The End of the Line (26 page)

“Here,
at the end,” he said weakly, pointing to a page with his trembling finger.
“Romeo kisses Juliet.”

“That’s
right. He does.”

“He
kisses you!” he exclaimed.

“Yes,
Dad.”

Mr.
Thomas stared at her with unblinking eyes. “Oh, no! Not my daughter!”

“He’s
not kissing me, Dad. It’s a play. Romeo kisses Juliet and they both die.”

“I’ll
die if you kiss him, Latesha. I swear I’ll die of shame.”

“I
gave my word, Dad.”

“I
don’t care what you did.”

“Well,
I do. You always taught me that if you give your word, you never break it. Is
that what you taught me or not?”

He
threw the book on the floor, then wheeled into his bedroom and slammed the
door. A few minutes later he emerged and Latesha was horrified when she saw him
carrying her grandfather’s old hunting rifle. The look on his face was so
intense that it shocked her.

“I
will not sit by and let a white man make a fool of me in my own community!” Mr.
Thomas swore.

Latesha
started to cry. “Stop it, Dad!” she screamed frantically, her whole face
contorted.

“I
will not sit by!” he hollered. “I will not!”

Latesha
began weeping like a child, a dreadful look on her face. “Are you going to
shoot me, Daddy?” she said in a panic.

“I
would never do that!” he cried with tears rolling down his cheeks. “But I will
not be around to see my daughter make a fool of me in front of all my people!”

“Stop
it!” Latesha screamed, her whole body convulsing. “Stop it, Daddy!”

Mr.
Thomas was breathing shallowly and rapidly, and he looked like a wild animal.
Latesha quickly ran up to him and literally grabbed the gun from his hands.
With tears streaming down her face and a look of absolute terror in her
features, she hurriedly put the gun in her room.

“Don’t
you ever threaten to do that again!” she exclaimed, her whole body trembling.
“Ever!”

Mr.
Thomas could not speak, so strong was the outrage in his heart.

“How
would you like it if I threatened to kill myself?” Latesha said. “Huh? How
would you like it, Dad, if I did that?”

“I
wouldn’t like it,” he returned, a look of fear in his eyes.

Latesha
was brimming with anger. “No, you wouldn’t like it.” She sniffled. “I don’t
know what demon crawled into your heart, but don’t you ever threaten to hurt
yourself again. I mean it. Unless you give me your solemn word, I’ll leave
right now and never come back.”

Mr.
Thomas stared blankly at her.

“I
mean it!” she said with such resolve that he could not question it. “Promise
you will never do that again or I’m leaving right now and never coming back.”

“All
right,” he stammered.

She
shook her finger at him. “Don’t ever do that again!” she said, slapping her
legs with a shriek . “Ever!”

Her
father grimaced, pressed his lips together, and wheeled into his room. He
turned back to her with tired eyes, then closed his door. A heavy silence fell
over the house and it was so overpowering that Latesha turned on the television
just to break it. She flipped to a music channel and thoughtlessly watched it.
Then she curled up, pulled a pillow to her face and started to cry.

An
hour later, her father, breathing shallowly, came out of his room and saw her
eyes were red and puffy. The video
Love
is a Battlefield
by Pat Benatar was playing, the lyrics resounding in the
room. When Latesha saw him, she picked up the remote and turned up the volume
in hopes of drowning out any confrontation.

“If
you do this,” Mr. Thomas said, speaking over the music with great emotion choking
his voice, “you will not be welcome in my home anymore.”

She
looked at him, her face as fragile as glass.

“I’m
serious,” he told her. “You will have to leave. I will not have a daughter
anymore.”

Latesha
shook her head and turned off the television. “You will always have a daughter,
Dad,” she said, crying uncontrollably and shaking.

Tears
formed in his eyes. “No, Latesha!” he responded, his voice choked with sobs.
“Don’t do this to me. Don’t!” He lowered his head and held it with both hands,
then lifted his face. “I don’t have much left, Latesha. Your mother is gone, my
legs are gone, even my security is gone. I’m a broken man. I don’t have any
money, we’re losing our insurance and maybe even our home, there’s not enough
to make ends meet. All I have is you. You, Tesha! My little girl. Don’t do this
to me. Please.”

“I’m
an English major, Dad,” she said, her voice full of emotion, “and Shakespeare
is the greatest writer who ever lived. This play is one of the greatest works
he ever produced. It’s a classic that has stood the test of time for centuries.
It will never die. I will be honored to speak those words and feel those
emotions on stage. I’m going to do it.”

“You
will not let him kiss you!” her father declared in a tormented voice, hitting
himself on the leg.

Latesha
winced, but she said firmly, “I will act out the play as it is written.”

Mr.
Thomas rubbed his forehead and audibly grunted in frustration. “You don’t love
me, do you? After all I’ve done for you, you don’t even love me enough to give
me this one thing. What have I ever asked you for in all these years, Latesha?”

“I
do love you, Dad. I love you more than anything else in the world.” She burst
into sobs, then continued speaking, her lips trembling. “You know I love you.
But if you are willing to disown me over something so trivial, you really don’t
love me at all.”

“Trivial!”
he bellowed. “You’re talking about kissing a white man in front of everyone we
know. That’s about as far from trivial as it gets.”

“It’s
only a play.”

A
long silence followed and both of them stared off into space.

“You’re
going to disgrace me, Latesha.”

Latesha
shook her head with conviction. “I’m not disgracing anyone,” she snapped. “You
are.”

“I
am?” he shot back challengingly. “I’m not making love to one of them.”

“Dembi
Thomas was your grandfather’s great-grandfather,” Latesha returned with a look
of unbreakable conviction. “He was the first one in our family to come to
Canada and to Beechwood. To get here, he risked his life. He left his family
and everything he knew. And he did it all for freedom, Dad. Freedom! The
freedom to live his own life and make his own choices without someone else
telling him what to do.”

Mr.
Thomas looked almost feverish as he stared at her. “It seems like yesterday
that you were my little girl. I can remember when you were no bigger than a
fairy, but you were more important to me than life itself.” Tears rolled down
his cheek. “But tonight, Latesha, for the first time in my life, I am ashamed
of you.”

Latesha
cringed under the stinging words. “You’re a racist, Dad.”

Mr.
Thomas had a terribly anguished expression as he turned his chair and pushed
himself into his room. Latesha lied on the couch for hours, staring at the
ceiling just as her father was doing, and cried herself to sleep.

Chapter Eleven

The
next afternoon Peter was getting into his truck when his mother pulled into the
driveway. She walked up to him with a tentative look. There was an incredible
amount of tension in her expression, as if she was in pain, but she took a deep
breath. It was obvious she wanted things to return to normal.

“Ready?”
she asked, trying to sound composed.

“For
what?”

“Our
rematch with Tess and Martin,” she said. “Surely you didn’t forget.”

“I
didn’t realize anything was set.”

“That’s
all right. We still have time.”

“I
can’t make it today,” he told her.

“Why
not?” she asked suspiciously.

“I’m
just too busy right now.”

“When
Tess and Martin asked for a rematch, you said you’d play.”

“First
of all,” he said, “Tess and Martin didn’t ask for a rematch, you did. Secondly,
nothing was confirmed and you didn’t ask if I was available.”

“Not
available for your own mother?”

“I
have a commitment.”

“All
right,” she said, not wanting to provoke an argument. “This means I’ll have to
get Harold and we’ll get slaughtered again. He’s like playing with a fire
hydrant. The man cannot move and has no coordination at all.”

“He
tries hard.”

“He’s
hopeless,” Mrs. Elsworth said. “I would have a better chance of beating Tess
and Martin by myself.” She looked at her son. “Are you sure you can’t come?”

“I’m
sure.”

“You
are coming to Jack’s party, aren’t you?”

“I’ll
be there.”

“So,
where are you going?”

“I’m
in a play and there’s a practice.”

“Which
one?”

“
Romeo and Juliet
.”

“That
should be a breeze. You played Romeo countless times.”

“I
haven’t forgotten a line.”

“They’re
lucky to have you,” Mrs. Elsworth said.

“I
think you’re a touch biased.”

“It’s
the truth.” She started walking back toward her car and then turned to him as
she opened the door. “Who’s putting on the production?”

“It’s
a community thing.”

“Really?
Where?”

“Beechwood,”
he said.

Mrs.
Elsworth’s face froze. “Beechwood?” she said, then knowingly nodded her head.
“That girl in the picture, she’s from Beechwood, isn’t she?”

“Yes,
she is.”

“That’s
where you’re at all the time,” Mrs. Elsworth concluded with a peering look.

“They
received money to renovate their community center and they have to put on the
play as part of the deal. No one was available to play Romeo, so I
volunteered.”

Mrs.
Elsworth had an agonized look. “Back up, Peter, and tell me the rest of the
story.”

“I
was doing some electrical work in the center.”

She
eyed him intently. “Who hired you?”

“I
did it for free.”

She
walked up to him with pursed lips. “It’s that Latesha girl, isn’t it? She’s the
one who has destroyed your sense of reason.”

“No
one has destroyed my sense of reason, Mom, least of all her.”

“Don’t
play me for a fool, Peter. I’ve been around too long. If you’re working in
Beechwood for free, there’s something attracting you. And I know it’s that Latesha
girl.” She glared at him. “Am I right, or am I right?”

“Latesha
lives in Beechwood,” he said matter-of-factly.

Mrs.
Elsworth narrowed her eyes.

“She
lives with her father,” he said.

Mrs.
Elsworth pushed her tongue against the inside of her cheek, but she could
restrain herself no longer. “Tell me that my son is not seeing a black in a
romantic way.” She raised her voice. “Tell me, Peter.”

“Latesha
is black,” he said without wavering. “And I hope to see her today.”

“Oh,
my God!” Mrs. Elsworth exclaimed, pacing the driveway. “Oh, my God, oh, my God,
oh, my God!” She put her hands on his forearms. “What are you thinking? Or are
you thinking at all?”

“I
like her, Mom.”

“No,
no, no,” Mrs. Elsworth stammered. “Forget her. It won’t work. Don’t go there
anymore. It’s over.”

“I’m
going there right now and I am going to the play practice.”

Mrs.
Elsworth’s eyes did not waver from his. “Is she in this play?”

“Yes.”

“What
part?”

“Juliet.”

“Oh,
my God!” Mrs. Elsworth bellowed, abruptly turning away, then she looked back
with absolute disbelief. “Are you mad?” she cried. “I know about that play,
young man! I watched you perform it twice.” She swallowed hard. “Romeo kisses
Juliet. In front of everyone! Deny it if you dare.”

“I
have no desire to deny it,” he said shortly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Listen,
here, boy,” Mrs. Elsworth said with fire in her eyes. “Your family’s heritage
rests in you, and you alone. There is no way that the last Elsworth is going to
marry a domestic.”

“She
is not a domestic,” he said, his eyes growing progressively colder, “and there
are no plans for us to get married.”

“And
that’s the way it’s going to stay!” his mother swore, her face sharp and rigid.

“Oh,
is that so?”

“That’s
so,” she pledged. “I’ll cut you out of the will, Peter. I give you my word I
will. Stay away from that woman. Do you hear me?”

“I
hear you,” Peter said shortly. “It would be impossible not to hear you. But you
hear me now. You gave me life and brought me into this world, you took care of
me and raised me to be a man. A man who makes his own decisions. That’s just
the way it is. I like Latesha more than I’ve ever liked any other woman, and I
would consider it an honor if she allows me into her life. I hope you can learn
to accept that, but if you can’t, so be it. I will be my own man.”

Mrs.
Elsworth shrieked. “You will not bring a black into this family! No, no, no!
Not into the Elsworth bloodline.”

Peter
stared tight-lipped at her.

“You
will not!” Mrs. Elsworth insisted frantically.

“You
hatred is so strong,” Peter said, shaking his head. “That’s sad, Mom.”

“Damn
you!” she exclaimed. “My son, the last of the Elsworths, carrying that proud
name, and he’s making love to a domestic.”

“Oh,
shut up!” he exclaimed.

Mrs.
Elsworth’s jaw dropped. “How dare you talk to your mother like that?”

“Mom,
I love you, but sometimes you’re a loud-mouthed, arrogant bitch!”

Mrs.
Elsworth staggered backward. She gritted her teeth and her eyes opened wide.
Her whole body literally shook. “I can’t believe this is happening. What has
she done to my son?”

“How
dare you degrade Latesha Thomas,” he shot back. “She’s a gifted, sensitive,
beautiful woman. How dare you!”

“If
you don’t drop out of the play, I’ll cut you out of my will. I swear I will.”
She nodded meaningfully. “That will cost you millions. You’ll have the trust
fund your father left you, but you won’t have a cent from me.”

“I
feel sorry for you, Mom.”

Mrs.
Elsworth looked hard at him. “Sorry for me?”

“You’ve
been around people with money for so long that their attitude has rubbed off on
you. There’s this feeling that some people are better than others, as if only
the rich feel love and want what’s best for their families. But that’s not the
truth, Mom. All people have the same value, regardless of how much money they
have, or who they know, or what color their skin is.”

“You
heard me,” Mrs. Elsworth said, “so you can save the speeches. If you kiss that
woman in the play, you will be cut out of the will. Do you understand?”

“Yes,”
he said. “I understand perfectly.”

“I
won’t change my mind. Not about this. Not ever.”

Peter
got into his truck and pulled away. He went to the play practice, complimented
his fellow performers on the tightness of the scenes they performed, then
called Latesha at six.

“Hello,”
she said tentatively.

“Hello.
Can you come to The Old English Club with me tonight?”

“Yes,”
she said after a few seconds. “Can you pick me up?”

“Of
course. I’ll be right there.”

“I’ll
wait for you out in the driveway.”

Mr.
Thomas wheeled out of the bathroom and saw her talking on the phone. “Who was
that?” he asked.

“Peter.”

Mr.
Thomas scowled. “Is he coming here?”

“He’s
coming to pick me up.”

Instead
of screaming at her as she expected, Mr. Thomas went into the living room and
switched on the television. He watched it with unerring concentration, refusing
to look at or speak with Latesha. She ignored him as well, finishing up a few
chores while she waited. When they heard Peter’s truck pull into the driveway,
a brief moment of awkwardness followed and then Latesha picked up her purse and
moved toward the door.

“Tell
him to come in,” Mr. Thomas said.

“No,”
Latesha responded as she stood by the door. “You’ll just abuse him.”

“Come
in here!” Mr. Thomas called out the window to Peter as he stood by the truck.

Peter
immediately began walking toward the door and Latesha assumed a panicked
expression. Though she wanted to avoid a confrontation at all costs, she seemed
frozen for a moment, and in that short time Peter covered the distance and was
at the door. Latesha opened it with a frightful look. Peter quickly realized
she was distraught, but he stepped across the threshold with the same
fatalistic expression as someone in front of a firing squad.

To
both their surprise, Mr. Thomas pushed his chair past both of them and closed
the door shut. Without looking at them he wheeled past an old poster of Joe
Louis standing over a defeated Max Schmeling, then turned and faced them. He
slapped the arm of his wheelchair in frustration.

“I
told you I do not want you here,” he said to Peter in a slow and measured way.
“I do not want you in Beechwood, I do not want you on my property, and I
especially do not want you anywhere near my daughter. What part of that do you
not understand?”

“Stop
it, Dad!” Latesha cried irritably. “You’re embarrassing me.”

Mr.
Thomas clenched his fists and pressed his lips together for a moment. “Why do
you purposely go against my wishes, Tesha! You know I don’t want you seeing
this man.”

Latesha
refused to speak. She became withdrawn and paced around the room.

“Why?”
her father demanded.

“I
like him,” Latesha shot back, fire in her eyes. “I really like him!”

Peter
stood back like a spectator, not sure of what would happen, but he was greatly
pleased that Latesha had openly expressed her affection.

“No,”
her father said, shaking his head. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“I’m
not joking. I do like him. Other men I’ve known always tell me how great they
are, but Peter shows interest in me. He’s polite, he listens, he helps out. If
it wasn’t for the color of his skin, would you be so dead set against him?”

“I’m
not arguing anymore, Latesha. I don’t want you seeing that man. Period. Either
he leaves you, or you leave him, but one way or the other, you two go your
separate ways.” He looked on the verge of exploding. “And under no
circumstances are you going to kiss him in front of everyone I know. Mark my
words. That will not happen.”

Latesha
rubbed the kitchen counter hard with a cloth, as if trying to wash out blood
from a terrible crime. “I’m going to a party with Peter tonight,” she said with
a firmness that left no room for dispute. She paused momentarily. “He’s taking
me to The Old English Club.”

“Bloody
hell you are!”

“Bloody
hell I am!” she exclaimed, a flash of temper in her voice that Mr. Thomas had
never heard before. “He asked me and I’m going.”

“After
all I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?”

“And
after all I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?” Latesha responded,
looking him right in the eye. “I’m here for you day in and day out. I make the
meals, wash the clothes, run the errands. You’ve been my number one priority
since Mom died. I don’t tell you who to see, and I certainly don’t put demands
on you. Peter has been nothing but a gentleman from the day I met him. He’s
funny, pleasant, thoughtful. He’s the kind of man you were before you started
hating the world.” The moment those words passed her lips, she regretted them.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, shaking her head and sighing. “I didn’t mean it
like that.”

Mr.
Thomas grimaced and his eyes grew red with rage. “We’re going to have it out,”
he suddenly declared, abruptly turning around to face the white man. “This is
it! It ends here and now!”

Latesha
looked at Peter with absolute mortification.

“Why
are you not comfortable with me?” Peter asked Mr. Thomas. “I have no evil
intentions toward you or your daughter. I’ve never done anything bad to you.”

“It
goes way back,” Mr. Thomas said angrily. He pointed at the drawing Latesha and
her mother had made of Martin Luther King, Jr. “He preached peace, but your
kind put him in jail, attacked him with dogs, then shot him dead. But it goes
back even farther than that. It goes back so far you can never get to the end
of it.”

Peter
pondered for a moment. “That picture of Mr. King is from the I Have A Dream
speech. You can see the Lincoln Memorial in the background.”

“I
know what it is,” Mr. Thomas snapped.

“For
an American history project one year in university,” Peter said, incredibly
composed, “I memorized famous speeches from John F. Kennedy, Franklin Delano
Roosevelt, and even Ronald Reagan at the Brandenburg Gate. But my favorite
speech has always been the I Have A Dream speech.”

“You
memorized his speech?” Mr. Thomas asked skeptically, hoping to catch the white
man in a lie.