Walk on Water

by Garner, Josephine

  The words were right—almost, and at last Luke and Mrs. Sterling were looking at each other again. Mr. Sterling and I were merely witnesses, but I was a little afraid of what I was seeing.

  “Congratulations, Mrs. Sterling,” I contributed sincerely, as if I could compensate for what seemed to be lacking.

  “Thank-you, dear,” she replied to me, as Luke drained his champagne flute in one gulp.

  FIFTEEN

  Based on the collection, it seemed safe to say that Ansel Adams had been more a photographer of places than he had been of people. The exhibit was primarily comprised of various landscape scenes taken in every season. His bio in the pamphlet about the exhibit said that Adams had been a conservationist and his love of America’s national parks was on splendid display here tonight. Without a drop of color, using only light and shadow, the photographs were somehow brilliantly vivid.

  “It’s amazing how he could do that,” I whispered to Luke while we were standing before the photograph, Oak Tree at Sunrise. “It’s almost like I can see the green in the grass and the yellow sunshine.”

  “You do see it,” Luke said. “With your memory.”

  I smiled at him. Perhaps. But I was just glad that now his face was better, relaxed.

  “Do you ever do landscapes?” I asked moving on to the next photograph.

  “I’ve taken a few shots,” he replied.

  “In black and white?”

  “No.”

  “You really should, Luke,” I said intently studying the photograph, Birds on a Beach. “You have a special eye too. Your work could be in a gallery.”

  “I suppose it could be a nice way to spend a vacation,” he laughed dryly.

  “Absolutely!” I replied, meaning it. “I’m just surprised you didn’t think of it sooner. You’ve traveled so much. I’m sure you’ve seen some incredible places.”

  Luke rolled to the next photograph. I followed him. This time it was a picture of aspens taken in New Mexico. It made me think of the enchanted forests described in storybooks.

  “Not so sure family vacations lend themselves to artistic concentration,” he said.

  As a child, when Mommy and I had gone on vacation it had always been to visit relatives. As an adult there had been sight-seeing trips with Robert, but I didn’t remember them as being a lot of fun. Our honeymoon had been okay. We had gone to Hawaii for a week. It had been practically a cliché.

  “You know what my dream vacation would be?” I asked Luke.

  “What?”

  “A train trip across Canada,” I said moving to the next photograph. “Through the Canadian Rockies. Toronto to Vancouver. Wouldn’t that be ‘loverly’ as the song goes?”

  “So why haven’t you done it?” asked Luke.

  Staring at the mountain stream, I heard inside my head the water rushing over the stones. Sunlight shone on the tiny whitecaps but the water would be cold, I thought, cold and clean, and good to drink.

  “I don’t know,” I sighed. “It’s more fun to dream about it I guess.”

  “How satisfying can that be?” Luke wanted to know.

  “Oh, you’d be surprised,” I told him.

  You learned to be satisfied with dreams, and hold onto them like Langston Hughes had said. It was nearly nine o’clock when we finished the Ansel Adams exhibit, and Luke didn’t think there was enough time to see anything else. He was ready to go. We were outside the exhibit in a corridor.

  “Shouldn’t we try to find your folks and say good night first?” I asked.

  “They could be anywhere,” he said. “You want me to have them paged?”

  “No, but I’m just saying…it would be kind of rude just to leave. And Lucas Sterling,” I said playfully patting him on his breast pocket where he kept his cell phone. “You do have your cell and I’m sure your dad has his. So don’t be getting smart with me about paging.”

  He grinned.

  “Okay, busted,” he surrendered and took out his cell to call Mr. Sterling. “I may not get good reception in here,” he complained.

  “Talk about your bad reception,” I replied. “Leave here without saying goodnight and see what your mother does.”

  Still sensitive to what had happened earlier during the awards ceremony, I moved away to give Luke a little privacy in case something came up and out during the call. The family counselor in me was anxious to broach the subject, but there was the issue of invitation or the lack thereof. It was Sterling family business, and I was neither solicited nor appointed to intervene.

  “All right,” Luke said coming up behind me. “We’re meeting them downstairs in the main lobby. And it’s your fault if we’re late for our dinner reservation.”

  “Then we’d better get going,” I replied taking off towards the elevator at a fast clip.

  Zipping passed me Luke reached the elevator first and triumphantly pressed the button. I laughed merrily. The doors opened.

  “Your chariot awaits, Madame,” he said bowing solemnly.

  “Thank you, my lord,” I nodded gravely and stepped inside, giggling at our fake formality.

  But then again he really was my eternal Prince Charming, even if I was destined to always be just a lady-in-waiting.

  We caught up with the Sterlings in the center lobby. The crowd was smaller now, since lots of the people had dispersed to see the various exhibits. The quartet continued to play, although more quietly. Mr. Sterling was enjoying the fare from the buffet table, and Mrs. Sterling was still busy accepting the congratulations of her friends and peers. Luke interrupted his parents’ conversations to inform them that we were leaving.

  “So soon?” asked his mother. “But I suppose it is a work night.”

  “We’re going to dinner,” Luke informed her.

  Mrs. Sterling’s mouth twitched before she smiled one those smiles that didn’t light her eyes.

  “Isn’t it too late for that?” she asked.

  “But too early to leave here?” returned Luke dryly.

  “Son,” interjected Mr. Sterling looking around for a place to discard his plate. “Before you go, I want to introduce you to Jim Holden.”

  “Dad, we have—”

  “It’ll take just a minute,” Mr. Sterling cut him off. “It’s important.

  We’re discussing a new venture. Something you could probably help us with. At least advise us on. Five minutes. Just give me five minutes.”

  “Okay,” Luke sighed, then turning to me he added, “Five minutes, Rachel, then come and get me.”

  “Sure thing,” I smiled at him.

  “Don’t worry,” offered Mrs. Sterling. “I’ll keep Rachel company.”

  How bad could it be, I reassured myself. A little polite conversation. Like we were in the Bath and Body Works again. Even if she was a woman who could be as chilly as her crystal prize. We could talk about being a docent. Maybe she’d even try to recruit me. I wouldn’t mind being a museum tour guide. I liked art. I liked people. I could learn. It could be fun. And then we would have something in common besides her son.

  With the men gone I wondered aloud about Mr. Sterling’s new venture.

  “It’s politics as usual,” Mrs. Sterling said dismissively. “Some campaign or another.”

  Luke still rarely discussed it, but I supposed the Sterlings remained steadfast Republicans. For my part I didn’t ask. I was more than ever a dedicated bleeding-heart Democrat, so like many others of my kind, I had learned a long time ago that politics was a notoriously dangerous conversation topic in mixed company, particularly in Texas. It was much easier to point out the failures of government programs than it was to prove a causal relationship between such programs and better communities.

  “Oh,” I replied benignly moving on to something else. “Mr. Sterling must be enjoying retirement.”

  “Is your mother retired, dear?” asked Mrs. Sterling.

  Her voice was soft and refined, fitting perfectly her fine-boned frame. Her natural thinness was enviable. Mommy was probably young
er than she was, but she was not prettier. Mrs. Sterling didn’t even have a belly paunch to indicate that she had ever been pregnant. I wondered now if maybe she had had work done as they said.

  “No,” I answered her question and said no more because talking about Mommy didn’t feel prudent either.

  “Not yet?” replied Mrs. Sterling apparently surprised. “Is she still a lab tech?”

  A lab-tech supervisor, I wanted to inform her but elected not to. Sensing danger like a deer in the woods, I was on alert.

  “I would think she’d be at retirement age by now,” continued Mrs. Sterling. “Of course she did have you when she was quite young. Sixteen wasn’t it?”

  And Mommy had gotten the laboratory technician job much later as a result of one of those government-sponsored job training programs. In between my birth and the laboratory position there had been many lean years.

  “Seventeen,” I corrected Mrs. Sterling, now listening attentively for the footfall of the hunter.

  “Just a baby herself,” she continued smiling sweetly except in her eyes. “You were so much more careful, weren’t you?”

  I must remember to smile too. Such was a requirement of polite conversation. Truth, on the other hand, not so much. Had it been five minutes yet? I could excuse myself and go to the bathroom.

  “She must have instilled that in you, dear,” said Mrs. Sterling. “I’m sure she didn’t want you to make her same mistakes.”

  How rude was it to remind me that I had been a mistake? However I kept my cool. Fat legs, bastard birth. Okay, in the words of Pat Benatar, hit me with your best shot. My theatrical smile didn’t waver. I knew how to handle people like her. Besides, less than two hours ago she had embarrassed her own son over something he couldn’t help. Why would I expect to be treated any better? Luke was right, his mother was at the very least challenging. Yet maybe it wasn’t deliberate. Maybe she couldn’t help it either. Some people were just rigid by nature, and cold. She had a cool temperament, and not too unlike her son’s, who could also be a little dismissive of other people’s feelings. I sorted through my brain for some kind of witty but topic-ending reply but came up blank.

  “I would say you turned out very well considering,” said Mrs. Sterling. “And of course some women just aren’t meant for motherhood,” she added. “You must see a good deal of that in your work.”

  Okay, so we were going talk about my being barren and my work now. Her tone was charitable. Republicans were adamantly pro-life, weren’t they? At least that was what they said come every election. Pro-life, pro-family, pro-Christian—even if only socially.

  “That’s true,” I replied. “Although with the right support, they can become good mothers. And that’s what we all want, isn’t it? What’s best for the children.”

  “Indeed,” agreed Mrs. Sterling, her smile finally vacating. “Which is why I want to know what’s going on between you and my son.”

  I should have run away when I had the chance. Now I was hit. But I wasn’t down.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said calmly.

  “I’m sure you do,” she said icily. “I know you’re seeing each other. And that little display for the Parkers. What was that? A little announcement?”

  Why was she asking me? Didn’t she communicate with her son at all? He could easily set her straight and relieve her mind.

  “Luke and I are friends, Mrs. Sterling, that’s all,” I told her deciding to address her fears myself.

  Since there was already something a little not-right between mother and son, far be it for me to make matters worse by leaving things unclear.

  “Really?” Mrs. Sterling’s teeth showed again, and somebody across the room could have mistaken it for a smile. “Is that what you call it? Friends with benefits, I suppose. Such that they are now.”

  Another direct hit. This time I wobbled.

  “I know you’re after him,” she continued. “You’ve always been after him. Since he doesn’t have a choice anymore you think this is your golden opportunity. But you won’t get anything. The Sterling money will go to his children, my grandchildren. All you will get is him, and I wouldn’t think you’d want to end up a nurse for the rest of your life. So considering the terms, I would suggest you keep your day job.”

  If had been wearing higher heels I would have toppled over, but the chunky heels on my shoes ensured that my feet were solidly planted, keeping me upright even though my legs were rubbery and my head was spinning.

  “Luke has plenty of choices,” I heard myself say.

  “If he did, do you honestly think he’d be settling for you?”

  “But-but you wanted him to call me,” I said incredulously. “You gave him my—”

  “Yes, I did,” she cut me off. “He always enjoyed having you around. You were like a little puppy. Luke’s devoted little protégé. The accident, and then the divorce, have been difficult for him. I thought it would do him good to have you around again. But I see now you’ve taken advantage of his situation, and while he may let you, I’m telling you that I won’t. I’ll put an end to this foolishness before he is hurt by it.”

  But the violins were playing Bach. She couldn’t be saying this to me. Not now. When people were all around us having a good time. Luke would be back in five minutes and know immediately that something was wrong. He’d ask us, ask me. There was no time to argue with her. She was so incredibly wrong what good would it do anyway? So I saved myself. “I have to go the bathroom,” I said and walked away from her as fast as I could without running.

  Hiding in the bathroom, locked in a stall, I leaned against the cool metal and gulped air in rapid breaths. Would she come after me? The worst thing to do would be to cry. Swollen red eyes would testify against me no matter what lie I told. And I would lie. I could not tell Luke what his mother had said. He would never hear from me what she thought of him now. That was why she hadn’t told me about the accident in the mall that day. It wasn’t magical thinking at all, or some kind of love-driven misguided faith. She was just ashamed of him. Mommy had been right even though she didn’t know everything, to Betty Sterling her golden boy had lost his shine.

  And she thought I was a whore, after Luke for his money. Feeling sick to my stomach I squatted down in front of the toilet preparing to throw up, but more deep breaths helped, and after a moment my stomach quieted. Luke’s little puppy. His prostitute was what she really thought of me, which made her a pimp but she probably hadn’t thought that through. She was the one who had brought us back together, as if Luke needed me, or anyone else for that matter, to be happy. I nearly laughed out loud. She was so clueless. So completely clueless. And cruel.

  After I had been in the stall a while, I took out my cell phone to check the time. It was almost nine-thirty. Luke must be wondering what had happened to me. What if I just sent him a text explaining that there had been some kind of emergency? Then I could sneak out and away, and this horrible night could be over. But wasn’t that the problem with lies? One was never enough. Once one was born it spawned more and more, exponentially, ad infinitum. I might as well not waste one with a fake emergency. I could get myself together. I could face him.

  Emerging from the stall, I stood in front of the mirror and repaired my makeup and hair. Having willed back the tears I didn’t look too worse for the wear. I practiced a smile, forcing it into my eyes even. Luke deserved me at my best. None of this was his fault. Not the accident, nor the outcome, nor his mother’s unforgivable words. She would not hurt him through me.

  I was surprised to find Luke waiting for me just outside the women’s restroom door. Seeing him there I was almost overcome, both with wanting to hide in his arms and wanting to retreat to the bathroom stall again. Yet I smiled revealing nothing and merely apologized for taking so long.

  “Are you okay?” he asked the way he always asked when he believed I wasn’t.

  Did he know? Would Betty Sterling actually tell him what she had said to me? Surely not.

&n
bsp; “Yes,” I said cheerfully. “I’m fine. Girls just take longer. Surely you must know that by now with all the women in your life.”

  “There doesn’t appear to be a line,” he replied. “And I always heard that was why.”

  “Well there can be other reasons too,” I said lightly.

  “You weren’t hiding in there were you?”

  Must he always be so smart? I forced my smile to stay in place.

  “From what?” I asked him. “Now come on. We better hurry. Did you call the restaurant? ‘Cause we’re definitely going to be late.”

  As we were leaving I prayed to be spared a good-night encounter with his parents again. My performance was tenuous at best and one more bump into the demon-docent would definitely produce cataclysmic results when I either burst into tears or called her a bitch to her face—or both. Luke took my numbered card and claimed my wrap, tipping the coat-room server generously. How could he be her child? Being nice had always come so naturally to him. Inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to me. And he wasn’t even motivated by the promise of eternal life, always claiming more interest in the journey than the destination.

  We waited for the elevator to the garage. Luke watched me intently.

  “The Ansel Adams exhibit was fantastic,” I said uncomfortably, having to remember to smile again.

  “Where’d you park?” asked Luke.

  “We’re on the same level,” I answered.

  Which sounded ironic in my head juxtaposed to Betty Sterling’s words. But we were on the same level. In fact I didn’t really believe in levels—not for human beings. Bible prophets, founding fathers, women suffragists, civil rights activists, they had all made eloquent cases for equality in their time, and yet the human tendency, our proclivity really, was to rank each other—and ourselves, and then hold onto those rankings as if God Himself had ordained them. The progress of the journey notwithstanding.

  In the elevator we were silent, and when the door opened, Luke held it for me again, and I stepped out. It was really late and it would be at least ten o’clock before we made it to the Grecian Urn. I couldn’t eat anyway.