by Langdon, L.
Sven searched for words to reassure him. He’d learned his lesson from watching Mrs. Barton—there would be no mention of any courtship. “I think she will like it. There are several people, including me, who count themselves her friends and who will look out for her.”
“Hmmph.” As he digested that, Mr. Barton worked in silence. “What about the weather?”
“She’ll definitely need some winter gear. I’ve arranged for some friends in Seattle to help her shop there as she passes through.”
“Seattle? Not Juneau?”
“Seattle’s a big city with a wide selection of clothes. I’d stay and help her myself, but I have to be back in Juneau. I have a hunting party chartering my boat and I have to get it ready.”
They were working as they talked, and when they finished, Sven paused to see if Mr. Barton had any other questions. Instead, he had moved to the doorway and was looking out. “That sounds like Gerri coming down the road now. Yep, that’s her.”
Sven eagerly grabbed his shirt. Working in this heat had quickly bathed him in sweat, so he had shed it in a futile attempt to stay cool. He wasn’t used to working hard in this kind of heat. It reminded him, rather unpleasantly, of the boxing gym in Seattle where the temperature was always cranked up high. No hugs today, at least until I can clean up somehow.
As she stepped out of the car, he had to catch his breath. Gerri was a vision in bright orange, her dress dancing around her knees as she walked toward him. Mrs. Barton appeared on the porch behind her and called out to her. As Gerri turned around to answer her, he could see what would have been the back of the dress, if it had had a back. He groaned softly. No back meant no bra. So sue me for noticing—I’m a male! He found himself hoping that this Mr. Harrison was at least 80 years old.
As she got closer, he could see that the dress fit well—it was really quite decent. Unless you considered a woman’s back erotic—and from this moment forward, Sven knew that he would.
“That dress looks lovely on you. I’ve never seen one quite like it.” He was already starting to memorize the scene for some future painting.
Gerri was delighted with his reaction. “Thank you. It’s called a sun dress.”
“That’s apt.” It makes me want to give her a son.
Gerri repeated her kitchen gesture of spreading the skirt out. “You mean because of its color?” She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Maybe he meant because it lets so much sun touch me…
Sven thought fast. He could see over her shoulder that Mrs. Barton was bearing down on them. He didn’t dare tell Gerri truly why he had said that. That would be coming on way too strong. But he couldn’t resist the pun, so he depersonalized it. He grinned roguishly. “Because every man that sees you in it will want to give you a son.”
If Gerri thought that her cheeks were warm before, they were hot now. It was bad enough that Sven was bare chested—he ought to come with a product warning label. But maybe, she thought, this was an excuse to find out where they stood. “Sven, tell me. Do you want us to go back to being like we were before?”
No! I want a courtship, not just a shack-up. Mrs. Barton was almost within earshot. “No,” he said softly. “Not like we were before.”
Before he could elaborate, he heard Mrs. Barton’s voice. “Gerri, what did Mr. Harrison say? I’ve been worrying all morning.”
Gerri was spared the embarrassment of having to react intelligently to his rejection. She blinked back her disappointment and turned. “Sure, Ma. I’ll go get Daddy. I’m sure he’ll be interested. And Sven, would you mind sitting down with us? I have some questions for you, and my parents may as well.”
Olivia was not eager to have a group meeting. Some of the things she wanted to say couldn’t politely be said in front of Sven. But she couldn’t see a way to gracefully refuse.
___
Eventually the talking was done. Sven ran out of time and had to go. He had not mollified her mother, Gerri thought, but he had done his best. The only moment with ‘secret meaning’ was when he assured them—while looking at Gerri—that he would “Do everything in his power to protect her.” She had responded, with a smile meant just for him, “And I’ll do the same for you, even if I have to be a mutineer.”
He had been gone now for only an hour, but she already missed him. His disinterest in an affair had hurt, but she reminded herself that he was a good and true friend. And that he had already protected her from harm on two occasions. She would just have to settle for that.
Chapter 33
Gerri sat in her family’s kitchen Sunday evening, listening to her sisters. They had been hanging around her all weekend. The only time she had been this popular before was for about a week after she got back from her summer adventure. She would not complain, however—she would surely miss them when she was gone.
“I’m going to get your room,” Marilyn said smugly. Then she had second thoughts. “Does that mean that you won’t come back?”
“I’ll be back. And you should get my room. It’s time. Even if I wasn’t leaving now, I would have gotten a place of my own soon.”
Joetta asked anxiously, “Will you be back for Christmas?”
Gerri paused to consider her answer. “I doubt that I’ll be able to come back. It’s a very long trip.”
“Will you send us Christmas presents?”
“Yes, I will.” She considered the complications. Christmas was only about six weeks away, and she expected to be super-busy once she got to Juneau. “If I can’t send you anything else, I’ll send you each a check.”
“I guess that’s OK.” Joetta sounded vaguely disappointed.
“Sure. And it’ll be a check on a Juneau bank. Won’t that be an interesting souvenir?”
“You mean I can keep it?”
“She’s teasing you,” Marilyn chimed in. “If you keep the check, then you can’t get any money for it.”
“Don’t worry, Joetta. I’ll send you each two checks. One for you to keep and one to cash and get the money.”
“See,” Joetta accused Marilyn. “She wasn’t teasing me.”
“I’ll give you one present right now. I’ll clean up the kitchen for you. You can go play. Or, better yet, get ready for school tomorrow.”
It took them no time to accept that offer and Gerri found herself alone in the kitchen. She felt a sense of relief—she loved her sisters, but she needed time to think as well.
As she worked, she let her thoughts wander. And they wandered straight to Sven. She had hoped for more from him, but Wally was right—he was self-contained. Aside from his friendship with Wally, he had never mentioned any other friends.
Maybe the people in Seattle who he had arranged to meet Gerri at SEATAC were his friends, but he had never mentioned them before. Still, they must be close to him if they were willing to spend a day shopping with her at his request.
The fact that he hadn’t mentioned anyone to her might not mean anything. He hadn’t mentioned the chartering of his boat for hunting parties either. But an explanation was staring her in the face—she wasn’t as close to him as she had thought.
She wondered what he did in the winter. Work around his house? She felt a stab of disappointment, remembering their plans for that last night. Maybe he painted. That took her down another sidetrack. His sketching, the few times that she had been privileged to watch him, had seemed effortless. But there must have been times when he struggled to get inspiration. She recalled his advice about singing that sad song—to immerse yourself in feelings of sadness and create a mood.
She looked around. There was no one in the kitchen. Maybe she would try that right now, while she was finishing up the dishes. What to use as her motivation for sadness? Maybe the fact that she wouldn’t see her family for months at least? She tried to think about that, but it wasn’t convincing—she would be busy in her new life and she would write frequently. Maybe she would even splurge on a few long distance phone calls. Those thoughts couldn’t generate the mood that she sought.
Sven! She thought about their affair, about how happy she had been, and about how fleeting that time had been. Yes, she realized, that could certainly weave a skein of melancholy around her. With those thoughts running through her head, she started singing the song.
Olivia walked by the kitchen on her way to put some clothes away. She heard Gerri singing ‘Rags and Old Iron’ and smiled. Gerri shared her love of Nina Simone, and, even though she couldn’t give this song its due, Olivia was glad that she was singing again. It took only a few bars for Olivia to stop in her tracks. The haunting sadness that Gerri was evoking from the song tugged at Olivia’s heart. Nina herself didn’t do it any better.
Olivia stood out of sight in the hallway as she listened. She felt almost as though she was intruding on some very private grief. I surely have a talented daughter! Then she got suspicious—how did Gerri grasp this song so completely? What personal grief inspired this empathy? She knew that it was probably unfair, but she wondered whether something had happened with this Sven person. She worried about Gerri, even though Gerri had laid out in detail her reasons for accepting the job—repeatedly, in fact, in several discussions since Sven had arrived.
When the final notes faded, Olivia moved into the kitchen. “Gerri, that was absolutely beautiful. How were you able to capture it so well?”
Gerri turned and smiled. “Thank you. I sang it much better, didn’t I?”
“Much better. It made me want to cry. How did you…” She stopped. She wanted to say, ‘What happened to you?’ but that sounded accusatory.
“Sven helped me.” She saw her mother frown and hurried on. “He told me how he tries to set a mood within his mind when he’s having trouble portraying it in a painting.”
Olivia thought about that. The obvious follow-up question that popped into her mind was ‘And what were you thinking about for this inspiration?’ but that seemed too nosy so she reluctantly refrained from asking. But with the thought in her mind, she couldn’t resist one final entreaty. “Gerri, I’m sure you like Sven, and he seems to like you, but don’t let yourself get involved romantically. There’s only heartache there. Think about the implications. If you were involved with a white man—married even—you would be cutting yourself off from South Carolina completely.
“Remember Juanita; that classmate of Rich’s? She thought she was in love with a white boy, but she got only sorrow. So did the boy, for that matter. This town is not the worst place in the South, but you would still not have a comfortable time.”
Gerri listened with ironic amusement. Her mother was imagining something that was unattainable. Gerri didn’t want to air her business, but it would cost her nothing to give some reassurance. “Ma, you have nothing to worry about. I promise that there is no romantic relationship, and there will be none. In fact, that’s the easiest promise that I’ve ever made to you.”
Gerri wasn’t going to say any more, but a random thought crossed her mind. Sven and his puns—it must be rubbing off on me. “Remember, Ma. I was trolling for salmon, not trolling for love.” Even though I thought for a while that I’d found it anyway.
Olivia still wished that she knew more about Gerri’s relationship with Sven, but, as Robert had had to remind her more than once this weekend, Gerri was an adult now. Gerri had always kept her promises before, and the emphatic way that she made this one was comforting.
She hugged Gerri, saying as she did so, “Thank you Gerri. You’ve been a good girl and I don’t mean to doubt you.”
___
Gerri sat in the school cafeteria, going over her mental list of things to do in the next two weeks. At the same time, she kept an eye out for Thurman. If the school rumor mill was functioning at its usual efficiency, he would show up at any minute—probably offering reasons why she shouldn’t go.
He didn’t disappoint. “Is it true? I can’t believe it.”
She wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “I can’t answer that until I know what ‘it’ is,” she said dryly.
“You know what I’m talking about. Stop playing those logic games. I know you only do that to annoy me.”
Gerri thought about that. He had a point. When they were dating, that had been one of her defenses against his verbal aggressiveness. One of her psych major friends had a name for it, which Gerri didn’t remember. Gerri had called it defensive bobbing and weaving. I really should put that tactic aside…I don’t need it anymore. “I’m sorry, Thurman. Yes, it’s true. I gave my notice this morning, and I’ll be leaving as soon as my two weeks are up.”
He spluttered, “There are so many reasons why this is a bad idea.”
Gerri held up a hand. She didn’t want a reprise of her mother’s objections. “Let me give you one big reason why it’s a good idea.” She pulled out of her purse a copy of the contract that she had signed and sent back with Sven. She turned it to the second page and handed it to Thurman. Not only would this spike his rhetorical guns, but it would serve her petty purpose of adding her new salary to the rumors.
He was silent as he skimmed it. When his scowl deepened, she knew that he had come to the salary figure. Grudgingly, he spoke. “That’s a lot of money. Are you sure that this is on the level?”
“Yes, I ran it by Mr. Harrison. And the teacher that recruited me is someone I like and trust. And last, but not least, it’s a real teaching position.”
“You still shouldn’t do this. It’s a big mistake.” She watched his expression as he spoke. He was getting that all too familiar stubborn look, where he would tolerate no dissent.
Gerri didn’t want to part on hostile terms. She tried a different tack. “Consider this, Thurman. How do you see your future in the next few years?”
He looked at her with a sly half smile. “You want me to come with you?”
Gerri closed her eyes and shook her head in amazement. The male ego is such a wondrous instrument of creativity! “No, I don’t want you to come with me. Do you see what you’re doing now as a permanent job?”
He snickered. “You must be kidding.”
“Well, I feel the same way. If you got an offer of a better job, with twice your pay, wouldn’t you take it?”
“If I had to go to the Arctic?” He mocked a shiver.
“It doesn’t have to be the Arctic.” She recalled once, years ago, when he had rhapsodized about Jamaica. “Suppose it was somewhere in the Caribbean.”
He looked at her speculatively. Then he dropped his eyes. “I see your point. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
Since the argumentativeness seemed to have leached out of him, Gerri took another bite of her now-almost-cold lunch. She cast about for a change of subject, but the school bell rescued her.
After the rumor mill publicized her departure and Thurman, apparently, filled in the details on her new salary, she seemed to have acquired a sort of grudging respect from the other staff. To a trusted friend, Gerri would have added a disclaimer about the cost of living, but there was no one at the school in that category.
Miss Carruthers greeted her the next morning almost cheerfully. “Good morning. My heavens! I heard that you’re leaving us. What a surprise.”
“Good morning. Yes, I’m looking forward to it. It should be quite an adventure.” It seemed harmless to recycle her description of last summer’s trip.
“Alaska! Gracious!” Miss Carruthers got a faraway look on her face. “Is that where that big husky guy was from?”
Dream on, girl! “Yes. He was delivering their offer.”
Students were starting to stream into Miss Carruthers’ classroom and she gave a ladylike double take. “Let me tell you what I need done this morning…”
The attitude was better, but the work was still mind numbing. By lunch time, Gerri desperately wanted the day to be over. She half-heartedly looked for an empty table, but Thurman was gesturing to her. She dreaded a continuation of his haranguing about her departure, but she couldn’t politely ignore him.
To her relief, he seemed to have
no interest in that argument. “Everybody’s buzzing about you,” he said with a smile, “How are your preparations for your trip coming?”
She was glad to have a sympathetic ear. “They’re coming. I’m going to have too much for airline baggage limits, so I’m boxing stuff up and mailing it.”
“Do you have a place to stay?”
She nodded, mouth full of food.
He nodded as well, as if she’d said something profound. “I’ve been thinking about the date you promised me. I want to make it something special.”
Gerri almost choked. She was hoping that he’d forgotten about that. “I don’t think I’ll have the time. Packing, shopping, you know…” She waved her hand vaguely.
“Oh, come on. You can find a free evening or two. All work and no play, you know. Besides, think of how much time we had together until our spat. We should really go out again, just to say a proper goodbye.”
She was shaking her head, trying to figure out how to be diplomatic, yet not give in. Her notion of a proper goodbye seemed to be at odds with his.
Thurman watched her speculatively. Then he spoke again, reaching out and rubbing her hand with his thumb. “We have unfinished business, you and I. Don’t forget that.”
“What unfinished business?” She wasn’t sure what he was talking about. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to know.
“That promise that you had to make to your mother. You kept it, and I helped you wait. Now that you’re more mature and more sophisticated, well… we owe it to each other to share that experience. Something to remember and treasure.”
She jerked her hand away from his. Diplomacy no longer concerned her. What a fancy, flowery, disgusting way to say ‘Give me sex.’ “There is no unfinished business. I made that promise to my mother willingly and I kept it willingly. As far as going out with you, I thought that maybe we both could use an outing. I don’t consider it to have been a promise—certainly not in the same vein as what I agreed upon with my mother.”
He started to make a sharp retort, but noticed that the occupants of the adjacent table were following their exchange with interest. “OK,” he shrugged. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”