Authors: Gwynne Forster
“Now I realize how we lost touch with each other,” Russ said. “You left the country. I finally gave up trying to find you.”
She listened as they reminisced, enjoying their camaraderie and the opportunity to share in Russ’s past. John Gandy sat beside his wife, put his left arm around her shoulder and held her right hand with his other hand. His left hand teased her hair, stroked her cheek and caressed her shoulder. It was never still, but continuously fondled her, communicating to his wife that he loved and adored her.
After a dinner of roasted cornish hens, broiled mushrooms, string beans and rice, with vanilla ice cream under raspberry sauce for dessert, Amelia left them and returned with three-year-old Jay. When introduced to the child, Velma said, “Hello, how are you, Jay?” to which he replied, “I’m sleepy.”
She didn’t know why she did it, but she opened her arms to the boy, and he responded by crawling into her lap. She cradled him, and within minutes, he was asleep.
After using all of her willpower to avoid looking at Russ, his voice reached her from across the room. “I wish I had a camera. That’s the most perfect picture I ever saw.”
She looked at him then and had to stifle a gasp, for his eyes communicated to her the depth of his feelings.
Later, as he drove them to her house, she asked the question that had nagged at her all evening. “When I first met Amelia, I didn’t realize that she’s handicapped. Did it happen while she was in Africa?”
“She’s been that way since birth. She usually wears a shoe that camouflages it.”
“Have they been married long?”
“About eight years, but they’ve been together since they were eighteen, and they’re both my age, thirty-four.”
He parked in front of her door, cut the motor and got out of the car. She was hardly aware of the open passenger door, for her mind remained on Amelia Gandy. A woman with a flawed figure, and one shorter leg, who limped badly, had a handsome six-foot-three-inch-tall husband who hadn’t seemed able to keep his hands off her, though he’d been her lover for sixteen years. She released a long breath of air, grasped Russ’s hand and stepped onto the sidewalk.
Inside her foyer, he let her know at once that he wouldn’t stay long and when she looked at him inquiringly, he said, “Amelia is a beautiful woman. Inside, she is pure gold, a loving person of unquestionable loyalty. She’s all that and much more. You’ve been wondering how it is that a handsome, successful man like John loves her—and it’s so clear that he does—when she is not perfect to the beholder.”
He slapped his balled right fist into his left palm and shook his head as if there was something he didn’t understand. “Now you know that a man can adore a woman whose body doesn’t meet
Vogue
magazine’s standard of beauty. Velma, let it go. Please, for your sake and mine, learn that you’re worth any man’s attention. You’re lovable, and I love you, but if you don’t accept this fact, and especially after last Friday night, what do we have going for us? You think about this.”
He kissed her quickly and left. She trudged up the stairs to her bedroom, her heart heavy and her feet dragging. She merely asked some questions, and he knew the basis for them. It didn’t escape her that, although Russ Harrington
loved her, he would walk away from her if she didn’t deal with her…she hated to say it…her insecurity. She sat in the dark for an hour ruminating about her life and the mess she might make of it. Thoroughly chastened, she told herself, “I’m calling that lawyer first thing Monday morning. I don’t have to wait for his letter. I’m going to see my father.”
S
hortly after nine Monday morning, Velma telephoned Alexis, more out of guilt, since she planned to do something of which she knew Alexis disapproved. However, when she learned that Alexis wasn’t feeling well, she postponed speaking with Alvin Crooks, her lawyer, and drove to Eagle Park.
“My Lord,” she said to herself as she parked in front of Harrington House, “I didn’t tell Russ I was coming here. He’s piqued at me anyhow, and this will only make it worse.”
“Some kind of virus,” Telford explained when he opened the door for her.
“I though she might be pregnant,” Velma said. “You sure?”
“If I thought she was, I wouldn’t be standing here. I’d be up there in the clouds somewhere. No. When that happens, it will be a planned event.”
She bounded up the stairs to the room Alexis shared with her husband. “How’re you feeling, hon?”
“Lousy. I must have the flu. I ached something awful last night. We didn’t want Tara to get this, so Telford got her ready for school. She told Henry that men should learn how to braid because both Russ and Telford made a mess of her hair.”
“I can imagine. I thought you might be pregnant, but Telford said you’re not. Are you?”
“No. It’s really the flu. I don’t think it’s good to begin a marriage with a pregnancy if you can avoid it.”
Laughter poured out of Velma. “You sound as if you don’t know if there’s a way to avoid it.”
Alexis rolled over, reached for the glass of orange juice on the night table and took a sip. “Promise me you won’t make any jokes. I don’t feel like laughing. How are things with you and my brother-in-law?”
“Sometimes, he’s the most wonderful man, and I can actually feel with every nerve in my body and with my five senses how much he loves me. Then I can do or say something, and he withdraws. Like Saturday night.” She told Alexis about their visit with John and Amelia Gandy, her reaction to Amelia, and the questions she asked Russ later.
“Would you believe he knew I was comparing her to beautiful women with perfect bodies and wondering how a man like John Gandy could be besotted with her after sixteen years, first as her lover and later as her husband? He said I wondered about it because I believe that an imperfect woman isn’t lovable. And I think I’m imperfect. He took it personally. Then he passed his lips across my mouth—dutifully, I felt—and left me.”
“From my discussion with you these past several months,
I suspect there’s some truth in what he said. And I’ll bet that’s the only thing that gets between you.”
“He’d probably agree with you, but I don’t know. I’m sick of being dissected and analyzed. I’m going downstairs to say hello to Henry, because I definitely don’t want cabbage stew for supper.”
“You shoulda stayed in Baltimore and looked after yer man,” Henry said after accepting her kiss on his cheek. “Before I leave this world, I want to see all the boys married to good women. You’re a lot slower than yer sister.”
She patted his shoulder and accepted the buttered biscuit that he handed her. She bit into it. “Hmm. This is fabulous, even by your high standards. I’m probably faster than Alexis, but I suspect Russ is to Telford as a saddle horse is to a thoroughbred. That man is deliberate, and he takes his time.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. Is Russ coming this weekend?”
“I guess so. Drake will be home, so I can’t imagine he won’t come to see him.”
Henry put some utensils in the dishwasher and grabbed his back as he straightened up. “Now, you listen to me, young lady. That ain’t no way to deal with Russ. I bet he don’t even know you’re here. If he don’t, get on that phone and call him. You’re hell-bent on wrecking this thing, both of ya. Did you bring me sausages?”
“Of course I did. And don’t worry about Russ and me, there’s a problem, and I’m working on it.”
“At least you’re dressing like a fine woman, and yer hair’s back to normal. The braids didn’t look bad on you. Not a bit. But you’re prettier with your hair down. Piling it on top of yer head don’t make you look taller. Makes ya look like a short woman with her hair piled on top of her head. If ya want it to look short, cut it.”
She accepted another biscuit, though she knew the scales would punish her for it. “Henry, I didn’t dream that you paid this much attention to women.”
He treated her to a dismissive glance. “I ain’t always been old—I was a man of me time, and I had me a fine wife, God rest her soul.”
She heard a wobble in his voice and saw the unshed tears glistening in his eyes. Though she knew he shied away from intimacy, she put an arm around him. “And I know you were a wonderful husband to her. Take comfort in that.”
“I try,” he whispered, “but sometimes that ain’t much comfort. I been without her for the last thirty of me sixty years.” She didn’t remove her arm, and his behavior didn’t suggest that he wanted her to. “You take care of Russ. Being married to a man who loves you and who you love is a blessed state. There’s nothing else like it.”
“I will. He means everything to me.”
“I know that. You just make sure he knows it. If you got a lot of time on yer hands, you can French these string beans.”
She sat on the stool that Henry used, washed and prepared the beans and stored them in the refrigerator. “Anything else I can do?”
“Well, if you don’t mind, you could take Alexis a couple of aspirins and some hot tea with lemon and sugar.” He made the tea, and she took that and the aspirin to Alexis.
“Does Russ know you’re here?” Alexis asked.
She slapped the side of her face. “Oh, goodness. I meant to call him. See you later.”
She headed for her room, and as she walked in, she heard her cell phone ringing. “Hello. Velma Brighton speaking.”
“This is Captain Hawkins, police department. Did you
witness a man running from a balcony last Friday night? We’d like to talk with you.”
“I did, sir, but I’m in Eagle Park right now, and later this week, I’m scheduled to go to Canada for a couple of days.”
“Where’s Eagle Park?”
“About a twenty-minute drive from Frederick. I can go there and give a deposition, if you’d like.”
“That may work. Could you identify the man, if you saw him?”
“Only by size, color and height, sir. I didn’t get a good look at his face. He was a swarthy white man, dark haired, slightly built and about five-nine or five-ten. And Captain, that man could really run, so I suspect he was rather young.”
“Thanks, Miss Brighton, this is a big help. If we need you, we’ll let you know.”
She hung up and stared at the phone. They’d traced the call to her. Not that she minded, but she hoped she wouldn’t have to testify in court. She sat down and dialed Russ’s cellular phone number.
“Russ Harrington. How may I help you?”
“Russ, this is Velma. I’m in Eagle Park, and I—”
“Hi. What’re you doing there? Is Alexis all right?”
“I called her this morning, and when I learned that she has the flu, I came straight here. Drake will be home day after tomorrow. If you’re coming, I’ll stay till you get here.”
“I won’t be able to leave here till Friday afternoon.”
“Then, if Alexis doesn’t get worse, I’ll leave sometime Wednesday. Where are you?”
“We’re gutting these houses, and I’m in a hard-hat area, so I have to be careful of loose wires. If you get back here Wednesday, I want to see you.”
“Okay. But we’ll talk before then. Be careful. Love ya. Bye.”
“Throw it over there,” he said to someone. “Back at you,” he said to her. “I’ll fix that Wednesday night.”
She couldn’t help laughing. He didn’t have privacy to speak, so she needled him. “Well, you’d better bring all your tools. This…uh…house right here is in bad shape and has been since Friday night.”
“Bad…what?” His laughter, a sound that she adored, reached her through the wire, and she joined him in it.
“You’ll pay,” he said. “And I hope you remember what the punishment is like.”
The laughter seemed to float out of her of its own volition. “Do I ever. I can hardly wait.”
“You little imp,” he said. “I’ll bring the tools, all right. See you.”
After she hung up, she realized that she had tied up her week and her weekend. Another week would pass before she could confront her father.
Wednesday afternoon at four-thirty, Russ hung up his hard hat, noted that the steps had been removed and jumped from the open door of a house to the pavement below. The last of the houses had been gutted, and a big crane was shoveling up what was left of the debris. He phoned Allen Krenner, the Harrington brothers’ foreman.
“We’ll start the renovations tomorrow morning, Allen, but unless Telford says otherwise, we won’t need more than half a dozen men here for the remainder of the week. Drake gets in from Barbados today, and he may have something to say about this, but as far as I’m concerned, we’re ready to go.”
He washed up in the trailer, changed his clothes and headed home. Bring all of his tools, eh? She’d be screaming
“uncle” before he got through with her. He telephoned her. “I’ll be by your house at seven, and I expect I’ll be starved, so suppose we go somewhere for a quick bite?”
“Quick bite? Why quick?”
“You’ve got a world-class imagination, sweetheart. Now’s a good time to use it. See you in a couple of hours.”
At seven, she opened her door to him, her face blooming in a smile. He stepped inside, pulled her into his arms and lowered his head. He felt the pressure of her hands on the back of his neck and his body quickened in anticipation of what was to come. Her lips parted, and he sank into her, starved for what he found there. When she showed no sign of easing up, he forced himself to stop and stand back.
“I think we’d better go somewhere and eat,” he said. “I only had a sandwich for lunch.” He looked hard at her. “Is…uh…that something you wear out in the street?” he asked of the silk pants and knee-length tunic she wore.
“Some women might, but I wouldn’t.”
He studied that cryptic remark. She had a way of talking around an issue and letting you figure out the meaning, but he had plans for the evening, and didn’t intend to have them squashed by a misunderstanding.
So he asked her, “Are we eating out, or do you plan to have something brought in?”
“Neither,” she said. “Here I am all decked out in this sexy thing, and you’re talking about food.”
“Damn straight, I am. I’m practically starved.”
Her face creased into a grin. “Really. Well, I’ll do my best to take care of that. Come on.”
She led him to her dining room. “I cooked for you. I even roasted a pair of pork filets. Would I let you starve?”
He pointed to the table where broiled grapefruit halves awaited him, the smell of the cognac teasing his nostrils.
“With stuff like that, no, but otherwise, I can’t say. You haven’t been tested.”
She patted his buttock. “Sit down, please. Just for that smart remark, you’ll have to say the grace.”
“You’d make me say it anyway.” He took her hand, and suddenly felt impelled to thank the Lord, not for the food, but for the joy he found in their relationship.
When he finished, she raised her head and looked at him. “You’re a blessing in my life.”
And may it always be that way, he thought. He savored the roast pork, potato pancakes, string beans and the tomato salad. “Velma, this is good stuff. I’m speaking first-class.”
“Well, you said you were starved, and that makes you easy to please.”
He waved the fork in her direction, laughing to himself at the thought of what Henry would say if he saw him do that. “Woman, let this be the last time I have to tell you that I am well acquainted with my mind. So I know what I think. I say this is good food, and it would be good even if I wasn’t hungry. So just thank me nicely.” She folded her hands in her lap and lowered her lashes, and he could see that he’d pleased her.
“Sorry I didn’t have time to make a snappy desert, so you’ll have ice cream.”
“Works for me. I love ice cream about as much as Tara loves it. Vanilla and raspberry mixed?” he asked.
“Close. Vanilla with raspberry sauce.”
“Your Brownie points are piling up. When did you do all this? I called you a little after four-thirty.”
“After we spoke, I went to the butcher and bought the filets, bought the ice cream and a package of frozen raspberries. I had the other things here. It’s a simple meal and didn’t take long to cook.”
He finished the ice cream, leaned back in the chair and patted his belly. “For cooking like this, I have a feeling that if I didn’t already love you, I’d be falling fast right now. Let’s clean the kitchen.”
“I think you’re a slave driver,” she said in jest, or at least he hoped she wasn’t serious. Some of his workers had accused him of that, but he’d only been asking for an honest day’s work.
“Maybe, but when you wake up tomorrow, you won’t have to face a sinkful of dirty dishes, and you won’t have to ruin your pretty hands with this steel wool I’m using to scrub this pot.”
They teased and bantered until he turned on the dishwasher, flicked out the light, took her hand and walked out of the kitchen. She looked at her watch. “There’s an old Paul Robeson movie on tonight, and it’s just beginning. Let’s watch it.”
He stared down at her. “I hope you’re kidding.”
“Why?”
He didn’t believe anybody could fake that kind of innocence. “Oh, hell,” he said, picked her up and carried her upstairs to her bedroom. “You still want to know why?”
Her shrug was as elegant a gesture as he’d ever seen. “Me? You blustered about bringing all your tools, but I haven’t seen any, so I figured we’d watch a movie. And that’s fine with me.”
She had the ability to drive him up the wall. He let her see a grin on his face before he lifted her to fit him, locked an arm around her shoulder and the other one around her buttocks and stared down into her face.
“Have you found anything lacking with the tools I’ve got?”
She bit her bottom lip and swallowed visibly. “Uh…no.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Then let me know you want me to stay.”
She locked her arms around his back and parted her lips. “Ah, yes,” he said and plunged into her mouth.