Whatever It Takes

by Gwynne Forster

  “A gentleman doesn’t speak of such things, Hal. Try to be more gracious and have better manners.”

  “Something tells me you wanna feel the back of my hand against your mouth. Don’t get highfalutin’ with me, babe. Water seeks its level, so you ain’t a bit better’n me. At least, I never tried to steal anything, which is more than you can say. What were you looking for in you old man’s house, some money your grandmother left there, I’ll bet.”

  She told him about the brooch, and he said, “Well, didn’t she leave you anything?”

  She showed him the ring. “Jeez. Is that stuff real? Babe, we can hock that and get us an apartment.”

  She recoiled as if he’d shot at her. “You’re joking. My daddy would come down on me like a wrecking ball on a building.”

  “I’m just trying to get you out of that bad scene you got there at the parsonage. Maybe I’ll get my job back, but right now I’m flat out broke.”

  “Have you been looking for a job?” She didn’t want to anger him, but by his own account, he’d been sleeping late and spending time at his favorite beer joints, so she said as gently as she could, “Benton’s Construction Company just got permission from my department to build a terminal where the old bus station used to be. You could get a job there, couldn’t you? And especially since right now, you’re probably the only construction worker around here who knows they’re going to be hiring.”

  He stopped at a motel midway between Frederick and Baltimore. “Nobody’s gonna recognize you here.”

  She noticed that he didn’t mention the job opportunity. As she walked with him around to the cabin he’d chosen, her head nearly burst as the memory of her father’s words pounded her brain. But like lemmings headed for the sea, she seemed bound to self-destruct. Telling herself that nothing good would come of it hadn’t made an iota of difference to her. She didn’t love him; how could she when he wasn’t loveable? Most of the time, she didn’t like him, but when he was storming inside of her, that was all that mattered. And when he wasn’t doing that, she could hardly think of anything else.

  She hesitated when he opened the door, but she knew she’d go into that room; she lived for the times when he was on top of her. Maybe it was a kind of foreboding, but she felt as a prisoner must feel just before he steps into the jail and the door slams behind him.

  He stopped, gripped her waist with one hand and stroked her left breast with the other one. “Come on, babe. You wasting good time. As it is, I can hardly wait to get you on the other side of this door.”

  She pasted a smile on her face and stepped through the door, aware that for the first time in her life, she would stay out all night with a man. If only he were someone else!

  “I don’t know where she went,” Cynthia screamed into the phone. “I asked her, but all she said was ‘Out.’”

  Marshall sat down and told himself not to let it stress him, that Kellie had been moving farther from her family ever since that morning when he caught his wife in the backseat of his Cadillac with her lover. Maybe it started earlier. He’d been shocked to learn that Kellie and Mama Carrie knew Cynthia was having an affair.

  Again, she screamed, “Do something, Marshall,” and he wanted to weep. Do what? He’d never felt so helpless in all of his life.

  “I expect she’s with Hal Fayson, and I am not going to exacerbate the situation by informing the police authorities that she’s missing. I’ll try to reach Hal’s father and ask him if Hal came home last night. Did you call Lacette?”

  “No, because Kellie’s too upset about that brooch to say anything to Lacette. Lord, I sure hope she’s all right.”

  He hung up and telephoned Hal’s father. “My daughter Kellie’s been seeing Hal, and she didn’t come home last night. Could she have been with him?” he asked the man after greeting him.

  “Hal didn’t come home, if that’s what you’re asking, but I don’t know where he is or who he’s with. I sure hope your daughter’s not involved with Hal, because he seems headed for rock bottom. He ain’t got no job and ain’t bothering about looking for one. It ain’t right for a thirty-seven-year-old man to be living off his poor old father.”

  Marshall heard the long sigh of resignation and pitied the man. “Did he give you anything when he was working?”

  “When he felt like it.”

  How many times had he heard that tune from parents of errant children. “Well, Brother Fayson, you’re not helping him by supporting him. The thing for you to do is cut him loose.” He looked through the window at the young trees bent as if from the waist—like a washerwoman hovering over a tub—as the March wind belched its last breath, and he shook his head. What would he do if he got the same advice about Kellie?

  “I don’t know, Reverend. You know he was a problem back when I started going to Mount Airy-Hill. Long before that, he stayed in trouble. But he always would work, and he’s honest. I can say that for him. I sure hope for your sake that your daughter leaves him alone. If you find out where he is, please let me know.”

  “I expect I’d find them if I checked every motel within fifty miles of Fredrick,” he said to himself after hanging up, “but I’m not doing that.”

  He phoned Cynthia. “Since Hal didn’t stay home last night, I assume they’re together. Nothing for you and me to do but pray that she comes to her senses. You can’t police the behavior of a thirty-three-year-old woman, and you shouldn’t try. When are you moving?”

  “Next week. It’s a two-bedroom apartment, and I thought she’d move in with me.”

  “The two of you will kill each other. But if she has no place else to stay . . .” Realizing that it was probably a moot point, he let it hang. Where Kellie stayed would probably have more to do with Hal Fayson than with any member of her family. Shudders plowed through his body at the thought of what that implied.

  “Let me know when you hear from her,” he said, “and try not to worry.”

  He hung up and tried to work on his sermon for the coming Sunday, but couldn’t drag his mind from Kellie and the problem she had created for herself. And all because of the greed and self-ishiness that had festered in her from early childhood and finally erupted into ugliness and divisiveness. Mama Carrie would shed tears if she knew that her gift had led to Kellie’s downfall.

  The sooner I move into that house, the better. Cynthia and Kellie need to get out of that parsonage and live separate lives. Maybe if Kellie is on her own, she’ll be more responsible. He had to content himself with that thought; it was the only straw he could hold on to.

  Douglas put the chicken and dumplings that his mother gave him on his last visit home on the stove to warm, sat down at the table in his tiny kitchen and phoned his son. He wanted Nick to like Lacette, and he wanted it badly. Both he and the boy were fortunate in having the support of his parents. His wife Emily’s long and difficult illness drained him and his son, and the boy needed the love and support of his grandparents. But he wanted his son with him. Their weekly visits and nightly telephone talks didn’t satisfy him, but until he made a home for the boy, he couldn’t offer him more. For as long as he worked two and three jobs a day with uncertain schedules, he couldn’t supervise a growing and inquisitive boy.

  “Dress to go fishing Sunday,” he told Nick nearing the end of their conversation. “I’m bringing Lacette with me, and we should be there around eight.”

  He listened for the expected enthusiasm because Nick loved to fish, but he only heard silence, and it distressed him. Finally, he said, “Don’t tell me you don’t want to go fishing.”

  “Why does she have to come?”

  He jerked forward. “What’s this? I thought you liked her.”

  “Uh . . . I was being nice like Grandpa told me. Don’t bring her. Let’s just you and me fish like we always do.”

  Douglas slumped in his chair. It was a complication that he hadn’t considered. “Why don’t you like her?”

  “I just don’t. I told her I already have a mother. Nana’s my m
other.”

  He got up, stirred the chicken and dumplings and lowered the flame, giving himself time to consider his reply. “How did that topic come up?”

  “It didn’t. I just told her, and she said Nana isn’t my mother, that she’s your mother. Maybe I don’t want to fish.”

  Dumbfounded, he ran his fingers back and forth through his short hair, punishing his scalp in his frustration. “You’d get this same attitude no matter what woman I brought home, wouldn’t you? Oscar Edwin, aren’t you ashamed? She’s important to me, son, and I want you to promise me that you’ll be fair, that you’ll give Lacette a chance. Would you like her to decide, for no reason, that she doesn’t like you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “All right. Remember the golden rule.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He hung up and prepared to eat his supper, but Nick’s attitude continued to disturb him. The boy had his father and his grandparents all to himself. He was the center of their world, and he didn’t have to share him. He finished eating, cleaned the kitchen and telephoned Nick.

  “I’ve been thinking about our conversation, and—”

  Nick broke in. “She’s not coming?”

  “Of course, she’s coming. I called to ask you a question. You will grow up, and you will find a girl you like. How will you feel if I say to you I don’t like her? Don’t bring her here again? Huh? How would that make you feel?”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  He wasn’t going to let Nick off lightly, because he knew the boy’s negative attitude could lead to intransigence. “I asked you how you would feel.” He’d raised his voice in a way that was unusual for him, and he wished he hadn’t done it, but he had a sudden sense of urgency. He had begun to realize how badly he wanted Nick to like Lacette and to accept her. “Well?” he persisted.

  “I don’t think I’d feel good. Uh . . . say, do you like her?”

  “Isn’t that obvious? I like her very much. Very much. Now, I want you to work on your attitude. You got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After hanging up, Douglas cautioned himself that he shouldn’t be dispirited by Nick’s stance, but that he should not be complacent about it either. Along with a temper, the boy had stubbornness down to a fine art. He pondered telephoning Lacette and decided against it. His exchanges with Nick had left him raw and vulnerable. Maybe when the boy got to know her . . . He was getting ahead of himself; what if she didn’t like Nick?

  Up to the time he spoke with Nick, Sunday couldn’t come fast enough. Now, although he dreaded it, he wouldn’t change his plans. He loved Nick with every atom of his being, but his son did not run his life.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Lacette said as she awakened. “I hope this doesn’t mean I’m going to have a rotten day.” She tumbled out of bed and tried to shake off the premonition. “Get with it, girl,” she told herself. Douglas would be at her house at six-thirty to take her with him to Hagerstown, and he was as punctual as the sunrise. She showered, dressed, and had started down the stairs when the telephone rang. “Don’t let that be bad news,” she said to herself.

  “Did Kellie spend the night with you last night?” her mother asked without preliminaries and in a voice that bordered on hysteria.

  Lacette groped for a chair and sat down. “Mama, don’t you know where Kellie is?”

  “No, I don’t. I was wondering if she was with you. She was mad as a hatter when she left here last night. I don’t know what’s going to happen to that girl.”

  Lacette rested her elbow on her thigh and supported her head with her left hand, moving her hand restlessly over her left cheek. “Mama, I haven’t seen or spoken with her. I’m the one she’s mad at. Remember? Maybe she stayed with Hal.”

  “Mad with you? She was furious with me. How can you be so casual about your sister? You want me to believe she’d spend the night with that horrible creature?”

  She sensed that her patience was about to snap. Why couldn’t her mother face the truth about Kellie? “Slow down, Mama,” she said. “Unless he’s committed murder, he probably hasn’t done anything worse than some of the things Kellie has done.”

  She heard her mother’s heavy exhalation of breath, her exasperation. “How can you speak that way about your sister?” There it is again, she thought. Her mother’s protectiveness of Kellie, closing her eyes to the truth and fooling herself with lapses of memory whenever it suited her.

  “Listen, Mama. You may continue to paint Kellie pure as an angel, but she no longer has me bamboozled, and that has been a liberating force in my life. I’ll check back later in case you need me for something, but I’m due to leave for Hagerstown in twelve minutes, and I haven’t even had coffee. I’ll call you.”

  I hope that’s the only jolt I get today, she thought as she sipped the coffee, blowing on the hot liquid between sips. She had her jacket on her arm when Douglas rang the doorbell. She didn’t want them to get into a clinch, though she hadn’t intended to make that obvious. His eyes widened when she greeted him with a quick kiss, stepped out of the door and locked it.

  He drove until they reached Boonsboro and stopped for breakfast. “You seem a bit sluggish,” he said when she got out of the van. “I’m . . . uh, just kind of tired.”

  He stopped walking and looked her in the face. “Tired? You just got up. Maybe you should get a check-up.”

  “Oh, heavens no. I’ll be fine after I eat. All I had today was coffee.

  His expression suggested that he doubted the validity of that explanation, but he didn’t put his thoughts into words. “All right, if you say so. Let’s have some sausage and waffles.”

  “Cereal and juice are more to my liking. I need energy, Douglas, not pounds.”

  Arm-in-arm they walked into the restaurant and, to her, their affectionate behavior seemed as natural as clean air after a rain. As she faced him across the booth in a drive-in restaurant on a highway that was little more than a country road, she thought she would like to look at him every morning when she awakened and every night just before she slept. She noticed that he chewed his food slowly and deliberately, so carefully that the muscles of his lean, square-jawed face barely moved.

  He put his knife and fork aside, dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin and leaned back against the booth. “You’re so warm, open and . . . well, so feminine right now. I’d like to know what you’re thinking.”

  Hot blood heated her face, and she lowered her gaze. He reached across the table and grasped her hand. “Tell me. Look at me and tell me.”

  She couldn’t force herself to do either. “Please,” he whispered.

  She didn’t look at him, but she told him, “I was . . . thinking about you. About us, I mean.”

  His fingers tightened around hers. “That’s what I hoped.”

  They didn’t talk much during the remainder of the trip, and she supposed that their relationship and its ramifications filled his thoughts.

  When he parked the van at his parents’ house, Nick ran to meet his father, and they embraced as if they hadn’t seen each other in years.

  “Aren’t you going to greet Lacette?”

  “Hi, Lacette,” Nick said, focusing on his feet.

  “Nick!” Douglas said.

  The boy raised his head, his facial expression once of unmistakable defiance and said, “How are you, Lacette? My granddaddy is going fishing with us.”

  Something had changed since her previous visit, and she meant to speak to Douglas about it. She made herself smile and extend her hand to the boy. “Hello, Nick. How are you?”

  “Okay.”

  Douglas walked ahead of them and opened the door. When she paused, Edwina appeared, “Come on in. I’m so glad to see you. When Douglas didn’t join them, she knew Nick was getting a reprimand.

  Lacette acknowledged Edwina’s warm welcome, but her mind had remained outside with Douglas and Nick.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I tag along,” Oscar said. “I love to fish, and we can
clean some and eat the catch right on the riverbank. I’ll do it, because I don’t think Douglas knows how, and he certainly wouldn’t want you to do it.”

  “The more, the better,” she said, though she figured Oscar’s role involved policing Nick so that he wouldn’t act out. She looked at Edwina. “Won’t you come, too?”

  “Not me,” Edwina said. “I never took to fishing.”

  Douglas walked in, embraced his parents and asked Lacette, “Ready to go? What about you, Dad?”

  “Sure thing. Haven’t fished for a while. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but I’ll clean the fish for you.”

  “I’d love for you to come with us even if you don’t clean fish,” Lacette said to Oscar.

  “Then, we’d better get going,” Douglas said. “I’ll join you at the van in a minute.”

  She got into the van, looked around and saw Nick in the backseat. “Do you like to fish, Nick?”

  He took his time answering. “Sure.”

  Douglas arrived then, bringing a picnic basket and a guitar. She hadn’t known that he played an instrument and figured he was going to great lengths to defuse Nick’s attitude and insure them a pleasant outing.

  Douglas selected a site along the Antietam River bank, and Oscar built a fire in the hibachi while Douglas sorted out their fishing gear. I’ll bait your hook,” he told Lacette, took a worm from a jar and prepared to do that, but Nick ran over to him breathless as if he had an emergency.

  “I got my line tangled, Dad. Please.”

  “As soon as I finish baiting Lacette’s hook.”

  “Why can’t you straighten out my line?”

  Douglas stopped and looked his son in the eye. “I’ve known you for nine years, and this is only the second time that you’ve made me thoroughly ashamed. The first time was earlier this morning. One more act like this one and you’ll sit in the back of that van until we’re ready to leave here. Don’t play with me, Oscar Edwin. Your line was not tangled when I gave it to you, so wait.”