Once Upon a Project

by Bettye Griffin

  “I’d love to hear about it.”

  She took a deep breath. Maybe she should just tell him now and get it over with. If she got it off her chest maybe she wouldn’t feel so antsy any time the subject of family came up. “There was this boy I grew up with. His family lived down the hall from us. We played together when we were kids, but by the time we got to high school something changed.”

  “Sounds very sweet.”

  She spoke quietly. “I hope you’re not being facetious, Andy.”

  “No, not at all. That whole high school sweetheart thing, I think it’s sweet. Hell, my girlfriend from high school broke up with me the minute she got to Ohio State and took up with their star quarterback.”

  Pat laughed. Andy could be so funny sometimes. “Well, ours was different. My father broke it up when we were in our first year of college. He didn’t like me dating Ricky because he was Latino.”

  Andy nodded. “Mexican? So your father doesn’t like Latinos. How does he feel about German-Americans?”

  “He doesn’t like them, either.”

  Andy searched her face, his expression changing when he realized she wasn’t kidding. “You’re serious.”

  “Yes. My father grew up in a little town in Arkansas and had a little brother, Jacob. Jacob was . . . He was killed one night when the town slut, a white girl, identified him as the father of her baby. A group of punks lynched him.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “The same year as the Brown ruling.”

  He nodded. “That was 1954. You and I weren’t even born yet.”

  “Yes. Anyway, my uncle’s body was found the next morning, hanging from a tree. He’d been beaten to a pulp before he was hanged. He was seventeen years old. My parents got married right after that and moved up here.”

  “Have they ever been back?”

  “Never. My father swore he’d never set foot in Arkansas again. He did, of course, when my grandparents passed away.”

  “I think I might already know the answer to this, but what happened to the people who murdered your uncle?”

  “They weren’t even charged.”

  “Damn.” Andy was silent for a moment. “Pat, I think that stinks, but it happened over fifty years ago. Does your father still subscribe to the all-white-people-are-devils theory after all this time? Hell, even Malcolm X softened his stance before he was killed.”

  He must have seen Spike Lee’s movie, she thought. “I wouldn’t say my father is that extreme. But he still doesn’t like the idea of interracial dating. In a way I can’t blame him. The mere implication of it cost his brother his life. And to this day no one knows who that girl’s baby’s daddy really was.”

  Andy’s eyes glinted. “Listening to this, I can understand why your father feels the way he does. But in your first year of college . . . You must have been at least eighteen. That’s legally an adult. I’m curious, why didn’t you stand up to him?”

  Tears pooled in her lower lids. “Because my younger brother had just been killed. He was the one we all had such high hopes for. He was going to be a scientist. We expected him to win the Nobel for chemistry.”

  Andy nodded. “The one who got hit by a stray bullet in a gang hit.”

  “Yes. Melvin was only sixteen. My parents were devastated. By then Clarence had already started his drug habit, and I knew they looked to me as the only one with potential to make it out of the ghetto. They said they couldn’t bear it if I married my boyfriend. That I’d only end up dropping out of school because he couldn’t afford to support me, and that would mean that none of their children made it in life. They were heartbroken over my brothers. I knew I could have stood up to them, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was afraid they’d never recover if I did. Of course, that was foolish.”

  “That’s a heavy load to bear, the weight of your parents’ expectations, but I do believe they would have gotten over it. The way I see it they would have had no choice.”

  She nodded. “After a few years it occurred to me that I’d made a terrible mistake. People learn to adapt. I believe my parents would have not only accepted my boyfriend, but loved him as well. It’s not like he was a stranger to them to begin with; they’d known him most of his life.” The daydreams she used to entertain regularly flashed before her: her father, who’d worked as a short-order cook, among other things, to support his family, sitting at the table with Ricky going over plans for the first restaurant Ricky opened, while her mother played with her first grandchild. “But I still didn’t have the backbone to go after him and tell him,” she said sadly. “Eventually he married someone else.”

  “His loss is my gain.”

  She smiled. “You really are sweet, Andy.”

  “So you’re saying your father wouldn’t approve of me, and your mother, neither.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  He held her gaze. “And how do you feel about going against them now? You’re not eighteen anymore.”

  “It would bother me to know I’d made them unhappy, sure, but I can’t let them dictate to me any longer, Andy. It was a mistake to do it the first time.”

  “I guess I can’t ask you for more than that.”

  Pat smacked her palms together, as if she could change the mood instantly. “So much for the story of my love life. Let’s move on to something less boring.”

  “I didn’t find it at all boring, Pat. I’m truly interested in the story of your life. Plus, I’m a little jealous.”

  “No need for that. It all ended a long, long time ago.”

  Chapter 32

  Early June

  Evanston, Illinois

  Elyse found it difficult to stop looking at Kevin, even more at this lunch today than she had the last time. He looked so handsome, with his thick, arched brows; neat mustache and goatee; and smooth, dark skin. Handsome . . . and healthy.

  She immediately felt a stab of guilt. Franklin couldn’t help what had happened to him. It was her damn hormones acting overtime. She and Franklin hadn’t made love in weeks, in the time between his surgical recovery and beginning his treatment regimen, which had rendered him impotent. They’d always had a healthy sex life, making love right up until she went into labor with both Todd and Brontë, despite her obstetrician’s instructions not to after her seventh month. She needed to get hold of herself and be more dignified and concentrate on the menu before her . . . and remember that Kevin wasn’t one of the selections.

  “It was so good of you to suggest lunch again, Kevin,” she said pleasantly.

  “I didn’t intend for last month to be a one-time thing. You’re having a difficult time. I’d like to help if I can. I know you’re about to get real busy, taking care of Franklin and with your parents visiting and all.” Kevin had never met Franklin, of course, but he knew his name from their conversations.

  “Yes. I’m sure my parents are going to be a huge help, and that Franklin will enjoy having them around.”

  “How is he, anyway?”

  “Getting stronger every day,” she said happily. “He’s planning to go back to work after the Fourth, when his treatments are completed.”

  The news from the doctor hadn’t been as good as she’d hoped, but nor was it as bad as it could have been. She wanted to hear that no traces of cancer remained after the removal of the tumor. The actual word was that the cancer had spread to blood vessels and lymph nodes, but not to other organs. Stage III, they called it. Dr. LeBlond, the oncologist Dr. Obi had referred Franklin to, told him he’d probably feel reasonably well for a while yet and urged him to try to live as normally as possible, although he cautioned that he didn’t want him returning to work until he gave a green light. Shortly afterward, Franklin began a regimen of chemo and then radiation treatments that Elyse prayed would halt the spread of the disease. He struggled with the side effects, and it pained Elyse to see him so listless and so nauseated. She knew that people receiving chemotherapeutic agents often lost their hair, but she didn’t realize the
hair loss wasn’t limited to their head. Franklin’s legs, chest, underarms, and genital area were practically bare. It looked so odd.

  Fortunately, the kids were on their summer break, so they were around more. Brontë had a temp assignment that lasted through the end of August; and Todd, who was working at the local hospital pulling and replacing patient files, asked to be put on second shift, which they did. His schedule gave him the flexibility to stay home with Franklin in the mornings, and to drive him to and from his treatments. It worked well for Franklin to accept assistance from one of his sons, more readily than he would have from one of his daughters, or even from Elyse herself. She supposed that if she was ill she would feel the same, preferring Brontë to Todd.

  “Hey, that’s good news,” Kevin said.

  “I’ll say it is.” She beamed, forgetting about her raging hormones at the thought of Franklin getting better. They’d just celebrated their twenty-sixth anniversary. Hopefully in another month or so, everything would be back to normal.

  Franklin even joked that he was saving a fortune, both in gas—because his Navigator was parked in the garage and hardly being driven, while gas prices soared—and in shampoo, because he had no hair to wash. “And you can bet that I’m going to make every day count,” Franklin had said.

  It made Elyse happy to talk about Franklin’s recovery, but she knew it would be wrong to show no interest in what was happening with Kevin. “So tell me,” she said, “how’re the plans for the Laundromat going?”

  He shrugged. “It’s creeping along. It’s difficult to raise the funds needed to get started.”

  “Have you thought about the Small Business Administration? You seem to be offering a service that’s needed in the community.”

  “Yeah, but it’s practically impossible to get anything out of them. My partner and I are trying to raise the money ourselves.”

  Elyse found herself regretting bringing up the subject. When Kevin first told her about his plans, she’d gotten the impression that he was about to roll with them. Now he sounded uncertain that he’d be able to pull it off, which told her that he’d merely been trying to appear like he had an agenda rather than just a middle-aged exterminator. Had he done it because he felt he needed to be more than he was? Had he felt intimidated when she told him she was a physical therapist? Now Elyse understood how Grace and Pat felt when chatting with men who had less education than they and held everyday jobs—jobs which no doubt made the world go round, like delivering the mail, driving a truck, or, as in Kevin’s case, providing pest control.

  Worst of all, Kevin’s matter-of-fact statements about being short on capital made her feel conscious of the differences between her financial situation and his. How much could start-up costs be for a consumer laundry, maybe twenty thousand dollars? Writing a check for that amount would hardly bankrupt her . . . and worst of all, Kevin had probably guessed as much. She suddenly felt guilty for being a “have” while he was a “have-not.”

  But the last thing she wanted to do was invest in a Laundromat miles away from where she lived. She sought to steer the conversation elsewhere before he got the idea to ask her for financial backing, if he hadn’t already.

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll get to where you need to be eventually,” she said with a smile. “Hmm . . . Those ribs really look good, don’t you think?”

  She felt a lot safer talking about something other than his difficulty raising money to go into business.

  When the waitress discreetly brought the check Elyse took it. Kevin protested, “You paid the check last time. Let me get it this time.”

  She merely winked at him and said, “It’s not a problem. If you want to open that business before you’re sixty, you’ve got to watch your spending.”

  He walked her to her car. “I’m glad to hear that everything’s going so well for you, Elyse, I really am,” he said softly.

  Again, she had the uncomfortable feeling that he was thinking of his own dismal situation. “I’m sure things will work out for you, too, Kevin.” She gave him her sunniest smile to punctuate her words.

  “Thanks for your optimism. Keep in touch, okay?”

  “I’ll do that. See you later.” She reached out to open the car door, then gasped as he suddenly leaned forward, pinning her against the side of the vehicle. Holding her captive, he kissed her, gently at first, then suddenly thrusting his tongue inside her mouth.

  Elyse stretched her back to its limit as she leaned backward, trying to get away from him. Kevin ended the kiss as abruptly as it began, and she merely stared at him, the bewilderment she felt showing on her face.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was an impulse. I guess I should have controlled it.”

  “I think you should have,” she said sternly. “I have to go now.” She opened the door and slipped behind the wheel. Kevin still stood alongside the car, and she fumbled out of nervousness as she tried to insert the key into the ignition.

  She drove off without looking at him, hoping he got the point. Inside, she couldn’t wait to get home and wash her mouth.

  Not because his kiss repelled her, but because she’d responded to it.

  Chapter 33

  Early to mid-June

  Chicago

  Susan backed into a parking space in front of the attractive red brick, two-story duplex in Hyde Park. She felt like a murderer trying to hide in plain sight. She hadn’t killed anyone, of course, but part of her still wanted to look over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching her.

  She’d spoken to Charles often since seeing him three weeks ago, but she put off seeing him out of fear. He hadn’t pushed to see her, something for which she felt grateful. Charles had always been perceptive to her thoughts and feelings, and no doubt he knew what a difficult spot she was in.

  He also knew that the friendship she spoke of could be maintained only over the telephone. Those sparks she felt when he kissed her and she kissed him back told her that mere friendship between them would never work. It had to be all or nothing.

  When Bruce suggested they bring the kids to Lake Geneva for the Memorial Day weekend, she agreed, but did not allow herself to think anything between them would change . . . and it didn’t, although they all had a good time. And when they had sex she kept her nightgown on. She’d finally learned to accept that it would always be this way.

  After it was over and she laid on her side, her back to Bruce, feeling the now-familiar mix of sexual satisfaction and emotional barrenness, she knew she would see Charles again soon after the holiday weekend ended.

  When she called, he said, “Something tells me you plan on coming down this way again.”

  It annoyed her that he knew her motives. He probably figured she’d tried to make a go of it with Bruce and failed.

  That’s what you get for telling him about the state of your marriage, she told herself, although she knew her irritation had no real root. She just found it frustrating that he could read her so easily. No one wanted to be an open book.

  “What else does your crystal ball tell you?” she asked.

  “The signal went black. You’ll have to tell me.”

  She chuckled, her annoyance gone. “Bruce is golfing Saturday. I thought I’d hire a babysitter for a couple of hours, if that’ll work for you.”

  They met at the California Pizza Kitchen, where they had a leisurely lunch.

  “I’m glad you called,” Charles told her.

  “I just felt that I had to see you,” she admitted. “School’s almost out. I won’t have as much free time in a couple of weeks.”

  “School lets out here the week after next,” he remarked casually. “When is your kids’ last day?”

  “The fifteenth, sixteenth, something like that. They had to add a few days because of the snow this winter.”

  “We’re out on the tenth. It sounds like you’ll have a free week, or at least a free couple of days, the same time I’m off.”

  “Good. I can come down for lunch. We can chat f
or a couple of hours.”

  “Make it breakfast, and we’ll have more time. I’ll even cook.”

  “At your apartment?” she asked incredulously. “Uh . . . Don’t you think the traffic around there is rather heavy?”

  “It just so happens that my mother is taking a trip with the church that week. She’ll be in South Dakota, at Mount Rushmore. But in case you’ve forgotten, my apartment has its own entrance, so I have plenty of privacy.”

  She thought it odd that he didn’t acknowledge that having his own entrance hadn’t stopped Ann Valentine from reading her the riot act right there in the street when Ann learned she and Charles were seeing each other. Susan had never been so embarrassed, with all the neighbors looking on eagerly as Ann questioned her scruples. Had he actually forgotten? “Charles, I don’t mean to sound like I’m sticking my nose into your business, but why do you still live at home in the first place? I know you lived there when Douglas first bought the house, but that was a long time ago.”

  “I never expected I’d still be here after all this time, but it was an ideal setup. I had my privacy, but I could still run upstairs for a home-cooked meal whenever I wanted. I planned on leaving eventually, but the price was right, for one thing.”

  Susan took that to mean he paid no rent. She doubted that was the case now that his mother, who’d been a court clerk, was retired and living on a fixed income, but he probably paid well below market rate.

  “And after my father died, my mother asked me to stay. Said she feels better knowing I’m right downstairs. I feel better about it, too. My brother is an addict, Susan. That means he can’t be trusted.”

  She couldn’t argue with that.

  Susan checked her reflection carefully. Out of habit she glanced at her right side. She saw no protrusion through her clothes, but still she felt nervous. She hadn’t told Charles of Bruce’s revulsion with her postsurgical figure, just that he kept his distance from her since their surgery. She didn’t mean to be evasive, or to imply that she and Bruce no longer had sex at all; she just felt she had the right to preserve some dignity. It had been hard enough to confide that much to him. What self-respecting woman could admit that the sight of her naked body killed her husband’s libido?