A Different Kind of Blues

by Gwynne Forster

  Petra would have been surprised and pleased to know that Krista had begun to develop a relationship with her father. Although Krista frequently attempted to behave as if she and her father were adult equals, Goodman always refused to accept that, and she had begun to settle into the role of respectful daughter.

  “You need to practice more,” Goodman told her that Monday at the end of her piano lesson. “You seem to have a knack for piano playing, but you have to practice nonetheless.”

  “I would if I had a piano. I love it. When Mama comes back, I’m going to ask her to get me a piano. Daddy, do you think I can be a good singer? Shouldn’t I study voice?”

  “You’re too young to study voice. Your voice hasn’t matured. Right now, you’re somewhere between a soprano and a mezzo. A voice teacher may decide to train you to be a soprano, but next year, you could be a contralto. Let’s wait a couple of years. Learn music, and when you’re ready for singing, it’ll come in handy.”

  “Does Jada have a mezzo or a contralto?”

  “Why do you spend so much time thinking about Jada Hankins?” Goodman asked her. “She’s not important.”

  Krista put a piece of chewing gum into her mouth, although she knew he detested gum chewing. “Tell you what, Daddy. You don’t tell me no lies, and I won’t tell you any. Jada struts her stuff at rehearsal, and she wants everybody there to know that she’s getting it on with you. If I was stupid, you’d be ashamed of me, wouldn’t you?”

  He loved her, but she could be a pill. “Krista, if you push a person into a corner, that person will come out fighting. Always allow a person an opportunity to save face. You’d make a lousy diplomat.”

  “I know. Has Carla decided to meet me yet?”

  “My wife is not pleased with me these days. She wants our sons to go to a private school, and since there isn’t an appropriate one here, that means they’d have to go to a boarding school. I do not want my fifteen-and sixteen-year-old sons living with a bunch of unsupervised kids in an avant-garde boarding school smoking pot and sniffing coke. They’re staying right here until they leave for college. She says I’m old-fashioned. Fine. My kids are staying here with their parents until they are of legal age. Period.”

  “Can’t you two get together and work these things out? I bet you could, if you weren’t—”

  “Krista,” he warned, “don’t push too hard. I am your father, and you are to remember that.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m saving my salary for school, and I need a laptop. Do you…I mean, can you give me the money for a laptop? It’s kind of expensive.”

  “How expensive?”

  “At least seven or eight hundred bucks.”

  A friend who dealt in electronics would give him a big discount on one. “Tell me which one you want, and I’ll get it for you.”

  Her eyes widened. “You will?”

  “Yes, but get me information on the precise model.”

  “Oh, yes.” She flung her arms around him, kissed his cheek, and then moved away from him with her head bowed. “I hate it that I didn’t grow up with you.”

  For the first time, he had the feeling that she truly related to him as a daughter did to her father. He fought back tears as he sensed that what he’d missed in her growing up was an unrecoverable loss to both of them.

  “Your mother did a wonderful job with you, Krista. I don’t know that I could have done better.”

  “Thanks. I haven’t been so nice to her recently. Maybe that’s why she decided to take this crazy vacation.”

  That didn’t sound right to him. The Petra he’d once known never did anything impulsively. “What do you mean by that?” he asked her.

  “Nobody knows where she went, not even her boss, and he’s driving Grandma and me crazy with questions about where she is and when she’s coming back. She told Grandma she was going to see the West. She didn’t have an itinerary.”

  “That’s strange.”

  “It sure is, considering how careful Mama’s always been with money. I hope she hurries and comes back.”

  “You haven’t heard from her?”

  “She called Grandma once from someplace in Arizona, I think. At least she was all right.” She leaned against the piano and fidgeted with her fingers, a sure sign, he had learned, that she was about to test his patience, or thought she was. She didn’t disappoint him. “Daddy, who did you love the most, Carla or my mama?”

  What a question! “I’ve never compared the experiences, Krista. I was younger when I knew your mother, and it’s possible that my feelings were—consequently—more shallow than when I was more mature.”

  She narrowed one eye and looked hard at him. “That’s a copout, Daddy. I’m only two years older than Peter, so you went straight from Mama to Carla. I don’t think you’re crazy about Carla. If you were, you wouldn’t play around with Jada.”

  “Why are you always on Jada’s case?”

  “Because I don’t think she’s worth the trouble she’s going to cause you, and besides, I can’t stand her.”

  How could she have so much of his personality and disposition? “Krista, try not to be so hard on people. Someday, you’ll need compassion, so be sure you deserve it. And when your mother comes home, tell her that you’re seeing me, that I’m giving you piano lessons, and that you’ve joined the choral ensemble that I direct. You’ve no right to keep these things from her.”

  “Uh…All right.” She had her back to him when she said it, and he wondered about the prospects of peace and genuine love between mother and daughter.

  Petra gazed at the calm waters of the Pacific Ocean as Winston maneuvered his Acura 230 across the Golden Gate Bridge. Goodman hadn’t backed away from his responsibility for Krista, and had quickly agreed to get to know her. He’d always been a responsible man, and she knew he’d take care of Krista given the chance. She had tried to correct her mistakes as best she could. The rest is up to Providence. Nobody is perfect, and I’ve been far from it. But I’m paying my dues and, at this point in my life, I refuse to sweat about anything. Her body seemed lighter, as if a weight had fallen from it.

  “What are you thinking?” Winston asked, and she realized that he had switched off the radio.

  “I’m thinking how much I love fried catfish and hush puppies. I bet you don’t even know what hush puppies are.”

  He glanced at her. “Sure I do. They’re quiet little furry animals that wag their tails.”

  “Not so,” she said. “They’re noisy, barking little furry animals that wag their tails and have to be told to shut up. Do they have catfish out here in California?”

  “Yep, and it’s the same Mississippi catfish that you eat back in Ellicott City. We’ll stop at the next seafood restaurant and see if they have any. I doubt they’ll serve those little doggies you mentioned.” She liked his sense of humor and told him as much. “Winston, is there anything about you that I won’t like?”

  She liked so much about him, his clean-cut appearance, strong chin, even white teeth that sparkled whenever he smiled, and his voice. And because he made her feel that he had always been a part of her life, and that he cared deeply for her, she could be free with him, free to care for him and to be herself. He reduced the speed, glanced at her, and appeared to be amused. “If I knew I had habits you wouldn’t like, I doubt I’d volunteer the information. There’s a place not far from here that we can try.”

  Holding hands, they entered Bob and Betty’s Home Cooked, and Winston stopped at the cashier’s desk. “Do you serve fried catfish? I don’t dare ask if you have hush puppies.”

  “I’m from North Carolina,” the woman said, “and when I fry fish, I deep fry some hush puppies to go with ’em. Y’all have a seat.”

  “This is the best food I’ve had since I left home,” Petra said as she ate, savoring the catfish, hush puppies, and stewed collards. “Do you like it?”

  His wink would have sufficed for an answer, and his smile had the effect of a punctuation mark. “When I’m eating, smiling
, and quiet, you know I’m in my element.”

  She put her fork on the side of her plate as a thought occurred to her. “Did you go to college, Winston? I finished high school, but I got pregnant that summer, and my mother said I was on my own. Not going to college is one of my few genuine regrets.”

  “I went to Penn State,” he said and, as if sensing her need to know all about him, he added, “I did rather well academically and as a tight end on the football team. I loved playing basketball and was pretty good at it, but at six feet, one and a half inches tall, I couldn’t make the team. I was best at shooting the bull with buddies over a mug of beer.”

  “I’ll bet you had a lot of girlfriends. Girls like fellows who are gentle and considerate.”

  “Thanks for the compliment, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable wearing a halo, Petra. I try to do what I think is right, but I’ve made mistakes. I made one of my college classmates pregnant, something that would never have happened if I hadn’t guzzled too many beers. I would have married her, much as I hated the thought, but she decided to terminate the pregnancy. I still think about that, and I haven’t been that careless since. You said you got pregnant the summer you finished high school. Do you mind telling me the circumstances?”

  She gave him the details of that fateful spring and summer, including her decision to withhold information about her pregnancy from Goodman. “It was wrong of me to do that, Winston. I should have let him make the choice. When I told him about his daughter a few months back, he didn’t get mad. He said that if I’d told him, he probably wouldn’t be the man he is today. I’m still sorry I didn’t tell him. My daughter is angry that I deprived her of her father’s nurturing, but it’s too late to change that.”

  “Does it weigh on you?”

  “It did. But I asked them both to forgive me, and I’ve forgiven myself. I’m trying not to let it burden me.”

  Later, as they headed to San Francisco, she told him about Goodman and Krista and the ways in which she had tried to make amends for that and what she regarded as her other transgressions. “Don’t feel guilty about anything,” he told her. “I’ve met a lot of people, known a number of nice women—wealthy ones, poor ones, educated ones, and some with only a few years of schooling. You don’t have a single thing to be ashamed of.” He sucked his teeth. “Tomorrow, you’ll leave me.” Turning into a parking lot near Coit Tower, he said, “This is one of those times when life’s a friggin’ bastard.”

  She grasped his arm, stopping him as he was about to get out of the car. “We have today and tonight, Winston.”

  “Yes. And let’s use every second.”

  Chapter Six

  “Gee, what a lovely stream,” Petra said, when Winston detoured from the highway and drove along a two-lane road. “It’s idyllic along here.”

  “I love this drive, and when I have time, I like to drive through here. I wanted to see it with you, and I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

  She looked up at the ponderosa pine trees on either side of the road, some blocking the sun and others filtering the sunlight so that their shadows created intricate patterns across the road. Such phenomena were not strange to her, for Ellicott City was a town of trees and lovely landscapes, yet the beauty of the scenery and the peace that it communicated to her seemed very special. She closed her eyes and let the vision of it soothe her. Why hadn’t she enjoyed all that life offered while she could, before the diagnosis, the headaches, and, recently, the occasional problem with her memory? Was she one of those women who came alive only when they loved a man?

  “We’re not too far from my grandmother’s house. Would you mind if I stop by to see her for a few minutes?”

  “No, indeed. I’d love to meet your grandmother. I would have thought your family was back East since you’re from Philadelphia.”

  “Most of them are. After my grandfather died, I relocated my grandmother out here where I can look after her. I’m her only grandchild. My mother’s a widow, and I think it’s enough for her to take care of herself. When she retires, I hope she’ll agree to come out here, too.”

  “They’re fortunate to have you in their lives, Winston.”

  “I’m lucky to have them, Petra. They’ve always been there for me. I take care of my own.” He drove off onto a side road. “Would you like to sit by this brook, river, or whatever it is?” He didn’t wait for her answer, but walked around to open the door.

  When she stepped out of the car and into his arms, he hugged her so tightly that she wondered at the strength with which he held her. “What is it, Winston? What’s the matter?”

  He slackened his hold and stared down at her with eyes that reflected such pain that it seemed to stab her heart. “How can you ask?” Holding her hand, he led her to a grassy area. “Let’s sit here for a few minutes.”

  Petra sat down, and he lay on his back with his head in her lap and looked up at her. Suddenly, as if propelled by a powerful emotion, he wrapped his arms around her, squeezed her to him and, with a groan, buried his face against her belly and kissed her. She bent over, kissed his face, his ears, his hair. He braced his left hand on the grass beside them, raised himself up, and kissed her lips. “I think we’d better go,” he said. “If I’m not up to snuff, my grandmother will detect it in a second, and she’ll stay at me to tell her whatever it is that ails me. I always thought I was tough, but—”

  “You are strong,” she said. “I feel it when you hold me, sensed it when I first saw you. I hear it in your voice and in the words you choose when you speak to me. This isn’t an ordinary situation, so don’t judge yourself harshly.”

  Why couldn’t I have met this man when I…Lord, if I start thinking like that, I’ll go to pieces. But why couldn’t I have this? It’s so right…so…She reached into her pocketbook, got a tissue, and blew her nose as hard as she could. Doing that had always warded off her sneezes and her tears.

  “You okay?” Winston asked her.

  Her vigorous nod must have been the biggest lie she’d ever told. “How old is your grandmother?”

  A smile flashed over his face, and she thought, “This man loves his grandmother.”

  He swung their hands as they walked to the car. “She says she’s eighty, but I wonder. She looks and acts more like sixty.”

  When Winston parked in front of a moderate-sized, attractive yellow ranch house, Petra asked him, “Did you buy this house for your grandmother?”

  He looked at her before he answered, and she figured he wanted to determine her reason for asking the question. What he saw must have pleased him, for he grinned and said, “Absolutely, and I’m more proud of this than of anything else I’ve managed. She enjoys her garden and the pool behind it. I asked whether she’d prefer three bedrooms or two bedrooms and a pool. She preferred the pool, and she swims every day. Boy, does she love this place!”

  Winston held Petra’s hand as they strolled up the walk to the house. She wondered at the absence of nerves, but only for a moment, before she reflected that her absence of concern sprang from her prognosis for the future. The woman’s reaction to her would have no influence upon her well-being. As the doorknob turned, she felt Winston’s arm ease around her waist.

  A tall woman, who might have been his mother rather than his grandmother, opened the door, and her face lit up as if the sun had suddenly shone on her.

  “Winston! Oh, son, what a wonderful surprise!” She opened her arms, and embraced him. Petra waited, short of breath, until the woman’s gaze captured her.

  “Well. You’ve brought this lovely lady to see me.” Without hesitating, the woman opened her arms to Petra. “How nice of you to come,” she said.

  “Grandmother, this is Petra Fields. Petra, this is my paternal grandmother, LeAnn Fleet.”

  Still basking in the warmth of the woman’s welcome, Petra couldn’t help grinning, for the loving greeting had lifted her out of her near-moroseness of minutes earlier. “I’m so glad to meet you, Mrs. Fleet,” she said and meant it. She never
knew her grandmothers, but she would have given much to have a mother as warm as the woman who had just hugged her.

  “Come in and make yourselves comfortable,” LeAnn Fleet said. She looked at her grandson, her pride in him stamped on her every gesture. “Do you have time for a bite to eat, son? I have fried chicken and buttermilk biscuits.”

  He draped an arm around his grandmother’s shoulder. “We just ate. If I’d planned to stop here, we wouldn’t have. Why don’t you put some in a bag.”

  They chatted for a while about nothing in particular, before Winston kissed his grandmother, promised to see her again soon, and said, “We have to leave now.”

  LeAnn took Petra’s hand. “Next time you’re out here, be sure and come to see me often. I’ve enjoyed meeting you.”

  What did she say to that? She’d stopped lying, so she said, “I doubt I’ll get back here, but it’s been wonderful meeting you.”

  “You’ll be back, and you come to see me,” LeAnn said, just before she hugged Petra.

  Shivers shot through Petra, and she needed all of her strength in order to steady herself. As they walked back to the car, she couldn’t help thinking that the inevitable encroached. Maybe I shouldn’t go out with Winston tonight. But I need to be with him. It’s all I’ll ever have of this man. He opened the car door for her and stopped, as his lower lip dropped and an expression of deep and pensive thought settled on his face.

  “Did you forget something?” she asked him

  “Hmmm. No. It’s…Never mind.” Although pleasant enough, he seemed preoccupied as he drove back to San Francisco, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something important pressed him. After parking in the hotel’s garage, he said, “I’ll pick you up at your room at seven o’clock.” He thought for a minute. “Tell you what. I’ll phone you ten minutes before I leave my room. Okay?”

  “Fine. You’re scared I’ll go to sleep, but that’s wasted worry. I’m too excited to sleep.”

  Petra waited with him at the hotel’s elevator, feeling as if her nerves had unraveled. The time was rapidly approaching when she would leave him and never see him again. She didn’t think she could bear to tell him good-bye.