Into the Painting

Jennifer Parker had just sat down with her tea when a loud bang startled her.

She looked at her mother, who seemed just as surprised, and then behind the couch.   A ball rolled slowly across the carpet, bumping up against the wall.  It was her son’s.  Across the room, she spotted the five-year-old standing with his hands in his pockets, head down.  He had trouble hiding his smile.

Jennifer frowned.  She placed her cup on the coffee table and stood up.   “Joshua Parker!  What did I tell you about throwing balls in Grandma’s house?”

Josh shrugged.  The red in his face deepened and he began to giggle. 

“You think that’s funny?  Look what you did to Grandma’s picture!” 

Joshua looked at the wall behind him where a painting hung lopsided.

Jennifer was about to say something else when her mother, Marylyn, waved a hand.  “Jenny, please,” she said, getting up.  “Don’t be such a meanie.”  She then winked at Josh and headed for the titled artwork.

“Mom, I’ll get that.  Your hip’s bothering you.  Sit down and drink your tea.”

Jennifer caught up to her limping mother, but Marylyn wouldn’t let her help.  “Jenny, I’m fine.  Really.” 

The younger Parker watched her mother reach over and adjust the frame.  She could see a hint of sadness in her eyes.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, sweetie.”

“Come on, I’m twenty-five, not five.  Don’t tell me nothing’s wrong.”

She saw her mother glance uneasily at the painting and then away.  Jennifer looked at it, wondering what had triggered the mood change.  This wasn’t the first time she’d seen her mom act this way.  Now that it registered in her mind, Jennifer stepped closer to examine the picture. 

“Dad did this, didn’t he?” she asked, studying the brushstrokes. 

Marylyn didn’t say anything.  Jennifer took that as a yes and inched closer.  She’d seen her father’s paintings before--all impressionistic in the style of Renoir.  She remembered spending whole Saturdays with him in the basement while he painted.  This one was an oil on canvas, something he must have done years ago.  Jennifer had never paid attention to it--until now.

“Wow,” she said, examining the details.  The work depicted an outdoor seating area where a dozen people, mostly women, sat under a gazebo-like covering, enjoying an afternoon of tea and assorted treats.  One woman--the center focus of the painting--was staring at the painter.  She was young, perhaps twenty-something, with blonde hair and blue eyes.  Next to her sat another woman, a brunette, with a small child. 

            Jennifer was so entranced that she nearly jumped when Joshua moved past her.  The boy grabbed Marylyn by the hips and looked up.  “Watcha looking at, Grandma?”

            “Just something Grandpa did.”

            “She’s pretty,” he said, pointing at the blonde.  “Did Grandpa like her?”

            Marylyn patted her grandson on the head.  “I sure hope so.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s me.”

            Josh made a silly face.  “That’s you?”

            “Oh, my goodness,” said Jennifer.  “It is you.”

Josh giggled.  He then ran off to play. 

Jennifer, surprised by the revelation, looked at the blonde woman in the painting again and then her mother.  The resemblance was incredible, even with the impressionistic strokes.  She traced the contours with her fingers.  “Dad’s work is amazing.  And you, Mom--you’re like an angel.” 

Her mother didn’t say anything.  She watched uncomfortably as her daughter lost herself in the details of the painting. 

Jennifer studied the brunette woman seated next to Marylyn.  The woman was her mother’s age and quite striking.  Despite the thick dabs of paint, Jennifer could see the brown of her eyes and expression on her face.  She wore a frilly, white dress, and the girl looking up at her, a purple one.  There was something remarkable about the girl.  She looked like a younger copy of the brunette.  Jennifer found herself twirling a tendril of her own dark hair as she examined the girl’s brown, wispy locks.  Why was she so intriguing?  Then Jennifer saw the white teddy bear clutched in the girl’s hands and gasped. 

“Jenny, I think--” started her mother, but Jennifer didn’t hear her.  As if sucked into the painting, her surroundings suddenly became distant. 

She felt blinded by the sunlight, caught up by the smell of Early Grey tea, and enthralled by a woman’s voice.  Looking up, she saw brown eyes regarding her.  “What is it, Princess?”

She smiled at the woman.  “Nothing, Mama.”

Jennifer jerked backward.  The sun was no longer shining, the tea no longer fragrant.  She was staring at a depiction of a memory.

“It can’t be,” she whispered.  When she looked at her mother, she saw a pale face and trembling lips.  Marylyn seemed distressed.

“Mom, what’s going on?  That woman--who is she?  And why do I feel like I was just remembering what was in the picture?  How’s that possible?”

“Oh, you know Dad…full of imagination.”

“Mom, come on.”  Jennifer pointed at the painting.  “That’s my teddy bear, isn’t it?  And the girl--I looked just like that when I was her age.  I’ve seen pictures.  Is it my imagination or was I sitting exactly where she was?”

“Jenny, please.  You know your father.  He paints what’s on his mind.  He probably saw you--”

Jennifer shook her head.  “Mom, stop.  Are you telling me the girl isn’t me?  Yes or no?”

Marylyn looked deeply troubled.  She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

“Mom, yes or no?”

“Yes,” Marylyn said.  “That’s you.”

Jennifer tapped the painting.  “I want to know who that woman is.”

Again Marylyn hesitated.  Jennifer could see the conflict in her eyes, the welling of tears.  To see such emotion was quite unexpected, especially over a painting, but there was something her mother was hiding--something important.  Finally, after a moment of tension, a tear streamed down Marylyn’s left cheek.  She couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Oh, Jenny, we didn’t want to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“That”--Marylyn struggled with the words--“that you’re not our biological daughter.”

Jennifer couldn’t react.  She was paralyzed.  It was as if the world was shutting down around her.

“Jenny?”

No response.

Marylyn gently touched her shoulder.  “Jenny?”

Jennifer jerked back.  “Don’t!” 

Jennifer turned.  She was shaking.  She needed to sort things out.  Everything was a blur of confusion. 

It was almost a minute before she spoke again. 

“I can’t believe this.  You’re telling me I’m not your real daughter.”

Marylyn let out a soft “yes.”  

“And I thought I was just crazy, looking in the mirror all those years, thinking, ‘Why am I so different?’ What an idiot!”

“Please, Jenny.  Don’t be upset.  We didn’t want to say anything.”

“But why?  Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because your real mother made us promise.  She didn’t want you growing up thinking you didn’t have any family or that you were adopted.  It was her dying wish, baby.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She had cancer.  We were the closest thing to family for her.  Near the end, she asked us to take care of you.  ‘Take care of my little Princess,’ she said.  How could we not do that?”

“I don’t understand.  All these years…”

            “I know, sweetie.”

            “And if I hadn’t asked right now, when would you have told me?  Never?”

            Jennifer crossed her arms and looked away.

Marylyn took her daughter’s hand.  “Oh, Jenny, don’t you see?  Your father and I never wanted to hurt you.  We love you.  You’re our daughter.”

A tear rolled down the young Parker’s face.

“Jenny, look at me.”

“What?”

“Please don’t be mad.  Please.” 

Jennifer stared for a moment.  Then she placed her hands over her face and began to sob. 

Marylyn let her daughter cry.  She placed a comforting arm around her.  “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“Oh, Mom.” Jennifer pressed her face against her mother’s shoulder.  “I don’t care.  I really don’t.  You’ve never been anything but the best mother.  It’s just overwhelming, you know?”

Marylyn squeezed back in earnest.  “I know.”  She then kissed her daughter’s cheek.  “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”   

Just then Josh ran up.  He tugged on his grandmother’s blouse.  “Grandma?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“What about me?” he asked with open arms.

Marylyn laughed and turned to Jennifer.  “And what about the young man?  Should Grandma let him in?”

Jennifer wiped her tears and smiled.  “Yes, I think your daughter would like that.”

Marylyn gave Josh the thumbs up.  He was so excited he practically knocked her over as he leaped forward.  But Jennifer scooped him up and he was hanging from her hip in no time, reaching out for his grandmother.

“Grandma!”

Marylyn embraced her grandson, then her daughter, and finally all three held on to one another for the longest time.  To Jennifer, it felt just right.  She was with her family, and nothing could be more important.

THE END

©2006 Steve Pantazis. All rights reserved.