Sutherland

by Karen Trailor Thomas

  In the Oak Room, Harley took a chair some distance from the piano. It gave him a side view so he could watch her hands, and as she settled onto the bench, he crossed his legs and waited. “Okay,” she said. “Chopin’s Scherzo No. 1.”

  She took a couple seconds to shift gears, to let motorcycle and Sutherland sounds fall away. She thought of Chopin settling in at his piano and welcomed him to her. Then she began the piece.

  Chopin announced his presence with two dramatic chords followed by a string of arpeggios that seemed to build on one another, each cranking up the intensity. As Jennalee’s fingers raced up and down the keyboard, she knew Chopin’s emotions were also racing and she got that, the racing feel. The piece was more her than any of his others, though they all resonated.

  After all the racing came a quiet section, which Jennalee was certain Chopin included to catch his breath. She also breathed, basking in the respite, hands light on the keys, before Chopin jumped back in, coming at her with his demands, all of which she loved.

  He included a lullaby section, and as Jennalee raced toward it, anticipation filled her because it was so beautiful. She knew he’d quoted from an old Polish Christmas song to create calm, and when she reached it, she glanced at Harley, who had now uncrossed his legs and sat forward. As she began the lullaby, he eased back in his chair and she loved that small thing, how the music reached him. Untroubled was how this section had been described by those in the know and she agreed. So fitting a way to close the Sutherland weekend.

  Jennalee got a kick out of knowing Chopin would shortly destroy the lull he’d created. Two crashing chords suddenly thrust her into more arpeggios that again sent her racing up and down the keyboard. It felt feverish, her entire being caught up in the composer’s fury as he approached the end. When Jennalee struck the final notes, her breath came almost in gasps and she remained still, hands resting on the keys, recovering in the most wonderful way.

  Harley knew this and she loved him for it. He gave her time to come down, knowing she didn’t want to, knowing also that coming back to real life after such an outpouring was somewhat a trial. Finally she drew a couple deep breaths and put her hands in her lap. Only then did he comment.

  “Amazing,” he said. “I’ve never heard it before and you played it, well, playing doesn’t say it. You were gone in there. You ran off with him, didn’t you? It was incredible and you made it shine, Lee. Truly, you did what he wanted. You got it and you gave it to me. Thank you.”

  “Oh, Harley,” she said, bursting into tears.

  He came to sit beside her, put his arm around her, and let her cry. The best part was she wasn’t embarrassed to be crying, maybe because Harley alone knew how it was. He knew it all and she couldn’t stand losing that, not for a whole year. “I don’t want you to go,” she said.

  “I know, I know.”

  Finally she started to hiccup. This always happened when she cried really hard and Harley chuckled as he offered her a handkerchief. “Good thing Mom makes me carry one,” he said when Jennalee took it.

  “I don’t want your mom to go, either,” Jennalee said.

  “You’ll be fine,” he assured her, sounding like some adult. “Come on.” He took her hand and led her out.

  They got Cokes at the machine by Building Seven and sat in the lawn chairs they’d occupied before. Jennalee enjoyed the silence between them, the knowing still surrounding them like a warm cloud, a good cloud, pink maybe. After several minutes, Harley spoke.

  “You really do need to get yourself a local teacher,” he said. “I don’t mean to push but not studying is a mistake. You’re so talented, Lee. Give that lady your folks found a try and if you don’t like her, tell them you want somebody else. They’re on your side, you know. And you should apply to Julliard. Tell them that, too. Mostly, you have to let go of Mr. Mendel.”

  “I know. It’s just so hard.”

  “Of course it is, but look, I let go of Carroll Fraser, so I think you can let go of Mr. Mendel. It’s something you have to do. He’s standing in your way.”

  “Stop being so wise. I hate it when you’re wise.”

  “Because I’m right. Right?”

  “Right.”

  She sniffled a bit more into Harley’s handkerchief and then an idea came to her. “Maybe I could visit you in Garden Grove. There has to be an airport near there. I mean, you don’t live in the sticks.”

  “It wouldn’t be a good idea. What would you do? Hang out in the pawn shop while I worked? Listen to me practice? That’s pretty much my life, and as much as I’d like to see you, that’s not how I want it. Better we meet up here next year.”

  “But a whole year. It’s forever!”

  “Right now it is, I agree, but you can chip away at the days. Get busy with your music and school and they’ll fly by. Chopin wouldn’t want you pining. He’d want you to make his music shine, like you just did.”

  Looking at the burned out building, Jennalee noted the fireman was gone. “I guess the sparks are out,” she said, nodding toward the ruin. “The fireman left.”

  “Let’s go look,” Harley said, getting up.

  They peered into Noel’s room first, ducking under the yellow tape that wrapped the entire building. Inside the room they found it charred, sky visible through the hole in the ceiling. Crunching over blackened bits, Harley worked his way to the bathroom, Jennalee close behind. The bathroom door was gone but the bathtub remained. “That’s what saved him,” Harley said.

  The tub was full of black water and burned wood. “Hard to believe anybody made it out of here,” Jennalee said.

  They crunched back out, then went into the next room, the one the three boys had shared. It too was badly burned, but not as thoroughly. Wet, of course, everything soggy and stinking. “Yuck,” Jennalee said as they backed out.

  Next came the Laidlaw parents’ room which was lightly burned and soaking wet. The closet was empty. “Mom must have salvaged some stuff,” Harley noted. They took a look into the last room, but didn’t go in. “Nothing there,” said Harley.

  “What a mess,” Jennalee said as they stood finishing their Cokes.

  Just then a motorcycle started and Harley said, “That’s for me.”

  “No!” Jennalee cried, grabbing his arm. She knew she was acting like a toddler, but didn’t care. She couldn’t lose him.

  Harley just chuckled and started pulling her along. Oddly, this quieted her. Sometimes his being almost parental turned out to be a good thing.

  Lizann was talking to Jane when they reached the courtyard. When Lizann saw the kids, she came over to Jennalee. “I am so happy to know you,” she said. Jennalee beamed. She then took Jennalee’s face in her hands, surprisingly soft hands, and grew serious. “You play brilliantly, my dear. Embrace your gift. Do what Harley does. Practice, study, and enjoy. Aim high. You’ve got the talent.”

  “Thank you.” Suddenly overcome, Jennalee hugged the big woman to her and held on for a few seconds. “Thank you,” she said again when she let go.

  Gerald and Jane had now retreated to the porch to watch things play out. Jennalee realized they’d already said their goodbyes to the Laidlaws. It was all down to her now and she hated that.

  Garth and Earl were on their motorcycles while Harley stood near the fountain. As Lizann joined the men, climbing onto her motorcycle, donning her helmet, Harley took Jennalee’s hand. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, handing her a little folded paper.

  She unfolded it to find an eighth note earring like his. “The other half of the pair,” he said. “Appropriate, don’t you think?”

  She clutched paper and earring to her heart and started to cry again. “That’s the most beautiful thing ever,” she managed.

  “Put it on,” he said.

  “I can’t,” she sniffled. “I stopped wearing jewelry a couple years ago and my ear holes closed up, but I’ll get them poked open, I will, promise. I’m going to wear this forever.” She then kissed him on the lips because there
was no other way to kiss at such a moment and he kissed her back, though it was one of those loving kisses, not the other kind.

  “I’ll miss you,” he said. “I’ll be pining for you no end, but I’ll be back next year. Think of the time we’ll have. Think of all we’ll have accomplished by then.”

  “Good luck at your competition. You have to call me. I want you in touch, okay?” She fished a paper from her pocket on which she’d written phone numbers, email address, snail mail, every communication access she could think of. “I have to hear from you.”

  “You will.” He kissed her cheek, turned and went to Garth’s motorcycle, where he put on a helmet and climbed aboard, violin case slung across his back. Garth didn’t look at her and she was grateful. Finally, a kindness.

  As the Laidlaws roared away, Jennalee joined her parents on the porch. When things quieted, when the Laidlaws were out on the highway headed south, the little family let silence settle over them. “Quiet,” said Gerald. “I’m liking that.”

  “What a weekend,” Jane offered.

  “Best ever,” Jennalee said. “I just wish it didn’t have to end.”

  Jane squeezed her shoulder. “Not quite all of them are gone. Remember, we’ve still got Bob and Clifford, and Marian hasn’t left, either. She’s sticking by Phyllis, what with all that poor woman is going through. We’ll get rooms made up for them today and they can stay on however long they need.”

  Jennalee thought of Bob. She could talk to him, help him get through this, and Clifford. Did he still have Bascomb Bunny? She’d have to check on that.

  In the living quarters, Bob was watching television with Clifford, who sat clutching the rabbit. Jennalee flopped down beside him. “You like Bascomb?” she asked.

  Clifford looked up with panic in his eyes. “It’s Lee’s bunny, Cliffy,” Bob said. “She just loaned him to you.”

  Clifford now appeared stricken, but just as he’d done with his father, he didn’t cry. He let the rabbit drop into his lap. Jennalee started to reach for Bascomb. He was hers, after all. He’d merely been on loan during a crisis. The bunny lay unclaimed for the moment, which wasn’t really fair to him. What would he want in this situation? She’d had him since childhood and yet there was a newness filling her, like she was about to embark on some mysterious trip, and she saw Bascomb didn’t need to come with her. Her secrets would be safe with him if he moved on, so she picked him up, kissed his near threadbare cheek as she had a thousand times, and handed him to Clifford.

  “You can keep him, but you have to take very good care of him because he’s the most important rabbit ever. Okay? You remember his name, right? It’s Bascomb. Can you say that?”

  “Bascomb,” Clifford repeated, eyes wide. “Bascomb Bunny and I’ll take care of him, I promise.”

  “He’ll be a great friend. He’s been very good to me, and I know he’ll be good to you.”

  Clifford hugged the rabbit, then held him out and looked at him. “Hello, Bascomb,” he said. “I’m going to take care of you from now on.”

  “I think he’s smiling,” said Jennalee.

  She made her exit then, glancing back to watch Clifford for a couple seconds. Bascomb was clutched in his arms as he watched SpongeBob Squarepants. “Bye Bascomb,” she whispered. She then went to her room, where she looked at her shelf of stuffed animals.

  She tried Buddy the duck but he didn’t seem eager for confidences, nor did Peter the penguin. She took up Simon Squirrel and ran a hand over his big fluffy tail. Simon was three times the size of an actual squirrel, warm brown in color with small, dark, glass eyes. He’d been created in a sitting position with his head turned to the left and his stitched mouth wasn’t smiling.

  “Serious squirrel,” Jennalee said to him, but maybe that was appropriate now, what with life taking the turn it had. His ears were tiny compared to Bascomb’s long floppy ones, but appeared large enough to accommodate secrets. Best of all, his plush was still plush. He hadn’t lived long enough for his coat to be worn away, so there were lots of years left in him.

  Now that a new friendship had been made official, Jennalee downloaded the chaccone from Bach’s Partita No. 2 onto her iPod, put in her earbuds, and stretched out on her bed with Simon Squirrel perched her chest. As the movement came alive, so did Harley, and she thought of him zooming down the road. She looked forward to hearing from him, as she knew she would. For now she gave Simon a good squeeze, then brought him to her lips where she whispered into his ear, “His name is Harley.”

  THE END

  ABOUT KAREN TRAILOR THOMAS

  Karen Trailor Thomas has been writing longer than she cares to admit. For the past twenty years, she has written gay men’s fiction under the name Dale Chase. Her accomplishments include three published novels, three story collections, a dozen ebook novellas, and nearly two hundred short stories published in anthologies and magazines, including translations in Italian and German.

  Sutherland is her first mainstream novel and the first under her own name, which means she is essentially coming out…as herself. A native Californian, Karen lives near San Francisco.

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