After the Loving

by Gwynne Forster

  She finished the sketch of a furnished dining room, complete with decorative items and china, crystal, silverware and table linen suggestions. It was the second such job she’d done for an architect, and she couldn’t wait to show it to Russ. Delighted with her accomplishment, she got the urge to celebrate with a new hairdo and something smart to wear and telephoned her hairdresser for an appointment.

  “What you having today?” Bea Hobson asked her as she walked into the shop.

  “Something different. And very modern. Anything as long as it’s new and I’ll look good.”

  “What about braids?” She showed her an intricate design. “If you don’t like it, I can always take them out.”

  She chose the braids. On the way home, after trying on several suits that were either too small or the skirt was too long, she bought an elegant rust-colored suede one. Not because she needed it, but because it looked good on her and she felt like treating herself.

  Her next stop was Lydia’s office, less for checking up on her weight than to gauge her friend’s reaction to the braids. “How do I look?” she asked of the new hairstyle.

  Lydia appraised her at length, twisted her mouth slightly to one side and then lifted her right shoulder in a gesture of disregard. “Next, I guess you’ll have your stomach taped and your ears pinned back.”

  “Aw, Lydia. I thought I’d do something different. You don’t like my braids?”

  “If I liked ’em, I’d wear ’em. They look great on a lot of African-American women. But, honey, if you want my opinion, you’re not one of ’em.” As if it were a hopeless subject, she threw up her hands. “But if that’s what mills your wheat… Let’s see how the weight’s coming along. Hmm. Three pounds down. Not bad.”

  “You mean I lost three pounds?”

  “Yep. Stay on that diet and take your medicine. If you exercise properly and regularly, you ought to see substantial results.”

  Velma let out a long sigh. “Thanks a lot,” she said to herself. “In other words, keep on starving myself.”

  To Lydia, she said, “Whatever you say.” She’d wasted her time stopping to see Lydia, and she didn’t dare think of Russ’s reaction.

  Lydia got up from her desk, walked over to Velma and put an arm around her shoulder. “Listen, friend. You and I have been buddies since we were college freshmen. When we were roommates, you were always bingeing, eating this month and starving yourself the next. But you didn’t seem to worry about your weight.”

  She went over to the window and looked out, giving notice that what she was about to say next would neither be easy for her nor pleasant for Velma. “I used to wonder how you could be so irresolute about your weight and so doggedly persistent about everything else. Another thing, I’ve never heard you say a kind word about either of your parents. As students of psychology, that tells both you and me that you have some deep-seated problems, and it’s time you got to the core of them.”

  “Look, I know you mean well, Lydia, but—”

  “But, honey, when we’re dealing with your weight, we’re only treating the symptom, not the cause.”

  “But it’s a medical condition.”

  “Velma, not every person with a hypothyroid has the problem you have controlling your weight. Talk to Alexis and figure out what happened in your youth that didn’t happen in hers.”

  Those words stayed with Velma long after she left Lydia’s office. She didn’t have to discuss it with Alexis, because she knew the answer. As the older of the two, she had been the shield between her sister and the turbulence and selfishness that she herself witnessed in their parents. Toward late evening, she managed to concentrate on the banquet she had agreed to plan for a teachers’ conference. She was able to do that because she had made up her mind to follow Lydia’s advice.

  The next morning, she went to her safe-deposit box and took out the bundle of papers marked “Family Affairs.” Sitting in the little room that the bank provided for its box holders, she sifted through papers she hadn’t looked at in thirteen years, not since she was eighteen and became head of her household and caretaker of sixteen-year-old Alexis.

  High school diplomas, their mother’s death certificate, old property deeds, bills of sale for their house and her father’s automobile, the marriage certificates of her parents and grandparents, all brought back memories—mostly bitter ones—and tears to her eyes. At last she found what she sought: her father’s letter to her telling her he was leaving, leaving her with responsibility for her mother’s funeral and for the education of herself and Alexis. The note said he was going to Canada, which was as good as telling her nothing, since Canada was one large, vast land area. She was on her own.

  Two days later, Russ called Velma and suggested that they go ice-skating for an hour that evening. Although they had talked, she hadn’t seen him since the morning she went with him to the courthouse.

  “Before dinner or after?” she asked.

  “Before. Then I’ll fix supper for you. What do you say?”

  “Sounds good to me. What will you cook?”

  Was she implying that he might not be able to turn out a decent meal? “Playing it safe, eh? Well, I don’t ask you that when you’re the cook, do I? I’ll be at your place around six. Okay?”

  “What on earth?” He gaped at her as she stood in the door wearing an expression of expectancy. Yes, expectancy. What else could he call it?

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi. What happened to your hair?”

  A frown slid across her face and then settled there. “Come on in. That’s about the worst thing a man could say to a woman. Well, one of the worst. I had it braided, as you can see.”

  “But why, for Pete’s sake? I thought it looked nice the way you wore it.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  He gazed down at her, thinking that he’d just blown his chance to get that welcoming kiss. Heck. He wasn’t going to lie. “Did you expect me to?”

  “Sorry,” she said, her shrug of indifference belying her real feelings. “I felt like something different.”

  “And you definitely got it. Do I rate a kiss?”

  She stroked his cheek, stepped close and took him into her warm, sweet mouth.

  “Let’s go, before you start an explosion. Woman, you’re dynamite.”

  “This is the one thing I like about winter,” she said as they glided over the ice.

  “Don’t you like Christmas?”

  She slowed down. “I was about to give you a glib answer— Of course I like Christmas. Doesn’t everybody?” The phrase was on the tip of my tongue, she thought, because the truth was so painful.

  “Christmas in our home was never the glorious time for me that it seemed to be for everyone else. I grew up praying that it would pass without a blowout. The only wonderful Christmas I ever knew was the one I spent last year in your home. That’s when I knew what Christmas could be.”

  He had a powerful urge to hold her, to protect her from the demon that he realized still haunted her. With her hand in his, he skated to the edge of the rink and sat with her on a bench.

  “You tell me things like that when we’re among a bunch of strangers, and I can’t hold you the way I want to.”

  “I didn’t plan to say it. And I didn’t know the thoughts were so near the surface of my mind.”

  “You had to handle too much at too early an age, and you’ve buried your feelings about your parents and your childhood.” He was dealing with an unfamiliar sense of helplessness, and he felt crippled. “Trust me to be here for you no matter what your problem is and whenever you need an ear.” He dared not say more, for whenever he probed, she closed up.

  She patted his hand.

  “I’m dealing with it, Russ. It won’t beat me down.”

  “Were you dealing with it when you got your hair braided?” It was a tough question, but it came out of him honestly and required as much of her.

  “I’m not sure. I finished a terrific design for a furnished din
ing room complete with appointments, and I was so happy with it that I treated myself to something different.”

  She may have believed that explanation, but he didn’t. Most women would buy a new dress or a new pair of shoes. He changed the subject. “I didn’t know you designed interiors. Will you show it to me?”

  Her face bloomed with delight. “I want you to see it. It’s my second assignment for an architect, and I think I did a good job. I’d like your opinion. Could we stop by my house?”

  He swung his arms across her shoulder and urged her closer to him. “Tell you what. I’ll wait in the car while you go inside and get it.”

  Her eyes widened, a frown settled on her face and she poked her right index finger in his chest. “Chicken. Nothing will happen to you in my house that you don’t want to happen.”

  Laughter bubbled up in his throat and then spilled out. He threw back his head and gave it full rein. “Velma, that’s a man’s line.”

  “I know,” she said, “and I used it because I figured you’d understand it.”

  When he finally stopped laughing, he said, “In the future, if I say that to you, I’ll know you’ll get the full import of my meaning.” He realized that his left eye narrowed. “You can dish out a lot of sass, babe.”

  The grin that settled around her mouth and the sparkles that lit her eyes heated his blood, and he had to force himself not to pull her into his arms.

  “You call it sass? I call it telling it like it is.”

  “Come on, sweetheart,” he said. “Let’s go. I’ve had enough ice.”

  He would have expected anything but that long, slow wink she gave him. “You didn’t get any ice from me,” she said, in a tone suited to her wink. “I’m a warm blanket on a freezing night.”

  He had a feeling that she was toying with him and enjoying it, not that he minded. He could give as good as he got. “You don’t have to remind me,” he said. “My memory is as good as the next person’s. And trust me, no blanket, however warm, can generate half as much heat as you can.” He ignored her narrowed right eye and gaping mouth, stood and held out his hand to her. “It’s getting late, and we have to stop by your place.”

  Chicken or not, he waited in the car while she went inside her house to get the design. If her work was credible, it meant that they had one more important thing in common. He opened the passenger door, and she climbed in, obviously out of breath.

  “You didn’t have to run. I’d wait for you indefinitely. No. Cancel that.”

  “You mean you wouldn’t wait for me indefinitely?”

  He pulled away from the curb and glanced at her. “You think you have to ask that?”

  “I guess not.” She seemed subdued, but he didn’t know why. Anyone who knew him was familiar with his impatience. He’d exercised more patience with her than he had in all the thirty-three and a half years before he met her.

  “I didn’t want to mislead you because my patience is not infinite.”

  “I know.”

  As soon as they stepped inside his foyer, she handed him a large brown envelope. “What do you think?”

  He walked over to the table, turned on the light and opened the envelope. “Hmm. This is…I’d say it’s excellent. Contemporary all the way. Very imaginative and no cute stuff. I like it.”

  “Gosh. I’m stunned. You hurled my ego halfway to the moon.” She clasped her hands tightly and pressed them against her breast, and he didn’t doubt that his appraisal of her work gave her a boost.

  “No need for that. It’s a really fine job. Who’s the architect?”

  “Peck and Crawford. About a year ago, I decorated a family room for them for a model home. I don’t plan to solicit this kind of business. I’m good at planning parties, receptions and galas, and I intend to stick with that. What are you cooking? May I help?”

  “Steak, baked potatoes and asparagus. Ice cream for dessert. Nothing could be simpler. You can wash the asparagus.”

  After eating, they cleaned the kitchen. Russ made coffee and carried it into the living room. They sipped quietly, occasionally smiling at each other. Then he put their cups and saucers in the dishwasher, turned it on and closed the kitchen door.

  “Sit over here with me,” he said, patting the spot beside where he sat on the sofa. “I wanted to tell you this when we were alone and in a peaceful environment. I called the courthouse in Frederick this morning, and the clerk faxed the report to me. The DNA tests were negative, as I knew they would be. Iris Parker will receive a copy of the report.

  “I can’t figure out why she would get herself into such a mess. Drake says she came after me because she read about my inheritance. Oh, well. Want to ride with me to Eagle Park tomorrow?”

  “Will we have time to shop for Henry at the Lexington Market?”

  “Sure. It’s on the way out of Baltimore. Say, you haven’t said a word about the test results.”

  “It’s what I expected, Russ. Look. I’m going to ask you something, and it’s going to make you mad.”

  “Then don’t ask it.”

  “I need the answer. Do you have any further interest in Iris Parker? Or her child?”

  “Wait a minute.” He began rubbing the back of his neck, a sure sign that he was displeased. He took a deep breath. It was a reasonable question. “I am not, nor have I ever been interested in Iris Parker. I lectured to a group at the YWCA, and she was present. She came up to me later and suggested we have a drink and talk about a project she had in mind. That same night, I slept with her in her apartment. The next time I saw her she was in Harrington House accusing me of fathering her child.

  “As for her son, I feel sorry for him, because he’s got nothing going for him. I also feel sorry for the farmers whose crops were flooded last summer, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to rush out to save them.”

  “All right. All right. Don’t get your dander up. I had a right to know.”

  “I agree. Anyway, it’s myself that I’m annoyed with, not you. I’d better take you home before—”

  “Before I fall asleep,” she finished for him. “What time are we meeting tomorrow?”

  “Is eight too early?”

  She shook her head. “Fine with me.”

  “What the devil did you do to yerself?” Henry asked Velma when she walked into the kitchen around noon that Saturday to give him the sausages and double-smoked bacon that he preferred. “You look like a plucked chicken.”

  “Oh, Henry. That’s not a nice thing to say.”

  “Don’t matter if it ain’t. You managed to get rid of one of the prettiest faces I ever saw with those pickaninny things on yer head.”

  “I guess that means you don’t like it,” she said, feeling an urge to get out of the kitchen.

  Henry sucked his teeth and looked toward the ceiling. “And I ain’t the only one that don’t like it. I bet you that. If you don’t like yerself, how do you expect other people to like you? Did Russ tell you how pretty you look with them cornrows?”

  “Oh, Henry. You make it sound awful.”

  “And I ain’t overstating it either. Alexis is a pretty woman that’s tall and thin, and you’re a pretty woman that’s short and round. God knew just what he was doing when he made both kinds, and you shouldn’t go around second-guessing him.”

  She walked over to Henry and patted his shoulder, realizing that she would have hugged him if she’d had the nerve. “Why do you think my size has anything to do with my hair?”

  “’Cause I’m on to you. You ain’t been yerself since the wedding, and you better watch yer step.”

  “There you are.” Russ strolled into the kitchen and didn’t stop until he had both arms around her. “I’d like to talk with you for a few minutes,” he said to Henry.

  “What about? I got to fix lunch, seeing as how you brought company with you. We can talk while you peel these potatoes, that is, providing yer hands ain’t stuck where they are.”

  Russ brought her closer to his body. “No problem. I can ho
ld her while she peels the potatoes.”

  “You beginning to sound like Drake,” Henry said. “But in your case, it’s a welcome sign.”

  “I’ll peel the potatoes,” Velma said, and to her surprise, Russ kept both arms around her while she stood at the sink and began peeling them.

  “Velma already knows about this,” Russ said to Henry. “You know Uncle Fentress left me a lot of money.”

  “Yeah. I sure do.”

  Russ told him his plans for the Josh Harrington Victory Homes in Baltimore and added, “Two hundred and fifty thousand goes to you, so if you’ll give me a deposit slip, I’ll put it in your bank.”

  “Are the three of you out of yer minds?” Henry asked him. “What am I going to do with two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? You built me a house, you pay me too much, you feed me. I don’t even have to buy an aspirin. Once a year, I spend three hundred dollars to go to Florida, stay with my sister for two weeks and fish. Every five or six years, I buy a few trousers and some shirts.”

  She heard a catch in Henry’s voice, glanced at him and saw the unshed tears glimmering in his eyes. “The three of you are like me own sons,” he said. “You give meaning to my life. I don’t need money.”

  “I don’t care what you do with it,” Russ said. “I’m giving it to you. If we’re like your sons, you’re like our father. So please give me the deposit slip.”

  “I ain’t got any heirs except you boys. Well, there’s Tara, of course. Maybe you should be saving it for yer own kids.” He looked at her. “You want some, don’t you?”

  Though flushed with embarrassment, she resisted lowering her head, but looked him in the eye. “Of course I do, Henry, but don’t you think you’ve overstepped a line?”

  The sound of Russ’s laughter so surprised her that she dropped the vegetable peeler on the counter and turned to look at him. “I thought you knew that Henry says whatever he wants to. Telford, Drake and I are never allowed to doubt Henry’s opinions of us and what we’re doing. Get used to it.”