Chapter 14
Mr. Ponder handed Mrs. Gidley a list of four more names. She ever so slightly rolled her eyes.
“Mr. Ponder, you have to admit. This is ridiculous and dangerous, approaching total strangers like this. One of these days a policeman or an angry husband is going to show up, and we’re going to be stuck right in the middle of it.”
The venerable consultant did not argue.
“Anita, I’ll admit it’s unusual. But I’m proofing all of his letters to make sure they’re appropriate. And seven o’clock in broad daylight keeps him pretty safe.”
And so, bestowal number five.
Intuition and appearance (“faces that have suffered loss”) eventually led Theo to the portrait of Kendrick Whitaker.
Theo learned from Shep that the young man worked as a custodian at the university.
It was a job for which he was grateful, in which he took pride, and to which he brought an admirable combination of punctuality, diligence, and excellence.
Working night shift meant he was invisible to most of those who benefited from his work (he usually left before they arrived at their jobs), but his efforts were noticed, admired, and appreciated.
He had a serious, quiet demeanor that could easily be, and sometimes was, mistaken for sullenness. Beneath the exterior, however, for those able to pierce it, he was a thoughtful and gentle man.
Kendrick rarely patronized the Chalice (there was free coffee at work, after all), but when he did, he said little, rarely smiled, and always ordered a medium brew of the day with room for cream.
Mrs. Gidley sent Theo’s handwritten letter through the university’s custodial department.
Dear Mr. Whitaker,
You and I have never met in person but I saw your portrait recently at the Chalice coffee shop. I bought the portrait and would like to give it to you as a gift. You can do with it as you please.
I understand you work at the university on the night shift, on weekdays.
I would like to meet you at the fountain in the median across from the coffee shop to give you the picture. I will be there at 7:30 this Thursday morning. It should only take a few minutes.
I know this might seem a bit strange. For some reason, I feel that the picture should be with you. If you wish not to have it, I will take good care of it.
I look forward to meeting you.
Just so you’ll be able to recognize me. I am an old man. I will be wearing a brown jacket and a green cap.
Wishing you the very best.
Every blessing,
Theo
At seven a.m. on Thursday, Theo was sitting at the fountain. The spouts were idle, and the water was calm enough that coins were distinguishable beneath the surface. One red plastic cup, a souvenir from the previous night’s reveling, floated lazily on its side.
To the east, thin, gilded strands of melon-pink clouds highlighted the horizon above buildings along Broadway.
Theo imagined flamingoes in repose. He sat facing west with a view of the university administration offices.
The town was waking up. The Chalice, no doubt, was already pouring generous amounts of coffee.
Theo looked up and studied the stately old oaks near the fountain.
He pondered how a trunk could become so gnarled. It must have taken a great force to torque such a massive object. Or had some small force early in the tree’s life dictated its course of growth?
You can bend a twig, but not a tree.
Theo tried to imagine how an artist might draw this particular trunk.
It has the look of a twisted towel. Or perhaps a human neck caught mid-scream, muscle and veins taut and protruding.
Yes, the old oak is a permanent scream, a memorial to some horror it might have witnessed long ago.
It would take a skilled artist to capture the soul of such a tree.
Theo looked higher up at the branches. They too provoked questions. Was their symmetry achieved by design, the work of an arborist, or was it purely the result of nature? How did they find water in the midst of so much pavement?
A passerby could not have imagined the traffic of ideas filling the old man’s mind as he waited for Kendrick Whitaker to appear.
The portrait was beside Theo on the bench.
His hands, fingers laced together, rested in his lap.
He glanced from time to time over his shoulder at the large clock on a church spire, barely visible through the buildings of east Broadway.
He was mildly nervous, just as he had been for the prior meetings.
At seven thirty, Kendrick had not appeared.
By seven forty, no one. By seven forty-five, Theo wondered how long he should wait.
He began to think of reasons why Kendrick might not be able to show.
Sickness? Maybe he didn’t work last night.
Maybe he had to work a bit later than usual.
Was the letter not delivered? No, any reason but that.
Mr. Ponder had assured him it would make it into the hands of Kendrick’s supervisor and eventually to Kendrick himself.
I will wait until eight o’clock.
And then there he was, rounding the corner of Light Street and Broadway.
Theo remained seated until Kendrick was just a few yards away.
At that point, he stood, smiled, removed his hat, and bowed.
The young man, head slightly down and hands in his pockets, stepped toward him.
Theo held out his hand. Kendrick looked at it and paused before realizing it was the offer of a handshake, which he awkwardly accepted.
An hour earlier, Kendrick had stood at a window in the university admin building, looking down at the old man.
The absurdity of Theo’s letter, the disquieting thought of having been stalked by a stranger who only gave his first name, and the probability that this was all a hustle or scam had driven Kendrick to the sensible decision not to accept the invitation.
But he had walked to the window a second time and then a third, vacillating between fear and fascination, from skepticism to curiosity.
“Maybe I’ll go.”
He was tired. He was eager to get to the hospital. And so, seven thirty had come and gone.
And seven forty.
And quarter till.
Kendrick had clocked out of work at his regular quitting time but remained at the window in the admin building to study the solitary figure at the fountain.
A frailty or a sadness or something else about Theo softened Kendrick’s apprehension.
He left the building and crossed Broadway as the nearby church bells chimed eight times.
He approached Theo cautiously, looking in every direction to ensure that no one else was party to the unusual meeting.
“You are Mr. Kendrick,” Theo said.
It was part question, part declaration. The young man nodded at the old man and then looked away.
There was a brief uncomfortable silence before Theo filled the vacuum.
“Mr. Kendrick, I know you must be tired after working all night, but thank you for meeting me here.”
Kendrick nodded, but only glanced at Theo from the corner of his eye.
He caught the accent in the old man’s speech.
That fact increased, by a couple of degrees, the oddity of the already-odd encounter.
But Kendrick’s uneasiness was somewhat tempered by the gentleness of the voice and the slight bow that Theo maintained as he spoke, as if the young man were someone worthy of respect.
Kendrick continued looking away, his head tilted slightly with one ear turned toward Theo.
Morning traffic and street sounds competed with the old man’s voice.
Theo took note of the young man’s features. Medium height. Strong build. Prominent eyes, restless. Small mustache. Strong hands. One tattoo on neck: “Scooby.” Work clothes, pressed and clean. Nervous.
“Mr. Kendrick, I wasn’t sure you would come this morning. If I had been you,” there was a tone of teasing in Theo’s voice, “I think I might have stood at that window in the administration building and spied a bit before coming down to meet an old man with only a first name.”
Smiling boyishly, Theo pointed to the admin building, second floor, to the very window from which Kendrick had studied him minutes earlier.
Obviously, Theo had not only been looking at branches when he had tilted his head back to gaze at the oak trees.
“If I had seen an old man like me sitting at the fountain, I don’t think I would have come. ”
Embarrassed and rattled that he’d been spied on while spying, Kendrick did not return Theo’s smile. If anything, he felt even more nervous. Theo regretted his ill-timed attempt at humor. His tone became serious.
“But Mr. Kendrick, thank you. I’m glad you’re here.”
The young man’s eyes blinked and narrowed. Should he smile or walk away? Another quick glance gave him some assurance that this Mr. Theo was addled at worst, sane and sincere at best. Kendrick remained silent and wary.
“Well, here’s your portrait.” Theo picked up the wrapped rectangle and held it out to Kendrick. “Thank you for letting me give it to you.”
“I can’t pay you for this.”
“Nor would I take it if you could, Mr. Kendrick. This is a gift. It has been in the Chalice for weeks now, but it belongs with you, or with someone you love. Please, I think you’ll like it very much.”
Kendrick said nothing, still uncertain of Theo’s intent or the meaning of the moment. He reached out reluctantly and then, as if having touched a live wire, took a step backward.