by Langdon, L.
“It doesn’t sound very useful if you have to use a trig table and a calculator,” he had said. Why he had been so disagreeable, he didn’t remember.
“No, no. The height is just proportional to the square of the distance,” she had answered eagerly.
“If there’s a cosine in there, I don’t believe you.” He had no idea why he had said that. Gerri had never lied to him—and why would she lie about something like that? He had only his hazy memories of high school math to go on, and maybe he was frustrated that he couldn’t follow her better.
“It’s a power series approximation—the angle at the center of the earth is so small. I can explain it to you if you like.”
He had just laughed—she might as well have been talking in Greek. She looked hurt and stormed out of the pilot house, tossing back over her shoulder, “Go find some fish. I’ll be back when I finish writing this up.”
He didn’t know about this angle she spoke of, but he certainly felt small. Fortunately, she had accepted his apology, delivered with much sincerity, when she returned to the pilot house. And when she had offered again to explain, he had had the sense to accept and try his best to understand.
He could wallow in his gloom for hours thinking of various ‘Gerri stories,’ but that wouldn’t solve his problem. Somehow, he had to make up for not writing and get back into her good graces.
He glanced at the clock. Time to go meet Mindy. After he got back, maybe he would be able to come up with something to say.
On his way to Kash’s, it dawned on Sven that he would have no patience for decoding a cookbook tonight. All he would be able to think about would be Gerri and his letter to her. His cooking experiment would have to wait for another day. So upon arrival, he gave his dinner order to Joe Kashiwara and settled into his customary booth to wait.
Ten minutes later, he glanced again at his watch. Mindy was late. His paranoia—developed over the years—kicked in. Was she unavoidably detained? Was she deliberately late to jerk his chain? Was she going to show up at all? And what was this all about, anyway?
Finally, just as his food arrived, he saw Mindy at the front door. She paused and looked around uncomfortably. Sven raised his hand and waved at her. As she hurried over, he realized that it might appear rude to have started eating. He didn’t know what was going on, but he wasn’t going to be the first one to be impolite.
She slid into the booth opposite him. “Sorry I’m late. Something came up at work.”
“That’s no problem.” He gestured at his plate. “Would you like to order something? I haven’t eaten since this morning.”
“No, no thank you.” She took off her rain hat and shook it discretely on the floor. She took a breath. “Did you find her letter?”
“Yes. Thank you for that. I haven’t had a chance to take the boat out since I got out of the hospital. I’ve been doing other things.” He stopped. She wasn’t interested in his recovery activities, and he certainly wasn’t going to share his main reason for avoiding the boat—the melancholy of his memories of Gerri. He looked at Mindy expectantly. So far, their exchange had been polite, but a bit stilted. Sven shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was anxious for her to get to the point.
Mindy was apparently as impatient as Sven, since she just nodded and started talking. “Do you remember Mrs. Kallek?”
“Yes, of course.” Sven felt a stab of irritation. He had hoped that this was about Gerri. Evidently not. He remembered Mrs. Kallek with affection and hoped that it was returned—though he probably didn’t deserve it, especially during his ‘lost’ senior year in high school. She just didn’t happen to be the subject that he had hoped for.
“She’s not well.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Sven was determined to make the best of this conversation—the first polite one that they’d had in years. “Isn’t she about ready to retire? She’s been teaching forever. In fact, my mother had her when she was in school.”
“This is her 48th year of teaching. But she doesn’t want to retire. Since her husband died, teaching is all that she has.”
Sven tried to imagine teaching for that long. He shook his head. “So what does this have to do with me?” As soon as the words came out, he regretted the tone. He winced and tried again. “Sorry. I mean…”
Mindy waved him off, to his relief. Whatever was going on, she was too focused on it to think about arguing. “Gerri made friends with her last summer, and Mrs. Kallek remembered her. She wants Gerri to teach her classes—with her staying in the background. That way, she can stay involved, but she won’t have the strain of the day-to-day load.”
Sven blinked and took a breath. This had been worth waiting for after all. He forced himself to think rationally, tamping down the little voice in his mind which was excitedly chanting, Gerri might be coming back! Gerri might be coming back! As an antidote to his excitement, he tried to think of any catch to this. “Would this be a real teaching position?”
“Definitely. Mrs. Kallek sold the idea to the school system. Gerri would be the official teacher. Mrs. Kallek would come occasionally, and she would advise Gerri informally.”
“A mentor.”
“Exactly. She hopes that Gerri would accept that arrangement—they got along so well together. And that’s how she got the school system to agree to hire someone whom they don’t know at all.”
“But suppose Gerri is happy where she is? She talked about settling down. Suppose she doesn’t want to come back?”
“That’s where we come in. We’ll persuade her, and I think that there’s a good chance that we can. Mrs. Kallek’s classes are ones that Gerri is especially interested in, and she is only a teacher’s aide now.”
“Really? She couldn’t find a teaching job?”
“You’d know that if you had written her.” Mindy glared briefly, but then waved her hand placatingly. She was definitely too focused to fight—and now Sven could see why. She elaborated. “Politics. They’re in the process of integrating the South Carolina schools and everything is in turmoil. Yuck! If I lived down there, I’d be angry all of the time.”
Sven didn’t doubt that for a moment. Mindy had always—even as a child—had a keen sense of injustice and a willingness—sometimes, it seemed, eagerness—to confront it. “OK. How do we persuade her?” He was sure that Mindy had a plan. Mindy always had a plan. “I don’t know how much help I would be, but I’ll do what I can.”
Mindy did have a plan. “Mrs. Kallek gave me the school system’s letter offering Gerri a contract. She also gave me a letter that she wrote personally, urging Gerri to come. I’m going to add a letter of my own and, if you’re willing to write one…” She glanced at him and then continued. “We put all of this together and send it to her in a packet. Hopefully, with everyone urging her…”
“Sheer weight of numbers—wearing down her resistance,” Sven supplied.
“Yes, and, if each of us is convincing enough, that might make a difference.” Mindy secretly hoped that Sven, if he was willing to express some tender feelings, might be especially persuasive. She couldn’t say that, of course, because she wasn’t supposed to know about Gerri’s crush on him.
Sven nodded thoughtfully. That might work. I hope it works. But it still left him with the problem of what to put in his letter—and the extra pressure on him to make it perfect.
Mindy watched the wheels turning in his head. It didn’t take long for her to get impatient. “Well? What do you think? Will you write a letter?”
Sven had no intention of sharing his uncertainties with Mindy. “I’ll help in any way that I can. Let me think about what to put in my letter. Can I give you my answer tomorrow?”
“That’s fine. I have one more letter to get anyway.”
“Here, then? Same time?”
“Well, no. I have a working dinner scheduled tomorrow.” They worked out a compromise rendezvous at a fancier uptown restaurant.
As Mindy got up to leave, Sven asked, “Who’s writing the oth
er letter?”
“Dr. Wheeler. He met Gerri at the hospital.”
“But he hardly knows her.” Sven felt petty for saying that, but still he wasn’t happy. Did Gerri and the Doctor bond? Do I have a competitor? And could I compete with him—a handsome, professional black man?
Mindy didn’t seem to even consider the competition angle. “No, he doesn’t know her well, but as a black man living in Juneau he might be able to tell her more of what it’s like.” Sven nodded again, and Mindy started to leave. Immediately, though, she turned back. “If you know of other people that she met who would be willing to write a letter, then by all means ask them.”
By the next evening, Sven was thoroughly frustrated. He had spent every waking hour trying to come up with suitable wording for his letter. He even described the plan to Wally, in case he might provide some inspiration. He didn’t, but to Sven’s surprise, he offered to write a letter himself.
In characteristic Wally fashion, he managed to sound grumpy about it. “I’ll jot something down. I think she’s good people. A teacher—sheesh! She’ll probably correct my grammar.”
Mindy’s dining partner turned out to be Dr. Wheeler. They were engrossed in conversation and didn’t even see him coming. The doctor saw him first.
“Sven. You’re looking as good as new.” He glanced at Mindy with a mischievous smile. “I guess I must do good work.”
“I guess you do. I feel fine.”
Mindy gestured him to the third chair. “Have you got a letter for me?”
Sven heaved an involuntary sigh. He didn’t have a letter—what he had was extreme writer’s block. And even if he had been willing to confide in Mindy as to why, he certainly wasn’t going to unburden his soul with Dr. Wheeler—a possible rival—listening. What he did have was a desperate, Hail Mary plan—together with a cover story which was barely plausible.
“I don’t have a letter, but I have an alternate plan, if you’re willing to consider it. I have a gift to send her, but I’m afraid to mail it.”
“It’s fragile?”
“Umm, yes.” The gift was a painting of Gerri reacting to her first sight of a porpoise. Technically, he planned to give it to her parents, not Gerri—currying favor, perhaps? He probably could mail it if he packed it carefully enough, but it made a good excuse. “I could carry it down myself and carry the packet of letters as well.”
Mindy’s jaw dropped. “You would go all the way down there? Mr. cheapskate?”
When he and Laura were married, that label had been a standard one. Laura had actually meant it bitterly, but Mindy had just used it in fun. Without even thinking, Sven snapped back with his old epithet, “Watch it, little snort.” Then it was his turn to be shocked. “I’m sorry. That just popped out.”
Wheeler laughed. “Little snort? I’ll have to remember that.”
To Sven’s relief that distracted Mindy. “He used to call me that when I was a kid. He was married to my older sister.” She turned back to Sven. “Do you really mean that? About going down there?”
Sven let out the breath that he had been holding. She actually seemed to be considering that. “I do. I don’t have any commitments here for a couple of weeks. I’d like to see her again, and I thought that delivering this packet personally might be more convincing.”
Mindy looked thoughtful. “What do you think, John?”
Wheeler looked at Sven speculatively. “I think that your going all that way would definitely make an impression.”
Mindy looked interested. “How soon would you go?”
“In a couple of days.”
“Fine. I’ll get the packet to you tomorrow.”
Sven nodded, but his mind was already 3,000 miles away.
Chapter 29
During his long trip, Sven had plenty of time to think. Way too much time, in fact. His thoughts cycled through the same things—wearing a path in his neurons if that was possible. He started by wondering what kind of reception he would get from her in South Carolina. Would Gerri be glad to see him? Shocked, certainly, but delighted? Or horrified? Even in his present worried and insecure state of mind, he was still willing to assume that she felt a basic fondness for him. If she was not pleased, it would be because of those around her. He couldn’t do anything about her friends. All he could do was to be cautious and to try to avoid putting her on the spot.
Then his thoughts tended to wander toward reminiscences: Gerri working the fishing lines; Gerri rolling her eyes at one of his puns; Gerri’s perpetual sunny demeanor and her ready, gorgeous smile; Gerri lying on his bed, looking at him seductively. Yes, she was fond of him—even if he was just part of her adventure.
But what would he say to her? He had this razor-thin excuse: the paintings. On impulse, he had included a second painting, one for Gerri herself in case she didn’t come back. He had carefully packed them and persuaded the stewardess to store them in the airplane cabin. He had the packet of letters that Mindy had given him—including even a brief note from Wally. He could talk about the teaching job offer.
Eventually, of course, he would have to speak for himself. What then? He excoriated himself for his cowardice, but he thought he knew the cause: this was the first time in his life that he truly wanted to court a woman—the first time that it truly, intensely mattered to him.
Prior to Laura, he had had only the usual high school explorations. And Laura herself didn’t count. She had basically fallen into his lap—no courtship involved. And she had gone so swiftly from a lust object to a responsibility that there was no time for genuine affection to grow—if it ever would have.
So he didn’t consider himself to be a ladies’ man. The few, casual relationships that he’d had since Laura weren’t based on that sort of image. Nor were they deeply committed on either person’s part. All he had now was his essential earnestness. That would have to suffice, somehow.
That was it, then. Thinking about it couldn’t make it any better. He would give Gerri the packet and add that he, too, wanted her to come back. He would be cautious about saying too much—a declaration of love might scare her off completely. And that was unquestionably the worst possible outcome: if she declined to come back then, not only would he have lost, but Juneau would have lost. In that case, he would probably never see her again.
That decided, he reviewed the remainder of his itinerary. The plane was presently approaching Atlanta, where he would spend the night. In the morning he would fly to Florence, South Carolina, where he would rent a car. Gerri’s house would then be less than an hour’s drive away.
After he’d checked into a hotel, he set out to find a restaurant. He felt so stiff—he’d spent the whole day either sitting on a plane or in an airport—that he decided to take a page out of Gerri’s book and just walk. He would dine in whatever restaurant caught his eye. In the meantime, this would be a good opportunity for people watching.
He was intensely curious about the South. He had read several books about the civil rights struggle in the time since Gerri had left. Some were saddening; some were enlightening. All of them were interesting. One of them was positively enraging—Soul On Ice. How could anybody talk coldly about raping women? Did the author’s troubles, no matter how bad, justify hurting others just for his own satisfaction? And raping black women ‘just for practice?’ Just thinking about it made Sven curl his fists. Evil knew no color. If anyone decided to ‘practice’ on Gerri, Sven would, with great pleasure, beat him to a pulp. And yet, some seemed to think that Cleaver’s book was profound. Sometimes Sven just didn’t understand people.
As he walked, the neighborhood gradually transformed. There were fewer business suits and more light jackets and casual shirts over blue jeans. The jackets amused Sven since+ the temperature was in the low 60’s—summer weather in Juneau. In fact, Sven in his light shirt got a few bemused glances from the other pedestrians.
He saw a restaurant which looked tolerable. ‘Harry’s, the Friendly Eatery’ said the sign. He peered in the large windo
w. Nope, no business suits. He went in and was directed to a table. He picked up the menu on the table and perused it. It didn’t take him long—he had never been a picky eater until Gerri had spoiled him.
While he waited, he resumed his people watching. Most of the customers were white, which was interesting since the pedestrian traffic outside was about half and half, black and white. Since he was noticing, most of what he guessed to be the senior staff were white—the cook behind a long counter, the cashier, and some fellow who seemed to be the boss. Harry, perhaps? Several of the waitresses were black and, though Sven couldn’t see the back, he was willing to bet the menial workers back there were black.
Soon, a waitress approached him. She was a very young, petite black woman with short hair. “Good evening, sir. Do you have any questions?”
Sven smiled back. She looked a little nervous and he wondered if this was her first job. He almost opened his mouth to ask, but thought the better of it. She might take that as implied criticism. He had chosen an entree, but he decided to make this a learning experience. “What’s a hush puppy?”
Her eyebrows twitched as she tried to conceal a smile. She managed to describe a corn meal ball with spices, deep fried. “They’re very good,” she finally offered with a hopeful expression.
Sven gave her his order and added a side order of hush puppies.
She hesitated, and then asked, “Are you from up North?”
As she stepped outside her waitress persona to satisfy her curiosity (was it my accent or my ignorance of hush puppies?) she looked more than ever like a high school girl. Sven wondered what ‘up north’ even meant to her. Ohio? Maryland? Her frank interest was appealing. Maybe this was what was meant by the ‘Friendly Eatery’ sign.
“Yes. Way, way North. I’m from Alaska.”
Her eyes got big. “I’ve never even met anyone from Alaska before. Is this your first time in the South?”
He nodded. I guess the hush puppy question gave that away. “I came down to surprise my girl friend with a gift. I’m hoping to convince her to move up there with me.” Somehow talking to this friendly young lady—whom he would never see again—was unburdening. He could call Gerri his girl friend without worrying about whether she would approve.
