Chapter Twelve
“You do show us the most interesting art,” Diane told Liz as we stood in front of a painting of a large woman in the San Antonio Museum of Art.
“At least this one I can understand,” I said. “Not like that stupid cow we saw in New York. I just wish she didn’t need to be quite so naked.”
The description attached to the wall next to the painting, told us Yemayá was a central painting of ángel Rodríguez-Díaz’s Goddess Triptych.
“Doesn’t look much like an angel,” I said.
“I think that’s the point,” Liz said. “We’ve worshiped the perfect for so long, that we’ve forgotten that the first humans honored what really mattered, the nurturing earth.”
“The original earth mother,” I said.
“Uh-huh,” Diane muttered.
She and I could relate in a way that Liz would never understand. We’d both inherited the more stocky build of our dad’s family, while Liz was blessed with the leaner frame of our mother. As time had taken its toll, we’d all seen our bodies sag, our skin become rife with blemishes, and the spots that ached multiply.
As I studied the painting, I began to enjoy the depiction of an angel closer to my body shape than the willowy angels of many churches I’d been in.
“We need to keep moving,” Liz said. “There is so much to see.”
“Let’s take our time,” Diane said. “We can always come back.”
“That’s right. We’re here for a longer time than usual.”
“It’s going to go faster than you think,” Liz said. “Especially now that Rodrigo is occupying your time.”
“Hush your mouth,” I said and moved on to the next painting.
Ever since my outing with Rodrigo, which had ended with ice cream sundaes at his favorite place, my sisters had been needling me. I ignored them, telling him—and myself—that it was just for fun while we were in the area. When we left, I would wave a happy goodbye.
However, I was beginning to suspect that wasn’t going to be the case. Something about this man was very attractive. It had nothing to do with his looks or his money.
It had to do with how he treated me.
Ugh. I don’t think the old-world courtesy his parents had instilled in him and how much was because he liked being with me, I hadn’t figured out yet. But even the few times we’d been together made me want to be a better person, a better woman for him.
And maybe for myself.
Liz let up as we explored the paintings and sculptures of the special exhibit, which included some of the figurines from the museum’s Mediterranean collection. These squat rounded female figures echoed the heavy flesh of the painting.
What would it have been like to grow up in a society that felt female bodies didn’t have to be Twiggy-thin to be beautiful?
We moved on to other art collections. Liz had opened my eyes to art. I’d begun to take more than a cursory look at paintings, studying them for technique and color. I’d especially enjoyed some of the fiber art museums and historical collections we’d been to see. Creating clothing from the natural world had been going on for millennia.
“Uncle,” Diane finally said. “My eyes are blurred over.”
“We’re going to have to come back,” Liz said. “I can’t believe how much there is to see here.”
“What I want to see right now,” I said, “is lunch.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Diane agreed.
We left the museum and strolled down to the Riverwalk where we chose a place that promised hearty salads, soups, and sandwiches. We managed to snag a table not too far from the river where we could watch the water flow, along with the pedestrians.
The warm Friday afternoon, one of the last days of January, had drawn a fair number of people to the city center. I was beginning to understand why. The city was a pleasant blend of cultures with a heavy Spanish influence that could soften the harsh edges of any American city. The pace seemed slower here, and the colors more vibrant. I was enjoying my time here more than I had anywhere else.
Was that because of the man? Or the city?
I pushed the thought away to concentrate on what my sisters were saying.
“I think we should do a little shopping,” Diane said. “We haven’t gone shopping in such a long time.”
“Yes,” Liz said. “I could definitely use some new things. Maybe something to put on so Walter could take it off.”
“Now that’s a really good idea,” Diane said .
“You girls are over-sexed,” I commented.
They laughed.
“You’ll see,” Diane said.
“Ugh. I don’t think of Rodrigo that way at all.” I wasn’t sure I was capable of thinking of him like that. The last few years with Michael had deadened any sexual interests I might once have had. And we’d never really gone at it like rabbits.
Diane and Liz grinned at each other.
I ignored them.
We moved on to other things, discussing the art we’d liked and didn’t, comparing the museum to others we’d seen, and talking about the regular stuff of life, like what to have for dinner this week. Once again, I was grateful for Liz’s culinary skills. Once this was all over, I was going to have to figure out how to make something other than meat and potatoes. While I’d enjoy cereal for dinner now and again, I didn’t think a steady diet of it would be healthy, or any more economical than beans and rice.
Maybe I’d fashion a greenhouse next to the southern wall of Liz’s cabin. I could see myself harvesting lettuce, tomatoes, and other vegetables in the spring, summer, and fall.
We finished up our meal, then dutifully followed Liz to a nearby mall. I surprised myself by being caught up in the idea of shopping for clothes.
I’d always gone protesting and screaming when it came time for school shopping, even though it was the only time I got some new clothes. Play and work clothes had all been hand-me-downs. Even when I was grown, I’d wear something until it was threadbare before deigning to step foot in a clothing store. And even then it was usually someplace like Target for a new T-shirt. A big shopping spree took me to Murdochs for a pair of sturdy jeans.
Now I found myself staring at an abundance of blouses and shirts. It would be nice not to wear the same thing every time I saw Rodrigo. He’d asked me to go riding again, so there was one more time we’d spend together before he tired of me.
Whoa! my brain yelled. Why should he get tired of me?
That was the problem with marrying the boy I’d fallen in love with in high school. I didn’t have any other experience to compare it to.
Michael had gotten bored, but so far, Rodrigo seemed eager to spend time with me. Since I was leaving soon, it made sense. I wasn’t going to be around long enough for him to lose interest .
But was that even true? I wish I knew.
Not for the first time, I wished life came with a roadmap so I could see the future depending on the choices I made.
Now I had to make a choice about a blouse. Or maybe two. T-shirts were more practical. Maybe one of each.
Before I knew it, I had a bundle of clothes in my arms, including another pair of capris.
Once I started removing my clothes in front of the mirrors, I remembered what I hated the most about clothes shopping. All that trying on.
Staring at a body that would never be considered for any magazine cover.
Then I remembered the painting in the museum. The hell with it. I was going to look as good as I possibly could, instead of regretting I didn’t look like someone else.
While I rejected most of the clothes, I came out with a couple of blouses, some fancy tees, and the capris.
Liz and Diane, far more relaxed shoppers than I would ever be, were still trying things on.
A pretty forest green dress caught my eye. It was a simple sheath, but actually had some styling to it, rather than being the straight sack designers were continually trying to push on women. The hem was full of angles, rather than being flat across the bottom.
I studied it, then found it in my size.
When I tried it on, it was as if I’d become a new person.
A new person who badly needed a hair stylist.
The dress, and the little bit of makeup I’d put on that morning, made me look and feel younger.
The hair, which I’d been wearing the same way for decades, made me look like any other older woman—nondescript and forgettable.
I didn’t want to be forgettable anymore.
At some point, without my sisters, I’d see a hair stylist.
And maybe visit a makeup counter.
~ ~ ~
Exhausted, we returned to the RV by mid-afternoon, fell into our respective beds and took naps. A half hour later we roused ourselves and began to review our purchases, exclaiming over each.
We’d all bought several items of new clothes, tested new fragrances at the cosmetic counters, and explored several of the little shops. I even tried on a pair of pumps to go with my dress, but put them back as soon as I realized I’d read the price tag wrong.
After we put our clothes away, I mixed up a pitcher of G&Ts, and we prepared ourselves for cocktail hour. I was the last one outside where I found my sisters, heads together, whispering about something.
I had the strongest feeling it was about me.
“What’s up?” I asked, trying to keep it light.
They looked at each other, and then Diane spoke. “We’re worried about you.”
“Me? For heaven’s sake, why? I’m having the time of my life.” I poured drinks for them, then took a generous amount for myself before settling myself in my chair.
“You weren’t happy for years before Michael died,” Liz said gently. “And now … well … you’re almost too happy with Rodrigo.”
I laughed. “You are never satisfied,” I said. “You two kept saying I was going to fall for someone. Well, I haven’t fallen for Rodrigo, but we are having a damn good time. He’s fun to be around. When we pack up and leave, I’ll wave goodbye, and that will be that.”
“What happened with Michael?” Liz asked.
I was tempted to tell her none of her beeswax, but the concern on her and Diane’s faces stopped me.
If I told them, we’d be able to share the burden. I wouldn’t have to carry that awful secret anymore.
But revealing the problem would bring me so much shame, I didn’t think I’d be able to bear it.
I shook my head.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said. “Not now. Probably never. So how about you let me have my fun with Rodrigo while I can. I promise you, I’ll be careful. I’m not going to fall for him, cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.” I made a cross over my heart, and they both smiled at the childhood promise we used to make to each other.
“Okay?” I asked.
“Okay,” they chorused.
We held up our glasses, clinked, and took a drink.