The Painted Table(92)
1975
I made this egg into a bunny. Look, Mom, he’s got ears and a cotton tail.” Seven-year-old Grace holds up her creation for Saffee to admire. The Norway table, covered with a vinyl cloth, is littered with containers of dye, stickers, crayons, and other essentials for Easter egg decorating. The children’s enthusiastic creativity gives Saffee great pleasure.
Nels is napping, but she knows he would not want to miss out on the traditional fun.
Saffee asks Daniel, age nine, to keep an eye on Benjamin, three and a half, whose enthusiasm matches his brother’s and sister’s but, of course, not his skill. Saffee goes to her dad’s room to see if he has awakened. His face looks peaceful; how can she interrupt him?
Thinking how pleased she is that he is part of the household, she stands for a moment watching his chest rise and fall. When Saffee and Jack bought the four-bedroom home eight years ago, they thought there was a possibility Nels would move in with them. Soon after Grace was born, he did.
For a moment, her eyes scan the room. On the bureau is the yellow ceramic dancing girl Nels gave Joann in her happier days. Saffee wonders what he thinks when he looks at it now. Her thoughts are interrupted by screeching protests in the kitchen and she quickly returns to investigate.
A cup of purple dye somehow was spilled across the table. Daniel, rather than minimize the mess, is smearing his fingers through it and exuberantly flicking purple dye onto his sister and brother. In a flash Saffee yells, “Daniel, stop! Stop! Stop!” Grabbing his arms, she glares at him. “Daniel, that’s hateful! What are you doing? Are you crazy?” Her outburst surprises the children, and later prompts her own discouragement.
That night when the children are asleep, Saffee and Jack hide the eggs. When they finish, Saffee sinks into a chair and relates the afternoon’s unfortunate scene.
“Daniel reminded me of Mother, madly smearing her hands and arms through paint on that same table. I could almost see her spattering colors through the air with those Jackson Pollock results. The memory stabbed right through me, Jack, and before I could think, I lost my temper.
“He wasn’t being hateful, just childish,” Saffee continues. “He thought I was mad about the mess. But I guess some old table angst reared its ugly head and I fell for it.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Saffee. I don’t suppose unpleasant memories ever completely go away.”
“Maybe not, but I don’t want the children to be affected by my sensitivity to the past.”
Jack bends down and tilts her face up to his. “You’ve learned that lesson very well and I’m proud of you. But you’re human—a wonderful wife and mother who can make a mistake.” She gives him a grateful smile and relates how she and all of them cleaned up the mess together. Both Daniel and Saffee had sincerely apologized.
Jack wraps his arms around her. “You might even get Mother of the Year award!”
“Ah, go on,” she chuckles, rolling her eyes.
Sunday morning Saffee sits at the Norway table, reviewing the Easter dinner menu. The table, without yesterday’s paraphernalia, is the stunning centerpiece of the spacious room. She makes a note to ask Jack and Kyros to add all three table leaves before dinner.
She’ll put the glazed, spiral-cut ham into the oven before the guests arrive at one o’clock; scalloped potatoes are under way; April is bringing her broccoli cheese casserole and homemade rolls. Did Kyros say he’s making baklava? She smiles. April’s lovable Greek husband of nine years never passes up the opportunity. Grammy Andrews promised two lemon meringue pies and a fruit salad; the green salad can be tossed at the last minute.
What else? Oh yes, the coffee, and the molded Easter bunny chocolates she couldn’t resist at a candy store.
She pauses to admire the white trumpeting blossoms in the center of the table. Jack has brought her a lily every Easter since the table made its debut in the dining alcove of their rented duplex twelve years ago. Yesterday the family took an Easter lily, the symbol of resurrection, to Joann, as they always do. Joann’s condition has improved little since she was admitted to the nursing home. Several times a week, month after month and year after year, Nels sits by her side. He whispers sweet love words and massages her hands and feet.
“Your dad’s a prince,” an aide more than once has commented to Saffee. “A lot of the residents here go for months without even one visitor. We’ve never seen a man as loyal as Nels.”
School pictures of Saffee and Jack’s three children smile down from a bulletin board, and the walls display their artistic endeavors. When they visit, the children sing or recite poems and Bible verses. They can only hope Joann enjoys their efforts.