The telephone rang, interrupting her musings.
“Can you talk, or are you busy?” Eleanor said.
“I’m doing schoolwork, but I need a break. Actually, I could use your help. I’m writing my own arrangement for ‘Turn, Turn, Turn’ as a class project. I want it to be a fancy piano solo.
“With all you know, that should be easy. Keep the melody line, but use some arpeggios and embellishments. Do a snazzy intro and special ending. Write it in a key that will be comfortable for you to sing.”
“Thanks. You’ve organized it for me. I wasn’t sure where to start, and frankly, I’m tired. So, what’s up?”
“I wanted to prepare you. A cousin of mine is coming to Minneapolis with his work. He’ll be there for six months … maybe more.”
“Do I know him?” She’d met a few of Eleanor’s relatives.
“No. Don was overseas in the army when you were here. Stationed in Germany. He’s been working with a management company and got an assignment in Minneapolis.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“You’ll like him.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Hey, watch the tone. I know things ended poorly with you and Bill. That doesn’t mean you never can date again.”
“I don’t have time.” I don’t want to.
“Sheila, you can’t work and go to school and study your life away. You have to do some things for fun.”
“What are you doing for fun?”
“This conversation isn’t about me, but as long as you ask … I’m dating Adam Stewart. Remember? The guy from the Renaissance Faire.”
“Oh, Eleanor. He seemed like a really nice man.”
“He is. He works in Admin and is as involved with the Smithsonian as I am.” She paused. “But this is about you and some revitalizing of your social life.”
“Okay, what do you have in mind?”
“A letter of introduction seemed a bit formal.” Eleanor chuckled. “I did want to let you know he’d be calling. I think you should give him a chance. He’s really sweet, and things haven’t been easy for him.”
“In what way?”
“Same as you. The military contributed to a divorce from his college sweetheart.”
“Any kids?”
“No. Thank God. He was stationed in Germany and went there first to get settled, find a place for them to live, all those kind of things. He thought she was going to follow in a few months. She kept putting off joining him. Poor guy. It was disheartening. She finally told him there was someone else—his best friend from college who had been deferred—and that she wanted a divorce. Don took it hard. He’d made it through a tour of Vietnam. Fortunately, he got the assignment in Germany because of his work background. They were expanding the base and needed an officer with his skills to assist in the transition.”
“Is he doing all right now?”
“Much better. He’s been home and started with the new company last year. I think he’s looking forward to the change of scenery. Having a friend like you will help.”
“I’ll be welcoming.”
“And be open minded. He might turn out to be someone special,”
“A matchmaker you are now.”
“We all can use help sometimes. Besides the composition assignment, how’s studies? You’re almost done.”
“Almost. And I have a job at a nearby high school for this fall. I get to finally quit the bank!”
“Congratulations and good luck. I know you’re going to do great. With your voice and other musical talents anyplace will be lucky to have you. I sure could use you back here.”
“Maybe someday …” Sheila had thought she would never return to Washington, D.C. But sometimes, she got this feeling like, maybe … she couldn’t finish the thought.
Before their conversation ended, Sheila asked, “Have you heard anything about Polly? How she’s doing?” At Christmas Lucy had written that Polly was back in school and planning to compete with Sparky.
“She’s doing great. Back in the saddle.”
“How about her health?”
“She seems to be fine. Here’s hoping.”
“Yes. Here’s hoping.”
There were so many people who had entered Sheila’s life over the past decade. She probably would never know what happened to most of them, including Jane and Mary Beth Klevens and Mary Beth’s baby. She wondered what Bradley would do now that the Vietnam War was over. He’ll find another cause.
She was thankful that Eleanor had come back into her life and that the Newells hadn’t forgotten her.
Donovan Porterfield came to Minneapolis to work as a consultant for two Minneapolis stock brokerages. Michaelson and Murray were in the process of merging under this new name. Every combined department needed the help of an expert for hiring, organizing, and setting up procedures. Don had moved into a downtown hotel, not far from Sheila’s apartment, and she received a telephone call the day after he arrived. Their first face-to-face meeting was for lunch on a Wednesday. Sheila only had an hour, for which she was grateful, since, Who knows whether I’ll like him?
Five minutes into the hour, she wished for more. What a nice guy! He talked a lot about Eleanor, and his family who were obviously important to him, and he was interested in everything about Sheila that could be covered in such a short time. At least six foot two, thin, with thick, dark auburn hair, and smiling eyes of the same reddish-brown color, he talked freely about himself. One remark that particularly interested her was, “At home, I play polo on my off hours.”
Sheila told him about Sparky, the horse she’d loved back in Alexandria. Right away, here was something they had in common, besides Eleanor: love of horses. He talked for a little while about his consulting position. She told him about the bank and going to night school. Before she knew it the hour had come to an end, with so much unsaid. She regretted that they didn’t have all day, but went back to the office humming one of her childhood favorites, “Que Sera Sera.”
After that Sheila and Don saw each other every night, at least for an hour or so, squeezing the time in between her classes, music practicing, and studies. He brought take-out to the apartment and chatted while they ate Chinese or pizza.
“Good thing I’m almost done with school,” she told him. “I wouldn’t have been able to see you at all a few months ago.”
“Lucky me,” Don said. “You’re making the stay in Minneapolis great. I wasn’t sure about coming here before Eleanor told me about you.”
“I thought you were looking forward to getting away.” Although they’d talked about their divorces, she didn’t bring up his during this conversation. It felt like they were both ready to quit analyzing past hurts and move on.
“In some ways. New place, new start, all that. I wasn’t looking forward to not knowing anyone.”
They were sitting on her green tapestry-covered sofa. Chinese take-out cartons were spread over the glass-topped coffee table. The sofa and table were a couple of items she’d splurged on since making her last school payment. She leaned over and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “I’d say it’s worked out well for both of us.”
Over flickering candles reflected in the sparkling windows of her apartment’s small dining area, Sheila watched Don take a bite of lasagna. He gave an appreciative murmur. “She can cook too. You are an accomplished woman, Sheila Doty.”
Their earlier dates had been to places like the public library. Don liked to read as much as she did. He also enjoyed all kinds of music. They’d been to a Bob Dylan concert and to a performance of Mozart’s “The Magic Flute.” And, he played the guitar. They’d worked out a duet of “A Man and a Woman.” On this Saturday night, the first time she’d cooked for him, Sheila was sure that Don would stay over. If they got along in bed as well as they did in every other way, she felt certain, even though she’d been avoiding
this thought, an important man had entered her life.
Suddenly, a knock at the door interrupted Simon and Garfunkel’s bridge song, playing on the phonograph.
Smiling, Don tipped his glass of Chianti. “Hurry back.”
Tommy slouched in the hallway, dark eyes glazed, brown hair disheveled, breath reeking of stale beer. He leaned against the door’s frame, emaciated body tilted like a flopped-over music box clown. She had seen him the previous week at her check-in visit to their parents’ house, but he’d said little to her. Now, for a few moments, he and Sheila spoke in hushed tones.
“I want to crash here. I left Beth.”
“No, you can’t!” As soon as the words left her mouth, Sheila felt a pang of guilt. Still, she added, “You need to go home to your wife and baby girl.” As he turned away, the worries immediately set in. What if he gets in an accident? Kills himself this time? Sheila almost called out for him to come back, but then she looked at Don in the candlelight, and the apartment full of her things: records, decorative pillows, a shelf full of books, the guitar, her spinet piano, through the door to the bedroom a double bed with the old yellow afghan tossed on its end, in the kitchen matching cookware soaking in the sink—to be washed tomorrow. She watched Tommy stumble through the hall and turn a corner to the stairway going down, and decided not to bring him back.
When she returned to their dinner, Don said, “Who was that?”
“My brother. He had to get home to his wife.”
“I’d like to meet him. All your family. Have you meet mine.”
Sheila paused. What in the world do I say to this? “Sure. Someday …”
CHAPTER 30
The Finish Line
WITHOUT THINKING, SHEILA QUIETLY RUBBED AT HER SENSITIVE SKIN. SHE’D MADE A mistake and put a sundress on under the scratchy maroon and gold graduation robe. She should have worn a long-sleeved blouse. It was at least eighty-five degrees at ten in the morning on Saturday, June 1, 1974, and the humidity made her feel drenched already. The mortarboard cap kept slipping down her matted red curls and almost covering her eyes. She tried to inconspicuously adjust it, noticing that there were plenty of other girls doing the same thing. Girls. Most of them were right around twenty-two. Sheila at twenty-eight felt like an old lady.
But none of these things could detract from the elation she also felt on this day. Finally, at long last, she had completed her degree. From a row of chairs set up on the lawn of the stadium, she looked at the crowd in the stands, wondering where Don sat.
He’d driven her to the campus, given her a big hug and kiss, and said, “You’re remarkable. What an achievement.”
He was the only one Sheila had invited to the ceremony. Her other three tickets were given away to casual friends who had big families wanting to attend.
The speeches were boring, but she probably wouldn’t have heard them anyhow. She was thinking about her upcoming move to Washington, D.C. She’d be able to reconnect with Eleanor and meet Don’s family. For some reason, she didn’t worry about getting to know these new people. Maybe it was because of Don’s divorce. Maybe it was because Eleanor would be with her. She was excited and mostly wanted this ceremony symbolizing her accomplishment to be over.
Tonight, Don was taking her to Chez Henri, not too far from where he had stayed before moving in with her. It was their favorite restaurant—the spot where he gave her the diamond ring that had belonged to his grandmother. His ex-wife, Nicole, had wanted a new ring—something showier—and after the divorce, had kept it.
In the candlelight, the diamond of his grandmother’s ring threw off so many sparks that Sheila had laughed and said, “I don’t need any more show. This looks like it could start a bonfire.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Don smiled. “My grandmother was special to me.”
“Mine too. My favorite person in the family.” Grandma had passed quietly away six months before. Sheila missed her—the person she used to be—not the sickly person whose mind had become ever more jumbled.
His proposal had happened a few weeks before she received the ring, on a walk around Lake of the Isles. He dropped to his knee, took her hands, and said, “I want to be with you for the rest of my life. To share everything with you. Will you be my wife?”
It felt exactly right. Never had she been so comfortable with any man. Never had she been so confident about a relationship’s future happiness. Both had strong personalities. They’d already argued some—minor skirmishes over in a few minutes. She had no illusions about this. They would disagree, probably often, but as much as they’d talked already, she knew they’d reach the necessary compromises.
His mother had shipped the ring to him, with all good wishes. The wedding, a small affair at his family’s house, would happen shortly after they arrived.
She felt badly about cancelling her obligation at the high school where she’d planned to teach in the fall. But there were plenty other qualified candidates. Another teaching position waited for her. A friend of Eleanor’s who ran a school for disadvantaged youths in the district had hired her, sight unseen. Sheila anticipated finding kids like Sally Blake who would benefit from her experiences. Music was what had gotten her through a difficult family situation, as well as all the lonely times. She would pass this on to others.
She didn’t feel badly about leaving her family. Her mother and Tommy hadn’t said much when she told them. Her father said, “I’ve been expecting this.”
She and Don would come back occasionally to check on them, but for short visits. A new life awaited her a thousand miles away.
“Sheila Doty,” the head of the Music Department said, reading her name.
She took a deep breath and walked up on the stage.
Shaking her hand, he said, for her ears alone, “Congratulations. This has been more difficult than the usual. We’re hoping to have additional nontraditional students in the future.”
All she could say was a muffled “Thanks,” her throat closing with emotion. I’ve done it! She held the diploma tightly to her heart, memorizing the clapping, knowing that somewhere up in the stands Don clapped the loudest.
Before long, she’d start working on her master’s. For now, Sheila wanted to relax, play her music for fun, and enjoy what the future held …
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Remembering all those early teachers who indulged a child’s desire to read more than anything else; my parents who bought me The Book of Knowledge in 1957 when I was ten years old, and kept it updated every year, instilling an interest in current events that helped to clarify my own place in the world; Mr. DeGuise, my high school creative writing teacher, who gave me a goal; David Shields whose class at the University of Washington started me off on my short story, “Medio Street,” which later led to this novel; Alma Luz Villanueva, mentor, MFA in Fiction Writing at Antioch University, Los Angeles, who recognized that I had many stories to tell; Amy Howard for excellent editing advice; Bonnie Thomas for being my wonderfully patient piano teacher; Robert and Sylvia Percival, dearest friends who encouraged me to go in this direction with my novel; and finally, Sam and Stephanie, terrific children who always respected my need to hide in a corner and write.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kathleen Glassburn has an MFA in creative writing from Antioch University, Los Angeles. She lives in Seattle with her husband, three dogs, a feral cat, and a fifty-year-old turtle. She is managing editor of The Writer’s Workshop Review www.thewritersworkshopreview.net, and her short stories have been published in many literary journals. See her website: www.kathleenglassburn.com for some examples. When not writing or editing, she enjoys playing the piano and horseback riding.
ook with friends
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