Message of Love (34 page)

Chapter 41

May, 1983

Hundreds of cap-and-gowned graduates sat in blocks on the floor of the Civic Center Convention Hall. Seated high up in the bleachers between my parents, that morning, we listened and watched as author Chiam Potok gave an earnest speech, the university’s Glee Club sang, and the Provost even noted that one of U. Penn’s early commencement ceremonies included no less than George Washington.

But I was only focused on one person. Despite the distance, it was easy to spot Everett; in the front row, one of only two wheelchair-using graduates.

As a student behind him helped him push up the ramp to the stage, a noticeably louder round of applause rose as he was handed his diploma. I felt a swell of pride, fought back a droplet of a tear as my father rubbed my shoulder.

“Oh, there they are,” Mom pointed to a much lower row, where Everett’s parents sat, while Holly jumped up to cheer her brother.

Anyone who didn’t already know him knew of him. They didn’t know what he’d been through, or that he was mine, my guy. But right then, it didn’t matter.

My own ceremony would take place a week later than Everett’s, and in a much more modest setting. But that day, after the ceremonies, our families once again gathered. The polite large dinner, reserved weeks in advance due to the flood of families visiting the city, was endured with all-around joviality, possibly aided by Holly’s referee-like presence, but mostly due to talk of my parents’ plans for the week’s visit.

My mother was never happier, not only to share a bit too much about their visit and upcoming days traveling with Dad, but to trump Diana Forrester, since they were obviously supporting both me and Everett.

“First a city tour, then museums, and after our son’s graduation, a weekend in Atlantic City.”

Mrs. Forrester seemed to have withheld some disparaging remark, and merely smiled.

“Watch those card sharks,” Everett’s father warned with a smile.

Holly told us about a recent musical she’d worked on whose scenic designer had borrowed the style of boardwalk sideshows. For a moment, I was silent, listening to different conversations, and I felt a flash of panic. Leaving Philadelphia in days, returning to Greensburg, just to wait for Everett’s call; it felt like some kind of impending limbo.

My father and Mr. Forrester talked softly about business. He caught my look, offered a sly wink. Despite Dad having found a job doing the accounts for a small chain of grocery stores, Mom would later confide that, along with the vacation, some corporate managers were met with, thanks to Mr. Forrester, and some form of advancement for my Dad at a new job seemed promising.

“I’m so glad for you both,” Mrs. Forrester announced. “I’m so sorry we can’t return for Reid’s ceremony. I’m only weeks away from my benefit, which I assume Everett has told you about.”

“Uh,” Everett offered an awkward glance.

“Oh, son. You didn’t? Well, I suppose you’ve been busy, what with graduation and all.” She gave him a mildly scolding glance, then announced, “I’m chairing a scholarship fundraiser next month for handicapped high school students.”

“Disabled, Mother.” Everett corrected.

“Yes. It’s at the William Penn, in Pittsburgh, in June. I thought you’d all been sent invitations…”

As Everett’s mother continued, I felt relieved that she had once again diverted the conversation back to herself, and not her excuse to miss my graduation ceremony. I didn’t tell her she hadn’t been invited. Everett’s father also had plans, but slipped Everett an envelope that looked promising.

As our meal ended, Dad and Mr. Forrester had a friendly argument over the tab, each of them trying to claim the check. They settled on splitting it.

“Alpha male battle,” Everett muttered to me.

Chairs were pushed out, and awkward hugs and handshakes followed.

But then Everett’s father interrupted the farewells, as if he’d forgotten something. Mrs. Forrester broke into a grin. It seemed the cat was about to be unleashed from the bag.

“Could you all step outside for a minute?” Mr. Forrester said in a teasing manner.

We all followed, and waited. Something was up. I wasn’t sure.

Holly was staying with us for a few days, and asked us to wait, as she had some private discussion with her own parents at the doorway. As we waited in the lounge, my mother inquired about our plans.

“One of our friends is having a few graduates and faculty over,” I said. “That’s Saturday. After that, we have to pack our stuff. You’re taking some in your car after you get back from Atlantic City, right? Ev’s dad said he’d–”

“No, I meant your future. With Everett in graduate school, what will you do?” she asked.

“There’s a lot up in the air, but I’ll probably get a job with the Parks Service. I haven’t heard back from them yet. I think we just have to wait until we get there.”

Was I supposed to say it yet, that we might be leaving them sooner than they had thought? My mother’s anxious look seemed ill-timed, what with all the celebrations.

“We’re going to miss you so much,” she almost cowered, her face tightening, as if holding back a wave of emotion, until I had to hug her.

Then we saw Mr. Forrester waving us forward, and out the hotel’s front door. In the driveway, an attendant approached with a set of keys to a gleaming new small truck, its body a deep orange-yellow.

“Oh, no. It’s for him,” Mr. Forrester gestured to Everett.

“Fantastic!” Everett shouted.

Although smaller than his recently departed van, it seemed roomy enough, and thick, with wide tires.

“It’s a Blazer,” Mr. Forrester announced. “Chevy’s newest model; got a four-wheel drive.”

Everett wheeled around it, inspecting it with curiosity. I sidled up next to him.

“Why didn’t you ask for a van?” I whispered.

“I wanted something sporty.”

“It’s very … butch… and yellow.”

“It’s amber,” he corrected. “I guess we can put up curtains in the windows, for... overnighters,” he muttered with a sly grin and a wink. “Hey, Dad. Did you get the extras?”

His father opened the driver’s side door, showed off the extra handles. “And,” he tapped above the inside of the door, “a little roll bar, like you asked.”

“Cool.”

“You want to give it a test drive?” Mr. Forrester offered.

“Duh!” Everett tapped my arm, signaling me to join him.

“Oh, um.” Knowing we might not return for a while, all day even, I called out to my parents, “Um, I’ll see you guys when–”

“Don’t worry!” Dad waved us off. “Just call us at the hotel when you get back.”

“Um, Holly?” I nodded for her to hopefully join us.

“Well, alright, if you insist,” she rushed up to hop in the back.

Another car approached behind the truck, and our mutual goodbyes became a hurried fluster as the valet gave us an impatient look. Everett tested getting in by reaching up to the roll bar to the seat, then he pulled up his chair, took a wheel off, then hoisted the parts into the back seat, all in about a minute.

“Hop in,” he called out.

Before long, Everett, having managed the adjusted handles, toured us around the city. After only a few blocks, we got caught up in a bit of stalled traffic. A few horns blared, and up ahead, I heard the sound of a jackhammer.

Large yellow signs and burly construction workers blocked two parts of an intersection, with pedestrians being guided past a barrier. A man in a hardhat and an orange vest held up a SLOW sign.

“Reid, roll your window down.”

Confused, I nevertheless obeyed.

“Excuse me, sir,” Everett called out past me. “What’s going on?”

The ruddy worker shook his head, almost apologetic. “We’re puttin’ ramps on the curbs; new city law. I dunno, for handicapped people.”

Everett smiled and saluted him. “You’re doing God’s work, my man.”

“Well, he pays, so whatevah.”

The jackhammer abruptly cut off Everett’s reply. We waited until we’d driven past him before bursting out into a bit of laughter.

“Looks like all that bother might have helped,” I said.

“Sowing the seeds,” Everett replied.

I fiddled with the stereo as Holly remarked on some of the passing buildings. “I really didn’t get a chance to see the sights last time. So, where are you taking us, Ev?”

“Anywhere you want!”

Holly rattled off a list of tourist attractions. But neither of us responded with more than a few grunts. Anywhere we would go, we’d be saying goodbye.

We were each silent for a while, until Holly burst out, “Nancy!”

“What?”

Feigning insult, Everett joked, “We prefer the term pansy.”

“Nancy Schuster! My college friend in Berkeley.”

“Oh.”

“She always sends Christmas cards, with little form letters saying how happy she is, and her successful husband, her beautiful big house, blah blah.”

“Your point being?” Everett furled a brow at the rear-view mirror.

“You could stay with her until you find a place of your own.”

“I don’t know if–”

“Oh, don’t worry. She owes me, I wrote three of her term papers.”

In between navigating a few turns, Everett looked to me for approval. “Our den mother strikes again.”

“So, where are we off to?” Holly asked.

I merely smiled. I longed to say where I wanted to go; home. But I had no idea where that would be.

Chapter 42

June, 1983

As Diana Forrester’s benefit concluded, guests gradually began to leave the ballroom at the William Penn Hotel. Most of the wheelchair-using kids, grouped in clusters, didn’t seem to notice the standing people around the edge of their circles. Everett laughed at someone’s joke, out of earshot of me. A photographer took a few last pictures of my boyfriend in his suit and perky bowtie, along with others.

I looked at one of the kids’ parents, perhaps shrugging at our apparent superfluous presence. It wasn’t the first time I’d been in such a situation, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. I looked up at the banners, the one that featured Everett’s smiling face.

The real Everett wheeled toward me, smiling.

“I’ve got a big surprise,” he said. But his smile was a bit cautious.

“I’m getting one of those banners as a parting gift?”

“Wait’ll we get back to our room.”

“Okay.”

My congratulatory hug was interrupted by his proud mother, who swerved in between us. One of the other guests approached Everett, distracting him with a farewell chat.

“Young Mister Conniff.”

“Mrs. Forrester.” Despite her slightly more affectionate hug, with actual contact this time, I still fought a cringe of fear. After all these years, she still made me nervous.

“I want to thank you for your donation.”

“You’re most welcome, Ma’am. These kids really deserve it.”

“So, it won’t be long before you’re whisking my son away yet again.”

“He’s the one leaving, Ma’am. I’m just along for the ride.”

“Yes.” She offered a hesitant stare, as if waiting for me to melt away.

But I didn’t. Instead I blurted out, “You know, I love you.”

“What?” Her astonished glare probably continued after I finished hugging her again, tight enough to almost make her squirm. As I pulled away, she remained stunned.

“You gave birth to the most wonderful, amazing guy, and I can never thank you enough.”

“Well, I’m… I’m touched.”

Before we got misty-eyed, Everett, his glad-handing duties completed, approached. We bid his somewhat bewildered mother goodnight and retreated to our hotel room, where corny as ever, Everett had ordered a bottle of champagne and a bouquet of …

“Marigolds?”

“Roses are so cliché,” Everett grinned.

“Another fancy night. Mister President, sir?”

“Yes?”

“This is living.”

Everett sighed in agreement.

“So, what’s the big surprise?”

“Remember when I gave you that ring?”

I held up my hand. “Of course.”

“And I said how it was thanks for all the miles yet to come?”

“Yes,” I replied, slightly confused. “We should get out early tomorrow, since we’ve got a lot of miles to get back to Greensburg.” I had decided to spend a few weeks at the nursery to save up before our move.

And then I saw that look in his eye, that mischievous, daring glint. “What do you say you don’t go back right away.”

“But I have to start work.”

“No, you don’t. You’re richer than me now.”

“Theoretically. Dad convinced me to put most of it in savings.”

“What about… another adventure?”

“What kind of adventure?” I asked warily.

“Look, before I get caught up in this rabbit hole of poster boy stuff, let’s take a road trip; cross-country. That new truck–”

“The Blazer!” I announced, as if introducing a pro wrestler.

“It’s just aching to be broken in. We can travel, see Mrs. Kukka in Baltimore, then pop back here to Pittsburgh, say goodbye to Wesley, then see the country before we land in Berkeley.”

“Any other Bs?” Although his plan included visiting a hospital and a cemetery, he kept his tone oddly upbeat.

“Bumfuck; I don’t care,” he said. “I just… school can wait. Everything can wait.”

“Just not our little road trip.”

He raised his arms wide.

“Which you’ve already planned.”

“Well, I may have made a few notes on a map or three.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“That’s why you love me.”

I leaned in close, offered a kiss, then slowly loosened his bowtie, undid the top button of his shirt.

“We need music.” I fiddled with the small radio alarm clock, settling on a jazz station.

“Are you up for it?” he asked.

I returned to him with a sort of cha-cha. “Monkey, I’m up for anything.”

“I noticed. Did I tell you how handsome you look in a suit?” he said as I loosened my tie as well.

“You did, Mister Ex-President, but you can say it again.”

“Ex-presidents still get called President.”

“Yes, Mister President.”

“Mister Conniff?”

“Yes, Mister President?”

“You look hot in a suit.”

I grabbed my pants suggestively, until he pushed my hand aside to feel for himself.

“I look better out of it. But first…” I took his hand in mine, up and to the side, shifting my hips beside him. “Would you like to dance?”

He spun his chair around in consent. “Mister Conniff, you’re a class act,” he smiled.

“And that’s why you love me.”