The End of the Line (7 page)

“Another
satisfied customer?”

“I’m
going to return his money,” she told him. “But it wasn’t all bad, you know.
Those three women got to date a really nice guy.”

“It
sounds as though you like him.”

She
shrugged. “Our paths will never cross again.”

Her
father stared at her with a brooding look. “What’s Peter’s last name?”

“Peter?”
she asked, not knowing what he meant.

“Yes,
that man you were just talking to. The really nice guy those three women got to
date. What’s his last name?”

Latesha
looked directly into her father’s eyes. “Elsworth,” she said.

Her
father squinted slightly. “You weren’t a matchmaker very long,” he said in a
no-nonsense voice, “but if you had stuck with it, I was going to give you one
piece of invaluable advice.” He pointed his finger at her. “Races do not mix,
especially black and white.” He looked hard at her. “That’s in stone.”

“I’ll
never see him again,” Latesha shot back, her eyes unblinking. She turned to
walk to her room, but stopped at the doorway and looked back at her father.
“He’s a nice person, Dad.”

“In
stone!” Mr. Thomas called in a raspy voice. His lips quivered. “In stone!”

“He’s
gone, Dad!” Latesha retorted.

“He
better be,” Mr. Thomas said loudly as Latesha walked into her room. “He better
be.”

Chapter Four

Latesha
awoke late the next morning, did the wash and hung it on the line, then woke
her father as she always did. “Time to get up,” she said sharply.

When
Mr. Thomas arose, all his medications and his breakfast were laid out for him,
but Latesha let him know with one quick glance that she was in no mood to talk.
She went to her room and read all day, emerging only long enough to eat lunch
and bring in the wash. In the late afternoon, tired of hiding in her room,
Latesha walked into the living room but did not say anything. Mr. Thomas, obviously
seeing the same look on his daughter’s face that he had sometimes seen on his
wife’s face, knew better than to open his mouth. He refused to speak even when
Latesha started vacuuming during the Judge Judy Show. Instead he wheeled to the
kitchen, cut himself a gigantic piece of chocolate cake, and then took up a
position in front of the television. He turned it up as high as it would go so
he could hear the proceedings. A few seconds later Latesha turned off the
vacuum cleaner.

“Turn
it down!” Latesha exclaimed as she started winding up the cord.

Mr.
Thomas quickly picked up the remote and lowered the volume. “You had the vacuum
cleaner on,” he explained.

Latesha
wheeled the vacuum cleaner into the closet and then sat down with a pouting
look. She had been out of sorts all day, but Mr. Thomas probably attributed
that to her stubbornness and her tendency to be unreasonable.

“How
is she today?” Latesha asked flatly.

Mr.
Thomas was apparently glad to see the end of the Cold War. “She’s as cranky as
hell. That’s what I like.” After supper, Latesha put Peter’s two checks in an
envelope and addressed it. She included a brief letter apologizing for the
unsuccessful pairings, explained that she was leaving the Forevermore
Matchmaking Service, and that she was returning his money, no questions asked.

“I’m
going down to the store to mail this,” Latesha said.

“All
right,” Mr. Thomas replied. “Returning the money is the right thing to do.”

“Yes,
it is,” she agreed. “Can you think of anything we need besides milk and bread?”

“Nothing
for me, thanks. I’ve got enough junk food to last a week.”

“You
have to start cutting back, Dad,” Latesha said with a pained expression.
“You’re gaining a lot of weight.”

“I
know, I know,” he said defensively, avoiding eye contact. “But what else do I
have to look forward to?”

“Well,
maybe you could start going out for fresh air and exercise.”

He
looked away and Latesha knew she had hit a sore spot.

“Back
soon, Dad.”

“Yeah,”
he mumbled.

Latesha
put on her navy jacket, took the envelope and walked out into a glorious
evening. The sky was clear and not a breath of wind washed over the landscape,
and even from a distance she could hear the boys laughing and shouting as they
chased a ground hockey ball across the parking lot of the community center. She
glanced at the beech tree in her backyard, remembered how she had sat there
with her parents when she was a little girl, then turned the corner to walk
down the driveway. Suddenly she stopped cold, noticing an unfamiliar truck
parked in front of her house. To her shock, she saw a white man getting out and
closing the door. Her eyes opened wide when she realized it was none other than
the electrician, her ex-client, Peter Elsworth.

He
walked around the front of the truck and hesitated when he saw Latesha. “You,”
he said with a shocked look. “I saw you at the university, by the Student Union
Building.”

“Hi!”
she exclaimed, trying to appear calm even though her heart pounded. “Nice to
see you.”

He
instantly recognized her voice. “You’re Latesha!” he exclaimed, suddenly
realizing what had happened. “You’re the one who put up the poster, aren’t
you?”

“What
are you doing here?” she inquired nervously, keeping her distance.

He
held up a small gift wrapped in white paper. “I brought you something.”

Latesha
was more than surprised. “Why?” she asked challengingly.

“The
dating thing made me feel uncomfortable, but you made it fun. I wanted to give
you something.” He walked up to her, smiled graciously, and then handed her the
present. “I hope you don’t mind.”

She
stood motionless for an awkwardly long time. “Should I open it?” she asked,
still flabbergasted by his appearance.

“By
all means.”

Latesha
gave him an odd look and carefully unwrapped the gift. Inside was a bag of
jellybeans. “A symbol of friendship,” she said with a strained smile, putting
the jellybeans into her purse. “Thank you,” she added with a short laugh. She
swallowed hard. “Welcome to Beechwood.”

“Thank
you,” he returned. Peter looked at her home and the sturdy workshop beside it,
then gazed at the rolling hills and modest houses. “This is a beautiful
community,” he said, his gorgeous eyes gleaming in the pure light. “The beech
trees are ancient. And I really like the one-lane bridge down by the store.
Does the river run close by your house?”

“Right
behind the back yard,” she said, feeling an unexpected sense of ease with the
stranger. “I used to swim there when I was a little girl.”

“My
mother used to love swimming,” Peter said in a relaxed way, “but she never goes
anymore.”

“Why
not?”

“Long
story.”

“I’m
sorry. It sounds personal.”

“My
parents were in a car accident,” Peter said. “My father was killed and my
mother came out of it with severely scarred legs. She’s ashamed of how she
looks in a bathing suit and won’t let anyone see her.”

“I’m
sorry,” Latesha said. “Life can be cruel.”

“Yes,
it can. That’s why we need friends.”

Latesha
held up the envelope with his checks in it. “I was just trying to make a few
dollars to help out with the bills, but I felt bad about it and I was going to
the store to mail back your checks. You’re not going to report me, are you?”

He
examined the envelope, asked her if he could open it, and then did so when she
gave her approval. He took out the letter and read it. “Keep the money,” he
said, laughing and putting the checks into her hand. “You more than earned it.”

“I
used false advertising,” she objected, feeling mortified.

“The
dates were nightmares,” he said, “but this process taught me a lot.”

Latesha
was greatly relieved he wasn’t angry and a relaxed smile traced across her
lips. “What did you learn?”

“I
learned what I’m not looking for.”

They
both laughed like children, glancing at each other in a strange way.

“Can
I ask you something?” Peter inquired suddenly, a crack in his voice.

Three
black teenage girls walked by and did a double take when they saw Latesha
speaking to the handsome white man. One of them, the oldest, glared at him and
cast Latesha a hard look. The other two girls were fascinated and even amused
by Peter’s presence, but their friend’s angry stare could not be mistaken.

“You
lost, Casper?” the oldest girl challenged.

Latesha
grimaced and caught the eye of the oldest girl. She looked back stubbornly, but
Latesha gave no quarter. The oldest girl, shocked by Latesha’s angry glare,
turned away and walked up the road. The other two girls giggled and followed
their friend. They looked back several times and when they were about thirty
yards away, the oldest girl looked at Peter and held up her right hand, sticking
her middle finger into the air. Latesha gritted her teeth.

“Pay
her no heed,” Latesha said, feeling dreadfully embarrassed but extremely
relieved that Peter seemed to have taken the insults in stride.

“I
don’t think the tall one likes me very much,” he said with a disarming smile.
“But I may be mistaken. What do you think?”

“She
knows nothing about you.”

Peter
shrugged. “I suppose that’s one of the prerequisites of racism, isn’t it?”

“What
is?” Latesha replied awkwardly.

“To
dislike someone simply because of the color of his or her skin, whether you
know that person or not. That’s what racism is, isn’t it?”

“Now
you know what it feels like.”

Peter
paused for a long time before answering. “I know what it feels like, and I know
I don’t like it. That’s why I would never treat anyone else like that.”

“Maybe
you just caught her by surprise,” Latesha said. “You’re big news.”

“Big
news?”

“A
white person in Beechwood is big news,” Latesha explained. “White people stop
at the store on their way through, but to actually see a white man standing
here talking to a black woman, that’s rare.”

“You
don’t mind talking to me, do you?”

She
did not answer and it seemed as if they were suddenly out of sync. Though she
said nothing, her expression was uncomfortable. Peter seemed to sense her
discomfort and could have easily excused himself and left, but he did not. He
stood quietly for a few moments, giving her a chance to tell him to leave,
then, when she said nothing, he took a deep breath and looked hopefully at her.

“You
said something to me that really hit home,” Peter noted.

“Oh?”
she asked reservedly. “What was that?”

“You
said, and I quote, ‘Maybe sometimes you have to take chances.’ Do you remember
that, Latesha?”

“I
remember,” she replied.

“Do
you still recommend that philosophy?”

“I
don’t know.”

“All
right,” Peter said, feeling emboldened. He looked her squarely in the eyes. “I
was wondering if you’re still walking to the store.”

Latesha’s
enigmatic expression gave no clue to her inner thoughts.

“Are
you?” he asked softly, but nervously.

“Yes,”
she said quietly. “Why?”

“Could
I walk with you?” Peter asked.

Latesha
froze.

He
looked at her with a mixture of hope and fear. “Maybe sometimes you have to
take chances,” he repeated. “You said so yourself.”

Latesha
looked at him, turned away and glanced at the ground, then slowly brought her
eyes back to his. She was confused, almost afraid. But there was something else
in her countenance, something inexplicable. Yet no words passed her lips, and
there was nothing in her body language or expression to conclude the matter one
way or the other.

“I’m
sorry,” Peter apologized, blushing. “I was way out of line. I put you on the
spot. Please forgive me.”

They
both looked away for a moment, then, with perfect timing, glanced at each other
for a split second before again turning their heads. The two of them were in
limbo, treading on the very precipice of human relations. It could go either
way, and they both knew it. With one word, one furtive glance, she could sever
all connection between them forever.

“It’s
warm tonight and I’m thirsty,” Peter explained, flushed with embarrassment. “I
want to buy a bottle of water at the store, that’s all. But I’m a stranger to
you and I had no right to be so forward.”

“You
didn’t do anything wrong,” she suddenly blurted out after a long pause. Her
heart pounded and it took her a moment to control her breathing. “You’ve been a
perfect gentleman from the moment we met.”

“Well,
that leaves me in a quandary, doesn’t it?”

“What
do you mean?”

“My
quandary is that I want to be a gentleman, but sometimes you have to take
chances. Sometimes you need to be bold.” He paused and searched her face for a
clue to her inner feelings. “If I ask to walk to the store with you, I am being
bold and not being a gentleman, but if I don’t ask you, I would never forgive
myself for squandering the chance.” He smiled and held up his hands. “Do you
see my dilemma?”

She
considered his words for several seconds. “Well,” she began, “it may be bold of
you to ask me if we can walk to the store together, but you did it in a very
gentlemanly way.”

“And
your decision is?”

“Is
it my decision?” she probed. “Are you putting all the pressure on me?”

“It’s
entirely your decision,” Peter said firmly, “and we both know it.”

They
looked at each other very strangely. Again there was an incredibly awkward
moment, the type of moment where people sweat and feel short of breath, the
type of moment where people feel mortified, drawn irresistibly to a point in
time, yet fearful, apprehensive, afraid.

“We
can walk together,” Latesha suddenly said, as if the words escaped her lips
without being okayed by her brain first.

“I’d
like that,” Peter answered with a look of immense pleasure.

Latesha
suddenly saw her father staring out the window. He was glaring at her in a way
she had never seen before and he was wildly gesturing with his hands as if he
had lost his mind. Latesha was embarrassed by his behavior, but Peter did not
see him and for that she was thankful.

“What
a nice piece of work,” Peter unexpectedly said, walking up to a sign hanging
from Latesha’s mailbox. It was eighteen inches long, six inches high, and made
of beech wood, the grain sanded and stained to perfection. Written on it in
black capital letters was the name
THOMAS
.
Peter rubbed his fingertips over it and then turned to Latesha. A gust of wind
tossed his hair and he had to brush it away from his face. “This is incredible
workmanship,” he said. “Where did you get it?”

Latesha
glanced at her father with a flustered look and then met Peter’s eyes. She
moved slightly toward the road so that when looking at her, Peter would have no
chance of seeing Mr. Thomas. “Dad made it,” she said, trying to control her
voice.

“Do
you have another one like it?”

“There’s
one in the porch,” she said with a confused look. “Why do you ask?”