Free Intimate Portraits by Cheryl B. Dale

Laney’s too-generous,
overly-busy heart. “None of the others are coming up?”
    “No, Candela and Blanca couldn’t
get off work and Rosalina has to study for finals next week, poor baby. And
Eddie and Cristina,” she added, summing up the whereabouts of her younger
siblings, “went to Florida with Mom.”
    “Since when does Reseda go to
Florida in December?”
    Laney, through nibbling the ham,
used a knife in efficient strokes. “One of her older cousins from Mexico City
is visiting her daughter in Tampa, and Mom left today with the kids. She nagged
me to go, too, but we’ve had this cabin rented for months and John needs the
break. Let’s put the turkey and ham on a plate and let everyone make their own
sandwiches, okay?”
    “I’ll wash the lettuce.”
    “Chips, canned drinks, onions,
cheese, what else? Oh, bread. And lettuce and tomatoes.”
    “And pickles. Gotta have a pickle
with a sandwich.”
    “I’m right here.” Rennie had come
in quietly. “Sour face and all.”
    It was hard not to light up
around him.
    “Edible pickles,” Autumn said. “Not
curmudgeon pickles.”
    “Need some help in here?” Victoria
was on Rennie’s heels.
    Autumn dived into the
refrigerator to search for lettuce.
    “Yes.” In the kitchen, Laney became
a drill sergeant. “Victoria, get out the plastic plates and cups on the shelf
there. Rennie, silverware’s in that drawer. And open that pack of napkins over
there. Mayonnaise and mustard are in the fridge. So’s the potato salad.”
    “I knew there’d be drudgery
involved,” Rennie muttered, but, accustomed to indulging the women in his
family, he obeyed with his usual good humor.
    Autumn arranged the lettuce,
pickles, and cheese before adding sliced tomatoes and onions to the platter. “Should
I mayonnaise the bread?”
    “Let us do our own.” Rennie didn’t
look up from putting ice in plastic cups. “We’re capable adults.”
    “Oh? Do you know something I don’t?”
She was rewarded by the slow lift to one corner of his mouth.
    After supper, Autumn joined the
others in a raucous game of Chicken Foot dominoes under the tall ceiling of the
cabin’s great room. Red and gold flames played and flung their iridescent glow
through the glass doors of a wood-burning stove. Scents of hot chocolate and
cider and roasted marshmallows floated overhead.
    When the game was done, and
people were yawning and stretching and making drowsy noises, Autumn moved to
stand by herself in front of the fire. The lovely scent of burning cedar filled
her nostrils.
    She shouldn’t have come. Not with
Rennie here.
    Her mood made her the first to retire
as he and Victoria engaged in low conversation interspersed with chuckles. She
brought her toiletry kit downstairs and brushed her teeth in the one bathroom
before going back up to the room she would share with Victoria. Even after she
lay down on one of the full beds, she couldn’t sleep. Victoria’s clear tones
blended with Rennie’s low murmur to drift up the stairwell.
    What was he saying to make
Victoria laugh like that? And what was Victoria saying to keep him talking?
    Autumn put her pillow over her
head.
    Not until midnight did Victoria
creep into the bedroom and climb into the bed beside Autumn’s. Soon, Rennie’s
soft footsteps came up the stairs to the room across from theirs.
    Autumn, trying her best to block
out his movements, wished the walls weren’t so thin. Light from his room
filtered beneath her door, momentarily glazing the coverlet and wall but
vanishing before bedsprings across the hall creaked.
    She would give anything to have
been born a different person. Gregarious, vivacious, personable. Unafraid.
    As Jane had been.
    Like Victoria was.
    ****
    Around midnight, as Autumn
pretended to be asleep in Helen, an Atlanta police car slowly cruised through
the strip mall housing the studio. When it disappeared, Sam Bogatti, parked
across the street, wrapped his gum and stuck it in his litter bag. Then he
cranked