Ben woke to a clatter from the kitchen. No dreams, no restless sleep; he felt good and slipped into his robe. The clattering continued the whole way down the hall. When Ben got to the kitchen he found old drunken Uncle Henry opening and closing cabinets and drawers. "Where do you keep your damn frying pan boy? How's a man supposed to start his day without some eggs and fried potatoes? Well, anyway, I figured out your fancy dancey coffee pot. You want a cup?"
"Sure," Ben said and took a seat on the outside of the island. Uncle Henry brought a steaming cup to Ben. He stood there, half leaning over the island and staring at Ben with clear awake eyes that seemed to want to know something.
"Oh, yeah, the frying pan. It's down and to the right of the stove there." And Uncle Henry was off in search of a means to make his sustenance for the day. "You feeling okay, Uncle?" Ben asked when Henry started cracking eggs on the side of the pan with precision. Was this really the same man they picked up at the airport the night before? There's no way this man isn't practically comatose. Ben could see - almost expected, to tell true - Henry banging around looking for a beer and a mouthful of aspirin. But here was this man who appeared to have been up for some time. This man that only wanted breakfast and then a mission, a job, an objective for the day. Night and day, Uncle Henry was like night and day.
"Yeah, bud, feel great. So what's on your plate for the day?" he stirred the eggs and started adding a shake of this and a pinch of that. "I imagine you're a busy man these days."
"No, I still get weekends off," Ben replied and sipped his coffee. Good coffee, it connected with his core or his soul or some such. Undoubtedly, Henry used the exact same ingredients that Ben did but this brew tasted of something more, something good and simple. He took another sip and sat back in his seat. "You had something you wanted to talk to me very badly about Uncle. Yesterday, on the phone you sounded scared. What's going on?"
"Not now," Henry slid a pile of potatoes and onions into the frying pan. "After we eat, after we get out in the air." Now, Henry absently stirred the breakfast mix and thumbed a cigarette into the corner of his mouth. He did this as one would do something without thought, an automatic thing. And there was the matches, oh goodness.
"Uncle, I don't-" but the thing was glowing already and the match thrown in the sink. Hisssss.
"We'll eat, we'll get out. Who was that woman you were with?" Henry dragged deep on his cigarette. Ben grimaced.
"That was Ms. Anita. My, uh, my assistant."
"Oh, bummer dude. I hoped you would say she was your fiancé. She's a good one. I could tell that right off." Henry frowned around his cigarette and stared off into nothing middle ground somewhere just past the smoke curling up around his nose and in front of his eyes.
Ben chuckled through his nose. "With all due respect, Uncle, I'm surprised you remember much of anything from last night, much less intuit a person's nature who you've never met."
"Yeah, well..." Henry turned back to the stove and cut the flame off. "How 'bout we go get her and go to the park or something? Walk a bit, and talk."
"Alright, I'll give her a ring right after breakfast."
Henry turned to Ben with a bowl heaping with scrambled eggs-bacon-potatoes-onions-cheese. Ashes drifted down the front of his shirt, Henry didn't seem to notice. He was looking right at Ben through the smoke. "I know what you're up to."
Just that, he could have been saying, 'Here you go'. He set one of the bowls in front of Ben and seated himself across the island and began to eat in big mouthfuls. A look of satisfaction on his face.
Ben put the dishes in the sink, went back to his bedroom to shower and change. He got out his cell and put it back in his pocket. He went around to his nightstand and opened the third drawer down, the bottom drawer, he moved some things around and retrieved his other phone and dialed Anita.
"Anita, it's Ben," he said when she picked up.
"Good morning," he could hear the sleep in her voice.
"How are you?"
"I'm... good. You? It's Saturday, did I forget something? I'm sorry last night was just..." Anita trailed off. Her head swam with memories and the notions of emotions. Especially, that weird babbling Henry did in the limo on the ride home.
"Anita, Anita, it's okay. Perfect, you're perfect. Can I send a car to pick you up in a few?"
"Uh, yeah, sure Ben. What's going on?"
"Just want to take you out with Uncle Henry and me. We'll go to the Avalon Gardens, they're having a glass exhibit right now."
"Your Uncle, he's... okay, he's not sick?"
"Surprisingly, no."
"Okay, sounds like fun. What time?"
"Two hours? Is that good for you?"
"I'll be ready Mr. S- Ben, I mean," Ben heard the smile in her voice. He was smiling too.
----------
The Avalon Gardens were having a glass exhibit. Very abstract colorful things. Very big things. Ben and Henry casually walked around the outdoor section of the collection. Ben had to call ahead and close the Gardens before they got there. He didn't want to have to talk another guard down from arresting Henry and Henry made it clear he intended to smoke where ever he damn well felt like. They didn't talk about much. Henry told him he knew about the properties Ben had purchased, he didn't ask why, just stated that he knew about it. Land deeds were public record, after all, Henry had the right to look that stuff up and had lived in Collin's County his whole life. Ben supposed it wasn't too far a stretch that Uncle Henry had heard about some of this from his drinking buddies down there. Ben checked his watch and they walked the path that would take them to the front entrance. Towering spools of tie dye colored glass, some as thick as the trunk of an old tree, some thin as thread, made a kind of wall on the last leg of the path that led out. It was just about time for Anita to arrive.
She's a good one, Uncle Henry said. When Ben saw her standing there looking at the first few pieces of art he couldn't agree more. Ben coughed in his throat, "Anita, over here," he waved her over to where they were standing. Uncle Henry was lighting up. "Hey there sweetheart."
"Hey, goodlookin'," Anita said, as naturally as Uncle Henry smoked his cigarettes.
"Anita, so very nice to meet you," Henry's cigarette was behind his back, the cloud of stink vanished instantly. He held her delicate hand in his rough one and kissed the back hers'. "Again," and he kissed her hand again.
Ben was stunned at Henry's spontaneous charm. He could have been Clark Gable or even Sinatra for a second there. Now, the cloud of smoke was back and the front of his shirt had ashes on it. "Have uh, have you seen this artist before," Ben paused, he was off balance again, "Anita?"
"No I haven't. Just the beginning is amazing." Henry grunted. Ben didn't think it was the art Henry scoffed. More the price tag this stuff carried. Henry always thought beauty should be free. He had paid dearly for his.
"Uncle, you okay. Want to put a cigarette out for a few minutes and see the inside stuff?"
"I reckon," he stamped out his butt on the ground.
Inside was shadowy and perhaps would have seemed big if not for the towers of giant glass work outside. Uncle Henry's breathing quickened slightly. He didn't like the dark corners. He pulled a cigarette slowly out of his pack, Ben was about to be polite but harsh with Henry but then he just let it dangle from his lip. Henry was nervous.
They passed from room to room, deeper into this old mansion turned museum. Ben broke the silence, "I told Anita about the purchases Uncle. I've kept them off the company books, any books really."
"I know, boy, I know," and Ben could hear in Henry's voice and manner that he wasn't handling this well. What the hell, Uncle Henry's losing it, Ben thought.
They reached the last room of the exhibit. The darkest room in the exhibit, here the bright tie dye colors and sparkly shiny lively skin of the glass gave way to grays and blacks. A stripe of white here, a corkscrew of bubbles in a pointed spire there. The little lighting came from nowhere and everywhere. Like a hidden full moon. An eerie white light, a dead white, a color that housed no life no warmth. Anita and Ben looked down and realized they were holding each other's hand. Then they looked around them, like children do when they suddenly afraid someone saw them, they felt like someone saw them. But no, they were alone. Henry wasn't there. They were holding hands and apparently their breath, too. When they let go of each other, they released their expanded almost burning lungs. Something tickled in their minds, something way back in the dark where even this dead white light couldn't reach.
When they emerged into the light of the day their eyes didn't take long to adjust, the display rooms got darker as you went in, when you came out they got lighter and lighter so that when you reached the outside you wouldn't be shocked by a bright day like this one. There was Uncle Henry, he was coughing around the cigarette between his lips.
"Sorry, Ben, just got a little spooked," Henry said.
"That's okay, do you need to see a doctor?" Ben asked and tapped the left side of his chest.
"No, no, I'm fine, really. Don't worry about me."
"You said something else on the phone," Henry started shaking his head left and right, back and forth. "You said a name, you said-"
"Now you listen here, boy. You stop right this moment and you listen!" Henry's voice boomed out of him and though they were outside, it seemed to fill up the space, a tangible thing, Uncle Henry's voice caused Ben and Anita to step back, their eyes wide and startled. Henry started coughing again, when it seemed he couldn't stop, Ben put his hand on his Uncle's back. Henry shrugged him off. He was bent at the waste, he looked up at Anita from under his eyebrows, he brought his left hand up and pointed a shaking finger at Anita. "You're a," hackhackhack, "good," hackhack, "one."
Anita and Ben helped Uncle Henry out of the Avalon Gardens and into a limo. At least this time he wasn't drunk. Ben was silent, he'd never seen Uncle Henry so mad. Uncle Henry was furious when Ben got close to saying Adam's name. He didn't even understand 'Adam' it tickled something in him but Ben couldn't understand it at all. Henry said he knew what Ben was up to. He flipped out at the mention of Adam. And what about the 'sweetheart' and 'goodlookin' and hand holding and stuff. Ben was really off balance. He didn't like this. They got in the back of the limo. Henry's coughing fit seemed to be tapering off.
"I've got to swing by the office for a minute. You want to see my office Uncle?" god, Ben felt like a ten year old child when he said that - you wanna see what I made, hu hu hu.
"Sure, Ben, I'd love to see your office. You've built so much." And that was all Henry said. The ride wasn't long, the Gardens weren't far from the Avalon Tower.
They rode the elevator to the top floor in silence, Ben and Anita stood on either side of Henry. No hand holding. They walked down the corridor to Ben's office. "Hey, Uncle, I've got this piece of art on my wall in here," Ben jiggled his keys in the slot, "those glass sculptures were good, but this. Man, you've got to see this."
The door swung open. Anita hadn't seen the picture before either. When her eyes rested on it she felt like a second set of eyes rolled up in her head. A warm feeling started in midsection. It radiated to the ends of her hair, the tips of her toes tingled and hands flexed wide, fingers stretching. Her eyes closed now, into the darkness she went. She felt like Alice down the rabbit hole, only Anita's rabbit hole was an abandoned mine shaft. Dark and back and further still.
Ben stared at the framed picture, the pristine glass - except where he had run his fingers across it. He didn't see Anita's slack jaw or closed eyes. He didn't even notice right away when his Uncle Henry crumpled to the floor.
When Henry saw what was protected behind the glass and surrounded by the frame, a black profile silhouette of a young boy, his vision went black all over. He was blind when the stroke hit him and sent him to the floor. He uttered one word. A name:
"Adam," came struggling out of Henry's throat as all the lights started going out.
Ben was lost in his 'art' and his unnaturally wide grin. Anita was lost in the darkness, the warm velvety blackness inside her, relishing in the release of everything, falling through the nothing that made the world when you really boiled it all down. When you made it simple, the dark, tingling, nothing was the end result of everything, nothing mattered. Then there was something. Way down here there was something. A white something maybe, a full moon white. Unlike the lighting in the back room of the glass exhibit this light had a life to it, a warmth. It came clearer and clearer to Anita. A little patch of white in all this black. A little girl perhaps. A white night gown, yes, that's what it is. The girl's back is turned but Anita can see the long blonde, almost white, hair falling down this girls back. Anita can see the lacey parasol umbrella she holds in her right hand. Just before the girl turns - Anita thought her a statue for a moment - Anita sees the blue of the ribbon in the girls hair, that's where the warmth is coming from. Anita knows this as one knows things in dreams. The life, the warmth comes from that ribbon and when the girl turns and faces her, Anita sees that the warmth comes also from the girl's big blue eyes. Huge blue eyes, somehow bigger than the darkness that vibrates and tingles in a cold dead way around her. And even the tears streaming down this girls face radiate a warmth that is love at its core. Perfect love and warmth and beauty leak from those huge blue eyes. The girl doesn't move her lips but Anita can hear the whisper as if it came from inside herself (and in a way, it does, doesn't it):
"Eve."
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