The End of the Line (13 page)

“I
miss her so much,” Mr. Thomas stammered, shaking in his daughter’s arms.

“I
miss her, too, Daddy,” Latesha whispered, her voice weak and broken. She cried
so hard she could hardly speak. “I miss her every day.”

Mr.
Thomas gathered himself. “You’re my baby,” he said, staring at her with sad,
swollen eyes. “You’re all I have in the whole world.”

“And
I’ll always be here for you.”

“You’ve
read the book your mother wrote,” Mr. Thomas said weakly. “You know what happened.
No white devil is stealing my little girl away from me. Not my princess!”

“Dad,
please don’t talk like that.”

“He’ll
have to do it over my dead body,” Mr. Thomas pledged, his chest heaving. “I
swear it! Over my dead body!”

“Please,
Dad, I don’t like that kind of talk.”

“Forget
him, Latesha. He’s off limits.”

Chapter Six

After
he parked in his driveway, Peter looked at the picture of Latesha for a long
time. Her spirit seemed to jump off the paper. There was something so pleasant
about her, and it was not just her pretty face, though she had a lovely smile,
an enchanting smile, the smile of a princess. Peter could hear her voice, and
as he looked at her, their conversations played in his mind, particularly the
parts where they talked about
their
relationship. She thought he was handsome. She liked him. Yes, there were
obstacles, but the princess of Beechwood liked him.

Feeling
energized like never before, Peter walked into his house, found a frame for the
photo, and stood it on a bookshelf next to the couch. He stepped back and
admired it, then turned to his aquarium. “I like her, Dr. Phil,” he said,
pleased to be stating it out loud. “I really like her.” He took a deep breath.
“I mean, I really like her!”

The
phone rang. “Hello,” he said, hoping it was Latesha.

“Hello,”
came Latesha’s now-familiar voice.

“I
was just thinking about you,” Peter said, delighted she had called. He sat down
and could not stop smiling. “I was thinking about you all the way home.”

Her
voice wavered. “I’ve been thinking about you, too.”

“Is
something wrong?”

“I
can’t see you again,” Latesha said in a rushed whisper. “Ever.”

“Ever?”

“Wait
a minute,” she said mysteriously, as if she was a spy speaking to a secret
contact. “I’ll be right back.” A few seconds later she returned. “Are you still
there?”

“Yes.”

“I
had to let Oprah out. She’s been really restless lately. I think there’s a
tomcat around here that she’s hoping to see.” Latesha paused. “It’s true about
you and me. We can’t see each other again. I don’t want to get into it, but it
would cause me a lot of grief.” She waited a moment. “It’s nothing against you
personally. Please understand that.”

Peter
did not respond.

“Hello?”
Latesha said after several seconds.

“It
is personal,” Peter suddenly and emotionally objected. “If you don’t like me,
that’s fine. I’ll bow out and you’ll never hear from me again. But I don’t
think that’s the case.”

“My
father really doesn’t like you,” Latesha said with brutal frankness.

“Your
father has never met me.”

“Still,
he doesn’t like you. He’s forbidden me from seeing you.”

“Forbidden
you?”

“More
or less,” Latesha said. “He certainly doesn’t want us dating, that’s for sure.”

“Oh,
but he wouldn’t lock you up if we passed each other on the street?” Peter
replied sarcastically.

Latesha
did not reply. Peter did not speak and for close to a minute the line was
completely silent.

“Well,
that’s how it is,” Latesha finally said.

“If
you say so,” Peter quipped and then fell silent again.

“I
like you,” Latesha confessed in a muted voice. “But it doesn’t much matter,
does it?”

“It
does to me.”

“Oprah
wants in again,” she said with frustration. “Can you hold?”

“Yes.”

Peter
heard Latesha lay down the phone, walk across the room and open the door. She
gave her cat a short lecture, then picked up the phone.

“Dad
wants a dog,” Latesha said in an offhand way. “He never liked cats much, at
least that’s what he says, but I see him petting Oprah all the time when he’s
watching television.” She took a deep breath. “I can’t see you anymore. If you
no longer want to do that electrical work at the center, I’ll make an excuse,
but if you could do it, I’ll make sure someone is there with the key.”

“I
really wanted to see
you
again,”
Peter said.

“Was
that the only reason you offered to help?”

“No,
but it was a major reason.”

“We
can never see each other again. That’s final. Never again, Peter.”

“All
right,” he said. “It’s your decision. I’ll be at the community center at six
o’clock on Tuesday. Please have someone there to meet me.”

“Thank
you, Peter.”

“You’re
welcome, Latesha.” Something suddenly occurred to him. “I told Mary I was going
to church tomorrow to hear her song. What should I do? Cancel?”

“No,
you can’t do that,” Latesha answered thoughtfully. “That would hurt her
feelings. You go to church and I’ll stay home.”

“But
you go every week, don’t you?”

“Yes,
I do.”

“This
makes me feel like I’m chasing you away.”

“You’re
not chasing me away,” she said. “I’m choosing to stay home of my own volition.”

“All
right,” he responded, his voice flat and uninspired.

Again
an awkward silence followed.

Peter
breathed out loudly in exasperation. “I want you to know one thing, Latesha.”

Five
seconds elapsed before she spoke. “What?”

“If
I don’t see you again, I want you to know that I will never forget you.” His
voice cracked. “I will never forget you, Latesha Thomas.”

“Are
you upset?” she quickly asked before he could hang up.

Peter
said nothing.

“Are
you?” she insisted.

“Yes,”
he said emotionally.

“Why
are you upset?”

“As
if you didn’t know.”

“Tell
me.”

“Why?”

“Tell
me!” she insisted.

“All
right,” Peter said with a sigh. “I’m twenty-six years old, Latesha. I’ve dated
half a dozen women in my life and never met one who felt even close to right.
Not even close. But when I do meet a woman who feels right, who maybe is
perfect, she doesn’t want anything to do with me. Isn’t that ironic?” A tired
laugh escaped his lips. “Being with you is the most enjoyable thing I’ve ever
done.” He paused. “I mean that. When we were together I was never more
consciously aware of enjoying myself. But because of the color of my skin you
push me away. The color of my skin, for God’s sake. What could possibly be less
significant than the color of a person’s skin?”

“That’s
the way it has to be,” she told him in a firm tone. “I’m sorry. I’ll have
someone meet you on Tuesday evening at the center.” She took a deep breath. “I
need to ask something of you, Peter.”

“Oh?”
he said unenthusiastically.

“I
know you won’t call or visit,” she said, “and I thank you for that. You can
bring my father’s sign with you on Tuesday evening and leave it in the mailbox
or leave it at the community center. All right?”

“I’ll
make sure you get it back,” he said flatly.

“Thank
you.” Latesha paused for a moment. “I also need to ask you that we do not speak
to each other at the talent show on Monday. I’m going to be there, and you’re
going to be there, but I want us to pretend we do not know each other. Let’s
just wipe the slate clean. We’ll pretend we never met.”

“Was
our time together really that horrible?” Peter asked irritably.

“That’s
the way it has to be.”

“Whatever,”
he muttered. “I won’t bother you anymore. Goodbye.”

Peter
hung up and sat with his head in his hands. He felt empty inside, like someone
whose best friend has just told him he is moving thousands of miles away. With
Latesha, the world had exploded with color. Everything was alive and fresh and
vibrant. But now it instantly turned gray. Who was this woman? A short time ago
she was a complete stranger and he was relatively happy, but now he felt a
great weight of sadness, a sense of emptiness and loneliness. In a way he
wished he had never met her, but in another way he knew full well that he had
never been happier than when they were together. Twenty minutes later the phone
rang.

“Hello,”
Peter said listlessly, still reeling from his conversation with Latesha.

“Hello,
dear,” his mother said. “Can you play tennis tomorrow morning?”

“No,”
he said. “But I could make it around noon.”

“Okay.
I’ll meet you at the club.” There was a brief hesitation. “Peter, I can always
tell when something is bothering you. What’s wrong?”

“What’s
wrong?” Peter said. “How about everything?”

“What
happened?”

He
sighed. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m just a little down tonight.”

“Be
specific.”

“I
just am, that’s all. None of us is perfect.”

“All
right,” Mrs. Elsworth said, relenting. “Maybe a couple sets of tennis are just
what the doctor ordered. We’ll be playing Tess and Martin. She beats me every
time and lately she’s been getting obnoxious.”

“I’ll
be there.”

“That’s
my boy.”

“Night,
Mom.”

“Good
night, dear. And do try to brighten up. It sounds like you just lost the love
of your life.”

After
his mother hung up, Peter collected the wiring equipment. He watched television
until midnight, turned off Dr. Phil’s light and crawled into bed. As he stared
at the ceiling, he couldn’t get Latesha’s face or words out of his mind.

The
next morning he got up early, showered and shaved, ate a hearty breakfast, then
put on brown slacks and a white shirt. He wore his finest shoes, put on a tie,
and carried a light beige jacket. Though he was not going to see Latesha, he
knew he would be parking next to her house. Just the thought of being that
close to her made his heart pound wildly. He composed himself, brushed his hair
one more time, and then drove to Beechwood. The church parking lot was already
full and he had to pull his truck into an overflow lot on the other side of the
street, not twenty paces from Latesha’s house. Peter surreptitiously looked at
her yard, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, even if she was only dumping the
compost or taking out the trash. But she was nowhere to be seen.

He
walked into the church and saw that it was almost full. Every person in the
church was black. To his shock, Latesha was sitting in a back pew with people
on either side of her. She was wearing a lovely blue dress with a lacy white
frill at the top. Latesha saw him, instantly growing stiff when their eyes met.
It was obvious by the way she looked at him that she expected his arrival, but
she made no move to wave or acknowledge his presence. Others also turned and,
when they saw a white man, were greatly surprised. Some of them literally
turned all the way around in their seats. Latesha noticed their reaction,
looked to see what his would be, and watched as he casually took a spot in the
other back pew.

When
the service began, the pastor openly acknowledged Peter and said that he had
come at Mary’s invitation. He also explained that Peter had volunteered to do
some work at the community center for free, and that this had been a great
benefit to the entire community. “Please make our new friend feel welcome.”

Numerous
people looked at him and smiled. He smiled back and then suddenly noticed
Latesha, her head crooked forward. When their eyes met, she hesitated for a
brief moment and then leaned back to look at the hymnbook.

After
the service began in earnest, Peter found himself carried away by the spirit of
joy and warmth. He was especially captivated when Mary and the choir started
singing State of Independence. Mary had a full, rich, glorious voice that
seemed to fly on wings. Never had he heard such passion and conviction in a
voice, and he found himself, like the others, closing his eyes and drinking it
in with greedy ears. When he opened his eyes, the choir was singing with
tremendous passion and commitment, the congregation was swaying, holding their
hands in the air, and calling out their appreciation. Peter could not help
feeling as if his spirit was being carried away on a river.

When
the song ended, several people shouted and held both hands high above their
heads. The song was followed by a prayer for the upcoming play. Twenty minutes
later the service ended and everyone rose to leave. Latesha glanced at Peter,
made no real expression, and then quickly left the church with her head down. Peter
waited until the people cleared and Mary came up to him.

“How
did you like it?” she asked hopefully.

He
shook his head in awe. “Wow!” he said. “When Latesha told me you could sing, I
had no idea how great you were.”

“Thank
you,” she said, beaming. She looked around, saw that everyone else had either
left or was temporarily engaged in a conversation, then took Peter by the arm
and led him outside to a deserted spot behind the church, under a beech tree.
“I have to tell you something,” she said.

“What
is it, Mary?”

Mary
looked around to make sure no one was near. “Latesha likes you,” she whispered.

Those
words sounded impossibly sweet to Peter. “I don’t think she likes me as much as
you think.”

“Yes,
she does,” Mary told him. “But her father is a racist.” She solemnly nodded her
head. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. Mr. Thomas is a nice man and everyone here likes
him, but he’s very set in his ways. He has put a lot of pressure on Latesha. I
mean a lot of pressure. But she really does like you. A lot.”

“Did
she say that to you?” Peter asked, his heart in his throat.

“She
didn’t have to. When you’re around she comes alive in a way I’ve never seen
before.” Mary smiled meaningfully. “I have to go. See you Tuesday?”

“Yes,”
Peter mumbled, still distracted by the tumult of his emotions. He then snapped
out of his reverie. “Thank you, Mary. And thank you for inviting me to church
today. I’ll never forget the way you sang that song. It was magic.”

“Thank
you,” she said warmly.

Mary
smiled and walked toward the parking lot. Peter waited for a car to pass before
he could cross the Beechwood Road. When he opened his truck door, he suddenly
saw Latesha walk down her back steps. They were separated by no more than
thirty paces. She was carrying wash toward the clothesline and was wearing a
coarse white dress, a red cloth tied around her head with the bow in front. Her
feet were bare and she walked through the grass like some kind of beautiful
peasant girl.