Sutherland

by Karen Trailor Thomas

  “She gets tired pretty easy now,” Parker offered, draining the last of his Coke. “It’s been a rough six months. She’s sick most of the time.”

  “She seems really nice,” Jennalee said, then asked, “Have you picked out a name yet?”

  Parker looked to Harley, who nodded. “Well,” Parker said, “it’s kind of a secret, but you look like you can be trusted.”

  Jennalee leaned forward.

  “Melanie Ann,” Parker whispered.

  “A girl!”

  “Shhh,” Parker said, holding up his hands. “If word gets out, it will upset the entire imbalance. The whole pecker order will collapse.”

  “You mean pecking order,” Jennalee corrected.

  Harley shook his head. “Mom called it a pecker order once and it stuck.”

  “Pecker order,” Jennalee repeated with a giggle.

  “And a baby with no pecker,” Harley added. “Gonna make some waves.”

  “So will you just surprise them?” Jennalee asked.

  Parker sighed. “We haven’t decided. Kimmie’s not exactly thrilled it’s even an issue so I’m pretty much doing what she wants, which right now is nothing. Once she’s further along, we’ll have a better handle on it.”

  “They all seem so driven,” Jennalee observed, “so bent on success. Doesn’t anybody ever fail?”

  “Sure,” Harley said, “but they don’t show up. Success only at the Sutherland Family Reunion. Plus the Laidlaws. Mom says they need an annual reality check.”

  When the group at the bar left, John Witherspoon went with them, laughter fading down the hall, and soon Parker excused himself, as well. “See you at the feast tomorrow. Lee, good meeting you. Keep this guy out of trouble.”

  “He’s great,” Jennalee said to Harley as Parker lumbered away. “He seems so…I don’t know, but he’s super.”

  “The great sloth,” Harley said. “That’s what we call him, or I guess I call him. He’s a computer genius who’s escaped the realm and they’ve never forgiven him for it.”

  “Like you.”

  “No, I was never in the realm. Much easier.”

  “Kimmie seems scared.”

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  Harley seemed in no hurry to leave and Jennalee enjoyed his leisure. His open jacket revealed a chest of dark hair so downy it appeared combed, and she found herself considering how it might feel against her fingertips. With one boot propped on an empty chair, he finished his Coke.

  “So what are you playing tomorrow night?” Jennalee asked.

  He took a long time answering. “I’d planned on Bach, but I think maybe the Kreutzer, except I’ll need a pianist.”

  “How about your mom?”

  “She doesn’t play the Kreutzer.”

  He was staring at her and she found herself enveloped in that same energy he gave off when he played, but still he didn’t ask her right out.

  “So you want me to do it?” she asked.

  He still stared.

  “Why can’t you just ask? What’s the big deal?”

  “Never mind,” he said, kicking the chair, sending it skidding.

  He stood so quickly Jennalee didn’t know what was happening and she found herself trailing after him, grabbing his arm. “What’s with you?” she demanded. “Do you want me to play or not?”

  He stopped but didn’t speak.

  “Do you?” she said, and when he nodded, she told him, “Then I will but you could have asked, it’s not like I bite or anything, but not the Kreutzer. You saw what that did to me. How about the Spring? I think I can handle that without breaking up or down or whatever.”

  He took her hand. “It’s only one movement. They can’t sit still for more than that.”

  “Fine.”

  “Okay. Good.” He squeezed her fingers and she squeezed back. “Want to practice?” he asked.

  “Now?”

  “Sure, why not? I’ll get my fiddle.” And he was gone before she could say anything more. She stood at the window until he returned, realizing she still didn’t know where Garth had gone.

  Harley had not only gotten his violin; he’d traded his dinner jacket for the pinstripe vest. Jennalee was glad he hadn’t added a shirt. She sat at the piano and watched him tune his instrument, and as he put it to his chin, he suggested they do a single full run through and decide later which movement would make the program. So they began at the beginning, Jennalee experiencing that wonderful absence the piano always brought her, everything else slipping away, except this time it was Harley Laidlaw rather than Mr. Mendel who seemed to have stepped onstage.

  Chapter 9

  Unlike the Kreutzer, the Spring began with violin and piano together, quietly at first, then racing along, tossing the melody back and forth as they tumbled and turned in what has been described as one of Beethoven’s rare sunny pieces.

  Jennalee hadn’t played it since she’d left Mr. Mendel, but it didn’t now carry the weight of those final hours as did the Kreutzer. This allowed her full immersion into which she went quite willingly, savoring the buoyancy and freedom as she glanced periodically at Harley, who was a wonder unto himself.

  She couldn’t help making comparisons which put other students and even Mr. Mendel up against him, all falling short because Harley didn’t just play the notes, he merged with them, his entire body caught up in Beethoven’s spirited allegro. He twisted and bent and she could hear the click of his heels and, when they finished the first movement, silence settled over the room as they looked at each other, somewhat shocked at what they’d done. Then Harley nodded and they moved into the adagio without comment.

  The piano led, violin answering in deep, rich tones, and Jennalee looked up to see Harley’s eyes closed, body quiet as he grounded her, cushioned her. Then, as she slipped to the back, he took up the melody, pure and clean, rising until she met him and they set up a balance, answering each other until Jennalee ached inside.

  She didn’t want it to end, all her energy concentrated in her fingertips, her entire being in full release as she stroked the keys, Beethoven’s troubled soul merging with her own. As the movement quieted, then concluded, Harley opened his eyes and Jennalee saw they were wet, as were her own, and she smiled, then gathered herself and began the presto. This short but playful burst led to the rondo which she initiated, Harley’s violin slicing in seconds later with the exuberance and joy that so marked the piece. As it climbed, so did she, hands bound to the notes, music spiraling within her, churning and building until her breath disappeared and she ended the piece with a gasp, then sat quite still.

  Harley too was out of breath. He took in great quantities of air, then smiled. “You don’t need Mr. Mendel anymore,” he said. “Christ, you don’t need anybody.” His smile disappeared as he added, quite seriously, “except maybe me.”

  She suddenly saw what the earring was, surprised she hadn’t noticed it before: a small black eighth note dangling from the lobe. It made her want to cry. “Want to go again?” he asked.

  She shook her head, unable to speak just yet. The piece was still running through her and Harley came around and sat on the bench beside her. He said nothing, violin on his knee. “I don’t want to cry anymore,” Jennalee managed, fighting back tears that seemed in perpetual ambush.

  “So how can I help?” Harley asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what the problem is.”

  He leaned against her and, when she didn’t respond, he bumped lightly and got her to finally bump his shoulder back. “Let’s get out of here,” he suggested. When she agreed, they stepped into a still warm night.

  There was so much Jennalee wanted to say, but none of it would fit into words so she kept silent by Harley’s side as he led her from the path up along the hills at the back of the place. Eventually they skirted it all and Harley stopped once to look at the stars, still without comment. Jennalee decided he was, like her, infused with the music, and as they came back toward Building Eight, she asked, “What t
ime do you think it is?”

  He shrugged. “No idea. No watch.”

  “Me either. I hate them.”

  “Two of us on the planet,” he offered.

  Laughter could be heard in the distance and Harley remarked that the Sutherlands were still going strong. “Party animals in the pool, the rest under the bed.”

  “So what now?” Jennalee asked, and when he didn’t respond, added, “Are you tired?”

  “Actually, I am. I hate to admit it, I should be all energy, but yeah, I’m beat. Funny though, when I’m playing, I can go all night.”

  Jennalee wished she hadn’t inquired, and at his door, asked if he was sleeping inside. He nodded. “Garth isn’t here.”

  “Where is he?”

  Harley hesitated long enough for Jennalee to realize her error. “No idea,” Harley said. “Just gone.”

  “The allegro,” Jennalee said when he had his door open. “Let’s do that.”

  He smiled and nodded, then kissed her lightly on the cheek before slipping inside and closing the door.

  Jennalee was halfway to the pool when she stopped, unable to continue along the path because there were Sutherlands ahead and she couldn’t bear the intrusion, not just yet. So she detoured across the lawn, and in so doing, set herself in line with Building Six, where she saw Garth Laidlaw beside the staircase talking with Andrea Witherspoon. He had an arm around her, leaned in close, and Jennalee didn’t wait to see what happened next. She changed course and hurried toward the throng at the pool, where Kendall Sutherland grabbed her arm, popping out of nowhere, clad in garish bathing trunks that hung nearly to his knees. Still charged from the music as well as reeling from sight of Garth with Andrea, Jennalee didn’t resist as the boy pulled her behind a flourishing hydrangea and pressed himself to her. “Let me fuck you,” he said. “I’ve got the condom.”

  Jennalee pushed him away. “Not now.”

  As she retreated, he yelled, “Why not?”

  Jennalee knew heads had turned. She shoved the boy into the hydrangea. “Just because you got a condom doesn’t mean I’m going to have sex with you. I’m not some kind of slut, you know. I choose where and when and I choose who with, and right now, I don’t choose you.”

  “But I thought…” He righted himself and looked down at the foil packet in his hand. “I walked all the way to Malvern to get it. I thought…”

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” Jennalee groaned.

  “But you said you would.”

  “I also said we had all weekend and right now is not a good time. I’ve got other stuff on my mind. I wouldn’t be any good.”

  His face lit with hope. “You’d be wonderful.”

  Jennalee shut her eyes and drew a long breath. She thought of Garth, but opened her eyes to Kendall. “I’m sorry, Kendall. If I led you on, I apologize.”

  “You mean we’re not gonna do it at all? Not ever?”

  “Don’t make me decide right now, okay? It’s really not a good time. I’m not saying not ever, just not now.”

  He began to tremble and Jennalee thought him about to cry when he pressed the condom into her hand and ran to the pool, which he cannonballed into with an enormous splash.

  She kept her distance from the lingering party, Kendall now in its midst. Clinging to the periphery, she saw plastic cups floating on the water and a wobbling, middle-aged woman emerge from the shallow end with one strap of her bathing suit undone, oblivious to her exposed breast. A cluster of men were sprawled in conversation near the deep end where Troy and Carl silently floated. Hurrying past, Jennalee made her way to the main building, empty for once of Sutherlands. When she entered her living room, she was met by her mother.

  “You didn’t need to wait up,” she said,

  Jane Preece set aside her magazine. “I couldn’t sleep—your father’s snoring. Did you have a nice time?”

  “Yeah. I was talking to Harley and his cousin Parker and his wife Kimmie. They’re really nice, and then I went by the pool. The party’s still going on.”

  Jane looked at the clock. It was nearly one. “Well, I think maybe I’ll give it another try,” she said, rising. “Good night.”

  “Night.” Jennalee hurried to her room, undressed, and climbed into bed knowing she wouldn’t sleep. She tried to recall Harley and the music, tried to go back for Beethoven, but even the maestro shrank as Garth grew, Garth and Andrea. Andrea, of all people, Miss Priss, valedictorian, cheerleader, class president. She couldn’t possibly handle Garth Laidlaw’s raw charm, and it was this certainty that pulled Jennalee from her bed to put on the bikini her father hated and sneak back to the pool.

  The party was dwindling, Troy and Carl and two others remaining. Jennalee sauntered by, then headed for the spot where she’d encountered Garth and Andrea except they were gone. She turned a circle, scanning the area, but found no trace. Stunned with possibilities, she sank onto the lawn and worked to recall the looks Garth had passed her at dinner and further, to him up inside her, making her his. Armed with physical fact and determined not to accept mere conversation as tangible evidence, she decided Andrea had brushed him off and gone her way and he was now in his room, all the wiser. She could see him lying back, TV on, boots crossed. She could feel him moving toward their next encounter, motorcycle a rumbling prelude, and it was this that finally roused her and propelled her back toward the pool where quiet had at last descended.

  At first she thought everyone gone, but the gentle lap of water told her otherwise and, upon moving closer, she saw Troy and Carl swimming in long fluid strokes. She kept in shadow and watched them glide effortlessly along, and it was only when they reached the pool’s edge and turned in near-choreographed symmetry that she saw they were naked and also that Troy had seen her. He interrupted his stroke to raise a hand and wave. Jennalee waved back, then hurried on, Donna Witherspoon’s voice chasing her with chants about butt fucking. Inside her room she stripped away the bikini, took up her iPod, and climbed among tangled sheets clutching Bascomb Bunny, a worn remnant of childhood. Through her earbuds she took in the slow movement of Beethoven’s 7th. The haunting yet lyrical piece soon put her into a fitful sleep.

  When she heard a motorcycle shortly after dawn, she raced to her window as if she might catch a glimpse, even though her view didn’t include the winding path. Listening to the approach, she reminded herself it could be Earl or Lizann out for an early breakfast or a trip to the all-night market, anything but Garth, Garth and Andrea. She couldn’t get back to sleep after that and spent her time creating a look for the day ahead, returning to her panties debate, which was ultimately left in the drawer.

  “You are not wearing that!” Gerald Preece slapped his newspaper down and caught the rim of his coffee cup, sending its contents onto the table.

  As Jennalee retrieved a sponge and mopped the spill, she offered, “Chill, Dad, okay?”

  “Don’t tell me to chill. You’re not leaving the house dressed in a bra.”

  “It’s a halter.”

  “Whatever it is, you look like a tramp, and I won’t have you parading among the guests.”

  At the sink Jennalee squeezed the sponge. “The skirt is bad enough,” Gerald continued. “It barely covers you, and those boots. Why on earth do you wear almost nothing on top and those clunkers on your feet?”

  “Ankle boots are cool, Dad,” she said, turning to him. She escaped amid further protests and found her mother at the desk. “So what do you want me to do today?” she asked.

  Jane Preece dropped her pen. “You could practice,” Jane said when she’d recovered. “The Witherspoons aren’t due for another hour.”

  Jennalee started out, excited with the theft of an hour in which she had no intention of doing as either of her parents had suggested. She was headed for Building Eight when Garth Laidlaw met her on the path. “Where you headed?” she asked him.

  “To find you.”

  Andrea Witherspoon disintegrated when he suggested a ride. “Maybe,” Jennalee sa
ng as she twirled away, “but I want to eat first. There’s coffee and rolls in the lobby.”

  Garth thrust his hands into his hip pockets. “Okay.” Jennalee slipped an arm through his, leading him toward the main building.

  “I wanted to wait on your table last night,” she told him, “but Andrea beat me to it. I got stuck with about a zillion Sutherlands.”

  Garth said nothing. His arm was all rope and sinew to Jennalee; when she squeezed, he didn’t respond. “Wait here,” she told him at the patio. “I’ll get us something,” and she entered the lobby only after visually securing it to be sure both parents were occupied. She gathered coffee and donuts and hurried back to Garth, who stood off to one side. “Don’t you talk to any of them?” Jennalee asked as she handed him a coffee.

  “Don’t want to. C’mon.” He turned away and Jennalee hurried after, spilling coffee along the path. “They drive me crazy,” Garth added as he took the donut Jennalee offered. He led her to a patch of unoccupied lawn near Building Four, but didn’t sit.

  “So why do you even come?” Jennalee asked.

  “My mom makes a big deal out of it. I don’t give a shit, but it’s a nice ride and there are a few extras now and then.”

  “Like what?” Jennalee had her finger through her donut and held it up to him.

  He took a bite. “Like you,” he said.

  “And nobody else?”

  He shook his head.

  “What about Andrea?”

  “She waited on us.”

  “But you know her.”

  “Sure, she always waits on us. She comes on to me, but she’s not my type.”

  “So what’s your type?”

  He looped a finger into Jennalee’s halter. “Somebody who’s up for a little adventure.”

  “And Andrea doesn’t like adventure?”

  “Fuck Andrea, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “So how about that ride?” he asked.

  “I can’t really go anywhere. My parents want me to work the barbecue so I’ve only got a little while.”

  “Okay, c’mon.” He tossed their cups aside, took her hand, and without another word led her to a compact manzanita grove at the base of the hill behind Building Seven. These hardwood shrubs had been cultivated into a horseshoe-shaped thicket and, once behind it, Garth quickly had his mouth over Jennalee’s while he unhooked her halter. As it dropped, he stepped back. “Great little tits,” he said and Jennalee enjoyed a surge of pride as he leaned in to tend them.