Swimming Between Worlds

by Elaine Neil Orr

  “We’ll be cool, man,” Gaines said.

  The language took Tacker by surprise and he smiled goofily. “I’m trusting you.”

  * * *

  • • •

  A HUGE MOON hung in the sky. Tacker revved the Indian, heading out the parking lot onto First, up the hill a couple of turns, and he was looping around to Kate’s house. Every window shone with light. He pulled into the driveway, maneuvered the bike onto its stand, and took the steps two at a time.

  Brian answered the door. He looked like Kate but his hair was lighter and his skin darker. Tall and lanky and good-looking in the way guys at the beach are. Young. His eyes translucent gray, almost wise, or maybe lost. He wore a beaded shell necklace like Tacker imagined he might see in California.

  “Hey, man,” Brian said. “You must be Tacker. You don’t remember me. I was just a squirt when Kate was in high school.”

  “Nice to see you. Glad you’re here,” Tacker said. Kate was in the dining room, wearing a purple skirt with a silver belt, and it reminded Tacker of Anna Becker’s belted dress at the Osun. He had a premonition that there was more at stake here than he’d expected. Kate glanced up and nodded and went back to talking with the older woman next to her, doubtless Aunt Mildred. The woman raised her head and she looked at Tacker and then she came to him across the room.

  “My, my, my,” she said, and gave him a hug, just like that. “I loved to watch you play ball. You come right on in. Brian, get this man a Co’-Cola.”

  Brian was back with the drink, another man following behind him. The contrast between them was great. Brian in his beachwear, this fellow in tailored dark pants, casual but perfectly fitted.

  “Hey,” Brian said. “This here is James from Atlanta.”

  Tacker looked at Brian and then at James, who was holding out his hand; Tacker shook it.

  “Good to meet you,” James said. “Kate’s been telling me what a good friend you’ve been. Hear you two grew up together. I surprised her driving up at the last minute.”

  “We were in the same high school. I guess you could say we knew each other growing up.” Tacker had not reciprocated the initial greeting, but it was too late now and he certainly was not happy to meet this apparently well-to-do, not-bad-looking rival. Kate was keeping her distance, selecting dishes and silverware and glasses. Brian had his head tilted down, one hand on the back of his neck. He must understand the dilemma even if James did not. This was not a football game, but Tacker was going to play it like one because that was what he knew how to do and in the game there was no time to get nervous. You went for the object of desire.

  “Kate, let me help you out,” he announced, cutting through Brian and James and heading for her lavender skirt. He walked straight to her and kissed her cheek.

  “I’ll fill the glasses. What are you serving?” he said.

  She looked at him and he saw that signature crease in her forehead. Well, what did she expect? Had she been writing to this guy? A bright anger flashed through his brain. Cut it out, he told himself. You’ve never even kissed her.

  “Pizza pie and Jell-O salad,” she said. “And cake.”

  “Coke, then. I’ll put ice in the glasses.”

  Kate looked up. “Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t know he was coming.”

  “Right,” Tacker said.

  James might have been five eleven if he was lucky, and he was slender. Still he took up room, pacing back and forth from the kitchen to the library as Kate and Tacker finished preparing the meal. As if he was expected in surgery. Tacker caught himself looking at the man’s polished fingernails. Everything about him was pressed and neat. Tacker wondered what kind of car he was driving. Even when they sat at the table, James positioned himself sideways so that he took up more than one place.

  Brian ate with eager determination.

  “Kate tells me you spent time in Africa volunteering,” James said.

  “Africa is a big place. The continent has actual countries,” Tacker said.

  “Not that any of them is particularly different from the others,” James said. His face was set on Kate.

  “Actually, they’re as different as Germany and China,” Tacker said. The word volunteering stuck in his mind. As if he had been away doing Boy Scouts. “I went with the Clintok Corporation.”

  “If I were going to travel, I’d start with France,” James said, unfazed. “Italy. Spain.”

  Tacker watched Kate to see if she gave any response to the suggestions of these countries, but she was tackling a particularly jiggly mound of green Jell-O.

  “I always wanted to go to Egypt,” Aunt Mildred said. “Did you know the pharaohs were buried with their cats? So they would have them in the afterlife. What about you, Kate?”

  “I think my mother wanted to go there. But I’d rather go somewhere, I don’t know, messier. Maybe India. All of those temples and the Ganges.”

  “Lands, Kate,” Aunt Mildred said. “Isn’t there a lot of disease there? James, tell her.”

  “Of course there is, but shots and antimalarials will take care of most things. Water is the real danger,” he said. “Still, it isn’t the first place I’d want Kate to go.”

  “Why not?” Kate said.

  “You’d certainly need a chaperone,” Aunt Mildred said.

  “It’s halfway around the world,” James said. “What about London?”

  “I thought we were dreaming,” Kate said. “I don’t mean I’ve bought tickets.”

  “You’d get some great photographs,” Tacker said, sensing an opening.

  “I’ll go with you,” Brian said, grinning. “We could boat down the Ganges.”

  “You row and I’ll shoot pictures,” Kate said, smiling at her brother.

  “Don’t you two get started, now,” Aunt Mildred said.

  “Leave room for cake and ice cream,” Kate said, brushing off the conversation. In a moment, she laid her napkin aside and pushed back her chair.

  “I’ll help you,” Tacker said, rising so quickly his legs came up against the table and the dishes and glasses sang and spun for a moment, though nothing spilled.

  “Easy, tiger,” James said.

  Tacker wondered how much damage could be done to a man with a dinner knife.

  He stood close to Kate in the kitchen. She did not look at him. What should he say? I’m in love with you. Declare yourself.

  “Give the first piece to Brian,” she said. When she raised her face, her eyes looked moist. He hoped she was good and sorry for putting him through this ordeal. Tacker stacked several plates of red velvet cake with ice cream on his arm the way he had seen waiters do. And he almost made it, had delivered all but the last slice, the one for James, when he gave his arm the slightest turn. The cake landed in the man’s lap.

  “Jesus Christ.” James scooted his chair back and stood as the plate fell to the floor; bell ring of broken china, cake and ice cream smearing the front of his dark slacks.

  “Wow,” Brian said. Tacker thought he caught a confidential smirk on the kid’s face. On the other side of the table, Kate half stood and sat back down, her mouth a round O.

  “My lands,” Aunt Mildred said, hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

  “Jesus Christ,” James said again, dipping his napkin into his water glass and dabbing at his pants.

  Kate rose again.

  “Have a seat, honey. I’ll take care of it,” Tacker said. He held her gaze even when her eyes widened.

  “Honey?” James said. He looked at Kate and then at his tie, satisfying himself that it wasn’t permanently damaged before glancing up again.

  Tacker imagined the satisfaction of flipping the tie into James’s face.

  “Kate darling, get the broom,” Aunt Mildred said. “It’s Brian’s birthday. Now, you boys settle down.” She smoothed the tablecloth.

 
Kate slipped out and came back with a damp cloth and a dustpan.

  James was seated again, his legs sprawled out, one foot to either side of the mess. “Kate, oh, Kate,” he said.

  Tacker took the implements from her. “I’ll do it.” Halfway into a squat, he caught the amusement and disdain on James’s face and stood back up. “Look,” he said. “Go sit somewhere else. I need to get under your chair.”

  “You’re resourceful. Work around me.”

  “Oh, James. For heaven’s sake. Just move back,” Kate said.

  “Boys,” Aunt Mildred said again.

  “He made the mess; he can clean it up,” James said.

  For an instant, Tacker saw Fray’s face that morning he showed up in Osogbo, spitting his words: I’m here for him. He shoved James in the shoulder. “Now, go sit somewhere else.” He made a first sweep of the floor when he saw James’s fist. It glanced off his cheek. Tacker felt something deep and primary, a huge bird lifting in his chest.

  “James, stop!” Kate cried.

  The only point of reference was her voice. The rest of the room was a submarine glow. A disconnected flash of a milk bottle thrown into the air before it burst onto the pavement. Tacker fisted his hands, straightened, and glowered at his opponent. If he had something better than a damp cloth, he would already have thrown it. “Lucky you’re not better with your swing.”

  James drifted out of the room, down the hall, and into the library.

  “I could try to fix it for you,” Tacker said to Kate, holding the broken china plate, suddenly tender for her.

  But she had slipped like a moon behind clouds. “Don’t worry. I have too much china.”

  Tacker looked around. “How about a second piece of cake, Brian?”

  “Sure,” Brian said.

  “Sorry about the ruckus,” Tacker said when he delivered it.

  “No big deal,” Brian said.

  “Sorry,” Tacker said to Kate, who had retaken her seat. “I’ll be saying good night. And before I forget. You look beautiful.”

  She opened her mouth again and her eyes lit up.

  “Man,” Brian said. A goofy smile covered his face and Tacker remembered how young he was even if he was built like a full-grown man.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Tacker said. He jogged down the hall, ignoring James, out to the Indian, where he retrieved a tin from a leather satchel.

  “Peanut brittle,” Brian said. “Thanks.”

  Tacker angled around the table, kissing Aunt Mildred on the cheek. He tipped his head in Kate’s direction.

  * * *

  • • •

  HE RODE THE Indian out of town toward Mount Airy, the way he had gone with Kate, dwelling on the silver belt around her waist, her lavender eyes, and then he let the anger burn from the backs of his hands up his arms to his shoulders until it consumed his chest.

  He got far enough away from Winston-Salem to see the sky. The bike purred in idle. Pressing his hands into his pockets, he discovered the Life Savers he had meant to give Gaines for Valentine. He opened the roll and put one in his mouth, conjuring Gaines and his friends in the grocery.

  It was amazing what he could see by moonlight. Pinecones in the trees. Frozen cornstalks in the field, looking like failed men. And beyond the field, long hedges of trees, a darkening to the woods, an uprise where a hill met the sky, the sky itself a lighter color than the distant land. All of this so vast and cold; yet he felt a fire inside.

  Chapter Fourteen

  AUNT MILDRED REFUSED to leave, even after Brian went to bed. There wasn’t a thing Kate could do about it. Eventually James got up and stretched. The spot on his pants was still glossy from the icing. At the moment, Kate felt little affection for Tacker or James either. She felt only miserable. Recently she’d not been able to recall the sound of her father’s voice.

  “I’ve got a room at the Howard Johnson’s,” James said. “I’ll have to leave first thing in the morning.”

  Kate walked him to the door.

  “I was hoping we could talk,” he whispered, on edge. “I’ve been offered a post-residency fellowship in Sweden. I want you to come with me.”

  “What do you mean? I can’t come with you. We’re not married.”

  “We can get married. Listen. Have you got feelings for him?”

  Was that a proposal? “I told you. I don’t know what got into him.”

  “I can give you time, Kate, if you’ll just give me something to hold on to.” He handed her a slip of paper. “Here’s the number at the motel. Call me when she leaves, and I’ll come back. I’ll make you a proper proposal.”

  Kate pressed her lips together. Though her feelings for Tacker were a jumble, he had more gradations of illumination and darkness than the man before her, who seemed too predictable, an obvious choice for her, which went against her sense of independence.

  “Let me come back and take you for a drive, then.”

  “It’s late.”

  “Kate.” His look was stern.

  “Okay. Just move your car; park down the hill. I’ll get Aunt Mildred out of here and then I’ll come out.”

  No sooner had James left than Aunt Mildred was talking about the lateness of the hour and how she must get home. Once Kate saw her taillights pulling away, she flickered the front porch lights, pulled on her coat, and waited until she saw the Corvette.

  James drove like a wild man, speeding through town, taking turns so fast Kate had to hold on to her seat. She was too frightened to speak and hardly even noticed which way they headed out of town. He sped down a hill and up another, choosing at the last moment to take a left onto a dirt road and then suddenly pulling over to park the car. Neither spoke. Kate felt her insides tighten and turn. After what seemed an eternity, James hit the steering wheel twice. Then he pressed the horn a good half a minute, though it seemed like hours.

  “My God, Kate,” he said at last, “he’s just a friend? You expect me to believe that?”

  She said nothing.

  “Silence isn’t saving you.”

  Suddenly he was all over her, kissing her hard, pushing her against the seat. She kissed him back, strangely and terribly thrilled by his heat and anger. He unbuttoned her coat and her blouse, still kissing her, and pressed her bra down, exposing a breast to his hand. He pinched her there, softly at first, then harder, and she felt a deep flood of desire. His mouth was on her breast and then her shoulder and he reached behind to undo her bra until her entire chest was open to the moonlight and to his mouth and hands; he was nearly on top of her. Kate had never felt such need. His hands moved under her skirt and she felt herself let her legs go. It was almost as though she was watching it happen. His fingers sought her out and then he was there, pressing her open. She moaned and it seemed to her now that she was not looking down on herself but that instead she was underwater, looking up, watching the last bubbles of air surface above her. Why fight it? She was drowning and it seemed easy to drown. But then she saw that someone was in the water with her. It was Brian, young Brian. He was holding her hand. She pulled herself upright, or tried to, but James had her pinned down. Something bubbled out of her. “Stop it,” she said.

  “Oh, Kate,” James said. “Come on, honey.”

  The heat was gone. She felt ice-cold. “Stop it. Get off of me.” She gathered all her force to push him away. “Take me home.” James looked at her, then straightened up, gazing out the driver’s window as she buttoned her blouse.

  “Damn,” he said.

  When they got back to Glade Street, she opened the door before James brought the car to a complete stop.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” he said.

  “Don’t call me,” she said, pulling her coat together and running up her steps. From the safety of the library window, she watched as the little Corvette made a U-turn and headed down Glade toward Hawthorne. She’d al
most forgotten about Brian, upstairs sleeping. Recalling him, her shame deepened. At least she couldn’t be pregnant. Turning off the kitchen lights, she glimpsed Tacker’s picture, the one of him with his friend Samuel. She hadn’t even thought to hide it when James arrived. Now she picked it up. Tacker looked entirely at home with the goats and chickens and a cleared field and beyond that what appeared to be a farm. Did the picture tell the truth? Or did their history together influence how she felt about his image? She lay the picture facedown on the windowsill.

  * * *

  • • •

  IN THE MORNING she and Brian visited their parents’ graves in Salem Cemetery. For Kate, it seemed a somber duty that might cleanse her of what had happened with James, the way she had let it happen, as if she deserved it. The morning was cold enough to cloud her breath. Brian called for a cab. The small gesture of care chimed like a clear note in her heart and at once she wished her brother would stay with her. She had always been the older sister but now they could be equal.

  “The cab’s here,” he said. He wore the shirt she had made for him.

  Kate pulled a wool cap over her head and they stepped onto the porch, Brian supporting her elbow down the steps. He had never done such a thing and she wondered if he had a girlfriend and these gentlemanly forms had been learned for her.

  The cemetery was planted in hollies and magnolias so even in winter it was beautiful. They stepped through an iron gate. Mockingbirds skittered from holly to holly. Old headstones, weathered and lichen covered, attested to BELOVED WIFE, DEAREST DAUGHTER, DEVOTED FATHER. Kate reached for Brian’s hand as they neared their parents’ plot. A stone angel the size of a child, with large wings and folded hands, stood in a corner of the fencing, seeming to belong to all of the departed congregants equally. Kate had laid a wreath at Christmas, keeping her visit brief. It had been a rainy day and cold, and the wind seemed to blow right through her. Today it was just as cold but sunny and calm, and she took off her cap and shook out her hair. Brian had not mentioned the fracas at the dinner table and she had not spoken of their father’s letters. Squatted between the headstones, Brian ran his fingers over their parents’ names. His shoulders stretched the coat across his back and she saw how he had come to his manhood.