Phantom of Riverside Park

by Peggy Webb

“Yes. Even without the limousine.”

  Remembering their conversation he started laughing. All of a sudden it struck him that he’d had too little to laugh about over the years. In fifteen minutes his business with Elizabeth would be concluded and she would be out of his life forever. David’s sense of loss was unutterable.

  He studied her sitting there with her knees pressed tightly together and her hands folded in her lap like a schoolgirl. She was in her uniform from Celine’s bakery, and the smell of sugar clung to her. David memorized the smell and the soft curve of her mouth and the way her fair skin reflected the color she was wearing.

  “How’s Nicky?” he asked, not merely to prolong the meeting but because he wanted to know.

  “He’s absolutely great. Last week at the grocery store the checkout clerk said, ‘What a handsome little dude,’ and he’s been calling himself a handsome dude ever since.”

  As she talked about her son, Elizabeth relaxed and used her hands in those floating, illustrative gestures David loved.

  “I think he just might become insufferable.”

  “Not Nicky. He’s too sensible for that.”

  “Yes, he is.” She shot a quizzical look in his direction, and he leaned back deeper into the shadows. “How did you know?”

  “Instinct. You’re a very sensible woman, and I assume you’re raising your son to be the same way.”

  “Well, thank you. I try.” She stilled her expressive hands, tucking them back into her lap. “Now, about that loan ... I suppose you have the paper ready.”

  At this rate, Elizabeth Jennings would be out of his office in five minutes. David cast about for ways to make her stay, and the silence stretched, screaming, between them.

  “How is your grandfather?” he said at last, embarrassed by his own clumsiness. The art of conversation eluded him, sometimes even with McKenzie.

  “He’s feistier than ever. Having Fred Lollar for a friend had been very good for him. I’d been so wrapped up in myself I hadn’t realized how much he needed somebody besides Nicky and me.”

  “You do yourself an injustice, Elizabeth. You’re the least self-centered person I know.”

  He could tell his remark pleased her, and David felt better about his own ineptness. Maybe he was onto something, at last.

  “Tell me about this Fred Lollar,” he said.

  “He and Papa both served in World War II. Not many of those veterans are still alive, and I’m so lucky to have two of them! Nicky and I love listening to their stories.” Her hands were talking again, and her face was shining so that he could have switched off the light and still seen the glow.

  “You should hear their story about getting drunk in Paris and accidentally ending up on stage with the burlesque dancers.”

  You should hear. How natural she’d sounded when she said it. As if the two of them were long-time friends in the habit of meeting for lunch and the theater and leisurely walks in the woods to exchange personal stories that drew them into each other’s lives.

  For a moment David was too full to speak. Elizabeth mistook his silence for disapproval.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I know you’re a very busy man. An important man. That was presumptuous of me. Please forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  Once more he was caught up in a vision of how things would be if he were a different man, a salesman, say, coming home from a week traveling in Arkansas, driving across the river bridge and thinking about Elizabeth waiting for him at the front door, waiting for him with a smile and a kiss and a heart full of stories that would draw him back into her life.

  “I’ve taken up too much of your time prattling on about my family. I’m sure you didn’t invite me here to discuss Papa and Nicky.”

  Was she so anxious to leave, then? She had drawn back into her nervous shell and was sitting stiff-necked and formal in the unforgiving circle of light. In her case, it had nothing to forgive. Elizabeth Jennings was flawless.

  And he was flawed beyond redemption.

  Let her go, his conscience whispered. It was the noble thing to do.

  “Let’s talk business, Elizabeth.”

  “That’s why I came... And to thank you...I don’t know where my manners are. I haven’t even thanked you for making Nicky’s surgery possible.”

  “I got your note. It was sweet.”

  “Oh, well ... thanking a person face to face is so much better, I believe. So thank you...I wish I could see your face.”

  He didn’t answer her. What was there to say? My face would repulse you. If you saw my face you wouldn’t be sitting in that chair talking to me as if I’m a normal human being.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You didn’t, Elizabeth. I don’t talk much, that’s all. My sister says I brood.”

  “You have a family, then?”

  “Only my sister.”

  “What’s she ...Oh, I’m sorry. I keep sidetracking you. You don’t have all night to spend with me.”

  If only he could. Never had his self-imposed exile seemed lonelier. He couldn’t take Elizabeth to the Peabody and listen to jazz. He couldn’t take her to the river and watch the sunset over the Mississippi. He couldn’t take her to the farm and watch her race through the meadow with her son.

  And so he did the next best thing. He revealed a part of himself to her, something he’d never done with another human being except his sister.

  “I wanted to have a family, Elizabeth. A large one.”

  “Do you still?”

  What good does it do to wish for things you can’t have?

  “That was a long time ago,” he said. It was time to quit torturing himself. And her. It was time to let Elizabeth go. “The papers you asked for are on the table beside your chair. Look them over and then if you have any questions, we’ll discuss them.”

  “Can I do it now? Quincy is good about giving me time off, but I hate to keep asking her, and I don’t need to miss class.”

  “Look them over now. Take all the time you need.”

  o0o

  Elizabeth picked up the papers that, deep down, she’d known were there all along. She reckoned a woman was capable of all kinds of subterfuge to get what she wanted, only why she wanted to stay in that office under the spotlight was beyond her comprehension.

  She heard the snort Mae Mae always gave when Elizabeth told a lie, and it made her wonder what kind of woman she was turning into. Of course, she knew why she wanted to stay in that top-floor office, spotlight or no spotlight.

  The answer was hidden in the dark behind a desk bigger than her kitchen table, bigger than her whole kitchen, practically. She didn’t know how it was possible for a man’s voice to affect a woman so powerfully. But that was the truth of the matter. Sitting there listening to David Lassiter, Elizabeth felt all-of-a-sudden secure, as if nothing bad in this world could ever touch her again.

  She’d deliberately worn her uniform from the bakery so she could tell herself that she didn’t care how she looked for David Lassiter. Why should she dress up for a man she couldn’t even see?

  The minute she got to the Lassiter Building she’d changed her mind. She’d panicked, wondering if he would be insulted that she’d worn a work uniform. If she’d had time to go home and change, she would. But there was no time. Her only consolation was that the uniform was pink.

  She glanced up from the papers hoping to catch David unaware, hoping that while she’d had her head in the papers her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she could see him more clearly, or that he’d shifted out of the shadows.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  She told him an outright lie in order to save face. She had no idea if everything was all right. She’d been so busy woolgathering she hadn’t read a word on the page.

  She skimmed the legalese looking for something she could understand. There it was: terms of the loan. One hundred do
llars payable ten dollars a year over a period of ten years.

  Astonished, she read the terms once more.

  “I can’t possibly sign this,” she said.

  “Don’t you think it’s fair?”

  “It’s more than fair to me. It’s outrageous generosity bordering on charity.” She put the papers back into the manila envelope and laid it on the table. “I can’t sign them.”

  “You said you would sign any kind of papers I drew up as long as they were fair.”

  “But these aren’t fair to you.”

  “I’m the only one who can judge that, Elizabeth, and I say they’re fair.”

  “No. I can’t do this. I’ll go to the hospital and make arrangements to pay them, somehow.”

  “There are no arrangements to make. All Nicky’s bills have been paid.”

  Elizabeth could barely sit still. When he’d told about his sister and about wanting a family, when he’d unveiled that private part of himself to her, she’d listened with her heart. She’d believed that in spite of the fact that he shunned the light, they could still somehow become very good friends. Maybe more.

  Now she felt betrayed. She wanted to rage about the room, flipping on lights.

  “You tricked me.”

  “You came to me, Elizabeth. You stipulated the terms.”

  “You manipulated those terms.”

  “Why don’t we throw those papers into the garbage can and forget about the loan? Nicky is all right now. Isn’t that what we both wanted?”

  That was the final straw. “My son is not a pawn,” she said, and then she jumped out of her chair and barreled toward him like a woman obsessed.

  Suddenly the room was plunged into total darkness, and she ran smack into a table.

  “Elizabeth! Sit down.”

  “I won’t. I don’t care who you are. I don’t need your crumbs. I won’t be treated like cotton-patch trash.”

  The shocking admission spilled out of her, and there was no way on heaven or earth that she could take it back. All the years of struggle and fear and righteous rage boiled upward, and she started crying so hard she lost her breath.

  Sobbing and gulping, lost in the dark, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and pull it in behind her. She had never felt more alone.

  Then suddenly, she was no longer alone. A pair of arms drew her close. A large hand pressed her head against a chest that felt solid as a wall.

  The wailing wall. A giggle burbled upward and mixed with her tears. She was going to be hysterical.

  “Cry, Elizabeth. Go ahead and cry.”

  She thought she’d never in her life heard a more beautiful sound than his kind voice urging her toward release. She’d never felt a safer haven than the strong arms that held her as tenderly as if she were a child.

  Forgive me, Papa.

  This was a different kind of safety she felt, something altogether miraculous because David offered it without a shared history. And so she clung to him sobbing because he made it safe for her to cry.

  He started stroking her hair. “You are worthy, Elizabeth. Your little finger is worth more than all the Taylor Belliveaus in the world.”

  “He’s dead ...” she wailed, then cried afresh, shedding the tears she had held inside since his funeral.

  “I know, and I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, Elizabeth, but I didn’t know how.” He tightened his hold. “I didn’t know how.”

  Then he began to sway, and the gentle movement was like being rocked in the bosom of a loving protector. But it was more, too, and that’s the part that disturbed Elizabeth.

  With her nose pressed against his chest she inhaled the clean spicy scent of his skin. Feelings that had lain dormant for years rushed to the surface, reminding her that David Lassiter was more than a benefactor, more than a strong shoulder to cry on: he was a man.

  All at once the lines between right and wrong blurred, so that Elizabeth felt like a woman torn in half. She was a conflicted, complicated woman who wanted to hold onto this strong man and say, “Here. Here I am,” and at the same time she wanted to run as far away as she could till she came to a place that would help her remember her independence.

  “I want only to help you, Elizabeth,” David said, as if he’d read her thoughts. “I have no other motive. You’re carried too many burdens by yourself for too long. Please allow me to help you.”

  “It feels wrong.”

  He was still holding her, but when she tried to push back he held her fast. Was it because he enjoyed the contact as much as she did, or was it because he was afraid she would look up and see his face?

  “You are your Papa’s granddaughter.”

  “How?”

  “Stubborn. Quick to argue.”

  “How do you know those things? You’ve never met Papa?”

  She felt the tremor that ran through him, and the sudden stiffening of his body.

  “You’re right,” she said, wanting desperately to make amends. “I am like Papa, and I suppose in most ways, that’s a good thing. Sometimes, though, I carry a point too far.”

  His hands rested lightly on her waist. She could have wrenched herself free with one movement, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to stay right where she was until she’d made things right between them again.

  He was deeply troubled. Turmoil wafted off him like smoke, settling over her in a thick cloud that made it hard to breathe. She had a crazy urge to croon a lullaby to him, just the way she did with Nicky when the monsters of his imagination became too real.

  “My sister tells me I play God.” His voice came down softly around her, his body slackened, and little by little she began to breathe. “If I had a family of my own, I probably wouldn’t have this deep need, Elizabeth, this overwhelming urge to do something that will somehow make my life count.”

  She clung to him, pressing her cheek against his chest and feeling the powerful vibrations of his heart. It was like hearing the roar of a waterfall coming down the face of a mountain. A bit frightening, but so awesome it stole her reason.

  “Let me do this small thing for Nicky. Please... Let me redeem myself with your son, even if the redemption is fleeting.”

  She felt both humbled and empowered. David had found a way to help her and at the same time allow her to keep her pride.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’m still not sure why you chose us, but I’m glad you did. We will always be grateful.”

  And then because she had nothing else to give, she repaid him with her heart. Reaching upward, she sought his face. When her hands made contact, he sucked in a sharp breath and for a moment, she thought he would pull away.

  Please don’t. Please.

  He heard her silent pleas, and for an amazing instant he stood still while she caressed the jagged, angry scar that marked his face as well as his soul.

  “We will always remember you, David Lassiter.”

  He breathed a long sigh. “It’s enough,” he said, then he backed into the shadows and she was left standing alone in a dark room.

  “David?”

  There was no answer, only an eerie quietness. Elizabeth held out her hands and groped toward her chair in the darkness. Maybe if she sat back down he would at least turn on the spotlight.

  “I’ve come to escort you to your car.”

  The lights blazed on, and Edwards stood in the doorway.

  “Where’s David?”

  “Gone. He said to give you this.” Edwards pressed a note into her hand. “I’m ready whenever you are, Miss Elizabeth.”

  What about the papers, she started to say. And then, as she looked at the envelope lying on the table, she knew there was one other thing she could give David: the joy of doing a kind deed.

  “I’m ready, Edwards.”

  She didn’t open the note until she was in her own house in her own bedroom dressed in a nightshirt with the slogan, When life hands you lemons make lemonade, which she was so tired of doing she wanted to strangle the person who had made
self-help in small doses popular.

  David’s message was handwritten in bold black strokes on stark white paper: If you ever need me--for anything--all you have to do is call.

  Elizabeth thought of all the times life had washed so harshly over her she’d thought she would drown. David had thrown her a lifeline.

  She tucked the note under her pillow, turned off the light and cried.

  She always cried when she was happy. Didn’t she?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Thomas was in the bathroom shaking so bad he felt a hundred years old, which he practically was. He was puking up his shoe soles, to boot. Just like Lola Mae when she was pregnant with Manny.

  He reeled like a top gone mad, and he didn’t know whether it was from the nausea or the memories that flooded him.

  Lola Mae had clung to the porch railing, so pale Thomas could see right through her skin, while Thomas swabbed her face with a dishtowel.

  “How can something so good feel so bad?” she said, and he cursed the day she’d become pregnant. They were too old for kids. He should have known that.

  “I’m so sorry, darling. If I’d known what it would do to you I’d of kept my hands to myself.”

  Even as white-faced as she was, Lola Mae laughed. “Don’t you ever dare, Thomas Jennings.” She took the dishtowel from him and tossed it over the railing, then she did something so typical he wondered how he’d ever had the good fortune to end up with a woman like her.

  She led him back into the house, then down the long hallway where his daddy’s tall clock marked the time and all the way to the cool room with windows open to the spring and a big brass bed they’d shared for twenty years.

  “What are you doing?” he said when she unhooked his overalls and started unbuttoning his shirt, though he knew good and well what she was doing.

  “Are you complaining?”

  “There’s a cotton field needs tendin’.”

  “So do I. Which one are you going to tend to first, Thomas Jennings?”

  “Cotton can wait.”

  She was still as slim as a young girl, and the thrill of her went straight to his heart. He’d never thought of himself as splendid until he married Lola Mae.

  “Oh, but you are splendid,” she’d said on their honeymoon, then commenced to kissing him like she meant it.