Perfect Pitch

by Amy Lapwing

  Justina rolled her eyes. “I’m going for a walk.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Robin and he and Kim followed her. The parents stayed behind to drink coffee and talk about the children, or watch the game.

  The young people strolled through the neighborhood, past yards glossy and green from a recent raking and demarked abruptly by the still leaf-strewn ones. Robin walked with Justina, Kim just behind.

  “What’s the scoop, Jus?” asked Robin. “You got a boyfriend?”

  “I don’t know what to call him,” she answered.

  “The suffering lover is a pretty good fit,” suggested Kim. Robin looked over his shoulder at him. “She never sees him.”

  “I do too!”

  “Oh, right, she sits at his table at lunch. I used to do that with Shannon Boyle, in the eighth grade. Remember her, Rob?”

  “So, what? I don’t get it. Are you dating him?”

  “Not exactly,” said Justina. Robin wanted more. “I was, dating him, then I decided to stop, for a while. I’m not dating anyone, right now.”

  “Why? Was he a creep?”

  Kim laughed. “He’s a dreamboat, bud. That’s the problem.”

  “So, you like him?”

  She looked across the street and waved at Mrs. Thurber walking her ancient little Shih-tzu, which Robin, age twelve, translated to ‘dirty wad of tissue.’ Robin looked back at Kim who clutched his heart and batted his eyelids.

  “I don’t get it,” said Robin. Kim shrugged.

  “Hey,” said Justina, “I just don’t need a relationship right now, okay? I have more important things to do. I’m trying to do something with my life, here.”

  “Ow!” Robin winced. “How’s he feel about it?”

  “He’s allowed to see her in the faculty lounge,” explained Kim. “‘Cause there’s lots of people around? He never misses a day, dude.”

  “Ooh, that’s cold, you’re cold, girl.” Robin smiled. “So, how long you going to keep this up?”

  “End of the school year,” she said without hesitation.

  Robin looked back at Kim who embraced himself and shivered. “Yeah, right,” said Robin. The friends circled the block and came back to Justina’s house. They went in and sat in the living room with their parents and had pumpkin pie and pecan pie topped with real whipped cream. “This is real?” said Bob. “Tastes almost as good as Cool— whoa, did you see that catch!”

  George went up to bed early, his full belly needing his blood supply to itself. Mavis and Justina sat in the den and watched a Christmas movie. At a commercial Justina muted the set. Mavis stopped filing her nails and watched her daughter’s face as she stared at droplets of water cascading from a piece of snapped celery flying through the air in slow motion. She resumed filing. “You going to tell me about him?”

  Justina sighed. “I’m not trying to hide anything, it’s just, kind of complicated.”

  “Is it overall bad,” Mavis asked, thinking of the hated Rourke, “or overall good?”

  “Good. It’s good, Mom.”

  “But complicated?”

  “I’m just not seeing him right now, for a while, while I work on establishing myself, in my work.”

  “It’s a big job, a new career.”

  “Right.”

  “Takes all your attention.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So, seeing someone just makes things difficult, right now.”

  “Right, exactly.”

  “But, it would be nice if it didn’t? Make things difficult?”

  “That would be nice.” Justina could not help smiling.

  “Tell me about him. What’s his name?”

  “His name is Michael Calderón. He’s Costa Rican.”

  Mavis smiled. “He sounds exotic.”

  “Oh, he’s— he’s just ...”

  “Wonderful?

  “Mm-hm.”

  “Handsome?”

  “Very,” said Justina, and she began to tremble.

  “Fun to be with?”

  Justina laughed softly. “He took me to a play, a kid’s play. Snow White? The prince was a student of his, one of his voice students. It was adorable.”

  “He’s a music teacher?”

  “Mm-hm. He’s the choral director at the school. He gives voice lessons.”

  “That’s nice. Has he been there long?”

  “Thirteen years.”

  “Oh. Then he’s older than you.” By at least thirteen years, she guessed. He must be divorced. She filed her long fingernail flat.

  “Yeah. A little.”

  “Your father’s a little older than me.”

  “A bit more older than that.”

  “Something about an older man. How much older is he, Justina?”

  “He’s forty-four.” She tried to make it sound like thirty-four.

  Mavis’ eyes went wide for a moment. She went on to her pinky. “Is he divorced? Not that it matters.”

  “No. He’s never been married.”

  This man was starting to sound strange to Mavis. “I imagine he’s very distinguished looking.”

  “He’s the handsomest man I think I’ve ever seen. After Daddy.”

  “He must be ... irresistible.”

  “He is. He is, Mom.” Justina looked to her mother for sympathy, her folded legs shivering beneath her.

  “He makes things tricky for you, right now, starting your career.”

  “Yeah.” Finally, someone understood her. “He doesn’t mean to, but—”

  “Do you know how he feels about you?”

  “He loves me. We love each other.”

  Mavis kept her eyes on Justina. The young woman watched the screen, her mouth slightly open; she was trembling. Mavis said, “Must be hard, for him, too.”

  Justina sighed. “I guess so. I can’t help it. It’s just too much.”

  Mavis started on the other hand. “Well, if it’s a harmful love, then you’re wise to give him up.”

  “I haven’t given him up! It’s not that he’s bad. Mom, I’m not making that mistake again.”

  “That’s a relief. Honey, I hated that man, I don’t mind telling you now. But if there’s nothing wrong with him—”

  “It’s just overwhelming, right now. Why doesn’t anyone understand that? Love is overwhelming for me, okay? I can’t just fit it into my schedule, it throws my schedule out the window.”

  “But Justina,” said her mother, unable to resist the advice-giving urge, “if you can’t learn to live with love, you just may have to learn to live without it.” Mavis lifted the lid of the cloisonné box on the end table and put the nail file inside.

  Justina turned the T.V. volume back up.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kiss First

  The turkey was ready at one o’clock, as planned, but Linda had forgotten to factor in time for all the other dishes. If only she had taken Wednesday off, she could have done so much in advance. She took the cornbread out of the oven and glanced at her watch. Another forty minutes, at least, before the dressing would be ready.

  Hunger stirred Grace out of her room where she had been listening to CDs and drawing sketches of boys in numerous pensive poses, the heads of them all resembling the face in Kelsey’s basement window. She came into the kitchen to see how close they were. “When we eating?” she asked Linda innocently.

  “I don’t know! Stop asking me that. Soon, okay?”

  “Where’s Daddy?”

  “I don’t know! In the family room, I think.”

  Grace went into the T.V. room and found her father asleep on the couch. She sat on the ottoman near him and switched to a music video channel and watched women and men engage in singing foreplay. She would have been embarrassed to watch this with her father in the room, but as he was sleeping, the excitement was heightened.

  “Grace!” Her mother wanted her to come help her. She set the table in the dining room, using the good china and the silverware and the crystal. She could not remember where the
bread and butter plate went, was it over the fork or over the knife? She did not want to ask her stressed-out mother, so she guessed the fork. Linda had her get the silver serving spoons and she carried in the sweet potato casserole, the green beans and potatoes, the bread pudding, the potatoes au gratin, the asparagus with cheese sauce, and the cranberry sauce, which only Jack ate, maybe one tenth of the can, what a waste.

  It was Jack’s job to carve the turkey. He was sleeping, they had not even eaten yet, and he was sleeping. He could care less that it was Thanksgiving, the day for celebrating The Family. Fine. Linda plugged in the electric knife and whacked away at the turkey. She loaded a platter with turkey breast slices and the wings and legs and brought it to the table and called Grace to come in and sit.

  Grace sat on one side, Linda took her place at the far end of the table, away from the pretty window, the place of honor, reserved for the head of the family. Linda took up the turkey plate and passed it to Grace. Grace took some white meat and gave her back the platter. Linda wordlessly passed Grace plate after plate, Grace served herself and watched Linda serve herself. Linda took a bite of turkey, swallowed quickly and put down her fork. “Will you say grace, please, honey?”

  Grace muttered some words she remembered from fifth grade Sunday school that Mrs. Bowen, the nicest lady in the world, had taught them. They had stopped going to church after that year because Grace could not stand Mrs. Pollard who taught sixth grade Sunday school, she had gray teeth and she smelled bad and she made them learn the old Lord’s prayer with its “trespasses” and “temptation,” telling them not to tell the vicar, who preferred the modern version, “sins” and “time of trial” somehow sounding better to his liberal ear. “Amen,” she remembered to add.

  They ate in silence, the two of them. Linda finally glanced at Grace who was staring at the wall opposite as she chewed. “How’s chorus going? Don’t you have a concert coming up soon?”

  Grace started to answer when Jack appeared in the doorway, tucking in his shirt, his hair disheveled. He took in the situation and exclaimed, “You’ve already started? Why didn’t you call me?”

  Linda did not look at him. “You were sleeping.”

  “I was just dozing.” He sat down at his place by the window. “You could have woke me up.” He reached for the nearest platter.

  Linda passed the turkey to Grace and told her to pass it to her father. Jack loaded his plate, then looked at Linda. “You’ve said grace?”

  “Mm-hm,” she murmured, grimacing at the milky potatoes au gratin. She had forgotten something, there was some trick to it, damn it!

  “Well, I want to say it again,” said Jack and he reached for Grace’s hand on the table. “Mind if I say it again?” he said.

  Grace reached her right hand toward Linda and looked fearfully at her. Linda took her hand, completing the link to Jack. It was just like him to make her feel bad with these unpredictable spasms of sentiment.

  “Dear God, we thank you for this day,” began Jack, finding the conventional nods to family, country and God. “And most of all, God, we thank you for our beautiful family. Family’s a wonderful thing, and we thank you for blessing us.” He winked at Grace. “Amen.” He squeezed and shook her hand, and set in to his dinner. They ate without conversation, Linda wanting only to hear about Grace, but not wanting Jack to hear any of it, especially since he did not show enough interest to ask her anything himself. Jack finished, wiped his mouth, winked again at Grace, took his plate in to the kitchen and went into the family room. Sounds of cheering came from the set. He was watching the four o’clock game.

  Grace finished quickly and fled Linda’s pent-up resentment. She rinsed hers and her father’s plates and put them in the dishwasher and went upstairs to her room and played her CDs some more. Linda worked in the kitchen for another hour, cleaning up and putting the leftovers in the refrigerator. She went up to her and Jack’s bedroom and did needlepoint as she sat on the bed, a Christmas movie on the bedroom T.V. They had all had a tough week, Linda told herself, they were unwinding. Family togetherness was for T.V. families, and even they could only manage it for a half-hour a week. She chatted animatedly with her mother when she called, jumping from topic to topic, unwilling to permit the discomfort of even a second’s silence.

  Grace went downstairs for a snack at eight. The kitchen was dark, the T.V. chittered on in the family room. She got a piece of apple pie and went in to sit with her father. He was not there. She put down the pie and tiptoed upstairs to her parents’ room. Linda sat on the bed with her needlework, her eyes on the T.V. She stole back downstairs and checked the garage. His car was gone. She sat on the ottoman and stared at the T.V. A car salesman was exuberating over the fantastic deals in his lot. The tears flowed up in a single wave, spilling out of her eyes and nose. She wailed, the sound frightening her, and she muffled her face in a pillow on the couch. She stared at the empty beer can on the end table and abruptly stopped crying. She sat up and wiped her eyes and watched T.V. for the next two hours and went to bed at ten. She heard Jack come home at eleven-thirty and slip silently into the room with Linda. The bed creaked as he got in, then the house was silent. Grace fell asleep a few minutes later.

  There, that head of blond hair and those shoulders! He’s turning to the side. Is it? He turns around and looks at a boy behind him. Of course not, he’s a senior, he goes to the high school. Forty-five minutes later, Grace thinks she seems him coming in the front door as she passes on to the cafeteria. He might be coming to tutor somebody, or to pick up his younger brother or sister. Or to deliver a message from one of the high school teachers, or bring back a projector. But it wasn’t him, it was Matt Foley, that tall boy in the ninth grade. She used to think he was cute. But Shane was beyond cute. She could see him so clearly, his face framed by the cinderblock-sized basement window, looking around at all the girls, smiling, then somberly looking at her. He liked her, he had winked at her, he would ask Eric who she was. That boy leaning on his elbows at that table over there, with the perfect butt, was that— no, somebody else.

  Grace went through the line with Kelsey and got a salad and a big cookie. She really wasn’t hungry, really, but she got some skim milk, in case her mother asked later. They sat with the usual buddies who were discussing Monday night’s installment of the popular Babes and Bucks high school soap opera; they were all appalled at the attempted seduction by one of the girl characters of the shy boy who was trying to save it for marriage. His nobility made him the girls’ favorite and they secretly wished the would-be seductress had succeeded.

  “That’s brain-dead!” pronounced Grace. The girls looked at her. “What’s so great about him? He doesn’t know anything about how to do it.” The girls giggled, then shushed themselves to see if she would say something more. “Jake’s the one she should be trying for. I bet he knows how to do it.”

  “Grace!” warned Kelsey, looking up at someone who had stopped behind Grace. Grace looked over her shoulder, sure it would be him. Mr. Pratt reached down and took a potato chip from Nicole’s tray, and walked on. Grace jutted out her chin, trying to free it from the imaginary necktie. The girls stifled their laughter.

  After school the two friends went out to the school buses, their backpacks slung over their arms and their shoulders hunched to expose as little of their unzipped fronts as possible to the cold. They spotted their bus as they heard a car’s honk.

  “Hey, dork!”

  Kelsey could not help looking to see who the name-caller was, the voice was so familiar. Eric called out the passenger window to his sister. “Come on!” Grace started to go with Kelsey but stopped still when she saw Shane in the front seat. Eric told his sister they had to go to the dentist, their mother had remembered at the last minute and forgotten to tell them. Kelsey did not want to go; Eric insisted, if he had to go, she did, come on, it wouldn’t take long.

  “You want to come?” offered Kelsey to Grace. “You can come to my house after, see our Christmas tree. We can make popco
rn balls.” Grace said okay and got into the backseat with Kelsey. Kelsey and her brother reveled in berating their overbooked mother for never remembering their appointments. Shane looked out the window at the junior high kids shuffling home. Grace looked at Shane: the delicate nostrils over the thick, barely-pink lips, almost the same color as his upper lip. Shane glanced behind him and she swiftly looked away, but he caught her look. He smiled to himself and talked to Kelsey, asking her did she have a good time at her party, and how old was she, sixteen? Happy Birthday! Kelsey giggled and Eric snorted. Grace wished he would talk to her.

  Eric parked the car outside the office condo, built in 1986, in need of new paint already, where the dentist had his office. “You going to stay here?” he asked Shane.

  “Yeah.”

  Kelsey looked at her friend. “I’ll stay here, I guess,” Grace told her, and Kelsey went with her brother into the office. Shane turned sideways and leaned his back against the door.

  “You sure you don’t want to go in?” he said. “Check if you got any cavities?”

  “I went in August.”

  “Let’s see.” Grace looked at him, apprehensive. “Come on, show me your teeth.” She bared her gums, he peered in. “Okay.” She smiled. “That’s better. I don’t bite, you know.”

  “I know.” She smiled and looked at her backpack; the edge of the triangle safety reflector was coming unstitched.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Grace.”

  “Grace? Have a last name?”

  “Hardy.”

  “Grace Hardy. I’m Shane.”

  “Shane what?”

  “Just Shane. You know any other Shanes?”

  She shook her head and said, “I know your name.”

  “You do?” He twisted toward her.

  “Mm-hm. Shane Butts.”

  “You must have asked somebody.” She smiled shyly. “Huh, didn’t you? When? Was it at the slumber party? Did you see me there?”

  Grace nodded slowly.

  “I saw you too.” He was looking serious, like he had that night. “I said to myself, that’s an interesting girl. A pretty girl and an interesting girl. Something about her, I don’t know.”