Heartstrings in B-Flat Minor

by Scott Johnson

  “Of course. There’s no need now.”

  “Sure. Maybe later, but surely not now.”

  They turn silent as another patient arrives. She checks in and sits across the room alone, seemingly intimidated. A nurse arrives and calls for Sheryl’s new nameless friend, by number.

  “Good luck, dear,” Sheryl says to this sister-in-arms with an upbeat tone of voice.

  “Thank you,” chokes the stranger. “Good luck to you too.”

  Naturally, they never will see each other again.

  Meanwhile, Sterling, out for his urban walk, revisits Uncle Austin’s oft-repeated remarks about how a pregnancy helps a con seize psychological control over a mark, even if only for the short term—although long-term control can and does occur often too. It’s what Austin calls “keeping them confused,” thinks Sterling, proud of himself.

  Along the same lines, abortions allegedly rank high in gaining mind control of a mark. “More often than not,” Austin claimed, “there’s something connecting about going through trying circumstances together. Keeps a psychological bond growing stronger against all odds.”

  Sterling figures Sheryl could be toast any number of ways, if only he were to bring down the hammer, like he’s often been tempted to do. He determines, though, that there is no need to rush.

  Back in the clinic, Sheryl gets the nod from the nurse. Her time has come, ready or not. With trembling thoughts she trails the nurse, convinced that hell awaits her, for sure.

  Chapter 9

  ALOHA, MOM

  American Cuisine desserts are but a recent memory for Sheryl and Sterling. They sit silently, sipping tea, like any couple with little left to discuss publicly after a lifetime together. Extreme mental exhaustion factors into their silence—for Sheryl anyway, what with all the reminiscing at the table, inwardly and shared, and since she is still suffering jet lag and battle fatigue.

  Sterling, seemingly to break the ice, asks, “Care for more tea, dear?”

  “Sure, thanks,” replies Sheryl with indifference.

  She loathes seeing him discover that the teapot is empty. His mannerisms in flagging down their waiter are all too familiar. Her mind, thanks to abilities honed through travel, clicks into solitude-in-a-crowd mode, drifting back to the most definitive moment of her life—a moment when he was not tagging along, though his lurking in her mind’s background overshadowed all.

  Sheryl’s mother, Ruth, was still alive. The two were together in Waikiki Beach, Hawaii—Mom and daughter number 2, plus one hundred conventioneers under Sheryl’s watch. It was the time of their lives together, a very private time for them despite Sheryl’s duties. Her working hours gave Ruth opportunities to roam paradise alone, the being-alone of which was unique and likely thrilling in itself for her. She and Sheryl would meet up off and on throughout each day.

  Ruth has her own luxury corner suite, with Diamond Head visible in the distance. All expenses are on Sheryl, who is treating her mom to airfare and accommodations, bought with her most valuable fringe benefit at work: mileage points. They are lounging on the balcony, enjoying the stupendous view.

  “Best birthday gift ever,” Ruth assures the baby of her brood.

  “It’s a thrill to provide for you, Mom—you’ve provided so much for me. I’m just glad you’re so happy with it.”

  “Happy I am. Thank you, Sheryl.”

  Sheryl’s suite adjoins Ruth’s in case they ever feel like opening the door and sharing space, but for the most part they’re maintaining separate quarters. This lets Sheryl’s mom find total relaxation in her hot tub, when she’s not coming and going, and also allows Sheryl to use some of her sparse free time for meditation.

  As her mom yawns, settling into her chaise, Sheryl decides to return to her own suite. “See you later, Mom. And rest up—tonight should be lots of fun!”

  On the edge of sleep, Ruth lazily replies, “See you later, dear.”

  In the privacy of her own room, Sheryl soon settles into the quarter lotus position on plush carpeting by her own balcony’s sliding door. Only now does it hit her how sorely she needs this alone time. Lots to figure out, she thinks as she gazes out at the deep blue waters beyond the nearest beach. She stares without focus to relax her eyes along with the rest of her body. Her mantra is “om, the mind never sleeps, just be sure to rest the body, om.” Its gentle repetition has proven to be a relaxant for her in the past. She’s hoping this session will put her mind at peak efficiency, allowing her to achieve a calm state of consciousness that will unveil solutions already staring her in the face that she’s just missing. That’s her plan, anyway.

  An oft-playing vision starring Sheryl and Sterling as a couple against all odds fades into her subconscious. She’s familiar with the plot but can’t ever figure out the end. As of the run-up to this Hawaiian trip, Sheryl is on again with Sterling. This time is different; she’s gone in on the clothing venture for $20,000. She has stock certificates and an executive future. It’s hardly what her dad would call collateral, though, she knows—that is, if her dad even knew of Sterling.

  Sterling has never been much for meeting the family. They don’t hang a lot with any of Sheryl’s circle of friends, either, which probably works fine for Sterling. The less anyone knows about him and his offers of a fast buck, one would think, the better for him. Still, despite not knowing her family, he constantly berates Sheryl with accusations of racism against all of them.

  “How presumptuous of you,” she has said, defending family to the end. “You’ve never even met them. What do you know? They’re not like that at all.”

  “Some things you just know through osmosis,” he tends to snap in reply.

  Sheryl wrestles with bewilderment over the hold he has on her. It’s the most confusing aspect of her life, this constant re-upping of their relationship in regular rhythms over the years—so damaging yet irresistible, so inexplicable, so inescapable since Jamaica. What’s the deal? she wonders. Because when we’re good, we’re good, she self-counsels, hating how melodramatic her life sounds. At the core, however, she knows it all stems from Jamaica and the tragic fallout that followed, when the only shoulder to cry on totally openly was his.

  The reality is—the part of her life with Sterling has gotten out of control, although there are times she’s so glad to be in his company. It’s always a good time when she lets down her hair. Is it Stockholm syndrome? she wonders in a clear meditative state, hovering above the beach. Did he kidnap my self-control? She concludes that there’s a certain intellectual stimulation between them that fans the flames, or there’s a familiarity that breeds re-upping for more of the same—that theory is a strong contender too.

  In years past, pre-Jamaica with Sterling, whenever Sheryl would get back to Chicago with limited time before her next trip, varied groups of longtime companions were a valued hometown commodity. She enjoyed fun, reunions, and variety and soon was back to international work.

  Now, once she returns from wherever, Sterling swoops in, smothering her with total companionship. This has its nice points, in the romancing and partnering around, but as a result, many of Sheryl’s friendships have suffered. That’s just a fact, she sadly reflects. By default, Sterling has become her entire circle, more so than ever now that they’ve also gone into business together. With anxieties erased in the core of her meditative state, Sheryl homes in on some of the more pleasant memories she has forged with Sterling. There certainly have been good times, times of naturally growing together, even recently, such as with Sterling’s first camping trip just this last summer.

  Sheryl has been camping since childhood. Her family and several others routinely took over corners of campgrounds at small glacial lakes scattered around the upper Midwest, a week or two at a time. Prior to her trip with Sterling, it admittedly had been a while since her last camping trip, but she was certain it would be like riding a bike. Conversely, Sterling had never set foo
t in a tent.

  “We’re going to change all that,” she said, challenging the urbane Dr. Jackson. “You’ve got to get out in nature!”

  Sterling smiled and replied, “If it’ll make you happy, I’m happy.”

  They set out with rented gear for Devil’s Lake, near Baraboo, boyhood home of the Ringling Brothers. Pitching their tent not far from some ancient effigy mounds, hard up against the forest, Sheryl took glory in finding a favored but isolated spot strictly from memory.

  “Not half bad,” he admitted while trying out the large air mattress.

  Before nightfall, they quickly hiked the bluffs up to the Devil’s Doorway, an ominous portal to the sky high above Devil’s Lake. Spectacular panoramic views induced hand-holding before the two started their descent back down the trail that had led them there. Come campfire after dinnertime, the stars seemed as bright as any Sheryl remembered from Jamaica, and she said so.

  “Baby, that’s gotta be a maybe,” insisted Sterling. “Those stars were like no others.”

  “And that ganja was pretty good too, right?” laughed Sheryl. “Maybe that was it.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” he said with a chuckle, “but this right here is nice. And so are you. I’m just happy you’ve allowed me to stick around long enough so you can get to know the real me.”

  “Is this the real you, really?”

  “Really.”

  “I knew a little Mother Nature would do you some good.”

  “Is that right?” he asked mischievously, moving in for a fireside nuzzle.

  At week’s end during the long ride home, Sheryl succumbed to his business pitch and let down her guard over an emergency fund she’d built up over the years. She agreed to invest $20,000 in Sterling’s company. Buyer’s remorse set in even as they visited her bank the next day to put the money in his hands. But she vowed to take the regret as a temporary state of mind and roll with the well-considered decision she had painstakingly arrived at in the car. It has to work! she told herself like a true believer. Besides, a week in the woods had convinced her that he really did love her.

  The flame first lit in Jamaica, before Snake and Miriam came into play, before Sheryl’s own unplanned circumstances became known, had been reignited. Sheryl believed that everything to do with Snake and Miriam had been an aberration, and she wrote it off to going bamboo, of which they both were guilty. It just had gone to his head a little more. After all, she told herself, he was kind of a local celebrity. Maybe Miriam’s whole family did throw her at him.

  Maybe, maybe not, but Sheryl’s stance was that he was back to being the interesting, fun guy she had known to begin with at Makeup Is Us. They laughed and got horny when out dancing at the Drake and choked up together at sad movies. Walks through Lincoln Park always felt romantic, but despite that and the lathers they reached on the dance floor, he was not pressing her for intimacy, a wise move on his part. She was far from ready for that.

  “But I am pleased,” she told him, “to feel redeemed about giving it all away to you that night on the beach. After you turned so unsweet on me there, I never would’ve dreamed I’d be saying that.”

  “My hope is that someday you’ll forget about that whole episode, and we can bury it.”

  “That would be nice, I’ll admit.”

  Sheryl was relieved to put her hometown drama on hold awhile to take care of business. A tour to Switzerland followed rapidly by a South African one created an absence during which her heart grew fonder of Sterling. Into the fall, more trips followed elsewhere. When she was home, the two were like newly introduced lovebirds. They were touchy-feely, and she had an “everything is coming up roses” outlook. She concluded that a person can overcome tragedy, forgive, and move on, if not entirely forget.

  Sheryl comes out of her quarter lotus position and refocuses on her suite’s elegant decor. She wonders if she’s not supposed to entertain such heavy thoughts while meditating, although for her, meditation works for such considerations. Clarity helps, she hopes, and she’s feeling a burst of clarity now, burying thoughts of him by looking ahead to tonight’s luau with her mom.

  “Just Mom and me, no Sterling—or anybody else for that matter.”

  But the part about nobody else being around isn’t quite accurate. When Sheryl later joins her mom at the luau, which is playing specifically to Sheryl’s group of conventioneers, she is technically still working. But for tonight’s luau, hotel staff have everything under control. The event is routine to them, so Sheryl is able to relax and give her mother a hug as the first course is served. Traditional music warms the background.

  “Sorry I’ve been on the run so much, Mom. This group always keeps me busy.”

  “Sheryl, dear, don’t worry about a thing. Enjoy the food and show.” Dancers in grass skirts join the musicians, moving their hips to the music.

  “I’m just hoping you’re not bored all day while I’m working.”

  Ruth laughs. “You needn’t worry. I absolutely love being here without also being on-call for everyone’s emergencies as mom, wife, or whatever the crisis calls for.”

  Excited, Sheryl exclaims, “That’s just what I’d hoped for you on this trip.”

  “Listen,” says Ruth, as if letting Sheryl in on a secret, “I’ve been to enough of these conferences with your dad to know you’ve got your hands full. But I’m sure you’re also having fun while at it, right?”

  “Absolutely, Mom. Thanks for always seeing everything so clearly.”

  “What I’m seeing here is how you’re advancing in your career. I’m impressed.” Ruth gives her daughter an encouraging smile. “Honey, I’m so proud to watch you in action. And I’m grateful for this precious slice of life’s pie, heaven here in Hawaii—and it’s all your doing, this treasured birthday gift from my baby daughter. Being on my own like this, believe me, I’m having the time of my life.”

  “Aw, you’re choking me up, Mom, but in a good way.” Sheryl beams upon seeing how relaxed her mother looks, as relaxed as she can remember. She asks, “Then everything’s good? Need anything?”

  Ruth says, “Thanks, but I don’t need a thing. This is so relaxing. You just don’t know.”

  Sheryl doesn’t know. She suddenly wonders if something is bothering her mom and, if so, for how long. How to bring it up, though—that’s the hurdle. Sheryl figures there’s always another day for such talk, especially in Hawaii, where they enjoy ideal conditions.

  So it goes for more than a week. Ruth routinely shops or sunbathes at Waikiki and maybe does an excursion. Sheryl works her fun gig, and they join together at night. On the second-to-last day of the convention, Sheryl grabs her final chance to sneak a few hours alone with her mom. Once the next day comes, Sheryl will be overseeing the morning scurry as everyone rushes to prepare for airport transports. This evening, though, she has arranged for a hotel intern to cover her over dinnertime and for a few hours beyond into the night.

  “Tonight is for you and me, Mom,” Sheryl proudly announces.

  “That sounds lovely, dear.”

  They dine at dusk, overlooking Waikiki Beach and Diamond Head. “What a sight, huh, Ma?”

  “What a sight is right,” Ruth agrees. Lazily, she recounts, “And it’s so nice not to be on a schedule. Gorgeous views everywhere and nothing to do but take it all in.”

  “I hear you, Mom. That’s how I felt those six months I went bamboo down in Jamaica.”

  “Jamaica, yes—you’ve never really talked much about Jamaica, Sheryl.”

  “Talk about no schedule.”

  “How long has it been by now?”

  Sheryl questions herself for having headed in this direction. She answers, “We’ll have time for that tonight, Mom, if you want. How about first we have dessert down on the beach? It’s all arranged. We’ll be just in time for sunset.”

  “Good job, Ms. Tour Director. What could
be finer?”

  They find their reserved chaise longues, which come at a premium. Further, thanks to favors Sheryl has pulled, they have scored a nice forward position on the beach. The sinking sun glows brightly off Diamond Head, painting a shimmering stripe atop the sea. Surfers and massive canoes filled with tourists still ride the waves—synchronized chaos and gaiety. Overhead, wispy clouds collaborate for a stunning spill of sun into the Pacific Rim.

  Mother and child let gravity pull them deeper into their chaises as a steady stream of waves crash upon their heavenly slice of land. From beyond earth’s edge, the sunken sun reflects off the wispy clouds’ undersides in spectacular fashion.

  Awestruck, Sheryl asks Ruth, “Isn’t it all so reassuring, Mom?”

  “That’s exactly what it is, Sheryl—reassuring. And I sure am grateful for life.”

  “Same.”

  “I can’t remember when I’ve felt so decompressed.”

  “That’s way overdue, Mom. You’ve worked so hard.”

  “Let’s just say it’s been a long time. But that’s being a mom. And I have no trouble with that.” She smiles. “It’s all good. I’m making up here and now for lost time.”

  “Glad to hear it, Mom. Our being together here means a lot to me. It’s really special.”

  “Yes, Sheryl, it really has been special. Once-in-a-lifetime special.”

  “Mom, you know, I’ve been seeing how relaxed you are here, and I’m starting to feel the same. I’ve been on edge awhile, more than I thought and for longer than imagined.”

  Ruth gets that motherly look. “Tell me all about it, dear.”

  “I don’t know, Mom. It’s a lot to tell and would be a lot to hear, especially after all you’ve been through.” Sheryl mentally kicks herself over that last remark. She scolds herself, Why remind her of her health issues? Especially now with her so relaxed and refreshed!