Always a Shy Man

A story by Joe DeBritz. This is #32 of 52 short stories that will be written and released every week this year.

There were two candle sticks at the table they sat at. The wicks were still connected—these conjoined twins forged together—where they were dipped in wax until they were animated as the light and energy sources of yesterday, today ornamental at best, currently unused, sitting on a table in translucent green stands, connected umbilically. Sloan sat upright, her gold jewelry would have glimmered in the candlelight, instead it occasionally reflected the one overhead light and the lamp that was behind her. Louis slumped a bit in his chair. He was pushing short ribs around his plate. Sloan had made an intricate dinner of beef short ribs and polenta, but Louis was having a hard time eating. He saw that she was staring at his plate. Sloan looked into his eyes, they were dull and green.

Louis was always a shy man. His fears were outlined by the wooden crossbeams of his soul. The last thing he wanted was for people to really know him. He was forty-seven and he’d met Sloan a few years ago. She, seven years his junior, found her way into his life through perseverance at a level which he could not understand.

“You don’t like your dinner?”

“No, honey, it’s delicious, I’m just tired.”

“Too tired to eat?”

“I guess so.”

Sloan had high cheek bones, red hair, and light blue eyes. She was a beautiful woman, but she had a severe look to her. She’d been married before she met Louis. Her and her ex were together for ten years. They tried to have children for about six of those years. After hundreds of doctor’s visits they found she could not get pregnant. Richard, her ex-husband, refused to try certain treatments, as he was a devout Catholic. He never forgave Sloan for not giving him children. He began to drink steadily over the final years of their marriage. She saw all the signs of the cracks in their relationship. Until one day she came home to a naked woman frantically trying to put her clothes on in their bedroom, and Richard—drunk—also naked, hiding in the closet, like a child. She couldn’t even muster the strength to be angry at him.

“I’ve been thinking about those paintings,” Louis said to Sloan as he started to clear the table.

“Which paintings?”

“The ones by Monet, the cathedral at all the different times of the day.”

“The Rouen Cathedral.”

“Exactly.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“I don’t know, I mean, I guess the point of them was to see the differences.”

“What do you mean? The effect of the light?”

“Sure, yeah, the effect of the light, and they are all beautiful, but isn’t the point for them to be a series, to be viewed together?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well that’s what I was thinking about.”

“How they should be viewed together?”

“Yeah, and that they never will be. I know some of them are together, but they are spread out in museums throughout the whole world. They will never all be together at once.”

“You don’t know that.”

“It’s a fair assumption.”

“I suppose it is.”

Louis did the dishes in silence as Sloan opened her book and began reading on the couch. She was having a hard time focusing on the words, nothing was making sense. She kept having to go back and reread a paragraph or a whole page. She could see Louis’ back from where she sat. He was busily and dutifully completing the clean up. They had an agreement, when one cooked, the other cleaned up. Louis was the type of man who always completed a task when he started it, no matter how long it took.

On their honeymoon in Maine, Louis decided he wanted to finish this long book, Sloan realized now she couldn’t remember what it was. She felt, at times, he was more interested in the book than her. She learned from the first trip together as a married couple what she should expect, and that was worth commending Louis over. He did not waver in his attitude. He was consistent.

Sloan looked down at the page on her book. The novel she was reading featured a married couple. They had this amazing back and forth dialogue that she loved to read but found unrealistic. Novels often feature sparring dialogue between couples, with humorous back and forth, playful mocking, and an apparent lack of sensitivity from both spouses. She thought back to her previous marriage with Richard. They hardly had any dialogue in the last three years. Let alone playful, witty banter. Richard was very sensitive but he wasn’t aware of it. Louis wasn’t sensitive, he was too busy with his thoughts.

Louis was washing the dishes and deep in a reverie of a stream he hiked at with his father in his youth. He was an only child, and the dad would sometimes take him to a local nature preserve, called Dotting Kill Nature Preserve near where they lived in Williamstown, Massachusetts.

“Can we go off the trail,” he remembered asking his father.

“Sure, let’s follow the stream.”

For whatever reason, the idea of walking around in the woods along the stream, off of the trail, was the most exciting thing for Louis. He was in a complete state of ecstasy just looking at the babbling creek below him. He bent down and looked at the water flowing over the perfect, smooth pebbles. He plunged his hand into the ice cold water. He picked up one of the stones and felt it. Its surface felt like the finest sandpaper. He picked up another, this one white and smooth, it felt like porcelain.

His father had passed away about four years prior. He always thought back to those times they spent in silence. They’d walk and explore together, content to spend time without speaking.

Louis washed the last plate, the water flowed over the top of it as its smooth face wiped clean. Sloan insisted on him using the dishwasher, but sometimes it just made sense to wash the dishes when you had dinner with just two people. That way, it was done.

He walked over to the couch where his wife sat, reading her book.

“Hey,” she said.

“How is that?” Louis pointed to the blue book in her hand.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s supposed to be good.”

“I mean…it is good, but it knows it’s good, and that, sometimes I don’t like that.”

“Maybe you just know it’s good.”

“I think it’s just okay.”

“Right, but you know other people think it’s good, so maybe you’re ready to prove them wrong.”

“That’s not my personality.”

Louis paused, he looked at Sloan in the eyes. His eyes narrowed a degree and he smiled.

“You’re right, it’s not. I must be projecting.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I know you didn’t, I’m just saying, that’s something I might do.”

“To be a contrarian?”

“Less of that, more just like, if I build up expectations around something, especially something new, I get disappointed.”

“Not with something old?”

“Less so. When something has stood the test of time, I’m more easily convinced. I say, yeah, I get it, I get why it stuck around.”

“I see.”

“With something new, I’m like, why are people fussing so much over this? Why did I convince myself that this would be great?”

“You’re an optimist.”

“I don’t see myself that way.”

“Well, you are.”

“That’s a nice thought”

Sloan felt her phone vibrating, she looked at the screen, she didn’t recognize the number.

“Who could this be?” she said.

“Probably spam.”

Something told her to answer the call.

“Hello,” she said.

Louis looked at her, she started to look upset at first—angry. Her eyes narrowed. Then she said, yes, yes, speaking. Her eyes grew wide. She looked intense, as intense as Louis had seen her before. She rose abruptly and walked out of the room. He heard her speaking in the bedroom but he could not make it out. Louis picked up her book and started to thumb through it. He was getting anxious, she had been in the room for a solid five minutes.

Finally she came out, looking distressed.

“What, what is it?” he finally pleaded with her.

“It’s…Richard.”

“What about him?”

“He’s dead.”

“Jesus, how?”

“He was…shot…murdered they think.”

“Who called?”

“His lawyer.”

“Why would his lawyer call you now?”

“Well it was all just finalized he said, and I’m in the will”

“You’re still in his will?”

“I guess so.”

“That’s insane, after all these years.”

“Yeah,” she stared off into the hallway. She did not meet Louis’ eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“I was wondering that myself.”

“You’re not sure?”

“I think I feel nothing for him. I really do. But I’m shocked. He was found in a strange hotel. They think it was some kind of brothel.”

“Wow,” was all Louis could muster.

“I guess it makes sense, considering how I found him.”

“I guess.”

“I can’t believe he’s dead.”

“Do you know what he’s leaving you?”

“He said a long time ago that he inherited gold from his grandfather. He said he was going to pass that down to our kids, when we were still trying to have them.”

“Like physical gold?”

“Physical gold,” she said, and nodded.

“And he never had kids?”

“Not that I know of. We haven’t spoken since the divorce.”

“So maybe you got some gold.”

“Maybe.”

“Could be worse,” Louis said.