Jolt Read online

  Cover Photograph by Kristi Paonessa

  Roberta M. Roy Photograph by Lorna Tychostup

  Cover & Book Design by Kathleen Massaro

  Map by Roberta M. Roy

  JOLT a rural noir. © 2009 Roberta M. Roy. All rights reserved.

  Hard Cover:

  ISBN 13 978-0-9764104-0-9

  ISBN 0-9764104-0-0

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2009908887

  Soft Cover:

  ISBN 13 978-0-9764104-1-6.

  ISBN 0-9764104-1-9

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2009937676

  This book is a work of fiction; and the places, events, and people are all products of the author’s imagination; any similarity between places, events or people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Alva Press, Inc., PO Box 2089, Poughkeepsie, NY 12601

  SAN 256-6915

  http://alvapressinc.com

  Roberta M Roy, PO Box 2085, Poughkeepsie, NY 12601

  http://robertamroy.com

  To my mother

  Roberta Edison Milan Roy

  and her mother

  Marie Tresa Schieck Milan

  and all the other mothers who might have written books

  had it not been for their love of children

  and the time it takes to raise them.

  contents

  Preface

  ONE…Bits and Pieces, Fall 2019 through February 2020

  TWO…Rising Spring

  THREE…Reaching Out

  FOUR…Summer and Into Fall, 2020

  FIVE…Autumn 2020

  SIX…Winter Again 2020

  SEVEN…2021: A New Year and Moving On

  EIGHT…Spring Returns 2021

  Acknowledgements

  preface

  My heart goes out to all of us

  so deeply scarred by the shock, loss, and devastation of 9/11

  as we seek out sense from

  the world’s chaos,

  And most especially to my son, Stef,

  whose special son, Spencer,

  had his release from

  New York Hospital

  to

  Westchester Medical Center

  delayed

  on

  9/11/01

  ONE Bits and Pieces

  1. Fall 2019: Jump Start

  Armored by his state of innocent optimism, on Monday Thaw prepared himself for the abrupt happenstance of having been assigned a professorial role at the New Carlton State University. In keeping with North Country custom, the school had a nickname—Nick-Sue.

  Thaw had always worn the world of art close to his skin, but standing before a class as an art instructor on the campus in Bain would be something new. He’d done what he could to prepare. New shoes and clothes: he’d ditched the plaid shirt and scrubby jeans and even gone so far as to buy a tweed sport coat. He glanced at himself in the mirror. The white shirt and orange and blue tie heightened both the tan of his skin and the hazel in his eyes. He liked that. Now for the quick-change props: he stuffed into his knapsack an old shirt, some somewhat paint be-spattered pants and shoes and a heavy paint-marked tan lab coat. From the cabin kitchen area he grabbed two apples, a banana, and a thermos of black coffee. Into the outer pocket of the knapsack he slipped some clean brushes, drawing pencils and a soap eraser. Ready as he’d ever be, he left the cabin, closing the door but leaving it unlocked.

  There was no need to whistle Tufty into the van. With a wag of her tail she’d followed him out, and when he opened the van front passenger door, she jumped immediately into the seat, ready for whatever. Over the dirt road they bumped, managing their balance with some subtle and some not so subtle weight-shifts. A quarter of a mile down the hill Thaw pulled to a stop. His friend and neighbor, Lem-me, was waiting at the window. Emerging from the door of his cabin, the older man pulled open the passenger door.

  Tufty knew the drill. She jumped down, wagged her tail and looked up for Lem to pet her. He responded immediately and then, smiling, looked up at Thaw, closed the van door and spoke through the open window. “Nice day for a ride.”

  “Let’s hope,” responded Thaw. Their smiles and mutual stiff-handed waves were those of friends-in-cahoots.

  Thaw put the van in gear, faced forward and continued down Butternut. The rearview mirror offered him a last glance of Tufty prancing ahead of Lem into the cabin.

  Eventually Thaw picked up 3N South and he arrived in Bain in good time for the 8:00 a.m. appointment he had with Milfy. Dr. Milford Owens was the Art Department Chair. Ever since Owens had called on Friday, Thaw had been unable to avoid applying the teen tactic of thinking of him as Milfy. Somehow that lent a more doable aspect to having to jumpstart himself as an art professor.

  Milfy had called Thaw to fill an emergency faculty vacancy. And emergency it was. Thaw was to come in for the interview on the same day he was to start. Monday. Today. September 19, 2019. Unexpected surprises. Story of Thaw’s life. Although it wasn’t always pay-dirt he hit.

  Milfy stood, extended his hand and came from behind his desk. The two exchanged greetings and settled into the department chairman’s walnut imbued surroundings. As they talked, Thaw felt a calm inexplicably settle over him. He had taken an immediate liking to Dr. Owens. Thaw wondered if he was also from North Country. Owens’ slow, steady pace reminded him of home.

  The course outlines which the doctor offered him were highlighted for each course’s time of meeting, room, and course number. “Well?” Dr. Owens’ eyebrows raised slightly. “Are you up for meeting your first class?”

  Thaw smiled. “As up as I’ll ever be.”

  With that, Dr. Owens stood and while making small talk, stewarded Thaw from the office into the hall. Together they moved quickly from the faculty tower across the campus to the open door of Thaw’s first class. Although the room was empty of inhabitants, student works-in-progress lined the floor and hung on canvas-covered stretcher frames at various angles around the room. Thaw associated the room with the art classes he had taken before enlisting. Then he had been confident that if he played it right, Uncle Sam would fund his post-community college education. Except Thaw’s tour in the Middle East and Africa, with a little help from hashish, had blown his mind. Coming back had required more than a plane ticket home. Once back he moved gradually through pot and alcohol to what was now only an occasional glass of wine. As his head had cleared, his commitment to painting albiet not to formal studies had been re-established, but not so that to his formal studies.

  Still, here he was. Standing in the middle of his own classroom.

  He should have been apprehensive, but instead he felt lucky and exhilarated.

  The pleasant, clear-thinking department chair was a definite plus. Thaw faded back to the sound of the man’s voice.

  “I’m sure you will be fine, Theodore…Thaw. The students will orient you on small matters and anything that you feel would be beyond them, you can talk about with Charles Martin across the hall or Mary Elaine Stewart next door to you. They expect you and have offered to provide you any support you might need. Charles prefers to be called Chuck, but Mary Elaine prefers to be called Mary Elaine. I wrote their names and phone extensions on the back of one of the outlines.” He paused, calmly looking Thaw in the eyes. “Anything else we need to talk about before I leave you?”

  “No, Dr. Owens. Not right now.”

  The chairman offered Thaw his hand, which Thaw accepted, and dry-palm to dry-palm, they wished each other a good day. And then Milfy was off, leaving Thaw standing there, his backpack dangling from his shoulder, the course outlines clutched unread in his hand.

  Thaw raised the course descriptions to within reading distance, registered again what they were, and put them on the desk. His backpack he hung on the coat stand behind hi
s desk. Then he took off his tweed jacket and placed it on the hook beside the backpack. From the backpack he pulled his lab coat, which he put on over the white shirt and tie. He pulled the gum from the pack’s side pocket and stuck it in the lab coat pocket. The apples and art implements went into the long desk drawer. The thermos he stood on the floor under the desk.

  On a superficial level Thaw felt as if he were playing house or, more appropriately, school, but on a deeper level he was very aware that he was now a teacher and at that, adjunct though he might be, an art professor. He checked his watched and then raised the shades in the room to let in the morning light. Within short seconds its warmth flooded his being and his mind wandered back to that first morning when his friend–no, adopted father, Lem, had warmed him with his gift of the album. The scene played out like a video clip before his eyes. It had been one of mornings when he first began to act upon his plan to come and establish himself as an artist here in Bain, the hometown of his estranged girlfriend, Natalie.

  Tufty whined and wagged her tail in anticipatory response to the knock on the door. Thaw wiped his brush and formed it into a neat, flattened shape, placed it on his artist’s palette and pulled inward on the door. He found Lem smiling on the other side.

  “Good morning, Lem. C’mon in.”

  “Hey there, girl! Happy to see old Lem? Atta girl.” He petted Tufty with his right hand. In his left he held a photo album.

  “Whatcha’ got there?” Thaw queried, nodding his head toward the album.

  “Brought you a present. You’re going to like it.” He offered the album to Thaw.

  “Wait ’til I clean my hands.”

  Lem placed the album on the table, squatted to be closer to Tufty and began again to stroke her head. Thaw crossed the room, rubbing loose the paint on his hands as he did. He moved toward the sink, glancing at the album in interest a few times. At the sink he soaped up, rinsed away the paint-tinted lather and dried his hands. A comfortable silence filled the room.

  “Now I can take it.” Thaw accepted the album with both hands, carried it to the table, and pulled out a chair for himself, indicating one for Lem as he did so. “Make yourself comfortable. Care for some coffee?”

  “No. I’m fine. Been up since six.”

  Thaw sat himself at a slight angle at the side of the table nearest the end where Lem sat. In this position both he and Lem could view the book’s contents. He opened the album slowly. He began to turn the plastic-covered pages. “You did this, Lem?”

  “I thought you might like it.”

  “Oh, I do. Wow. These are great!”

  “I figured that if you are going to be applying for a professional teaching position at Nick-Sue, you might as well look like a professional.” Lem viewed the album with Thaw, his hand resting on Thaw’s shoulder. As Thaw approached the final pages, Lem pulled back and stood to take in with pride both the man and the book.

  Thaw closed the book and smoothed his hands across the cover. “Wow. What a production!” He looked up. “I thought you would just do me some nice 3 × 5’s or at most some 5 × 7’s but 9 × 12’s! Wow. These are great! My work is definitely looking good!”

  “I’d hoped you’d like them.” Lem smiled broadly in reflection of Thaw’s pleasure.

  “Boy, do I!”

  Thaw began perusing the book again. “I think Rory—he’s the framer—will also be impressed. It must have taken you days!”

  “The toughest time was getting first the light and then the exposures just right so as to stay true to your colors. These are as close as I could get.”

  “I can’t believe how close they are.” He closed the book and the two stood as one. With an open hand, Thaw affectionately clapped Lem on the shoulder. “And here I thought I was going to get a bunch of drugstore developed pocket-sized photos.”

  “So when are you going down?”

  “I was thinking about this Thursday.”

  “So soon. Lucky for you I work fast!” Lem flashed Thaw a smile.

  Thaw smiled back. “Sure is. You gonna be around?”

  Lem gave one of those shrugs that suggests as-far-as-I-know.

  “I’d like to leave Tufty with you. She and Bain just don’t mix. None of the motels there accept pets and as far as I know, Natalie is still in a deep funk. I’d come back at latest Sunday evening, but most likely I’d be here Friday night. I could call you from Bain when I know.”

  Lem hunkered and patted his knee to call the dog. She came immediately. “Sure, fine. Right, girl? Tufty thinks it’s fine, too, don’t you, girl?” Tufty nuzzled her face onto Lem’s knees and he smiled as he patted her head with both hands, one on each side of her face.

  “When do you want me to pick up the paintings?”

  “Anytime. Now. Later today? Whenever’s convenient.”

  Lem looked up from Tufty. Thaw nodded toward the door. “Well, I’ve got an idea for this painting I just started. If I come now then I can work the rest of the day. Just in case I get on a roll.”

  “Okay. Let’s go.” Lem rose to leave.

  Thaw reached for his backpack. “Before, we go though, Lem, let me square with you.”

  Lem walked to the door, held it open and waved his hand for Thaw to precede him out the door. “We’re square. Except I would enjoy a steak dinner at The Meat House.”

  Thaw followed Lem’s exit cue. Tufty danced on ahead. Lem closed the door. Thaw turned to face him. “C’mon, Lem. What do I owe you?”

  “Next time you pay.” Lem slapped his arm across Thaw’s back. As Thaw stood at least a head taller, his hand caught Thaw’s upper arm. Its warmth radiated pleasantly onto his arm.

  On the issue of payment, under Thaw’s insistence, Lem buckled a bit, but he offered no promises. “After you’ve had your first show in Bain and have sold some of your work from it. Right now you need a little boost. I thought the album might help.”

  “So you are just going to give me these?”

  “Have I ever given you anything before?”

  “Well…”

  “Well. So I am now.”

  Lem dropped his arm and strode on slightly ahead calling back over his shoulder as he went, offering a parting Natali-ism delivered with the hint of a Yiddish accent: “So what’s there not to enjoy?”

  “What a gift! Gees, man. Thanks.” Thaw caught up with Lem, throwing his long arm across his friend’s shoulders with a bit of a squeeze as it landed. “Thanks. Thanks a lot. I’m sure they’ll be a big help!” At the time neither of them had guessed just how much.

  Thaw turned from the window. A female student crossed the threshold to the class and nodded in Thaw’s direction with only the briefest moment of eye contact, after which she somewhat shyly busied herself with arranging her chair and easel.

  It occurred to Thaw that the young college students probably would see him as a man of maturity. The lab coat would signal that he was an experienced artist. And wasn’t he sitting in the teacher’s spot? Performing in a professor’s milieu? He would let the non-verbal speak for itself. He would address the students by way of introduction only briefly, and until he had a better sense of their skills and concerns, he would only answer questions and offer supportive comments.

  The strategy, however, did not reduce his over-awareness of his own movements. He felt himself cross the room and pick up the thermos from beneath the desk. He was aware of himself as he unscrewed the cup and set it on the desk. He watched his hands pour himself a cup of coffee and return the thermos to its hiding place. He felt his hands pull out the chair to sit. Surreal.

  As Thaw read the first course outline his heightened sense of self-awareness lessened. Art 305, Intermediate Oil Painting. This week students were to complete their “monochromatic still life study in oils” and begin their final project. The final project was to be an oil painting done in the style of one of the impressionist artists. The subject matter was left to the student. It could be another still life, an outdoor scene, or a portrait. Final grading would be b
ased on the effectiveness of balance, subject matter, and color scheme as well as each student’s ability to maintain his or her chosen impressionist style throughout the complete work. Styles they might choose among included Fauvism, pointillism, or impressionism, depending upon the style of the painter the student had chosen to emulate. Artists from whom they might choose were listed as: Impressionist: Monet, Renoir, Degas and Cezanne. Neo Impressionist: Seurat. Post Impressionist: Gaugin. Cubism: Picasso, Braque. Surrealism: Dali. Thaw was encouraged.

  After his discharge from service, while he was still emotionally very much at sea, Thaw had found he could calm himself if he spent endless hours at the Bain public library. There he would pour over texts on art and the stories of the lives of famous artists. He studied pictures of the artists’ works, thumbing back and forth in his effort to understand and compare them. He especially liked the Impressionists and sought to let their works impact his own. As his ability to focus on his own work improved, so too did his skill.

  Initially Thaw had played at emulating styles of the ground-breaking early Impressionists. But finally he settled on a style of his own. While it utilized Gaugin’s fauvist colors it also incorporated Degas’ delicacy of line and Dali’s detailed representation of central figures. Perhaps that had been what Milfy had recognized in his work. Perhaps that is why he had been selected to teach this particular course…or selected to teach here at all.

  The notion of maintaining an unchanging style throughout a work struck Thaw as potentially monotonous. But if that was what Nick-Sue wanted, that was what Nick-Sue would get.

  Engrossed in his thoughts and the review of the course outline, when Thaw did think to look up he found that a second student had wandered into the class. The first student, whose name Thaw would learn was Silvia, had positioned herself near the door, her back to the windows, the morning light playful across the wheat-color of her pony tail and the escaped tendrils about the nape of her neck. Her easel held a painting done in warm blues of a chair near a window. Despite the color, the slant of the light suggested morning. The second student was a young man. He stood perusing the paintings that hung at odd angles along the wall.