Counterpointe (22 page)

At least that explained who the Father was. “It’s good to meet you, Lavinia.”

The other woman took Clare’s hand between both of hers. “Now nobody calls me that but my momma when she’s upset with me and Beck when he’s trying to impress somebody. Vinnie’ll do fine.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, my sister. She ain’t met the men yet. Might change her mind when she do.”

Vinnie released Clare’s hand and threw up her arms at Beck. “Father don’t send us nobody going to quit easy.”

Clare tried to decide if Vinnie’s certainty was good news or bad news.

“You come with me, beautiful,” Vinnie said, cutting off both debate and the possibility of escape. “Let’s get you signed up and work us out a schedule.”

When Vinnie took her on a tour of Hope House, Clare discovered Appleseed was Beck’s nickname for the resident custodian and handyman, John Apple. They encountered Apple, a thirtyish white man with a ponytail and a guarded expression, in the break room reading a book.

After that brief introduction, Clare didn’t speak to John until a few days later, when she was having lunch in the break room while he worked on a leaky faucet.

“Isn’t your husband concerned about you coming here?” he asked.

Clare rubbed her thumb against her wedding ring. “He doesn’t mind.” The truth as far as it went. She wondered what Rob would think if she told him.

“Most husbands wouldn’t want you to come here unescorted.”

“It’s not far and it’s good exercise.” She unwrapped her sandwich, hoping to close out this particular subject.

John twisted around, a shocked expression on his face. “You walk here?”

“Easier than fighting Boston traffic and trying to find a parking place.” True, she wouldn’t walk in the area after dark, but during the day it was no worse than the neighborhood where the ballet center was located.

“Your husband doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

“What about your family? What do they think about you working here?”

His expression might have been surprise, irritation, or something else. He bent back over the faucet. “Sorry, Clare. I didn’t mean to sound overprotective, but I do think someone should walk with you. Let me know when you’re ready to leave, and I’ll be happy to see you have an escort.”

Clare had wondered about John Apple. After that conversation she wondered even more—why was an educated man working at a menial job in one of the poorest parts of the city? The most likely explanation? He was an ex-addict or an ex-con.

“I do have one final announcement,” the chairman said, winding up the faculty meeting. “Dr. Chapin has been approved for a sabbatical starting in October. He’ll be going to Peru to study Amazonian plants.”

“Isn’t that a bit irregular?” Joyce frowned at the chairman. “To grant a sabbatical with so little notice.”

“Irregular, perhaps, but not unprecedented. If you bring me a good plan like Rob’s, I’ll be happy to consider it.”

When Rob walked out of the conference room, he found Joyce loitering in the hall, an expectant look on her face. “Wow, Robbie. Major surprise, you going on sabbatical. Didn’t work out with the dancer, huh? Or are you taking your
prima
ballerina to the jungle with you?”

He’d never before been tempted to touch a woman in anger, but had the opportunity arisen at that moment, he would have struggled with his better nature not to push Joyce into traffic.

“I thank God Clare saved me from you.”

Joyce’s mouth gaped like a surprised fish.
Good
. He was damned tired of turning the other cheek. He walked past her to his office, closed the door, and stood rubbing his head, breathing carefully. Joyce’s attack did have one good effect. It allowed him to substitute anger for a more essential agony.

John spoke to Beck about Clare walking home from Hope House, and Beck got on her case. “You going to come to the hood, Clare, you gots to know how to handle the brothers.”

“I don’t believe in violence.”

“Violence don’t care what you believe. Violence still there. Now what I’m going to show you, ain’t no violence. It just going with the flow. So’s you don’t get hurt, you run up against a brother don’t know you’re one of us.”

One of us
. The words warmed her. She’d felt welcomed by Vinnie from the first but had remained uncertain of Beck. “Show me with Anthony,” she said. “Then I’ll decide.”

Anthony, sixteen years old, was one of Beck’s projects. Beck was working hard to keep the boy in school during the day and off the streets at night.

“Anthony. You come at me, hear,” Beck said. “Like I a fat dude. Got attitude but no muscle.”

Anthony, who reminded Clare of a heron picking its way through a marsh, lunged, and although Beck barely seemed to move, the boy ended up on his back, legs and arms like scattered sticks.

“You see, Clare? Anthony lying there so peaceful, he could be taking him a nap.”

The boy had such a comical look of surprise, it made Clare laugh. “Are you okay, Anthony?”

“Like Beck says, I taking a nap. He somersault me. Matter a fact, felt kinda good. My back don’t hurt no more.”

So Clare let Beck teach her new ways to use moves once ingrained in bone, muscle, and sinew, and in the process, she learned about how to save other Anthonys one at a time.

And maybe how to save a Clare as well.

“I’m going on sabbatical to Peru.”

Clare frowned. “Peru?”

“With Jolley.” Looking at Clare made his heart hurt. The last two years had stripped the flesh from her face, leaving it stark, surrounded by a halo of nearly white hair. Not the injury alone causing that, but marriage to him.

She was still beautiful, though, and despite his frozen emotions, he knew he loved her. Would always love her. And if he kept his mouth shut, they could stay married. But he was no longer able to live with half-measures. It required a knack. A knack he knew at long last he didn’t have.

“My salary will be deposited directly. I’ll go over the other financial details with you before I leave.”

Clare shook her head as if to avoid a persistent gnat. “When do you go?”

“Not for another month.”

“I’m so sorry, Rob. That I wasn’t able to be what you wanted me to be.”

“I only wanted you to be yourself.”

“I can’t seem to...”

“It’s okay, Clare. I know you tried.” It broke his heart anew to acknowledge it had been necessary for her to work at loving him, when loving her was as necessary to him as breathing.

Peru. Sabbatical
. Watching Rob’s lips form the words, Clare knew. He’d given up on her. On their marriage. Pain blossomed, doubling her over. She straightened quickly. At the very least she owed him a dignified ending. This good man she’d pushed beyond limits he could bear. She’d left it too late...the attempt to reverse her slow drift into despair. A drift that pulled him along as well.

Not fair to try to change his mind. Dishonorable to hint she might be doing better. Better he left on his own terms. But did it have to be the jungle? Where so many things could go wrong. She ticked them off—snakebite, a host of tropical diseases, poisonous plants, accidents, contaminated water, rebels.

So easy for him not to come back at all.

At the thought, pain overwhelmed her. She barely made it to the bedroom and got the door closed before she broke down.

“Why don’t you go with him, hon?” her mother asked.

“He’s going to Peru. The jungle. The accommodations are extremely primitive.”

“Oh. He won’t be gone long, will he?”

“He’ll be back for the holidays.” Not exactly a lie, although her mom would interpret it to mean he’d be home for Thanksgiving and Christmas, while the holidays Clare referred to were Passover and Easter. But it simply wasn’t yet possible for her to admit to anyone that Rob had left her.

Chassé

One foot chases the other; done is a series

Clare walked briskly, pushed along in a swirl of leaves and trash through the gloom of an autumn afternoon. John had a cold, Anthony was at basketball practice, and Beck and Vinnie were working on something she didn’t want to interrupt. Besides, Clare needed to be alone.

Tucking her hands in her pockets, she shrugged her shoulders against the chill and picked up her pace, trying not to let the hopelessness drifting in the air weigh her down any more than she already was—her heart heavy with the knowledge Rob was gone. Likely for good.

Suddenly, they were there. Two boys. Strangers. One on either side. They hemmed her in, slouching along, easily keeping pace, black sneakers silent against the pavement, almond-shaped eyes watchful in dark faces. Clare’s heart slammed against her ribs and her breath caught. No one else was in sight, no traffic even. She gathered herself to run, but the larger boy grabbed her arm and pulled her toward an opening between two of the brick row houses, his fingers a tight, painful band despite the thickness of her coat.

Her only chance—to appear unafraid. That clarity eased her panicked breathing and, with that easing, she remembered what else Beck had taught her.

She leaned back, resisting the pull on her arm, looking from one boy to the other. The smaller one looked away, but the one holding her stared back with pitiless eyes. Her heart pumped rapidly but everything else slowed and, despite the grip on her arm, she felt more observer than participant, as if this were a performance.

A thought that brought both calm along with its own particular pain.

The boy holding her tossed his head, making his dreads dance. “You cooperate, we won’t hurt you none, lady. We just wants your money.”

So why hadn’t they snatched her tote and run? She readied herself, slowing her breath, waiting for an opening. With two of them, she would have only one chance.

“This one be ‘bout right size for you, Ty. Prove you got what it takes be one of us.”

The boy called Ty grabbed her other arm. “Come on, lady. Ain’t got all day.” He nodded at Dreads, who released her.

The smaller boy jerked her toward the alley. She resisted, leaning back, digging in her heels. The pull intensified, and she leaned back further before taking a running step toward the boy, twisting to pull his arm around her, searching for the fulcrum point, as Beck had shown her. Turning smoothly now, easily. The boy and her tote flying, momentarily weightless as balloons.