The End of the Line (25 page)

“Got
to love that.”

“Oh,”
Mary added, “your father wants to talk with you, Latesha.”

Latesha
walked up to her father and saw a man who was absolutely mortified. “Tell him
to leave,” he said, flicking his head in Peter’s direction. “I don’t feel right
with him here.”

Latesha
smirked and walked into the office. “Could I speak to you for a moment, Peter?”

Mary,
realizing she wanted to converse with him in private, casually left the office
and walked up to Mr. Thomas. Latesha looked at Peter with sad, heavy eyes.

“My
father wants you to leave,” she said.

Peter
did not seem upset. “All right,” he agreed, walking out of the office. When he
reached Mr. Thomas and Mary, he smiled as if everything was fine. “Once the
doors are in,” he said to Mary, though his words were addressed to Mr. Thomas,
“code requires that there be steps outside. I’ve got forms and concrete, it’s
just a matter of knowing where the doors will be. I’m going to come back later
tonight with the materials, so if Mr. Thomas could give me some indication of
where to put the steps, I’ll start as soon as possible.”

Mr.
Thomas wheeled away from him as if he did not even exist. Mary pursed her lips
and rolled her eyes, then Peter forced a smile and turned to walk out of the
center. The last thing he saw was Latesha looking at him with a sad expression.
Not five minutes after he was gone, the sound of a circular saw resounded in
the center. Mr. Thomas, with a look of total concentration, was running it with
a pencil over his right ear. Quickly and efficiently he and Deon cut openings
in the wall, put together the door frames, hung hinges and put up the doors.
When the actors finished practicing, they stopped and watched as Mr. Thomas and
Deon made the finishing touches. Mr. Thomas noticed them, but rather than being
self-conscious, he genuinely seemed to like the attention.

“Nice
job,” Tyrone said to Mr. Thomas. “It takes a real carpenter to hang doors like
that.”

“Deon’s
a good helper,” Mr. Thomas said.

Deon
smiled proudly and stood back to admire a job well done.

“He
did well, didn’t he, Latesha?” Mr. Thomas said to his daughter.

“Yes,”
she said, smiling at her father and the young man.

Mr.
Thomas wheeled toward the exit. “I’m going home, Latesha.”

“Wait,
Mr. Thomas!” Mary called. “This is the first time you’ve been here since we got
our jukebox, so you have to pick a song.” She gestured with her head. “It’s a
new tradition I’m starting.”

Mr.
Thomas wheeled over to the jukebox and scanned the list. After several minutes,
he picked
California Dreamin’
by the
Mamas and the Papas. Everyone listened and Mr. Thomas was exceptionally pleased
that everyone liked his choice.

“That
was awesome,” Deon said to Mr. Thomas after the song ended.

“It
was,” Mary agreed, “and because Mr. Thomas did such a wonderful job with the
doors, he gets to pick another song.”

Mr.
Thomas enjoyed feeling appreciated. He leaned over the jukebox and picked a
second song,
Mr. Bojangles
, by Sammy
Davis, Jr. Everyone listened and all were drawn into the story of a
down-and-out man who had a special talent.

“I
always liked that song,” Mr. Thomas confessed with an uncharacteristic smile,
“but now it’s time to go home.”

Deon,
without even being asked, walked beside Mr. Thomas as he left the center and
pushed him up the road whenever the going was difficult.

After
he left, Mary walked up to Latesha. “It was really nice to see your father out
again.”

“Yes,
it was,” she said thoughtfully, nodding. “I didn’t believe it was possible.”

“He’s
a wonderful carpenter, Latesha. That was a big job and he did it perfectly. No
wasted materials, no wasted time. He’s very good.”

Latesha
thanked her, left the center and walked home. Her father, acting as if nothing
happened, was sitting in front of the television. She could tell he was
daydreaming about the job he had just done and there was a look of satisfaction
on his face. Latesha was pleased and angry with him at the same time, but she
was also tired and did not want anymore confrontations.

She
started cleaning up the kitchen when she saw Peter arrive back at the center
with a small cement mixer and boards in the back of his truck. He parked where
she could see him, and Mary and Deon greeted him as they were leaving the
building. Latesha watched as they talked for a few minutes and then Mary left,
leaving Deon behind.

“I’m
going to dump the compost,” she said to her father.

“Yeah,
sure,” he answered distractedly, still smiling at the thought of the work he
had done.

Latesha
hurried to the backyard and from an elevated vantage point she could see Peter
and Deon looking at the doors. Peter was smiling and nodding, and it was
obvious he was very pleased with the work her father had done. Latesha felt
extremely pleased and watched as Peter and Deon positioned the forms and
started mixing concrete in the mixer.

When
she went inside, her father was yawning and told her he was going to bed. She
said good night and, as soon as he closed his door, she hurried back outside
and watched Peter and Deon working and laughing. She wanted to talk with him.

Just
before they finished, Peter called someone on his cell phone. They put the
finishing touches on the steps, carried the equipment back to the truck, then
washed their hands with the water hose. Right on schedule a delivery man showed
up with a large pizza. Peter paid him and then he and Deon sat at a picnic
table under the light and started to eat.

Latesha
desperately wanted to walk down to the center and thank Peter for all he had
done, but she decided against it and walked into the house. She got ready for
bed and read for a time, but then she rushed back into the kitchen and it
seemed crucially important to her that she see Peter’s truck. It was as if the
future of the world depended on it. Though Deon had left, Peter was still
there, but he was obviously preparing to leave. Latesha hurriedly put on a pair
of slacks and a coat, then ran down to the center. He looked surprised to see
her.

“Can
you come to my place for a cup of tea?” she asked.

Peter
raised an eyebrow. “Your father is all right with that?”

“I’m
all right with that,” she said, “and I’m the one inviting you. But it’s your
choice.”

“I’d
love a cup of tea,” Peter said. “Hop in and I’ll drive you.”

A
minute later Peter pulled his old truck into the driveway, the cement mixer
towering over the bed of the truck. He moved tentatively, but followed Latesha
into the house. Mr. Thomas was just coming out of the bathroom.

“I
invited Peter for tea,” Latesha said quietly.

Mr.
Thomas said nothing, but his expression betrayed fierce resentment. With lips
firmly set in anger, he wheeled toward the young man and stopped a short
distance away.

“I’m
not playing in your stupid game,” he proclaimed.

“Why?”
Peter returned without hesitation.

Latesha
cringed, waiting for the volcano to explode.

“Why?”
he asked sarcastically. “Do you think I want to look like a fool?”

“You
won’t look like a fool.”

“I’m
in a wheelchair,” he snapped, his eyes red with spite. “How’s a man going to
play football when he’s in a wheelchair?”

“You
can move, you can catch, you can pursue. That’s all it takes.”

“I
think you’re a fool if you believe that.”

“You’re
out of shape,” Peter said matter-of-factly, “but you have time to get yourself
ready.”

Latesha
winced when Peter made that remark. She braced herself.

“How
dare you talk to me like that!” the elder man exclaimed, his whole upper body
tensing.

“You
had trouble getting up that ramp,” Peter said, “and today you were winded
several times. You have to work your heart and your muscles more than you’ve
been doing. It would be good for you, good for Latesha, and bad for the man of
tin.”

“I
want him to leave,” Mr. Thomas insisted to his daughter with a meaningful look.
“Right now.”

“All
right,” Peter said with a nod, quickly turning and walking out of the house.

Latesha
glared at her father and then followed Peter outside. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“Why?
That was a success.”

“A
success?” she asked in a hushed tone.

“He
didn’t threaten to shoot me. That’s a start.”

Latesha
quietly laughed at him, her face full of life.

He
smiled back at her. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes,
of course.”

“Are
you free tomorrow evening?”

“Why?”

“Tomorrow
there’s a party at The Old English Club and they’re going to have all these
amazing gourmet pastries. Would you be interested in going with me? We wouldn’t
have to stay long. I told my mother I would drop by.”

“Your
mother is going to be there?”

“Yes,
and I’d like to introduce you.” He smiled at her. “I told the matchmaker a long
time ago that the woman I saw on the bench at the Student Union Building was
the kind of woman a man likes to take home to meet his family.”

“I
don’t think so,” she said.

“We
wouldn’t have to call it a date,” he said hopefully. “We’ll consider it payment
for all the work I’ve done at the center.” A whimsical smile crossed his lips.
“Or maybe we’ll call it compensation for all those dreadful dates you arranged
for me.”

Latesha
glanced at him and felt a flush of awkwardness. “When would we be back? I have
some reading to do, but I already told them I can’t make the practice at five.
It’s only forty-five minutes tonight anyway.”

“We
can leave whenever you want.”

She
pondered for several seconds. “Call me tomorrow. I’ll give you my answer then,
all right?”

“All
right,” he agreed, obviously pleased she had not openly rejected the idea.
“Thank you for the hospitality, Latesha.”

“Hospitality?”
she replied with a pained look. “You’ve put up with an awful lot, Peter. And
after all you’ve done, you certainly don’t deserve to be treated that way.”

They
looked at each other with undisguised affection, and it seemed that they might
move their faces toward each other for a kiss. Suddenly Mr. Thomas cleared his
throat. He was sitting in his wheelchair looking out the window and staring at
them with crushing, bitter anger.

“Leave,
for God’s sake!” he cried irritably at Peter. “Now!”

Peter
nodded and left. He had not been gone but a few seconds when Latesha turned and
grimaced at her father, her eyes hot with anger. She walked inside with her
head down.

“Save
it,” Mr. Thomas said. “I laid down the law and that’s the way it is. He’s
forbidden to you, Latesha. Forbidden! Understand that.” There was no room for
compromise in his tone. “You’re lucky I’m not making a bigger issue of the
play, no matter how minor his role is.”

“His
part isn’t minor,” Latesha said.

“What
do you mean?” he asked suspiciously.

“He’s
going to be playing Romeo,” Latesha blurted out.

Mr.
Thomas froze like a statue. “Romeo?” His face looked like a death mask. “You’re
joking.”

She
shook her head. “Romeo, Dad.”

“The
lead?” he said incredulously, leaning back in his chair.

“Yes.”

“A
white man is going to play the lead role in an all-black play?”

“Yes.
He’s very qualified.”

“Oh,
I’m sure he is,” Mr. Thomas said sarcastically. “He’s a good-looking, smart,
well-rounded guy, isn’t he, Latesha?”

She
ignored the comment.

“Tell
him you’re not interested,” her father ordered. “With you directing the play
now, that’s just an excuse for him to get around you. I forbid it.”

“I’m
not directing the play, Dad.”

He
closed his eyes in relief. “Thank God,” he said with a sigh, looking at her
with great warmth. “You had me worried. But you’ve finally come to your senses
and spared your father a world of grief. A world of grief!” He took a deep
breath and smiled in a self-satisfied way. “This means you won’t be dealing
with him at all anymore.”

Latesha
walked to the sink and started washing dishes.

“Right?”
her father persisted.

Latesha
turned around and faced him. “I’m not going to direct, Dad, because they needed
someone else in the play. Mary is going to direct.”

Mr.
Thomas shook his head in frustration. “You’re not going to be in any play with
him. I don’t care how small your role is, I don’t want you up there sharing the
stage with a white man. I’d be the laughing stock of Beechwood. It ain’t gonna
happen, missy.”

“I
gave my word.”

“They
can find a replacement.”

“It’s
too late.”

“What
part do you have that any girl in Beechwood couldn’t play?” her father
demanded.

She
took a deep breath and looked him right in the eye. “Juliet.”

The
world stopped spinning for a moment. “Bloody hell you are!” Mr. Thomas shouted,
nearly coming out of his chair. “No, no, no!”

“I
gave my word,” she said, “and I’m going to do it.”

Mr.
Thomas gritted his teeth. “No, Latesha! I’ve been lenient with you all my life,
but this time I’m laying down the law. You’re not going to be this man’s lover.”

“It’s
a play, Dad.”

“Give
me the book,” he demanded, sweat on his brow.

Latesha,
not wanting to fight any longer, took
Romeo
and Juliet
from her carrying bag and handed it to her father. Immediately
he began flipping through the pages, concentrating on the scenes between the
star-crossed lovers. After a few minutes he suddenly stopped and slowly raised
his face to her like a condemned man being led out of his cell.