by” Patricia Almertain was saying as she pushed by Sara, her package’s smelling of rich food. “And you promised.”

“So we came here” Thomas Almertain added. “When we finally tracked down your address. It is Firstday you know.” Although Patricia quickly made her way to Sara’s little kitchen Thomas stopped in the middle of the room. “So” he almost whispered. “This is where she spent so much of her time.” He blinked, seemed almost to want to cry, then straightened himself.

“We found your address in Amanda’s diary, once we found her diary” Patricia called from the kitchen. “I swear that girl did know how to hide things. “ She opened several cabinets, finally locating the glasses. “You keep a very clean house Sara Karst. I’m really impressed. Now, where do you keep your corkscrew?”

“I... I don’t have one” Sara admitted, overwhelmed by the two adults energy. “I can’t afford alcohol much, so I just buy the cheap stuff when I want some.” She missed Patricia’s glance into her garbage can, there wasn’t much in it anyway. Just cheap soup cans and cheaper cracker boxes.

“But you do drink?” Thomas asked, setting his three packages on a small table. “We understand if you don’t.”

“Oh..” Sara blushed. “Amanda and I, we’d.. Well... I didn’t think you’d... She was almost old enough and...”

Thomas’s hand to her lips stopped her words. “Not a problem” he explained. “I doubt she drank much, not with her medications. We brought white wine, its only tuna casserole. I think tuna is a fish, right Pat?”

“Yes tuna is a fish” his wife laughed. “Sardines though, those are torture devices.”

“So is your fried okra” Thomas shot back, “But I don’t complain. Much.” He turned his attention back to the bewildered Sara, taking her face in his hands. “We are going to have Firstday dinner together” he explained. “You, my wife and I. And we’re going to talk. Then you will open your presents while we clean up and leave.“ He studied her face, “You’ve been crying” he observed. “So have we. Just bear with us please. We need this as much as you do. Now, where do you keep your dishes?”

“Left cabinet, bottom shelf” Sara managed, still overwhelmed by so much energy in her normally quiet home. “Its mixed” she apologized. “I could only...” A look from Patricia stopped her.

“Thomas and I started with Bakelite dishes his grandmother was throwing out, and a mattress on the floor because we couldn’t afford rent and furniture. Not on an airman first’s pay. Don’t start apologizing for things everyone worth knowing goes through.” She accepted the dishes from her husband, flipping the ancient china over absently to read the pattern. “And thirty dollar a plate dishes are nothing to apologize for” she continued, finishing with a soft whistle as she picked up two silver colored metal plates from Sara’s counter. “Nor three thousand dollar plates. Where did you find these Sara my dear?”

“Pats Junk Shop, two blocks down on Mudd street” Sara answered. “Where I buy all my stuff. Three thousand dollars? Your pulling my leg. I only paid twenty cents, each, for those two.”

Patricia held up the silver plates for her husbands eyes. “Sara honey. Just what did this Pat tell you these were?”

“Um, electroplated copper plates. Nothing expensive. I couldn’t afford expensive. He wanted a dollar each, I traded him a sketch of his granddaughter, and tax.”

“These” Patricia announced as she flipped one over for a closer look in a nearby light. “Are Kirk serving plates. Sterling silver and rare. You are going to just have to take me to this mans shop. It must be a treasure trove. He really needs to know what he has.”

“Oh... Okay” Sara agreed, still stunned at the revelation. “Is there anything I can do?” She waved at the food. “To help with dinner I mean.”

“Do you happen to have a dining table?” Thomas asked, looking around at the neat, yet stacked apartment.

“”Yes... just a moment.” Sara hurried over to the little table she and Amanda had shared so many meals at, quickly removing stacked up mail and other debris from months of disuse. “Its...” she caught herself apologizing again and stopped. “”it’s a little dusty, let me clean it first okay?”

“Not a problem” Patricia agreed, tossing Sara her now damp dishcloth.

“Thanks.” Sara worked on the table quickly. When she was done she started back towards the kitchen area, only to discover Mr. Almertain staring at the painting of Amanda.

“Did she pose for this?” he asked. “It looks... so real.”

“No sir” Sara answered automatically. “That’s from memory. I never got to show it to her. I finished it the night she called. Just before she called.”

“Its beautiful” Thomas admitted. “Its just like she always talked about.”

“Oh my” Patricia gasped as she too spotted the painting. “It is Amanda. Amanda digging for buried knowledge.” She stepped closer, her eyes trapped by the scene. “Amanda always said you were the best artist she knew. Now I understand why she felt that way. I think I’m going to have to agree with her. You’ve a Master within you dear Sara. A Master who created beauty.”

Sara blushed in embarrassment. She wasn’t used to anyone expressing such interest in her work. It took her by surprise. “Its just a painting” she mumbled.

“Like the one we found in Amanda’s closet?” Patricia asked. There was humor in her voice, as though she knew something Sara didn’t.

“What... Painting” Sara asked, frantically running through her mind the half dozen or so paintings she given Amanda over the years, and why any one of them might have been hidden away. One painting came to mind, causing her to blush even deeper. “Not... ahh..”

“I believe she was laying on a sheepskin” Thomas admitted, “Though I turned away before I saw too much. There are things a father simply shouldn’t know about his daughter. At least not civilized fathers. As I recall the pose hid nothing.”

“Uhh... yeah” Sara gasped. “I umm... I needed a model for a class assignment. Uh.. I couldn’t afford one, so Amanda volunteered. She umm.. Nothing.. I mean... Only the instructor and my class saw it. I gave it to Amanda to destroy. She PROMISED me.”

“I’m happy to report that she lied” Patricia explained as she broke her gaze, turning to face her suddenly frightened hostess. “You see, it was still wrapped in that brown paper you use. Amanda was like any young woman, proud of herself even if she wasn’t the prettiest girl around. I would have kept it too. I don’t know where I could hang it. So we brought it with us.” She elbowed her husband. “She did take after me you know.”

“I’ll take your word for it” Thomas sighed. “Sara... I will never understand women, and I don’t think I ever want too.” He picked up the largest package, the one he’d carried in. “Your painting. At least in your hands we know it will find a home where it is loved. Now, I think we better have dinner before it freezes over. Don’t you have heat here?”

“I can’t afford too much” Sara admitted, accepting the package. “Its sixty in here right now. If you want I can turn it up.”

“Then freeze yourself for two days making up the difference? No thank you, we’re just fine. If Amanda could stand this certainly we can.”

Sara started to blush again. “She always complained, but not too much. Let me put this away.” She took the twine bound package to a different part of the room, setting it gently next to her bed. ‘I’ll find a place to hang it later’ she decided, keeping that thought to herself. Returning to the table she joined the Almertain’s in one of the best meals she’d had in months.

Later, while Sara and Mrs. Almertain cleaned up the dinner leftovers Mr. Almertain wandered around the apartment studying Sara’s works. Occasionally Sara would glance over at him, worrying that he might be upset by some of her work. She didn’t know why, but it was important to her neither of the Almertain’s became upset with her. She had been doing a lot of adult work for the local population this last month. She didn’t like it but it brought in the money and she desperately needed that money to live on until her artists block cleared.

“Don’t worry” Patricia whispered, misunderstanding Sara’s expression. “He’s just upset because we threw him out of the kitchen. Normally he dries and puts things away.”

“That’s not it” Sara admitted. “Some of those paintings are nudes. A couple are local women. He might not like what he see’s.” She accepted a plate. “None of them are Amanda, I only did the one. But, well. I need the money. I really don’t like painting them but well. I can’t get any other work done right now.”

“I understand Sara. Don’t worry, we’ve all had to do things to survive we don’t like. Besides. I think my Thomas has seen a naked woman once before.” She turned back to washing, only to start giggling.

“Something” Sara asked.

“I was thinking. Could you do one of me?”

Sara simply blushed, returning to her work.

A little while Thomas Almertain turned from his inspection of an alien looking starship, to stare with gentle amusement at the two women as they laughed. It was good to hear laugher again. Not that he’d laughed any himself since his daughters passing. Still it was good to hear. It meant that the healing had begun. God knew they all needed something good in their lives. Life would continue. They would remember, they would hurt. But life would continue. Turning back to the unfinished painting he continued his explorations. It really was good work he decided.

Later, after her visitors had left Sara turned to the packages they had brought. She had decided to wait until Amanda’s parents had left before opening the presents they had brought. Her gift to them had been an impulse and already she missed the painting. Still, she could always create another one. That wasn’t the point and she knew it. Sara looked down at the small stack of packages, carefully counting them. Five in total, one from each of Amanda’s family. There would have been six, should have been six. But Amanda had died. She couldn’t have given her a gift. Sara though had. Her gift had been that painting, but with Amanda gone now it was best with her parents. It was where it belonged. Silently she picked up the first package, one of the smallest.

It turned out to be a little charm bracelet, a tiny gold faerie sitting on a quarter moon glittered in the rooms light. Sara smiled at the trinket. It had been from one of Amanda’s little brothers. Of course his mother would have chosen it, neither were old enough to have this delicate taste. It wouldn’t be until she went to bed that Sara discovered the sixth present laying on her pillow. This one from Amanda herself. “She didn’t forget” the artists whispered, reaching out to run her fingers over that silk soft printed paper. Very gently she began prying away the paper from its tape closures.