The Picture

The brick house on Water Street had been in the Starnes family for five generations. On the second floor, in the bright yellow bedroom that ran the length of the house, Linda Starnes woke up feeling blurry.

She lay in bed after another restless night going over a list of things she wished were different. Linda noticed a water stain in the corner of the ceiling, paint peeling from that corner. She picked up a hand mirror and saw a new wrinkle by her left eye and the familiar tiny scar on her chin.

Even her husband Huck had changed. He had never been thin, but now he sported a round belly that showed beneath his shirt. He was, by nature, happy. But these days he was always fretting over accounts from the hardware store.

Otherwise, life seemed static. Even the Wednesday afternoon card parties at the church were too predictable, Jan Bach bossing everyone around, Sandy Crum unable to bluff her way through a hand of cards, and Candy Larson repeating weak jokes from late night television.

She was tired of everything. Early in her marriage, sleep had never been a problem. She and Huck had lain in bed talking and laughing. If sleep didn’t come, she’d imagine the two of them hand in hand as they floated above the trees, flying together through the night. It was a strange fantasy considering she was afraid of heights. But Linda imagined them seeing their reflections in small still lakes and following the silver lines made by flowing rivers below. There were just the two of them playing in the night sky, everyone below deeply asleep.

Linda used to love to lie in bed in the morning and think of what the day might hold, the chance encounters she might have at the grocery, what new thing her daughter Hannah might say or do. Now all she thought about was running into Jasper Macks.

Jasper had come to Perryville to capture small-town life on assignment for Look magazine. It was hard to imagine anyone would be interested in their little town, her mundane existence. Her own life was so small she felt she could stick it in her apron pocket.

He wasn’t handsome exactly. Jasper had a beard, wore tweed jackets, and had a Boston accent. But he listened closely, and when he spoke it was as if she were the most interesting person in the room. He seemed awake to life, interested in the world around him in a way that gave him a special spark.

“How do you do?” he’d said, walking up to the long table in the church basement.

She looked up at him, strawberry Jell-O salad perched on the edge of her fork, and said, “Hi.” A girlish giggle escaped from her lips, as if she had just seen David Cassidy.

When he moved to the next table, she felt ashamed, but Huck was biting into a leg of fried chicken and hadn’t noticed a thing.

Then she saw Jasper at the grocery, photographing Shayne Phillips as he stacked a pyramid of green bean cans. He lowered his camera and nodded as she passed. She was struck by the quiet, confident way he carried himself.

Today he was going to take pictures at the church card party. Nothing was smaller than a church card party. Linda looked into her closet. Capri pants in black, white, and gingham, a flower print shift dress, a red A-line. She settled on some white pedal pushers and a plum-colored peasant blouse that when they were first married had prompted Huck to tell her she looked like Sophia Loren.

She sat down at her makeup table and pulled out a tray with a palette of colors. When she was younger, she had loved putting on makeup, the feeling of the cool foundation sliding over her skin, covering imperfections and leaving her face new, soft brushes adding dabs of color.

Linda enjoyed teaching Hannah her tricks. The power of concealer. The importance of curling your eyelashes. The necessity of moisturizer. The relative merits of matte versus shiny lipstick. At 13, Hannah had already started to look more like a woman than a girl.

She had given up wearing makeup herself when Hannah became a teenager. She felt like someone nudged out of line before her time. It was Hannah’s turn to shine now and no one seemed to notice the trouble she took to look good anyway. She was curious if she could recapture her old self, the confident one, who occasionally turned heads.

“What are you doing?” Hannah stood behind her. When their eyes met in the mirror, Hannah looked curious.

“Just freshening up.”

“It’s been ages since you’ve worn makeup. Why now? Are you and Dad going to the fancy restaurant in Lexington?”

“No, just looking for a change.”

Linda swiped an applicator on purple eye shadow in a small dusty tray.

“This stuff is all dried up. Let me get mine,” said Hannah.

Hannah picked up the small trash can and whisked Linda’s old cosmetics into the trash. Linda was taken aback but didn’t have the energy to protest.

Hannah came in with one of Huck’s old tackle boxes that had been scrubbed clean and filled with makeup.

“Let’s try this peach color. It will go great with your brown eyes.”

Linda closed her eyes and felt the brush graze her eyelids.

“You don’t have to do this, dear.”

“I want to, Mom. But you have to clue me in, are you getting fancy for that new photographer who has been roaming around town?” Hannah let out a laugh as if that were the most absurd thing she could think of.

“No, but he is taking pictures at the card party today,” Linda said.

She ran a deep red stick of rouge across Linda’s cheeks as they flushed. Hannah caressed her mother’s cheeks, stroking the brush across them so that the color would extend just below her cheekbones for definition.

“Oh my God, Mom. You are blushing. Should Dad be worried? Do you need a chaperone?”

Linda suppressed a smile as Hannah applied her lipstick. She held out a tissue and Linda blotted her lips.

“Go get ’em Tiger,” said Hannah.

“No need to be so sassy,” said Linda, feeling a kind of excitement that she associated with high school dances.

* * *

She felt energized as she walked into the church and down the stairs. The church basement looked different. Jasper had set up tall lights in the corners of the room and someone, probably Jan, had hung paper streamers from the ceiling. The hall smelled of coffee and brown sugar, and the air was filled with the nervous chatter of women.

Linda looked for Jasper and when their eyes met, she was the one who nodded this time.

Jan, Sandy, and Candy were sitting at the center table. Jan wore teardrop earrings that dangled from her earlobes. Sandy was in a new dress — flower print with a bateau neckline that showed off her collarbones. Candy wore a mini dress in black and yellow.

“Don’t you look nice,” said Jan.

“Likewise. It seems we all cleaned up for the occasion,” said Linda. “So, ladies, what are we playing?”

“Swedish Rummy,” said Candy with a wink. Candy thought anything European was very sophisticated.

“You mean Crazy Eights,” said Jan.

Jan dealt out five cards to each player, setting the deck in the middle of the table with a six of spades face-up.

Linda moved to discard a six of hearts and heard the click of Jasper’s camera. She willed herself to stay still and focused. She thought about the lens and how it concentrated everything, shrinking the big noisy room to a manageable frame.

It was her turn again. She could feel someone behind her.

“Ah, a game of Rockaway,” said Jasper.

Candy touched her hair and tugged lightly on her earring.

“How are you, Jasper?”

“Hello, Miss Larson, Mrs. Bach, Miss Crum, Mrs. Starnes.” He nodded, his camera dangling from his neck. He had made a point of learning everyone’s names on his first day in town.

“You can call me Linda.”

“Of course, Linda.”

To hear her first name cross his lips gave Linda a frisson of pleasure.

“How are your photographs coming?” asked Jan.

“Very well, thanks. I’ve gotten some good shots today and I’m looking forward to the county fair.”

“You can get a shot of the barkers and sideshow freaks,” said Candy.

How crude, Linda thought, a creeping shame coming over her. It was too late to change tables, not that she ever would, a move like that in this town would be a seismic shift.

“What are you going to do with all these photos?” asked Sandy, turning pink as they all turned to face her.

“They’ll feature in a magazine as a look at America during the Bicentennial.”

“Who’d want to look at pictures of Perryville?” asked Linda, who regretted her words as soon as they were out of her mouth.

Japer tilted his head at her. “There is beauty everywhere,” he said.  “Can I get one more shot?”  It felt like a compliment and Linda sat up taller in her seat.

Together the women turned toward the camera. They leaned in, touching shoulders. Jan’s eyebrows were raised. Sandy looked down demurely. Candy looked directly at the lens, shoulders back, and a wide smile on her face. Linda gave a sad smile, her head turned slightly to the side, as if she were trying to catch a glimpse of something just beyond her vision.

After Jasper left, the women resumed their card game, but with less interest.

“You’d think we’d never seen a man before,” said Jan. She let out a joyless laugh.

“Call me Linda,” said Candy, as she tossed her hair.

Everyone laughed but Linda.

“There is something to say for novelty, right Linda?” said Jan.

“You know what they say, ‘The closer it is to the truth, the more it hurts,’” said Candy.

“Enough. I’m not in the mood today,” said Linda.

After a while they stopped playing altogether and wandered to the refreshment table. They returned with lemon cake and seven-layer bars on paper plates and with cups of hot coffee.

“What’s the story with Jasper Macks?” asked Candy. “Married, single, divorced, widowed?”

“He seems so serious. I think his wife died,” said Sandy. “Probably something tragic like a car wreck.”

“You watch too much TV,” said Jan.

“I think he’s a rounder with a woman in every town. The photos are just a way to meet girls,” said Candy.

“Typical,” said Jan. “You’re awfully quiet, Linda.”

“Broken heart? Or maybe he was just bored to death with his life and wanted a change in routine,” said Linda, pushing away her half-finished lemon cake. Even sweets were unsatisfying.

“Hmm,” said Jan.

“He’s just a man. Who happens to own a camera,” said Jan with an authority that silenced the women until someone brought up a rumor about Miss Allen, the librarian who rented the Sunderland place outside of town.

* * *

It was Friday evening, the first night of the county fair. Linda, Huck, and Hannah sat around the kitchen table finishing a dinner of sloppy joes, creamed corn, and green beans.

“We have to go, honey. It’s a family tradition,” said Huck.

Hannah looked at her mother, hands together dramatically.

“Please, Mom. Please, Mom. Please, Mom. Please.”

The idea of the fair wore Linda out. The noise, the smells, everything about it seemed repulsive. But she knew Jasper would be there. She was torn.

“I’ll win you a prize. You’ll have fun. You’ll see,” said Huck.

When Hannah went upstairs to get ready, Huck looked at Linda and his brow furrowed.

“Is everything all right, honey? You seem out of sorts, and I’ve felt you tossing and turning at night.”

“I’m just a little restless,” said Linda. “Don’t you ever get tired of things in Perryville?”

“Not really,” said Huck. “We’re healthy. I have a good job. We’ve got nice neighbors.” His gratitude made her feel ashamed.

“Don’t you ever dream of anything … more?”

“I don’t.”

She’d known Huck wasn’t a dreamer when she married him. It was his steadfastness that had appealed to her after growing up with an unreliable father. She knew he would build a nice life for the both of them. He was kind. But then it seemed the duties of daily living, the accounts and errands and chores built a wall between them. They talked of those things and nothing else until he seemed like a stranger to her, and a stranger like Jasper held mystery and the potential for something exciting.

“If you want to talk about anything, I’m here,” said Huck. He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.

Linda went upstairs and put a dab of perfume behind her ears, realizing it had been years since she had done it. She tried to tell herself that she was doing it for herself, but she couldn’t escape the thought that she might run into Jasper.

* * *

Linda and Huck stood in front of the milk-bottle booth. Huck held the first ball. He brought it close to his eye and moved his arm back and forth.

“I’ve got it, honey. You just pick out a prize because old Huck is ready to go.”

Not one of the cheap stuffed animals held the slightest appeal for Linda, but she pointed to a purple teddy bear with luv embroidered on its belly.

Huck wound up and tossed the ball at the milk bottle pyramid. He hit the bottles in the middle where they touched. Nothing. He threw harder at the same spot, still nothing.

“Let me,” said Linda.

She aimed for the base of the bottles and missed. She thought about how tired she was of almost everything in her life. She aimed and threw with all she had. The ball made contact and the bottles fell.

“Lady wins a prize!” the barker yelled. Huck looked crestfallen. She didn’t have the energy to stroke his ego.

Linda selected the purple bear and handed it to Huck. He held it to his chest like a young boy looking lost. She gave his shoulders a squeeze.

“Are you wearing your Jean Nate? I haven’t smelled that in years,” said Hank, looking pleased.

Hannah felt her shoulders tense up.

“Let’s go look at the cows. That’s your favorite,” said Linda. She sighed as they moved in the direction of the barns.

Hannah was roaming the midway with her friends. Huck was engrossed in watching a pipe-smoking competition. Looking for cotton candy, Linda walked away from the farm pavilion toward the noise of the midway when she saw Jasper Macks approaching. He was wearing jeans and a cambric shirt, his camera hanging around his neck.

“Hello Mrs. Starnes.”

“Call me Linda, for God’s sake. You’ve seen me eat and play cards. You’ve taken my picture.”

He laughed. “Hello, Linda.”

“Hi, Jasper. I’m looking for the cotton candy booth.”

“Can I come along?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll walk here and protect you from the traffic.” Jasper moved to the outside of the sidewalk.

Linda smiled. She hadn’t felt this way since she was in sixth grade and Mike Marshall held the water fountain for her while she took a drink. She felt a secret thrill at the thought that her neighbors might see her with Jasper. She didn’t care what they thought as long as she could have this time with him.

They walked quietly amid the music of the rides on the midway, the calls of barkers, and the screams of the people on the rides. The air smelled of fried dough and popcorn. They stopped in front of a wooden stand selling cotton candy.

“Two please,” said Jasper.

Linda moved to pay, and he held up his hand.

“The least I can do after you let me take your picture.”

Linda accepted the cone of pink cotton candy. They stood together and he tilted his cotton candy to hers.

“Cheers.”

They each plucked a strand of pink sugar from the cone and put it to their lips.

“What does this remind you of?” asked Jasper.

“Summer Saturdays, swimming in the lake, fireflies rising from the grass,” said Linda.

“Hot afternoons, playing by the shore, lying under the trees,” said Jasper.

They laughed and started toward the midway. Anyone could see them there, but she was having so much fun that she decided to risk it. They were, after all, only talking, she told herself.

They walked among the crowd, all of them Linda’s neighbors, some of them friends. Linda noticed the care the older people took as they walked on the uneven ground and the casual way the teenage couples flung their arms around each other.

She could see the raised eyebrows and sidelong glances at her strolling next to the stranger in town. It made her feel bold, like someone besides herself, and she liked that.

“You’re missing some good shots here,” said Linda.

“I thought I’d put the camera down and just see for a while.”

“There is plenty to see here,” said Linda.

Then she saw Candy, decked out in a blue gingham dress and straw hat, someone’s idea of country chic.

“Oh, Mr. Macks, Linda, what are you two doing out strolling the midway together?”

Now it would be her and not Miss Allen who was the subject of gossip.

“Linda was kind enough to keep me company,” said Jasper.

Before Candy could invite herself to join them, he stopped in front of the Ferris wheel.

“Shall we, Linda?” asked Jasper. “I hear the view up there is fantastic.”

Candy looked dejected. She gave a small wave and headed off. Linda was sure she was cooking up all kinds of tales about her and Jasper.

She hesitated for just a moment, remembering her first Ferris wheel years ago and her terror at being up high. But Linda wanted to feel something. She wanted to be closer to Jasper. She nodded. Jasper helped her into the wooden seat. As the carnie put the bar in place, the seat swung back sharply and Linda gasped. He lay a cool, steadying hand on her shoulder.

She felt herself flush. She wanted to raise it to her face, to run his hand over her hot cheeks, to rest it on her forehead, use it to cover her eyes.

She watched as they rose above the trees. She looked down on the tops of the rides and food stands painted with stars and circles in bright colors, as if they knew what a spectacle they would make from above.

As the Ferris wheel made its way around her heart was beating fast. She turned her head toward Jasper’s shirt, inhaling the smell of soap and Old Spice.

“It looks different from up here, doesn’t it?” he said.

“Yes.” She raised her head to look at him, her voice caught in her throat. “I don’t know why I’m …”

“It’s okay,” he said.

When they stopped at the top, she looked down at the hills surrounding the town, the silver line of the river that ran west of town, the tiny figures below.

She looked back at Jasper. They were so close.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

They looked into each other’s eyes. She saw compassion and curiosity. She saw a stranger, not the man she had fallen in love with at 17, who had held her hand at her father’s funeral and taught Hannah how to tie her shoes.

It was then she knew it wasn’t him she wanted, but a new way to see what she had. She wanted to be back on solid ground with her steadfast husband, to look into his kind blue eyes, to see him smile at her as he had so many times, to kiss his lips, to fall in love with him again as she had hundreds of times.

The moment passed. She exhaled.

“A picture?” Jasper asked.

“Sure,” she said.

“You take it.” He held the camera out.

She looked through the viewfinder and pressed the button, her hands shaking. Town no longer seemed small, but part of a vast patchwork of hills and countryside dotted with other towns.

As the wheel made its way down, she thought of Huck and Hannah — their life together, Hannah looking more like her each day and the smile Huck gave her from across the room at parties — and she felt a rush of gratitude.

The Ferris wheel made its way around slowly, and Jasper asked her if there was any place special he should see while in Perryville. Linda suggested he hike to the Fire Tower trail in Blenheim Woods and see the old quarry at Thompson’s Lake.

When they got to the bottom, Jasper helped her out of the seat.

“Thank you,” she said.

“My pleasure.” He nodded.

She watched him walk away. As she looked at his back, she tried to form an image of his face, a mental snapshot of his earnest smile, blue eyes, and close-cropped beard, but the details were already getting fuzzy in her mind.

“There you are, hon. I was afraid you were stepping out on me,” said Hank.

Linda walked over and gave him a hug.  He was still holding the bear. Hannah came by with a group of kids and they gave it to her. They watched together as Hannah and her pack walked away, looking more grown than childlike. Then they looked at each other as they had so many times, both proud at what they had created together.

* * *

Some months later, Linda was surprised to get a package. There was no letter or return address, only her photograph, her town seen from above. The curve of the river. The tiny people below, two of them hers.