“I’ll
tell him today.”
“Thank
you.”
When
Peter returned, two middle-aged black women entered through the main door and
hesitated when they saw him. They had been carrying on a lively conversation,
but were surprised to see a stranger, though they tried not to show it. Mary
and Latesha were all smiles and laughs and greetings.
Mary
knew they would be curious about Peter, so she wasted no time. “Brandy and
Gail, this is Peter. He’s Latesha’s friend and an electrician. He offered to do
some wiring for free.”
“For
free?” the newcomers said simultaneously, glancing at Latesha.
Mary
seemed embarrassed. “The bank is empty, but I insist on paying you something. I
just don’t know what.”
“I
don’t need anything,” he insisted. “Really, I don’t.”
There
was a brief, awkward pause.
“I’ve
been asked to help Blake make a photo journal,” Brandy said with a deep laugh,
holding up her camera. “I got the bake sale last weekend, pictures from the
bingo and auction, even some before and after shots of the renovations. They’re
not the quality of Blake’s, but I’m learning.”
“I
have a good idea for a photo,” Gail suddenly said with great enthusiasm. Gail
was a large, full-bodied woman who wore a flower-print cotton dress. Her whole
face lit up when she spoke and her eyes sparkled. “Brandy, you should take a
picture of Latesha and Peter.”
Latesha
lowered her eyes, but Peter was delighted at the idea.
“Since
Peter has offered to help out,” Gail noted, “his contribution will be a part of
our revamped community center. And since you’re trying to make a complete photo
journal, this has to be a part of it.”
Brandy
nodded. “Sounds good to me.” She gave Latesha a hopeful look. “Can I take a
picture of you and Peter, Latesha?”
“That
would be great,” Peter said, genuinely excited at the idea. “Where do you want
us to stand?”
Latesha
was not quite as enthusiastic. “Some people don’t like having their pictures
taken, Brandy,” she said in a meaningful way.
Gail
dismissed the idea with a wave of the hand. “Are you kidding? The camera loves
you.”
“I’m
not big on being photographed,” Latesha persisted.
Brandy
shrugged. “It’s only a picture, Latesha.”
Peter
stood next to Latesha, glanced at her for a split second, and then turned to
Brandy. “Should we stand here?”
“Sure,”
Brandy agreed, taking her camera out of a small carrying bag. She checked a few
things, laughed, then apologized for being so slow.
“Take
your time,” Peter said as he and Latesha stood side by side. “There’s no rush.”
Latesha
felt incredibly awkward, as if thousands of people were staring at her. But she
composed herself, forced a smile when Peter looked at her, then faced Brandy
like someone standing in a police line-up. Latesha was extremely thankful that
Peter didn’t put his arm around her or pose in an overly friendly way. On the
contrary, he purposely prevented his body from getting too close to hers.
Brandy raised her instant camera, held it steady for a moment, and then snapped
the shot. Latesha immediately shuffled a few steps away and looked relieved
when it was over.
“We
have the play coming up,” Mary said, catching Peter’s attention as Brandy
waited for the photo to develop. “Maybe we could put aside a portion of the
gate and pay you something for your trouble.”
He
shook his head. “I don’t need anything, Mary. Really, I don’t. That’s not my
focus at all.”
“It
just doesn’t feel right,” she returned with a groan. “We have to give you
something.”
Peter
suddenly had an idea. “If you must pay me,” he said, “I would want only one
thing.”
Brandy
waved the photo back and forth in hopes of developing it faster.
Peter
purposely did not look at Latesha. “If I could have something, I’d like to have
the photograph you just took, Brandy. A picture of me and my friend.”
Latesha
was shocked by his request and had a terrible fear that the picture of her may
have been poor, possibly with her eyes closed. By degrees this fear intensified
to the point where she was sure it was the worst picture ever taken of her, and
she undoubtedly looked either drunk or half-asleep.
Peter
turned to Latesha. “Would you mind?”
“I
don’t want it,” she said.
They
agreed and Brandy handed the photo to Peter. He held the picture and waited for
it to finish developing. Brandy leaned over to see her own work, and the other
women, equally curious, crowded round. Latesha stayed back a few steps, but she
kept peeking. Soon the photo became crystal clear.
“Oh,
my!” Brandy exclaimed, holding a hand to her mouth. “This is the best picture
I’ve ever taken.”
To
her great pleasure, it was the nicest photo Latesha had ever seen of herself.
Peter looked handsome and had the nicest smile, but it was not their looks that
impressed her, it was something in their eyes, a light shining brightly, an
unmistakable glow. It was as if their spirits were jumping off the paper.
“Can
you make a copy for us, Peter?” Mary asked. “It just has to go in the journal.”
“Sure.”
He turned to Latesha. “Would you like a copy?”
“No,
thank you,” she answered instantly. She looked at her watch. “I’d better be
going now.”
“Yes,
of course,” Peter said, smiling at the women. “It was a pleasure to meet you
all, Mary, Brandy and Gail.”
“Oh,
he’s so gallant!” Gail exclaimed, taken with his charm.
“It
was very nice to meet you,” Brandy and Mary said in a warm way, also impressed
by his politeness.
When
Latesha and Peter walked outside, the sun was just starting to set. The village
seemed deserted now, and they were the only two people anywhere in sight.
Latesha closed the door behind them, stopped on the step, and looked at him in
the cool air. “Why did you offer to help like that? Tell me the truth.”
“You
said everyone was pitching in. I’m an electrician with wiring of no use to me.
It seemed like a natural fit.”
She
led him down the steps and around the corner to an area where no one could see
them. “Is that the whole reason?”
He
did not respond.
“Hmm?”
she persisted, looking deeply into his eyes.
“I
think you already know I’m doing everything I can not to say good bye.”
Those
words struck the core of her being.
“I’ll
be truthful, Latesha. I came here to meet you in person, and now that I have, I
like you even more than I thought I would. You’re special. I don’t know you,
and you don’t know me, but I do know that you are amazing. I knew that when I
first saw you on the bench, I knew it when I spoke with you on the phone, and
now I’m more convinced than ever. No matter what happens from here on in, I
want you to know that I think you are incredible.”
She
just looked at him.
“Why
do I always feel like the emperor with no clothes on when I’m around you?” he
said with a frown.
Latesha
raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean by that?”
“I’m
laying my soul bare to you, and that makes me vulnerable. Like I’m standing
naked.”
“All
right,” she said. “I’ll bare my soul, too. I like you, but only in a friendship
way.” She stared into his eyes. “Do we have an understanding?”
He
looked at the road and gestured with his hand. “Can I walk you home now?”
“Do
we have an understanding?” she persisted.
“I
understand,” Peter said. “Can I walk you home now?”
“I
believe you’re headed in that direction anyway, aren’t you?”
“I
believe so.”
The
pair strolled along on the shoulder of the road as streetlights started to
flicker. They conversed as if they had known each other for years, and even
when neither spoke, they still seemed remarkably comfortable with each other.
When
they reached Peter’s truck, he turned to Latesha. “Thank you for the tour of
Beechwood. This has been a very special day for me.”
“You’re
most certainly welcome,” she returned politely. “It’s been a very memorable day
for me, too.” She paused. “I’m sorry about what happened at the store.”
“That’s
life.” He shrugged. “You just deal with it and move on.”
Latesha
smiled warmly at him. “Thank you for fixing the net and helping at the center.”
“When
I bring the supplies on Tuesday evening, will I see you?”
She
hesitated.
“Are
you free?” he asked.
“I’m
free,” she said quickly.
“Six?”
“Six
is good,” she said.
“Should
I pick you up here?”
Latesha
glanced at her house and saw her father glaring out the living room window.
“No, I’ll meet you at the center.”
“I’ll
be there,” he promised. “Thank you.”
She
tentatively nodded. “Thank you.”
Peter
bowed slightly, then got into his truck and drove off into the night. Latesha
stood at the end of her driveway, watching until his rear lights disappeared
over the one-lane bridge.
Her
father opened the window. “Who the hell was that?” he called in a barking
voice.
Latesha
turned to him. “Just someone I met. He offered to help out at the center.”
“Help?”
asked Mr. Thomas with undisguised suspicion. “How is whitey going to help?”
Latesha
smirked. “He’s an electrician and he’s going to do some work for free.”
“Why?”
her father shot back.
“Because
he’s a nice guy.”
“I
saw the way he was looking at you,” Mr. Thomas said. “That man is smitten.”
“Smitten?”
she returned with a smirk.
“Yes,
smitten. That white boy is in love with you.”
Latesha
grimaced. “You have an overactive imagination, Dad.” She put her head down and
strode into the house, hanging up her coat without looking at him.
“I
have two eyes,” Mr. Thomas said, “and they don’t lie. That white man was
looking at my daughter in a way I don’t like. No, I don’t like it one little
bit.”
“He’s
just a friend, Dad,” Latesha replied with exasperation. “Stop making mountains
out of molehills. I hardly even know him.”
Mr.
Thomas suddenly realized something. “He wasn’t that man on the phone, was he?”
Latesha
ignored him.
“Tell
me he isn’t the man you’ve been talking to so much lately. Latesha.”
“Yes,
it’s him,” she said forcefully, though she was eager to drop the subject.
Her
father’s chest heaved with indignation. “I don’t want you seeing any white man,
Latesha, especially not him. That’s not part of the program. You were a little
panther when you were a kid, and now some massa is charming the pants off you.”
Latesha’s
eyes flashed. “If you weren’t my father,” she exclaimed furiously, “I’d slap
you across the face!”
Mr.
Thomas literally growled. “There are boundaries and I don’t want my daughter
crossing them!”
“Don’t
ever talk to me like that again!” Latesha exclaimed, holding up her hand like a
traffic cop. “Ever!”
“Don’t
you ever see him again!” Mr. Thomas commanded slowly and firmly. He punched the
armrest of his wheelchair. “Ever!”
He
glared at her, then turned and pushed himself into his room. Mr. Thomas slammed
the door so hard that the picture of Martin Luther King, Jr. fell off the wall.
The glass shattered, but the frame was only scratched, not broken. Latesha
picked it up and held it, remembering how her mother had begun that drawing
when she was sick in the hospital. She died before she could finish it, but
Latesha had kept the drawing and completed it after the funeral. There it had
hung for years, a symbol of peace and hope. Latesha cleaned up the broken
glass, then took the picture into the living room and hung it above the couch
in the most visible position she could find.
She
went to her room and read, but found it impossible to concentrate. By turns she
thought of her father and her mother. But she also thought about Peter Elsworth,
the man who had so unexpectedly come into her life. Later in the evening she
came out of her room and saw her father in the living room, staring silently at
the wall. Only the light from her room illuminated them, but they could see
each other. Mr. Thomas appeared older than usual, and he seemed very tired, as
if his spirit was waning. Even though he was in a wheelchair, Latesha still saw
him as a big, strong, powerful man who had always been there for her. Always.
She had never been afraid when she was with her father. He had protected and
loved her with every fiber of his being. But now he looked weak and fragile,
and the lines around his eyes were deep and full of suffering. Latesha’s heart
went out to him and she was determined to love and protect him just as he had
always loved and protected her.
“I
started reading your mother’s story before she died,” Mr. Thomas said with a
pained look, “but then I came to a part I didn’t like. It made me so mad that I
threw Flavia’s book into the garbage. She picked it up, cleaned it off, and put
it in our closet. It sat there collecting dust for over twenty years. A few
weeks after she died, I found the book when I was cleaning out the closet. As I
rubbed my fingers over it, I thought about all the time and effort it must have
taken her. This book was a gift of love, but I had thrown it away after reading
the first chapter.” His voice cracked and his lips quivered. “Of all the things
in my life, including this damned wheelchair, that is what I regret the most.”
“She
knew you loved her, Dad,” Latesha said with tears forming in her eyes. “She
knew it right until the very end.”
“I
did love her,” he muttered, his voice faltering and tears rolling down his
cheeks. “I loved your mother with all my heart. I still love her, Latesha.”
“I
know you do.”
Mr.
Thomas suddenly covered his face with his hands and wept. His whole body shook
and he cried like a child. Latesha started crying as hard as he did, then bent
over and hugged him, holding her cheek to his forehead and sharing the warm,
damp heat of mutual sorrow.