After the Loving

by Gwynne Forster

  “Okay. Drive carefully, and try to get back before dark.”

  The telephone rang as she passed it in the hall, and she stopped to answer it. “Hello. Harrington residence.”

  “Hello,” a Southern male voice said and, remembering Dolphe Andrews’s thick Southern drawl, she was immediately apprehensive. “Is Russ there?”

  “Just a minute. I’ll call him.”

  “Velma? Is this Velma?”

  “This is Velma. Please hold on while I call Russ.”

  “Wait a minute. This is Dolphe. I want a straight answer. Is there any chance you and I could get together?”

  “Are you serious? I thought you and Russ were friends.”

  “He didn’t say there was anything between you, and you didn’t come right out and say it.”

  She bristled at his effrontery; Henry told him and she confirmed it. “Mr. Andrews, if I kiss a man, I do not kiss his friend the minute his back is turned.”

  “Give me that.” He had the phone in his hand before she realized he was in the vicinity. “Dolphe, this is Russ. Man, what’s the matter with you? She said she’s not interested.” She watched him grind his teeth as he listened. “I let her speak for herself, but if that isn’t enough for you, I’ll enforce her wishes, and you know it.”

  His fingers worried the curls on the back of his head, and he looked at her. “You want to say something to him?”

  “Yes,” she said, and reached for the receiver. “Grow up, Mr. Andrews.”

  She dropped the receiver on the table and headed for the kitchen to speak with Henry. “Can I bring you anything from the Lexington Market? I’m going to Baltimore now.”

  “You sure can. I want three pounds of good country-rope sausage, sage sausage. Tel’s back now, and that’s all he wants for breakfast—that, grits, biscuits and scrambled eggs. And bring a gallon of milk. Thanks.”

  In Baltimore, she went with her real-estate agent to look at the town house, but as they drove in her car, she experienced neither eagerness to see the house, nor excitement at the prospect of finally owning her own home.

  “Most people can hardly contain themselves when they go to look at a house, but you’re behaving as if you’re barely interested.”

  She turned into the street and slowed down when she saw a squad car. “I don’t count my money until it’s in my hand.”

  “You’re gonna like this one,” he said.

  And she did. She parked in front of the gray brick structure, similar in design to several others, but of a different color. “This is it,” he said. “Two floors, two-thirds of a basement and a large plot out back.”

  She got out of the car and stared up at the house. The kitchen—large, airy and ultramodern—sealed it for her. Large living room, dining room, pantry and bath on the first floor, plus three bedrooms and three baths on the second floor. She would use the smaller bedroom for her office. After checking the finished basement and the closets, she told the agent, “I’d like my friend, an architect, to check the building.”

  “Fine. Who is he and where can I reach him?”

  “Russell Harrington. He’ll call you.”

  “One of the Harrington brothers, the building company?” She nodded. “I’ll be delighted to meet him.”

  “If he approves, I’ll take it.”

  She drove the agent back to his office and headed for the Lexington Market to shop for Henry but, unable to contain her excitement about the possibility of owning the house, she dialed Russ’s cell phone number.

  “Russ Harrington. What can I do for you?”

  “Hi, Russ. This is Velma.” She told him about the house. “Will you inspect it for me?”

  “Of course. I’ll do it tomorrow. You like it?”

  “Oh, Russ. I love it. I’ll be so unhappy if you find anything wrong with it.”

  “Scratch that. You’ll be happy if I find anything wrong with it, because the builder will repair it before you put your money down. Got that?”

  Realizing that he would steer her properly, she thanked him and relaxed. “Now, all you need to do is find a house or an apartment.”

  “Right. I want an apartment, so I don’t have to worry about outside upkeep or protecting the place when I’m traveling. I’m glad you like it so much, Velma. By the way, where are you?”

  “In Baltimore. Where are you?”

  “In Frederick. Drive carefully on the way home.”

  “You, too. Bye.”

  “We’ll sleep in your room tonight,” Telford said to Alexis at lunch, “because I don’t want Tara down there alone.”

  “Right.” She told him of Velma’s plans, and her eyes widened when she learned that Russ intended to move.

  “There’s plenty of room for him. I don’t like thinking that I’ve broken up this wonderful family. Is he staying with the firm?”

  “Definitely. I think he’s looking toward a family of his own, maybe not immediately, but he wants to stand on his feet, run his own household, direct his own life. He has always walked alone, although he walked along with us. He’s, well…he’s independent, a natural loner. But whatever he does, he has my support, and whenever he comes back here, his room will be waiting for him.”

  “I hope you made him understand that.”

  “He does, and he appreciates it.”

  “What do you make of these…er…changes in him? This ebullience and…well, his attachment to Tara?”

  He fingered his chin and remembered that his father used to do that. “Velma. Whether he knows it or not, she’s inside of him. As for Tara, she was in trouble and he feared for her life. That’s an experience guaranteed to teach you what a person means to you.”

  Alexis seemed doubtful. “Velma said they were holding hands earlier than that, even before our plane landed in Honolulu. Now, Tara says you’re not her best friend because you’re her dad, so Russ is her best friend.”

  “What about Grant?”

  Her eyes sparkled in that way he loved so much. “What five-year-old can compete with Russ Harrington?”

  Like a day dawning, her face flowered into an expression of awareness. “I think we should leave Russ and Velma to heaven. Apparently independently of each other, they decided to move to Baltimore, so I have a hunch they’re destined to be together.”

  He allowed himself a hearty laugh. “I think Russ has that hunch, too, and that’s why he’s fighting his feelings.”

  “You did that at first,” she said, glancing at him from beneath lowered lashes.

  “Not any more than you did,” he reminded her. “Maybe it’s a good sign. By the way, what will we do about Bennie? She’s supposed to work a full day three times a week, but when I’m here, she comes at nine, spends the next hour and a half in the kitchen eating the breakfast Henry cooks for her, and she’s ready to leave at three.”

  “I know. She doesn’t work long enough to clean all of the venetian blinds.”

  “I’ll shake her up,” he said. “I’ve known for a long while that she’s more interested in Henry than she is in doing her work. If she can build a fire under him, I’ll genuflect every time I’m near her.”

  At about that time, Henry was also weighing on Russ’s mind as he wavered between building a house of his own near Henry’s cottage and setting it up the hill near the warehouse. He almost preferred having it near Henry’s place, but was certain that Henry wouldn’t like it. He bought some flowers, the Maryland Journal and a box of chocolates and drove to the Frederick General to visit his uncle. More than once, he had thought how pleasant it would have been to have an uncle with whom to share thoughts, problems and dreams when he was growing up.

  He parked, went inside, got a visitor’s pass and went up to his uncle’s room. “I never know what to bring you,” he said. “How’s it going today?”

  “Good as you could expect.” He looked at the chocolates. “The doctor said I shouldn’t eat too many sweets, but I figure that at this point in my life, I can eat anything I can swallow. I’ll liv
e three days or a week less. Thanks for the chocolates. I always had a weakness for ’em. Sit down, won’t you. You think the Ravens will win the Superbowl?”

  He stared at the pale, fragile man, his age-induced blackness highlighted by the white sheets and pillow cases that surrounded him. And then he laughed. It rolled out of him, and still he laughed. After a few minutes, he looked at Fentress Sparkman. First time he ever saw a smile on the old man’s face.

  “Rang your bell with that one, did I?” Fentress asked him. “And I’m glad to know you weren’t born solemn and straight-faced.”

  “I’m beginning to think I’ve had a reputation for either solemnity or piousness. I hope nobody thought me pious.”

  Fentress laughed aloud and raised himself up a bit. “You won’t remember too much about your father, but you’re more like him than your brothers are. Not so much in looks, but you got his disposition. He had tough guts and whatever he told you was like law. You’ll go far, Russ. He wasn’t the one carrying the grudge that separated us all his lifetime. I was, and when I see how you and your brothers have accepted me, I’m not a bit proud of myself.”

  “That’s water under the bridge, Uncle Fentress. I don’t believe in living in the past.”

  “You’re right—it’s a waste of your life. That was a fine-looking woman you brought here last week. She’s got class.”

  “Thanks. Tell me, what do you know about my mother? When I needed her, I couldn’t depend on her, here one day, gone the next. She came back permanently after Dad died, but I no longer cared whether she stayed or went.”

  He looked in the distance and shook his head as he remembered. “First time I heard of a black girl having a coming-out party was when Etta Clark’s family threw that shindig for her. Spent more money on that party than I had the first twenty-five years of my life. She went after your daddy because his father had money—money and status that he denied me, his illegitimate son. I was envious, but not for long. She soon found marriage wasn’t the parties and games she thought and took off. I guess she didn’t grow up, but don’t blame her, Russ. She lived as she was raised.”

  They talked for more than two hours. “I’ll get back soon as I can,” Russ said. “Telford and his wife returned yesterday, but Drake is in Barbados till the middle of February.”

  “I know. He came to see me the day before he left. I don’t deserve the contentment I have these last days of my life, but I do thank you and your brothers for this peace of mind.”

  He gazed down at the man who brought back to him memories of the father he’d loved so much. “If you think of anything you need, call me.”

  With washed-out, teary eyes, Fentress Sparkman thanked his nephew, the one who had moved closest to his heart. “Not much chance of that, but thank you.”

  He went to a toy shop to find something for Tara, and saw in the display window a toy grand piano with a little figurine of a black girl sitting on the stool in front of it. He looked under it, saw a key and wound it. Immediately, the little girl began playing “Songs My Mother Taught Me.” He bought it in spite of its hefty price and listened to the remainder of the songs: “Summer Time,” “The Waltz You Saved for Me,” “I Hope You Dance,” and “Singing in the Rain.” Something for everyone, he thought, and wished he’d bought one for Velma.

  Velma. He dialed her cell phone number. “What time are you getting back to Eagle Park?” he asked her.

  “About four. Why?”

  “Instead of going home, how about meeting me at Third and Elk?”

  “What’s there?”

  “The street corner, babe. I’ll park there and wait for you.”

  “Okay, Mr. Smarty. Be there a few minutes before four.”

  He’d been there less than ten minutes when she parked behind him. He started back to her car, and she got out and waited for him.

  “I’m learning a lot about you, Russ.”

  He couldn’t help grinning because he knew what she referred to. “Something new?”

  “Only you would know how long you’ve been a smart mouth.”

  “I try not to pass up opportunities, and you provided a good one. I want some ice cream other than black cherry. Let’s go to—”

  “Now, Russ, you know I can’t—”

  “I don’t know any such thing. This place has at least twenty varieties of no-fat ice cream and even more flavors made with pure cream. Come on.” He knew from the light in her eyes that she couldn’t wait to sample it.

  “A big scoop each of no-fat peach, praline and strawberry,” she said, rubbing her hands together in anticipatory delight.

  He put a hand on her arm. “Hold it. Don’t you think you’re overdoing it?”

  She looked hard at him. “For dinner, I will have poached chicken, broccoli and a salad with no dressing. I’m eating every bit of this ice cream.”

  “We have a special,” the waiter said, “four scoops for seven fifty.”

  She didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take the special.”

  He shook his head. “When you hit that scale tomorrow morning, don’t come at me with one of your stiletto shoe heels.”

  “Not to worry. I believe in taking my medicine.”

  “I just visited my uncle at the hospital.”

  “How is he?”

  “He’s weak, but he has all his faculties, and I…I really enjoyed that time with him. He told me a lot of things I didn’t know, important things.”

  The waiter arrived with their dishes of ice cream with which came assorted wafers. Her face relaxed into a smile, lights twinkled in her warm-brown eyes and she rimmed her lips with the tip of her tongue. He wanted to grab her and love her senseless. A sensual woman if he ever saw one.

  “Hmmm,” she said, savoring a spoonful of praline. “This is decadent, plain sinful.”

  “It doesn’t take a lot to make you happy, I see.”

  She didn’t look at him, but focused on the ice cream. “In terms of quantity, no.” She stopped eating then and looked up at him. “What hooks me is quality.”

  He decided to pick his way carefully. “Well, I admit this is first-class ice cream. I haven’t eaten better.”

  She put the spoon down and looked him in the eye. “I’m not talking about ice cream, and you know it. Neither are you.”

  On the verge of laughing, he said, “I am not going to laugh at your antics, Velma, so don’t try to push me into it. Got that?”

  She savored the banana, the fourth flavor. “Russ, do you swim?”

  “Do I…of course I swim. In midsummer, I live in that pool at home.”

  “Good. The complex I’m about to move into—provided you find the house is sound—has an Olympic-size swimming pool, and I don’t swim.”

  “Alexis swims like a fish. What happened to you?”

  “She liked showing off in a bathing suit. I never had the nerve to put one on.”

  “You have the nerve now?”

  “No, but I will by the time the swimming season comes.”

  He stopped eating and looked at her. After a moment, he decided to avoid an unpleasantness and keep peace with her. “I’ll be glad to teach you whenever you’re ready.”

  After eating the ice cream, they walked out into the late-January afternoon with its bright sunlight, calm wind and biting cold.

  “What’ll we do now?” she asked, and he had been wondering the same thing, unwilling as he was to end their first casual outing together. From the corner of his eye, he saw the streetlight change and the reflection of red in a window across the street.

  “Do you ice-skate?” he asked her.

  “I did, but I haven’t had on a pair of skates in, let’s see…thirteen years. I left the skates home when I went to college.”

  “It’s been a couple of years longer than that since I skated,” he said, “but, hey, let’s try it. The worst that can happen is that we fall down.”

  “That could hurt, if I remember.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve got a hell of a lot nicer cushi
on to land on than I have.” She laughed, then looked at him with eyes wide and a drooping lower lip.

  “What is it?”

  “In my whole life, that’s the first time I ever laughed about my size.”

  With her hand in his, he started across the street. “You’re going to do a lot more of that, because I am not going to pussyfoot around the topic just because you’re hung up on it. You look good to me, and especially in those slacks and that sweater, so as far as I’m concerned that settles it.”

  He rented the skates and a locker for her handbag, their coats and shoes, looked down at her and grinned. “Better let me take a lap, get the hang of it, so that if you fall, I’ll have enough balance to catch you.”

  “No, sir. Who’s going to catch you while you’re getting the hang of it? If we go down, we go down together.”

  They put on their skates, got on the ice and steadied themselves. He didn’t like feeling as if he had cloven hoofs, but it seemed that way at first. However, he soon got his bearings and looked around for Velma. After searching the crowd and not finding her, he was about to decide that she was sitting on the bench, when he saw her burnt-orange sweater breezing along ahead of him as skillfully as if she skated every day. He caught her as she turned to come back.

  “Woman, did you lie to me about your skating prowess?”

  She smiled the smile of a sated feline. “No. I just forgot how good at it I used to be.”

  As they skated together, he realized that he didn’t allow himself time for fun and relaxation, that in the ten years since he received his masters degree in architectural design, he hadn’t done ten foolish things. He loved football, but hadn’t been to more than a couple of games. Success had come at the price of his youth and his youthfulness.

  He grasped Velma’s hand and guided them to the edge of the rink. “That was a lot more fun than I remembered, and I’d be willing to continue, but my sister-in-law frowns on straggling in to dinner after seven o’clock.”

  “I know. I was having fun, too.” She looked up at him, her smile at once innocent and beguiling. “Can we do this again?”

  The hell with convention. He hugged her and tweaked her nose. “Sure. Let’s buy our own skates.”