Heartstrings in B-Flat Minor

by Scott Johnson

  Sterling moves into the rationalization stage. “What can I say? The islands got to me, I guess. It’ll never happen again. You know that.”

  “Oh?” questions Sheryl. “I know that, do I? Who’d want to find out now, anyway?”

  A stare-down ensues. She’s sternly mute, thinking there’s a lot going on in his head, but she’s not sure she wants to hear any of it. “Humph,” she snickers with disgust.

  With the ice broken, Sterling says, “Sheryl, please … I’m a fumbler when it comes to you.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “You know I am! And the truth is, I’m elated you haven’t done anything yet—that I’m not too late, the more I think about it, really.”

  Emotionless, she responds, “Well, I’m overwhelmed.”

  “Aren’t we both?”

  “What’s with the big change of heart?”

  Sterling wraps an arm around her and gives her a gentle hug. “Jamaica is something else, a whole world unto itself, but”—his voice turns emotional—“so is this, becoming parents together of God’s child.”

  “Really?” Despite suspicions over his mood swing, Sheryl finds herself wishing this could lead to a lifetime together with Sterling and the child—maybe even multiple children to call their own. What could be better? Full of hope, she exclaims, “We could make it, Sterling, don’t you think? You, me, our baby. We could make it, I’m sure.”

  “Sure I do, dear, of course.”

  Excited, she reiterates, “Don’t you think?”

  “We could make it,” he assures her. But after a moment, he adds, “Then again, maybe not. Who knows? And then you have to think of the kid.”

  Sheryl is slammed, blindsided, by his callously contradictory comments. “I’ve been right all along,” she retorts.

  “You’ve been right about nothing,” Sterling claims.

  “You’re the wrong man for bringing my children into the world, and I’m right about that.”

  “What a thing to say. I’m surprised how easily this abortion seems to be coming to you.”

  “You think I’ve dreamed all my life of having an abortion, much less being pregnant out of wedlock?”

  “Who’s saying that?”

  “I really don’t care what you say or think. The fact is I’m pregnant; we’re pregnant. Our child should have a chance at life. But Sterling, you’ve turned into such a despicable person, I can’t believe I even know you, let alone am pregnant by you.”

  “Maybe—”

  “Maybe nothing. Nothing’s meant to be here, Sterling.”

  “Look, all I really meant to say but didn’t know how to say is … you have to think about dealing with a mixed-race child. I’ve seen strong couples break in the glare of that. We must consider all angles before making a decision.”

  “Are you kidding? You’re back there?”

  “Back where?”

  “You’re the one always talking race relations, even while playing the race card.”

  “Maybe you’ve got a point there, but I’ve had a lifetime of needing to keep all these cards in mind. No offense, but what do you know about anything outside of your white-bread world?”

  “How like you to make such generalizations.”

  “What can I say?”

  “You could say, if that’s how you feel and if it’s so obvious we have little in common, why you’ve pursued me all over again.” Not waiting for an answer, she states, “You’re wasting time for both of us.”

  “It’s not about how I feel. I feel hopeful like you. It’s about being realistic about stuff I’ve seen all my life.”

  Sheryl feels deflated all over again and quickly returns to her previous tack on her upcoming appointment. All consulting is concluded—no more talking it out, no more thinking it over, done. Perhaps. But she fears the heartbreaking act will bring haunting repercussions for years to come. Silently, she freaks out. Aloud, she says, “Sterling, I need to be alone.”

  “As you wish.”

  “None of this is as I wish. It’s the pits.”

  Watching him catch a bus relaxes Sheryl a bit—he’s gone. Sunshine exploding from behind a passing cloud brightens her beloved Lincoln Park, which all these years since moving to the neighborhood has been her extended front yard. That it runs down to the great lake is a bonus. This place has saved me, she thinks gratefully of countless walks here in all seasons.

  Sheryl ruminates about how despite Sterling’s sudden reappearance in the picture, she already has done her homework, tracking down the highly rated Michigan Avenue Specialists Group. She’s thankful that the Magnificent Mile location demands the best of conditions, as opposed to a Jamaican hut in the hills. All things considered, she’s ready, she thinks. But who knows? Lord, help me, she desperately prays.

  Calls to motherhood echo in her subconscious. She wonders how many chances one might be allowed to squander before coming up sterile. It’s not like she doesn’t know anyone who came up barren after a botched procedure. She speculates as to why her generation has become such a leader in this field, with no answers. Some legacy, she thinks with disgust, turning for home.

  The Proverbs resonate within her: “A just weight and balance are the Lord’s … a froward heart findeth no good.” Haunting her further is a Sunday sermon she recently saw posted: “Everlasting Punishment.” Yet Sheryl’s hopes for forgiveness come from the book of Psalms: “For thou, Lord, art good, and ready to forgive; and plenteous in mercy unto all them that call upon thee … For great is thy mercy toward me: and thou hast delivered my soul from the lowest hell.” If God could forgive David for the Bathsheba episode, surely He would forgive her if she changed her ways. She vows, I will change back to the good, Lord.

  But while she sleeps overnight, a devil invades dreamland and by morning has convinced Sheryl that she should take one last shot at rehabilitating Sterling. Forget the abortion, she thinks. Coming together as a couple and forming a family is preferable to eliminating a fetus. For all his flaws, she believes that Sterling does have enough moldable clay to turn out a fine man, in her hands. She’s to be his sculptor. And we’re both still young enough to pull it off, she fantasizes.

  Showering and dressing, Sheryl figures she’s confused enough that she should seek another opinion. With her back to the wall on time, she can think only of running everything past her big sister, Gloria. Gloria is free that night, so they plan a sisters’ reunion over dinner at a favorite burger haven, Heaven on Harms, a halfway point for the two of them.

  Gloria picks up Sheryl in her BMW at the Skokie Swift train station. Although it’s been a while since they’ve been together, the two easily fall into sister-chat rhythms in the car. They talk family gossip, which mostly centers on tensions involved in planning for brother Jon’s impending marriage, his first. In-laws-to-be all are in snits with each other.

  Gloria, a veteran of two marriages, commiserates with their brother in absentia. “Talk about stress,” she says authoritatively. “Been there, done that.”

  Negativity about marriage is not necessarily what a spaced-out Sheryl needs to be hearing. Thinking she’s stressed plenty as it is, without having been there and done that yet, Sheryl responds, “Yeah,” without any punch behind it.

  Inside Heaven on Harms, over cheeseburgers on rye piled high with grilled onions, Sheryl teases Gloria for having left thirty behind. Gloria dishes back, “Your day will come.”

  Sheryl, as baby of the family, is still hanging onto twenty-five, she’s quick to remind Gloria.

  “By a thread,” Gloria retorts, knowing it won’t be long till Sheryl’s next birthday.

  Gloria, no teetotaler like Sheryl, orders a glass of wine. She lobbies the idea to her straight-arrow kid sister. To neither’s surprise, Sheryl politely, if a bit sanctimoniously, declines to imbibe. She wonders what Gloria’s reaction would be if only she knew that her
refusal this time was for more than just usual reasons. This time, she’s not-drinking for two.

  Gloria, sampling her wine, asks, “What’s new?”

  Sheryl wonders where to begin, pausing for thought as Gloria enjoys her wine. They have never really chitchatted much about sex before, partly because Sheryl always played the virgin when homebound. Then there was the six years between them and the religious overtones.

  They’ve always talked about everything else, though, and Sheryl is finding this harder than she thought it would be. Resultantly, Sheryl decides on no specifics for Gloria right now, maybe none ever. “Oh, I don’t know. Not much.”

  “In town for long?” asks Gloria, not suspecting trouble.

  Sheryl, unsure of where she stands at KTC, reports, “My freelance connections have jobs for me down the calendar, and Kearns might have something next month. But there’s nothing going on right now—same old. How about you?”

  “Same old for me too—working around the clock, as usual.”

  “Still on the condo board?”

  “Of course—what a drag. But come on. Tell me about Jamaica! You were there forever.”

  Sheryl can’t suppress a smile. “Yeah, well, it was just something I’d never done before, going bamboo. But I’d thought about it and just decided to let it happen in Jamaica. Perfect timing, ripe conditions, very relaxed.”

  “That’s what I hear.”

  “It’s true, and I really needed the break.”

  Gloria, who never has gone without working full-time, says, “Yeah, how nice. I’ll have to get down there someday.”

  “Do go! One thing was that I got into interesting conversations, being a minority white girl everywhere I went—everywhere.”

  “And blonde, at that,” observes Gloria with a suggestive grin.

  “Right,” Sheryl says, grinning back just as suggestively. “Anyway, that’s all the kind of stuff we’d never discuss over dinner here, that’s for sure.”

  Gloria titters. “Is that right? And tell me—did any of these conversations get beyond talk?”

  “Let’s just say I heard some interesting pros and cons on interracial marriage and mixed-race babies. What are your views on the subjects, Gloria?”

  Gloria looks taken aback. “What? Did this come from you, my little baby sister of innocence? Are you holding out on me?”

  “Huh? Get out. I’m just talking. What’s your opinion?”

  “I suppose it might differ depending on whether we’re talking about this playing out over time in Jamaica or the US, don’t you think?” asks Gloria.

  “Maybe … sure … I don’t know. Shouldn’t it play the same everywhere? So since you’ve never been down there, to JA, how do you feel about it all as it would be up here?”

  “I know how we’re supposed to feel with the changing times, and I’d like to think I’m pretty liberal. So of course, I strive to see interracial marriages and biracial kids as normal parts of our contemporary world.”

  “That doesn’t tell me a thing about your feelings. We’d all say that one way or another.”

  “Well, I guess I’m just looking at things from the perspective of being in my second marriage. Who would’ve thought? What I guess I’m saying is, in romance, there’s still this little thing about the already steep odds against any relationship working. Why increase the odds with misunderstandings due to differing backgrounds, if longevity of love is your goal?”

  “I understand. And how well has the similar-background thing worked for you?”

  “Yeah, right … very funny,” replies Gloria without laughing.

  “So back to the example—what about their kid? Is the world getting more accepting of racial diversity? Maybe these kids will excel purely thanks to having a mixed background.”

  “Maybe, but take it from a firstborn: being a trailblazer at anything is tough hoeing.”

  “Get out,” laughs Sheryl at Gloria’s familiar lamentation.

  “Why is this topic suddenly so fascinating for you?”

  “It’s just the type of stuff that comes up when you travel as much as I do.”

  “I see,” Gloria says whimsically. “Do tell.”

  Sheryl holds back at first but knows this is why she’s here. “Well, to tell you the truth, I’m pregnant.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. And cutting to the chase, it’s a black man.”

  Gloria looks stunned but intrigued. “Is he Jamaican?”

  “No, someone I work with.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yes, wow.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Actually, I’ve known him since that summer at Makeup Is Us.”

  “Oh really? And I’ve never heard of him before?”

  “Oh, we were out of touch for a long time. Kind of just recently reconnected.”

  “So it would seem. Again, though, what do you know about him?”

  “He grew up in Cabrini Green but worked his way through medical school and is now a doctor, currently without a hospital. The one he was at, in Indiana, went bankrupt.”

  “Too bad about that, but as a licensed physician, he should be able to land somewhere.”

  “He’s not worried. His main pursuit is a clothing company he and his cousins have formed. They have some hot designers, and he’s in no hurry to get back to doctoring.”

  “Really? Interesting. What about his dad—have you met him? You can see a lot of what he’ll become by looking at his dad.”

  “He died in a car accident when Sterling was a kid. He was pretty much raised by his uncle, who I haven’t met, but it seems like he did a good job. Sterling idolizes the guy.”

  “You know, you can do background checks online now. You never know what might be in a person’s past. I would do one on any man I might date these days.”

  “Yes, well, we’re kind of past that, I think.” She cradles her slightly bulging belly.

  “Sheryl, I don’t want to be forward on this, but if you’re considering different options, I would say absolutely do what’s best for you. Nothing’s ever too late. Sometimes these men come and go in our lives. And the goings can be as important as all the comings in the world.”

  “I get it, and maybe you’re right. But I really just don’t know anything anymore.”

  Before long, they are parked outside the Skokie Swift station.

  Gloria asks, “Have you talked with anyone else?”

  “Just a doctor who confirmed everything. I’m so scared.”

  “Oh, Sheryl, what are we to do?”

  Sheryl has no response. Her chin begins to quiver like no chin has ever quivered before, fast and unrelenting. A chill rushes through her.

  Gloria stretches out both arms across the console to give her a warm hug, sharing tears. “I wonder what Mom would have to say.”

  “Better not to bother her,” Sheryl figures, thinking of the health challenges their mother is already dealing with.

  “It’s a tough call,” Gloria admits. “Obviously, I’m not Mom. But I’m here for you, sis.”

  “I know. Thanks, Gloria.”

  Riding the rails home, Sheryl longs to talk with her mother about all of this. But her tendency has always been to avoid approaching Mom about anything personal. She prefers keeping her life as private as circumstance allows. One thing is for sure, though: nobody in the family ever would have suspected Sheryl of having pregnancy concerns outside of marriage. She actually wonders if they even might be less surprised to hear about Sterling’s race than to learn that she’s pregnant.

  The next day is gloomy, with the lake shrouded in a sinister fog. The atmosphere seems appropriate to Sheryl, who feels like a criminal as she rolls up in a cab at the curb of the Michigan Avenue Specialists Group. Sterling is with her and actually pays the driver as he an
d Sheryl exit the car.

  The building is steel and glass—cold. They verify the floor number on the lobby directory. Sheryl says, “Let me go on my own from here, Sterling.”

  “No way, baby. You’ll need me up there.”

  “All I need is to get this done.”

  “Oh, come on now.”

  “Come on, nothing. Take a walk or cool your heels in the lobby. You can play hero later. Right now I want peace and quiet. Please give me what I want.”

  “Of course,” Sterling quickly responds. “I’ll take that walk for a while, but I won’t stray far. In my mind, I’ll be with you.”

  “Sure … well, try being with God for a change. It could make a difference for you.”

  An elevator arrives, and Sheryl hops aboard. Upstairs, she finds her way down long hallways to the entrance of what she feels will soon be a crime scene, given the action she’s taking. Before opening the clinic’s door, she gathers herself and then leaves the rest of the world behind. Closing the door behind her, she realizes, No turning back now.

  In the waiting room, Jackie Gleason and his orchestra provide Muzak cover for anyone wishing to converse. Sheryl finds herself sitting beside a woman near her own age. Frightened little girls have come out in each of them, two nameless strangers sharing the weight of the world, equally fearful that anything could go wrong.

  The stranger confides in a whisper, “I think my first time here I was so much in shock about even being pregnant I hardly gave fear for myself a thought. But I had some bad spotting hours later, and the worst starts filling your head.”

  Sheryl’s mind spins back to the Jamaican hut. “I think I know what you mean. Are these guys good?”

  “Oh yeah, don’t freak out. The spotting was kinda normal, I guess. They probably warned me, but I was in a daze.”

  “Sure. Thanks. That’s good to know.”

  “You here alone?”

  “Uh, kinda—yes and no. My partner in this achievement dropped me off and will be picking me up. That’s enough for me.”

  “That’s good. Good enough, right? That was me the first time too. This time it’s with my true love. He also drove me here and, you know, will pick me up too.” Her eyes spill over with tears. “He doesn’t know about the other one, of course.”