"Why don't you put up some coffee and see about something to eat. honey?"
I nodded and moved quickly to the kitchen, glancing up the stairway toward Harley's room. The noise I made and the murmur of Mommy and Roy's voices caught his curiosity, and minutes later I turned to see him standing in the kitchen doorway.
"Mommy's here to visit," I said. "I've put up some coffee. How about something to eat? Toast and jam... cheese?"
"Whatever." Harley said. He dropped himself in a chair and stared at the table while I worked. As soon as the coffee was ready, I poured two cups. I knew Uncle Roy liked it black and Mommy liked a touch of milk.
"I'll just bring this to them," I told Harley. He looked up and nodded.
Halfway down the hallway, I heard Uncle Roy say. "I'm being punished, Rain. I'm being punished for still having so strong a feeling for you."
"Don't be foolish. Roy."
"God knows and God's punished me by taking my child and my wife," he insisted. "Its all my fault. All the tragedy and the misery is on my head."
"Stop it. That's stupid talk and you know it. I won't listen to it." Mommy said harshly.
"Mama knew. That was the real reason she was so eager to send you off to live here. She wanted you far away from me, and she thought if she got you firmly planted in this rich, white world. I'd have no place and no entry. She didn't anticipate all that happened and your bringing me here, but she knew and I knew she knew. I should have followed her secret wishes and forgotten you."
"Please, stop it. Roy. Please," Mommy pleaded.
"My fault," he muttered. "My fault."
I let out the hot breath I had been trapping in my lungs. Before I took a step forward, however. I turned and realized Harley was right behind me. He had been there the whole time, too, and had heard every word. His eyes fixed firmly on mine.
"Coffee's getting cold." he said.
I hurried ahead and brought them their coffee. Harley followed in slowly and Mommy took his hand and spoke to him softly, urging him to be strong,
"You want to keep thinking about your future. Harley, and work hard to do the things that would have made her proud."
He nodded and thanked her. I returned to the kitchen and prepared a tray of food. Afterward, everyone came into the dining room and ate something. Daddy arrived and he and Uncle Roy went off to discuss the funeral arrangements. Mommy insisted Harley come to our house for dinner. He said he would, but he didn't. When I called, he said he was just too tired and told me to thank Mommy.
The days before and around Aunt Glenda's funeral seemed to be days without hours and minutes, just a flow of time that made every moment seem exactly like the moment before and the moment after. It rained the day before the funeral, but cleared up that morning. All of the people who worked for Mommy and Grandmother Megan's company showed up at the church. The death had been ruled accidental, even though anyone who knew about Aunt Glenda knew it was the result of some form of madness.
Dressed in his suit and tie and standing beside Roy. Harley looked so much older. It was as if his mother's death had ripped him boldly out of his teenage years and dragged him kicking and screaming into the dark side of manhood. He didn't cry during the church service. He kept his face forward, his eyes fixed on his own thoughts, and he seemed to move in and out of consciousness as the congregation rose to sing a hymn and then sat and rose again. Finally. it ended.
Aunt Glenda. at Uncle Ray's insistence, was buried in the plot beside Latisha. She was finally back with the child she had lost. After the internment, we had food and drink prepared at our house. Harley was there, but very uncomfortable, just able to nod or mutter to all those who came to him to offer condolences. I sat beside him constantly and made him eat something.
Before it ended, he went home. I offered to walk with him. but he told me he just wanted to get home quickly and go to sleep. He promised he would call me in the morning. He did, very late, but we spent most of the day together, talking and going for a row. He agreed to come to dinner when my mother threatened to have Mrs. Geary cook it at his house if he didn't.
The following day Uncle Roy went back to work. He couldn't sit around and mourn anymore: he said that working would at least occupy his mind. Harley didn't go back with him. He remained home. I called, but he was very secretive about what he was doing, telling me he would call me later.
Later ran on and on into the late afternoon. Mommy had invited both him and Uncle Roy to dinner again, but Harley didn't come with him this time Uncle Roy made excuses for him and said maybe it was better Harley had some time to himself.
"I'll try to get him back to work in a day or so," he promised.
I called after dinner. but Harley didn't answer the phone. I wanted to go over there to see why not. Mommy stopped me. however,
"Sometimes people need some space. honey. Give him a chance. He needs to grieve in his own way," she advised.
Reluctantly. I listened and went up to my room to read and watch television so I wouldn't think about him. It was difficult. I don't know how many times I went to the window to look across the lake at his house. He didn't have many roams lit, and I wondered if he was even there. I hadn't heard the sound of his motorcycle, but I thought he might be walking or sitting down at the lake.
What could he be doing all day and all night? I wondered. I worried so much about him. I thought it would just be impossible for me to go to sleep. I tried, of course. I prepared for bed and slipped under my blanket, listening to the sounds in the house. Daddy and Mommy had come up hours ago and were in their room. The house had its usual creaks and groans in the summer wind, but I heard something different and listened very hard. It made my heart thump faster.
Footsteps in the hallway were barely audible. but I heard them and then, seconds later. I heard my bedroom doorknob turning and sat up to see Harley.
"Summer?" he called. "Are you awake?" "Harley! What are you doing here?"
He didn't answer immediately. He stepped in and closed the door behind him. There was just enough light from the new moon coming through the window for me to see him hurry to my bedside. He sat quickly.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I spent all day going through my mother's old things," he replied. "things she had buried in boxes in our attic closet. There were so many things I had never seen before, things from when she was young, letters and memories, ribbons and pictures of her family. I don't know why she never showed them, but she didn't."
"Oh," I said thinking it was a very natural thing for him to have done, You want to hold onto the memory of someone you love. You would do anything that would help.
"Then. I found it," he announced excitedly.
"Found what?"
"My father's name. There was a letter he had written to her, explaining that he had to go on a job,"
"What is his name?" I asked.
"Fletcher Victor. My real last name is Victor," he told me with great pride. It was as if he had discovered he came from royalty, but I guessed that discovering your real identity had to be as wonderful.
"Did you learn any more about him?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "but not from the letters. I called Timmy Gross, this guy in my class who is a computer whiz. I'm practically the only one who ever talks to him in school. He talks about going on the Internet like some people used to talk about going to outer space. Anyway. I gave him my father's name, and he ran a search and guess what? He located him. A name like Fletcher Victor is kind of unique. There were twelve, but eight were easy to rule out. They were either too old or had never been out of their state. We narrowed it down to four and started on them.
"Finally, I reached one who was very quiet when I described myself and my mother. He listened and at the end of my little speech, he said, yes, he was my father.'
"No!"
"Yes, he did and guess what else he did after I told him my mother was dead?"
"What?"
"He invited me to come to see him and maybe,
if we got along, to live with him. He's in upstate New York, a place called Centerville."
"What are you going to do?"
"I want to go, at least to visit."
"What does Uncle Ray say?"
"I haven't told him. I'm not going to. He'll probably be happy to see me go anyway. Especially now," he added.
"I won't,"
"I know and that's why I'm here."
"Why?"
"I want you to come with me, just for the visit," he said. "I'll need your opinion about everything and there's no one I trust more than I trust you," he added.
"Daddy would never let me." I said.
"You'll do what I'm going to do," he replied. "You'll leave a note and just go. Will you?" Before I could even think of an answer he followed with. "It means everything to me."
It was as if someone had poured ice water over me and then threw me into an oven.
"I need you to be with me for this," he whispered.
He said it with such desperation in his voice. I couldn't refuse him any more than I could refuse to breathe.
Impulsively, perhaps, perhaps madly. I said."I'Il go."
After he had left, my thunderous heart kept me up almost the remainder of the night.
What had I promised? What would I do?
10
The Open Road
.
Late in the morning. Harley stopped by to tell
me he was going to the bank to withdraw traveling money. "I've put in most of my paycheck every week for college money," he explained.
"Then you shouldn't take it out. Harley."
"This is far more important to me. Summer, Besides. I heard your father and Roy talking about my mother's life insurance. There's money coming to me to be placed in a trust for my college expenses or whatever. I wish I never had to touch it," he added. "I'd like that money to be there until I have children of my own and they get it. If things work out with my real father..."
His voice drifted off along with his dream. In the bottom of my heart, I felt the icy trickle of warning. To put all your hopes in anyone or any one thing was always dangerous. Mommy had taught me that a long time ago. but I was afraid to say anything discouraging. Harley had emerged from his terrible sorrow and depression because of his discovery. It would be cruel to do anything to stop his climb back into the world of hope and happiness.
"Roy goes to bed about eleven-fifteen. I'll leave about eleven- thirty." he continued. "and Ill walk my cycle up to the garage where I'll wait for you. We'll walk it down to the road and then start it so there's no danger of anyone hearing us go.
"Bring one soft overnight bag of clothing and necessities. okay. We'll get anything else we need later. I should have enough money."
"I have some money in my room." I told him. "I've been throwing loose change and dollars in a drawer. I bet it's more than two hundred dollars,"
"Terrific." Harley said. Then he looked at me, his face close to crumbling with happiness. "You're the nicest person I know, Summer. To be willing to do this with me, to be willing to risk everyone's anger, too, is much more than I deserve or should ask of you."
"I'm doing it because I want to do it. Harley."
"I know." He nodded. "Thanks," he said and left for the bank.
Mommy used to tell me I had a face like a storefront window. Anyone could take a good long look at me and see every thought on display, every feeling revealed. I wasn't good at deception; lies in my mouth were like fish out of water. Knowing that, I tried to avoid both her and Mrs. Geary most of the day. Fortunately, it was a day for a piano lesson, so that took up a good deal of time. Then I went up to my room and practiced my clarinet. Daddy had a great deal to do at the office and called to say he would be late for supper. Even with all I had to do and with all that was happening, the passage of time was like thick syrup being poured from a narrow bottle. Every time I looked at the clock, it seemed the hands were stuck in place.
Mommy made only one comment when she saw me going from one thing to another.
"You're fidgety today. Summer. Anything wrong?" she asked. "No. Just trying to keep myself occupied," I told her.
"I know. Me too," she said. "I'm still thinking about having your father take us on a holiday. Maybe now, more than ever," she added, and went off to talk to Mrs. Geary about the dinner menu.
Of course. I hated being even slightly deceitful. I was in a conflict, a part of me wanting to please Harley and a part of me hating what I would do to Mommy and Daddy by sneaking off. I decided I had better spend a lot more time writing the note I was going to leave behind, so as to make sure I said everything right and made them understand why I had to go and why I hoped they would forgive me.
I sat at my desk and began, writing the first sentence and then disliking it and rewriting and rewriting, crumpling the paper four times before I decided I should just write everything simply and honestly. There was no way to disuise the reality of what I was about to do anyway.
Dear Mommy and Daddy,
A few days ago, Harley made a startling discovery. He learned who his real father is and where he is. He -wants to go visit him, and he has asked me to go with him. I know he is very nervous about it, maybe even afraid of being disappointed. He needs me with him. The discovery and his new hopes have helped him cope with his great tragedy and sorrow, and I am so happy for him, I have agreed to go.
I know you will be upset about this. I know how much youworry about me, but I also believe youwill be understanding and forgive me. I will call you as soon aswe arrive and let you know where we are and whatwe are going to do.
Despite your own misfortune, Mommy, you have always been a giving person, and you have taught me to be the same way. No one is more compassionate than you, Daddy, so you should understand as well.
Love, Summer
I folded it and put it in an envelope which I would leave at my place by the breakfast table. After that, I chose the things I would take and filled my best soft carry-on bag. Once all that was completed. I had nothing to do but wait. My stomach felt as if it was filled with bubbles popping. I tried reading; I tried watching television. Nothing stopped it. I heard Mommy and Daddy talking softly on their way to bed. Just hearing their voices made me feel more terrible about my secret trip with Harley. They were going to sleep at ease and in the morning, they would be filled with concern. Had I done a horrible thing? Would it be even more horrible to back out now? If so. Harley would be devastated.
I didn't think my legs would work when the time came to go downstairs. I was sure I would trip and make a racket. Somehow. I managed to glide over the floor and down the stairs, barely causing a creak. The whole house seemed to be holding its breath along with me. I paused in the entryway, looked back as if I was saying goodbye forever, and then slipped out the front door.
It was a partly overcast night with a large cloud blocking the moonlight, but I was able easily to see Harley standing in front of the garage. He looked as still as a dream. I took a deep breath and hurried to him.
"Hi," he said.
"Everything go all right?"
"I think so." I said glancing back.
"Okay. Let's go," he said, which turned my heart into a race car engine.
We walked through the shadows and down to the road. Once there, he handed me the extra helmet and showed me how to fasten it. Then we attached my carry-on bag to the rear of the motorcycle.
"Here we go," he said. "Just keep your arms around me if you want or hold onto the handles.Ill go slowly," he promised.
I couldn't speak. I nodded even though he wouldn't see it: then he started the engine, shifted, and we were off.
"Too windy?" he shouted back.
"No, it's fine," I said. but I put my head against him anyway. I closed my eyes, too.
Ordinarily this road was quiet even in the daytime. This late at night there was no one else on it. Every fifteen or twenty minutes. Harley would ask how I was doing.
Harley's plan was for us to get a goo
d start, maybe riding for four or five hours, and then check into a motel and rest until midmorning. We would ride all the following day. He believed we would make it to the upstate New York village late in the afternoon or early in the evening. As it turned out, he was worrying too much about me and decided to stop after only three hours.
We found a relatively inexpensive motel off the highway just outside Baltimore. Maryland. Part of its neon sign was broken and the wood cladding on the units looked like it needed a complete refurbishing. There were only two other units occupied, but we were afraid we might have to ride quite a distance to find another place.
When I dismounted, I felt myself spin. Harley steadied me and laughed.
"A little different from horseback riding, huh?"
"I feel like I'm still moving," I said.
He got us a room with two double beds. It smelled musty and the lights were so weak they made the walls look even a paler yellow. The rug between the two beds was worn thin, the floor beneath peeked through. I was afraid the bed wasn't very clean either. but I was so tired that as soon as I took off my shoes and lay back on the pillow. I think I actually passed out.
The tension had been exhausting. All during our ride. I continually looked back, half-expecting that Daddy had discovered my note and rushed out after us. Of course, he had no idea which direction we were heading: nevertheless, every time I heard a car behind us or saw headlights, my heart stopped and started.
The moment I lay down. Harley went into the bathroom to take a shower. The sound of the water was the last thing I heard until sunlight through the worn-thin, dusty curtain washed over my face and snapped open my eyes.
For a moment I forgot where I was and what we had done. I lay there looking up, thinking and thinking, and then I turned and saw Harley had already risen and was in the bathroom shaving. He stepped out with a towel wrapped around his waist and laughed at me.
"You okay?"
"I don't know. How far did we get?"
"About a hundred and twenty miles, at most," he said. "We've got a big day ahead of us. It's about another three hundred and fifty miles."
Hudson 04 The End of the Rainbow Page 18
