A Love So Deep (7 page)

G
raham
emerged from the men’s room, fresh and excited. The old saying, “The whole world is a stage” came to mind. Graham felt as if he had a bit part in a play that was sure to be held over for weeks with the hero and heroine becoming stars of their own off-stage play.

Graham bounded effortlessly back into the lounge finding a table close to the stage. It seemed the chatter had increased in the fifteen minutes since he’d been gone. Graham sat in his seat twisting his body unconsciously left, then right in anticipation of seeing Rita again.

One of the scantily clad waitresses approached Graham, who ordered another whiskey. Preoccupied with his thoughts of Rita, Graham hadn’t realized the waitress was trying to engage in small talk until she finally moved on.

There was a sudden clanging and bumping of what sounded like instruments. A tall, dark, lean man with a short goatee moved on stage hugging his electric bass guitar close to his chest with an amplifier in the other hand. A short, round fellow dressed in a white linen Cuban-styled shirt with khaki pants strutted behind the man with the guitar and swung a pair of drumsticks in his right hand. Another high-yellow man, tall in stature with extra large hands, strolled to the other side of the stage and picked up a cello that had leaned on a back wall waiting for its owner to reclaim him. And there she was, Miss Rita Long, her endless legs covered in denim jeans that must have been a size eight and her dark glistening skin two shades lighter than the ebony piano whose keys were now being tickled by the pianist.

All eyes were cast toward the stage—all movement frozen in time, waiting for the first warm-up note to release them from their trance. Graham was as entranced as the rest, but it would take more than a note or two from a guitarist’s guitar, a cellist’s cello, or a piano player’s keyboard to break his spell.

Rita sat sideways on a stool placed center stage. She leaned slightly to her left, her right leg extended and her toe touching the floor. Her left leg was bent slightly with her left foot perched on the bar that encircled the three legs of the stool. Rita gave Graham a quick wink and immediately went through a brief repertoire of songs she and Midnight Express would sing that evening. She sang with elegance, grace, and style. Graham drank it all up without any distractions, nodding his consent to every song.

An hour passed. Midnight Express brought their rehearsal to a close—Graham’s cue to leave. For sure, he’d be back tonight. He couldn’t get enough of her—the voice helped him to forget how empty his life had been the last two months.

Only two shots of whiskey, but Graham felt a little tipsy. He’d ask God’s forgiveness, for surely God understood his grief and the short detour to this dump. The Water Hole held a new treasure Graham wanted to claim.

As he tested his footing, a bold, blonde honeysuckle figure approached him from the side, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Oh, Shelly,” Graham stammered.

“Why, Graham. You’ve made your way back to The Water Hole. I thought Charlie said you were grieving. I noticed you were mighty engrossed with the delights of Ms. Long.”

“Look, Shelly, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I came here to get away from home. A little music never hurt anyone.”

“That’s true, however, I got the distinct feeling this was not your kind of groove. By the way, where are you on your way to?” It was time to set up her rook for the checkmate.

“Home. I’m on my way home. I’m a little tired,” Graham lied.

“Well…well,” Shelly continued, “why don’t I go with you? Looks like you could use some company.”

“No, I’m tired. And by the way, where’s Charlie?”

“Charlie’s your friend.”

“That he is, however, I thought he was yours, too.”

“Whatever.”

There was pity for Shelly in Graham’s eyes. He didn’t understand what Charlie could possibly see in her other than a cheap date every once in a while. Whatever it was, Graham wanted no part of it. He disconnected his eyes from Shelly’s and walked out, leaving her to contemplate just what had gone wrong with their conversation.

I
t
had been an exciting afternoon filled with unexplainable emotions and then some. Graham was becoming his old self, and he whistled a tune as he drove merrily toward home.

Charlie was always fun to have around, but this solo act was more enjoyable to Graham. He wasn’t subjected to listening to a long list of Charlie’s conquests and what Charlie thought he ought to be doing to get himself out of his doldrums. He loved Amanda, always would. And Rita Long, as mesmerizing as she was, would never take Amanda’s place.

Graham’s whistling had now become a hum. He waved to Sarah Baker, a retired schoolteacher, as he passed her watering her lawn this late fall day. Harry Byrd, who worked at the Naval yard with Graham before he retired, was painting his garage door when Graham drove by. Graham gave him a hearty wave and his hum became a broad smile.

Turning onto Chester Street, the tall oaks that stood at least forty feet high were inviting. Their autumn leaves welcomed Graham home. As he approached his house, Graham saw the black Lexus SUV parked in the driveway.

“Deborah must be here to check on me,” Graham said aloud. He looked at his watch. It was 5:25, and he had every intention of being at The Water Hole at 7:30.

“Hey, Daddy,” Deborah said, coming out of the house. She embraced him, and he hugged her in return.

“Hey, baby. Dropping by to check on your old man?”

“Yes, and I’ve got a surprise for you, too.”

Graham’s brow wrinkled. “Surprise? You made me a cherry cheesecake or some of your good ole macaroni and cheese just like your mama’s?”

“No, Daddy. Come inside and see.”

Deborah linked her arm through Graham’s and walked into the house. Graham could hear laughter in the kitchen and moved forward to see who was behind the commotion.

Graham stopped and stared, letting his head fall down slightly. He raised it, softly smiling. “Hi, Mom. It’s so good to see you. I haven’t seen you since…”

“Yeah, son. I miss my baby, too, but I know she’s gone to be with the Lord.”

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, Liz.”

Graham embraced them all, and tears began their roll down his cheeks. Graham felt terrible for lusting after Rita Long. Amanda had been the love of his life for more years than he had fingers and toes, and this family gathering only served to remind him just how deep that love was.

“I stopped by Grandma’s to see how she was doing. Daddy, she was more worried about your state of being than hers,” Deborah said.

Martha was very dear to Graham, and he replaced his own beloved mother with that of his mother-in-law who had such a giving and wonderful heart. From the first day he stepped inside the big church on Market Street so many years ago, and was finally introduced to Amanda’s parents, he felt as if Mr. and Mrs. Carter were his own. Just then, he thought of his sisters. They had come to Amanda’s funeral. It had been fifteen years before then since he had seen them.

“Mom,” Graham started, shaking old memories away, “if it was last week or the week before that, you’d probably have held your head down in shame. Today, I feel pretty good. Went to church for the first time yesterday…”

“Yes, he did,” Deborah and Liz said in chorus.

“…And it was good being back amongst the saints. Reverend Fields preached a good sermon.” Graham was quiet for a few minutes. Then he spoke. “I’m really sorry, Mom, for not checking on you and Dad. Amanda would be quite upset with me, I’m sure. I was so consumed by my own grief that I couldn’t see others were equally grieving.”

“It’s okay, Graham. You’re still my favorite son-in-law.”

“Your
only
son-in-law.”

The girls laughed.

Martha looked around the kitchen taking in every inch of Amanda as she scanned the room. From the two-tiered yellow gingham curtains to the apron, potholder, and towel set with the field of summer flowers on them. “’Manda is all in this room,” Martha finally said, unable to control the urge to speak.

Graham looked at her and then turned away. Martha was right. Amanda was everywhere, and it was only as late as yesterday that he decided life had to go on. Graham looked at his watch, a feeling of guilt washing over him. Rita Long had to wait for some other time.

T
he
week progressed nicely. Thanks to his mother-in-law’s appearance, Graham brought his life back into perspective. Grief for Amanda still lingered; however, Graham’s outlook on life was taking on a new shape.

Dexter and Bobby came by to see if he wanted to go fishing, and agreed upon a date for early Friday morning with a promise of a no-repeat of their last outing together. The guys agreed that there wasn’t going to be a Charlie to fish his non-swimming behind out of the water this time. As the guys reminisced about that day, it was hard for Graham to fathom that he had tried to kill himself—to follow Amanda to the grave. What could he have been thinking? It would be all about the fishing this time.

Just as Graham settled down to have a bite to eat, the doorbell rang, interrupting what promised to be a quiet breakfast. “Lord, don’t let that be Sister Mary Ross,” Graham muttered aloud. “She’ll be staying on the porch today.”

After a relentless onslaught of rings that reminded Graham of hail pelting the ground, a familiar rat-a-tat found Graham’s ears. “Charlie. What does Charlie want this early?” Graham stood and strode briskly to the front door, unlatching and unlocking so that his best friend could come in.

Upon opening the door, Charlie stood frozen on the porch. He let his eyes rove around, not really able to see much from his vantage point.

“Why are you still standing there? You were ringing the bell like you needed immediate refuge or the men’s room.”

“You all right?” Charlie asked at last, still standing at attention and never moving from the spot he had positioned himself. “Checking to make sure you haven’t suffered a relapse and are still on the road to recovery.”

“If you’re going to come in, come in because my breakfast is getting cold.”

“Got an extra plate?”

“Sister Mary hasn’t come by today, thank goodness. So you’ll have to watch me eat.” They both let out a howl, and Charlie walked into the house at ease.

“Heard you been down to…The Water Hole,” Charlie started, pulling up a chair to sit in. With no immediate response from Graham, Charlie plucked a toothpick from his front pocket and stuck it in his mouth. He watched Graham bite into his biscuit, butter oozing from its sides.

Thoughts of Rita Long lay in the recess of Graham’s mind, but Charlie caused those dormant thoughts to be aroused. And as if on cue, Graham turned to Charlie, licking jam that had crept from the side of his biscuit onto his finger. “Yeah, I was there,” Graham said, very nonchalant.

“Don’t be on the defensive. I just thought you were not impressed with the place. You made such a big fuss about it!”

“And I’m still not impressed.”

“So what made you go back there…and the next day, mind you?” Charlie asked, ignoring Graham’s previous answer.

“Is this some sort of interrogation? It appears you already have the answers to your questions.”

“All right, Graham. It does appear that I’m being a bit nosey, but…”

“A bit nosey? All up in my business. What you need to do is get rid of that blonde honey you call a girlfriend or whatever she is to you.”

“All right. Give Shelly a break.”

Graham put down his fork. He placed his elbows on the edge of the table and held his chin in his balled-up fist. He dropped his arms, folded them and stared straight into Charlie’s eyes, got up and stood directly in front of him.

“Charlie, you’re my best friend. Known you darn near most of my life. Been through a lot of things together. I’d like to see you find real happiness, if not true love, before I die.” Charlie didn’t move a muscle. “You’ve been wandering in the wilderness so long—in and out of bad relationships, accepting less than you’re worth. For what—a laugh or two, a smile, acceptance? How do you measure life, Charlie? By how many women you wine and dine a week? How much alcohol you can consume in a day? How much sex you can have in a year? Huh, Charlie…?”

“Enough. You didn’t have to go there.”

“You’ll stay out of my business next time,” Graham muttered to himself.

Charlie paused for several minutes, then continued. “I was in love once, but she didn’t even notice me. Never gave me the time or day. She slapped me in the face when I tried to get close. I’d watch her from afar, dreamed about her day and night, and when I realized I couldn’t have her, I married Ernestine.”

“You never confided that tidbit to me. Secrets…I thought we didn’t have any of those.”

“You had your life with Amanda. No one was interested in how ole Charlie felt about life. Besides, you’d probably slap me upside the head and give me another one of your great lectures.” Charlie and Graham began to chuckle.

“I was always there for you, Charlie. Still am.”

“I know, and that was a long time ago. You’re still my brother.” The two men embraced. “Let’s go to The Water Hole.”

“Hold on, and let me get my cap.”