'Til I Want No More

by Robin W. Pearson

  “Not mine. It can work and pray simultaneously. It’s called multitasking.”

  “You think you can take better care of Celeste than He can, the One who knew her before we heard her heartbeat?”

  “Before I felt her heartbeat, you mean?”

  The colander clattered on the bottom of the stainless steel sink. “I didn’t know this was over who loved Celeste more or sooner.” The water ran unchecked, splashing the carrots and Mother’s apron as she stared Maxine down. “Is it?”

  Was it? There in Vivienne’s kitchen, Maxine had to look away. But sitting in the darkened concert hall, she strained to keep Celeste in her sight as her thoughts and emotions ebbed and flowed with the music. Nearly an hour later, she was no closer to drumming up an answer to the cacophony of questions in her mind.

  She kept asking herself, Why now? She’d become so territorial over Celeste, when she’d trained herself to think of Celeste as a sister for more than thirteen years. Now she wanted to lay claim. Now she wanted to establish who had the thickest bloodline. Vivienne was so close to her, she probably imagined she’d felt her heartbeat, that she’d birthed her.

  But she didn’t. A firmer voice spoke up from her nether regions, and it didn’t feel like some third-party, blanched version of Maxine, but her real self, the one who wore hip-hugging jeans and blasted “When Doves Cry” while she washed the car. I did. And then I left her and took away her father. Maxine watched the girl flick a twist over her shoulder and bend toward her music stand. My daughter. How can I make that up to you?

  “Maxine. Is that you?”

  “Eee—!” Startled, Maxine smothered her scream with both hands.

  The man-of-many-names stood for a second in the shadows at the end of the aisle before scooting sideways down the row toward her. He stopped two feet away and shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. He tucked his hands in his pant pockets and produced a fraction of a smile. “Hi.”

  Maxine repositioned her glasses on her nose and snapped shut her screen. Her heart felt like it was galloping away from her, but she didn’t have the wherewithal to rein it in. “What are you doing here?”

  “Probably the same thing you’re doing.” JD perched on the edge of a seat. He leaned forward and draped his arms over the row in front of them.

  The fingers of the frizzy-haired visiting concert pianist hovered over the keys as the clarinet soloist’s mellow tones filled the auditorium. When Maxine faced JD again, she found he, too, only had eyes for the beautiful musician on the double bass. His daughter. “How’d you know she was here?”

  JD closed his eyes, obviously enjoying the bobbing and weaving of the trombones with the clarinet. “I love ‘Rhapsody in Blue.’ They’re good, for a youth orchestra.”

  “Gershwin’s version is better. And they’re good for any orchestra. So . . . JD?”

  He opened his eyes. “She told me.”

  “Celeste told you what? When?”

  “That she played the bass for the Mount Laurel Youth Orchestra. A couple weeks ago, when we met.”

  “About that.”

  “About what? The conductor asked me to speak to the musicians about volunteer opportunities with Hillsong, and Celeste and I talked after rehearsal. She’s gifted, by the way.” His eyes crept back to the stage as the cymbals crashed and the pianist scaled the keyboard.

  “You don’t have to tell me how good she is. You forget I’ve heard her play almost every day.”

  JD’s eyes narrowed. “Exactly. You know, Mom plays several instruments. The piano, clarinet, and saxophone, for starters.”

  “You approached Celeste? She told me she spoke to you before—” She bit off her words, swallowing “before she collapsed.” Nothing about Celeste belonged to him, not a hair on her head, her musical gifts, or the irregularity of her heartbeat. Maxine sucked in a deep breath and sat straighter in her chair. “That you spoke to her after the rehearsal. What led you to do that?”

  His nostrils flared. “Our genetic connection, obviously. It’s not like I walk up to every teenage girl I know. Am I not supposed to ever talk to my daughter? Is that the plan?”

  “Plan? I don’t have a plan when it comes to you, JD. I never did, not even when I was that starstruck teenager who didn’t know better than to abandon the blanket in the woods. I sure didn’t plan on you strutting back into Mount Laurel.”

  “‘Strutting’? Did you really say strutting?”

  When he snickered, it hit her. Dwayne Wayne. Immediately she envisioned JD strutting into town in flip-top glasses, a baseball cap, and cargo pants, pretending to be the geeky character from A Different World, an old sitcom they once watched together after school. But there was no laugh track there encouraging her to giggle, only the orchestra and a handful of listeners scattered about the auditorium. Maxine inched down in her seat, hoping Celeste couldn’t see them.

  Sobered, JD bit his full lower lip. “I didn’t strut in here, Maxine. I told you weeks ago, I want to get to know Celeste. Even if that means from afar. Since I work around the corner, I pop in for a few minutes to listen, to learn a little about what’s important to her. Live on the fringes of her life.”

  “So you’re stalking her.”

  “Do you hear yourself?”

  At JD’s throaty outcry the conductor’s head turned, his baton raised, just as the bassoonist moistened his reed.

  Maxine ducked her head and slid her computer into its neoprene sleeve. She clutched it with her right hand and, with her left, clenched his wrist and leaned in close. She tried to make herself as tiny as possible, praying that Celeste’s attention was on her sheet music or on the conductor, not on anyone trickling in and out of the auditorium. “Go. Go,” she hissed.

  JD didn’t speak until they were standing by the tall potted plants in the foyer. “Why are you so angry with me?”

  Maxine’s curly ponytail tickled the back of her neck as she shook her head. She looked out at Mount Laurel through the windows facing the street to avoid his steady brown gaze. She took a breath and exhaled on a slow count of ten. “My anger is self-directed. You keep getting in the way.”

  He stroked his beard. This time it was his turn to study the street. He posed there like a model, one hand tucked into the pocket of his flat-front gray slacks, pushing back the lapel of his speckled gray wool blazer. His white shirt hinted at his muscular build and perfectly framed his wide, soft-yellow tie.

  All hunk, no geek, Maxine thought.

  JD brought his hands together at his chin as if in supplication. “I don’t want to stir the pot. That’s the last thing I want to do. And I’m not stalking Celeste. I just want to know her, Maxie. She’s a part of me. Of you.”

  “She always has been, Jay. So why now?” Maxine searched his face, hoping for an answer that she’d been unable to supply herself when she was alone, back in the auditorium. “Why are you here now, Jay?” She realized that somehow they’d fallen back into their familiar roles, using the names that signified each other as that safe place they could retreat to when they were navigating through the unknowns of their high school existence.

  “I’ve been praying about this for years. Mustering the courage to reach out. Then this job popped up on LinkedIn and my mom’s health started to decline. I knew the Lord had answered my prayer. He made a way for me to come home. To come back and make it right.”

  She could hear his sincerity. A part of her celebrated his peace, but yet . . . “How can your mother’s Alzheimer’s be an answered prayer?”

  Before he could respond, a door opened, and a custodian pushed a dust mop into the foyer. He glanced at them before he moved from left to right over the parquet floor.

  Maxine risked drawing nearer. When she grabbed his wrist and drew him behind the cover of the plants, she was rewarded with a whiff of his cologne. Cool Water, still? “There’s nothing wrong here for you to fix. Do you think I’m still that lost teen who misses her mommy and daddy?” She felt a stab of memory then of the conversation with V
ivienne on Valentine’s Day.

  “Nothing wrong, Maxie? I gave up my family thirteen years ago. Maybe it was for the best. For her best. But we’re all suffering from that choice you tried to make for me. Now even if you don’t want anything to do with me, Celeste needs to know her father. You decided for her before, but she’s old enough now to choose whether she wants to get to know me.”

  “She has a father! First John—”

  “Is not her father, for one.”

  “He’s the only father she’s ever known.”

  “Exactly.” JD seemed to regret the pain his words caused. “But it’s time she knew the truth, Maxie. And you know it. We’ve been lying to her all these years and one day, when she finds out, she’s not going to just hate me. You know that, too.” His fingers squeezed hers. “Why are you fighting me? Because of Teddy Bear?”

  Mortified, Maxine realized her fingers were still wrapped around his wrist. She let go and stepped back. “Don’t call him that. His name is Theodore.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  “And it’s not just because of him.”

  “Does he know?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  JD shook his head slowly, his eyes holding hers hostage. “Just like Maxie, always keeping secrets. Baby, when are you going to learn? The truth isn’t your enemy.”

  The double doors behind them flew open, and a potpourri of instrument cases, backpacks, arms and legs, and multicolored coats erupted through the doors of the auditorium.

  Maxine quickly stepped out from behind the planters and scanned the sea of faces for Celeste’s. Apparently the teen was taking her usual fifteen extra minutes to extricate herself from her world of music. Relieved, Maxine turned back toward JD, partly visible through the leaves of the ficus. “This—” she drew a circle in the air that enclosed JD, the absentee Celeste, and herself within it—“isn’t happening. At least not today. She’ll be done any minute, and I should go.”

  He reached for her as she backed away, but his fingers only grazed her arm. “Can we talk soon, Maxie? I mean, something more than whispering around artificial trees.”

  Maxine closed her mind’s eye to their heartfelt conversations under the very real foliage in Bedlow Park. “Maybe. As long as you keep in mind that Celeste is no more your baby than I am. And I told you, my name is Maxine.”

  ________

  “Did I see you talking to Mr. Lester?”

  Maxine dropped her egg roll. Sweet chili sauce and collard greens splattered across her plate. “Excuse me?”

  As they were leaving the auditorium, Celeste had thrown an arm to her forehead and pretended to teeter toward the foyer’s leatherette chairs. Maxine, intent on safely steering the girl away from any sign of JD, had allowed Celeste to lead her around the block and through the crisp evening air to Sassafras. There, she’d kept the conversation on school, her blog, the wedding, and the piano soloist’s missed notes in “Rhapsody in Blue.” A lifetime spent circling the wagons. But Maxine plodded where the nimble Vivienne danced, and it wasn’t long before Celeste’s arrow hit its mark.

  “Mr. Lester.” Celeste slowly wiped her mouth, seemingly unaware of Maxine’s discomfiture. “Earlier, during orchestra. You left the hall together.” She slurped another spoonful of French onion soup without taking her eyes off Maxine. “You were talking pretty loud, by the way. You made enough noise to distract Dr. Dennis.”

  “It’s loudly, for one thing.”

  “Whatever.” Celeste rolled her eyes.

  “And yes, that was JD . . . Mr. Lester.” Maxine flicked at the crispy wrapper. Why can’t I ever just eat my egg roll in peace?

  “That’s right. JD. That’s what you called him, so it sounds like you know him pretty well. He’s older, isn’t he? I got that vibe.” Celeste polished off her macaroni and cheese.

  “Yes, he’s older.” Maxine stepped carefully, trying to avoid any hidden, painful traps.

  “Oh.” Celeste looked beyond Maxine.

  Maxine took a bite of her egg roll and chewed slowly, determined not to volunteer more information than was necessary. Necessary, Maxine? When did the need for truth become debatable or optional?

  “What is it?” Celeste interrupted Maxine’s soul-searching.

  “Hmm?”

  “You don’t like him?”

  Maxine moved a strand of hair behind her ear. “Don’t like who?”

  Celeste’s mouth dropped open. “Wait. That’s it! You do, don’t you? Well, at least you did. Did you two date or something? Did he carry your lunch pail back and forth to school?” She winked at Maxine.

  Maxine’s face warmed. “Celeste—”

  “I can tell I’ve stepped on some toes. I know you. You don’t still have a crush on him, do you? Scandalous!” Celeste sipped her iced tea, her merry brown eyes peeking at her sister above the rim. She sloshed around an ice cube as Maxine shifted in her seat. “I’ve never seen you like this, struggling for words. Don’t you have a smart comeback or . . . ? Wait, what’s that word from my Wordly Wise book? Rejoinder! Yes! Don’t you have a rejoinder?” She chortled over her mouthful.

  “Celeste—”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Teddy you’re still carrying a torch for JD. He is kinda cute, I must say. While Teddy is more Corbin Bleu, Mr. Lester is like Boris Kodjoe, after a weekend at the beach.”

  “Celeste—”

  “But you have to give me details! Let’s have a sleepover so you can—”

  “Celeste! This isn’t High School Musical. We’re not a couple of teens giggling over the handsome star of the football team. Did you forget I’m getting married in nine months?”

  Celeste twisted her lips and crossed her arms atop the table. “Good gracious, what’s wrong with you? You’re talking to your maid of honor. We’re just having some fun. Well, at least I am.” She pointed to Maxine’s partially eaten meal. “You’re not going to finish? You could take it home.”

  Maxine pushed away her plate and wrinkled her nose. “I’ve had my fill.”

  “Then are you going to tell me how you know Mr. Lester?”

  Maxine realized that she was working too hard to play it cool, if her armpits were any indication. She sighed and crossed her arms. She leaned back in the chair, away from Celeste. “Well, like I said, we knew each other in high school. When you saw us earlier, we were just catching up.”

  “Why didn’t you mention any of this when I showed you his card?”

  “It was . . . kind of awkward. Besides, I was off to my date with Teddy, remember? Premarital counseling, dinner for two, Valentine’s Day?”

  “But why was Mr. Lester at my rehearsal? Meeting you?”

  Maxine answered this question quickly, easily. “Nope. He just happened to see me there.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Maxine squinted at Celeste. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you’re not telling me everything. You’ve been . . . I don’t know . . . off. For weeks.”

  “Well, this wedding—”

  “It’s not the wedding. But I can tell you’re not going to share what’s bothering you, just like you’re not sharing the full story about Mr. Lester. So what? You went out. I already knew that, remember? I mean, hello.” Celeste waved her hand. “I know Mama is all about courtship now, but you’re living proof she hasn’t always been against dating.”

  Maxine knew raising her daughter’s daughter probably turned her mother against a lot of things. She fought to keep her face impassive.

  But it didn’t turn God against you.

  Maxine sat straighter in her chair and glanced this way and that, past the toddler in the high chair next to them throwing her bottle to the floor and her dad springing to his feet with a “No, Bailey!” . . . the hostess by the door calling out “Letitia, party of four!” before smiling hello at the twentysomethings already holding menus . . . their own server, pencil tip poised on his pad, rolling his eyes over the heads of the couple weighing n
o-water chai versus skim-milk lattes. No one sat frozen at that familiar, yet disconcerting voice that asserted, louder this time, God doesn’t condemn you.

  Celeste leaned forward and slid her arms into the sleeves of her faded denim jacket. “You’re making me cold, sitting over there shaking. Are you okay?”

  Maxine summoned the strength to lift the corners of her mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. A bit chilly.” Maxine caught the eye of their server. “I’d like a decaf coffee please, with lots of sugar and two pumps of French vanilla creamer. Chai tea, Celeste?” At her sister’s nod, she added her request. For a minute after the server squeaked off on sneakered feet, they sat in silence, Maxine rifling through her mental wardrobe stuffed full of memories. She’d long ago smushed them together until they were small enough to stow away. The neighboring toddler’s screech jolted her back to the present day, to Celeste, but she emerged with an armload to share.

  “Yes, JD and I dated in high school. We met the fall of my freshman year, when he was a junior. When he graduated, he went away to Princeton, so it didn’t last.”

  Celeste rolled her eyes. “Obviously. Was he your first boyfriend?”

  You could say that. She blinked away the vision of JD’s eyebrows, strong jawline, and eyes as deep as her coffee cup and just as warm. Their replica gazed back at her. “Yes, he was. I l-liked him. A lot.”

  “More than—?”

  “Let’s just say we had quite a bit in common.”

  “Like what?”

  You, for one. But before she could answer, the server was setting down their steaming cups. Maxine waved off his offer to box her food and then busied herself shaking sugar packets and sprinkling them into her coffee. She took a test taste and noted that Celeste’s wispy curl–framed face had never looked away as her chai tea cooled. “Well, we both liked to read. And he was a good listener.”

  “What’d y’all talk about?”

  “Books. My parents. His parents. Music. My parents some more. JD helped me through . . . an awkward time, made me feel a lot less lonely. High school was hard for me. It wasn’t the experience you’re having.”