The End of the Line (27 page)

“Yes,
sir, I did.”

“Recite
something from it then,” Mr. Thomas challenged, keen to expose him to his
daughter.

Peter
began reciting and it was soon obvious that he did in fact know the entire
speech by heart. Mr. Thomas stared into his eyes but Peter did not waver.
Latesha stood as still as a mannequin.

“All
right, all right,” Mr. Thomas conceded with irritation. “It’s obvious you know
the speech. But that doesn’t mean a damned thing to me.”

“I
brought you something,” Peter said, suddenly heading out to his truck.

Mr.
Thomas looked at Latesha in a confused way, and she looked back at him with a
fragile expression, like that of a little girl who has been scared.

Peter
appeared a moment later holding a box. He laid it on the table and took out a
football. Without a word, he tossed it to Mr. Thomas and the older man caught it.

“What’s
this for?” Mr. Thomas asked.

“Maybe
we can throw it around sometime.” Peter then handed him a small hard case. “I
got this for you, too.”

Mr.
Thomas shook his head. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“You
can do whatever you want with these things,” Peter replied, “because they’re
yours now. I’m not taking them back.”

“You’re
trying to buy me,” Mr. Thomas said, refusing to look inside the small case.
“Bribes. You think you can buy my favor and then get at my daughter. But it
won’t work.”

Latesha
spontaneously opened the case and found an old football card picturing Walter
Payton in his rookie year. Mr. Thomas begrudgingly looked at it but would not
acknowledge it in any way, even when Latesha laid it on his leg.

“I
got it off ebay five years ago,” Peter said. “Walter Payton signed that card
himself. It’s certified.”

Mr.
Thomas turned over the card and saw the signature on the back. “Walter Payton
signed this?” he asked, awed by the thought.

“Yes,
sir,” he said, pointing at a piece of paper. “There’s the seal of authenticity
with the card.”

“I
can’t take this,” Mr. Thomas said.

“You
can do whatever you want with the card because, like I said, it’s yours now.”
Peter paused for a few seconds, as if formulating his thoughts. “Walter Payton
was a great football player, maybe the greatest who will ever play the game.
But more than that, he was a great man. They called him Sweetness because of
his warmth, but he also had the heart of a lion. No matter what, Walter Payton
never, never gave up.”

“I’m
not playing in your game!” Mr. Thomas suddenly declared, throwing the football
back to Peter. “You can try to manipulate me all you want, I’m not playing.”

Peter
saw two five-pound dumbbells collecting dust in the corner. He walked over,
picked them up and laid them on the floor beside Mr. Thomas.

“I’m
not playing!” Mr. Thomas insisted, leaving no room for negotiation.

“Well,
if you don’t, Deon and I will try to beat them on our own,” Peter pledged, “and
if Deon doesn’t play because you won’t, I’ll try to beat them myself.” Peter
handed the football back to him. “This is yours.”

Mr.
Thomas accepted it without thinking, squeezing it and enjoying the texture and
weight.

“Feels
good, doesn’t it?” Peter said.

“What?”

“It
feels good to hold a ball again, doesn’t it? I saw your trophies. You were a
running back like Walter Payton, but you had the nickname Hands because you
could catch anything.”

“That
was a long time ago,” he said flatly.

“Not
so long,” Peter said. “Football is like riding a bike. You never forget. You
just have to scrape off the rust.” He gestured at the dumbbells. “Football or
wheeling up a ramp—a little extra strength is never a bad thing. You have to
start lifting those weights.” He turned to Latesha. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,”
she said in a quivering voice.

Peter
looked at Mr. Thomas. “Your daughter and I are going to make a brief appearance
at a retirement party for a man named Jack Pearson. He’s the president of our
tennis club. I want to enjoy myself and I’d feel a lot better about going with
Latesha if I knew you had no objections.”

“I
do object,” he said, “and I will never change my mind. And you know why?
Because white men are users. They take and destroy. They even traveled to
foreign nations and stole men, women and children from their homes. That’s our
history, you know. White men went to Africa, kidnapped a young girl named
Rashida, took her to America and made her a slave in Mississippi. She was a
beautiful, healthy and happy girl before the white man came, but wherever he
goes, the white man leaves misery in his wake. Did you know that one of our
forefathers, and it wasn’t that long ago, risked everything for a chance at
freedom and what he got in return was the whip and humiliation. White men even
held him down and cut off his ear.” Mr. Thomas grew even angrier. “They cut off
his ear simply because he wanted to be free. What do you say to that, white
man?”

“I
say that was horrible,” Peter replied. “The people who did that were monsters.
They were evil. I didn’t do it, and I never would do it.” He shook his head. “I
wouldn’t let anyone do it either. I’d try everything I could to stop it.”

“And
I’ll do everything I can to stop the white man from harming my only child,” he
said with resolve.

“Freedom
is a powerful force, Mr. Thomas. Your forefather risked his life for it and a
huge crime was committed against him. But maybe his spirit has been passed down
all the way to Latesha. Maybe her desire for freedom is just as strong.”

“Freedom?”
Mr. Thomas said with a cold stare. “Not freedom,” he shook his head, then
looked at her, “foolishness.”

“Freedom
to make my own decisions,” Latesha said. “Just like Dembi.”

Mr.
Thomas bit his lip. “If you go out with him tonight, when you come back the
door may be locked, Latesha.”

“You’re
kicking me out?” she challenged.

Full
of emotion but too choked up to speak, Mr. Thomas wheeled to his room. Though
he didn’t realize it, he had the football and the sports card on his lap.
Latesha looked at Peter and made a strange face.

“It’s
up to you,” Peter said softly, blushing.

“I
want to go to the party,” she answered in an unwavering tone.

“Okay.”

They
left the house and got into his truck.

“There
will be a nice spread at the club tonight,” Peter said as they pulled away,
“and wherever there is free food, that’s where you’ll find me.”

“I
wish he wouldn’t have been mad,” Latesha said with a soft, sad look on her
face. “I could have enjoyed it so much more.”

Peter
looked at her with empathy. “I can take you home, Latesha. I don’t want to
cause trouble in your life.”

“But
I want to go,” she suddenly and emotionally stammered. “Don’t you see? This
isn’t about a father and his daughter, it isn’t about a man and a woman, it
isn’t even about black and white; it’s about freedom. Freedom, Peter. I am
descended from Dembi Thomas and he risked being humiliated, mutilated, even
murdered. Why? He did it for freedom. For a human being to be free, he or she
must be able to make his or her own decisions. Dembi made his decision and ran
from racism. He left his family and all that he knew, knowing he would never
see them again. But he didn’t do it for himself, he did it for those who would come
after him. He did it for me, Peter. The ball is in my court. Either I accept
the freedom Dembi earned for me, or I accept that I am not free.” She took a deep
breath. “I’m going to the party and I’m doing it for me, and for Dembi.”

Peter
stared straight ahead at the road, but he spoke very clearly, “I am very proud
to be with you.”

She
looked at him with a whimsical smile. “You’re really cute, you know.”

He
turned and glanced at her for a moment, a nice smile lighting up his handsome
face.

“I’ll
never forget the first time I saw you,” she continued. “I was sitting on the
bench, just getting ready to read
Romeo
and Juliet
, and you walked around the corner. I’ll never forget how pretty
your eyes were. They were the deepest blue, like a cobalt ocean on a clear day,
and they sparkled.” She laughed and folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve never
been attracted to a white man before in my life, but you were special. I knew
it from the very first moment.”

“From
the very first moment, the very first, I knew that about you, too. There was a
light illuminating you. You had this incredible energy and presence. A
princess.”

*
* * *

Latesha
put her left hand on the seat between them and Peter put his right hand on top
of hers. The moment they touched, she felt an electric tingling, and the
feeling of skin on skin, warmth on warmth, body on body, was intoxicating and
delicious. Neither of them spoke for a long time, but they held hands,
caressing each other’s fingers and palms. At one point they intertwined their
fingers.

“Tell
me more about the party,” Latesha said as they entered the city.

“Jack
Pearson is the President of The Old English Club. He’s worn that hat for many
years, but now he’s ready to relax. No commitments.”

“I
can understand that,” Latesha said, rubbing her fingers over his thumb.

“Jack
was my father’s best friend.”

Latesha
was very interested in Peter’s life. “Were they friends for a long time?”

“Since
elementary school,” Peter said. “When Dad died, Jack took it really hard. He
was very nice to me and Mom.” Peter paused and choked up. “Ever since I was a
kid, Dad and I would always go canoeing on Silver Tip Lake on my birthday. A
few months after Dad died, Jack showed up on my birthday and we went canoeing
on Silver Tip Lake. He told me so many stories about my father, things that
just popped up spontaneously. We shared something special that day. He’s a nice
man, Latesha. A good friend.”

“I
like that.”

“He’s
a sweetheart to his friends, but he’s also one of the top corporate lawyers in
North America. His nickname is The Bear because he’s so formidable. No one
wants him breathing down their neck.”

Latesha
cleared her throat. “Does your mother know you’re bringing a friend?”

“No.”

“Does
she know you have a friend?”

“I
have many friends.”

“Does
she know I’m your friend?” Latesha queried with a hard look.

“She’s
seen a picture of you.”

“A
picture of me? How?”

“Remember
that photo Brandy took of us?”

“Oh,
right,” Latesha said, nodding. “What did she think of it?”

“In
what sense?”

Latesha
cleared her throat. “How does she feel about you and me being friends?”

“About
the same way your father does.”

“Oh,”
Latesha mumbled, looking down and away.

A
long silence followed.

“Can
I ask you a personal question?” Peter asked nervously.

“How
personal?”

“Very
personal,” he said.

Latesha
thought about it for a moment. “Go ahead.”

“Do
you like me enough to have a relationship?”

“We
have a relationship.”

“You
know what I mean, Latesha.” He glanced at her. “Do you like me enough for us to
be boyfriend and girlfriend?” He raised his eyebrows. “To openly be boyfriend
and girlfriend?”

“Official?”

“Yes,”
he said.

A
moment of silence followed.

“Your
thoughts?” he asked, looking straight ahead.

“I’m
open to that,” Latesha told him, also looking straight ahead. “Are you open to
that?”

“Yes,”
he said. “Very much so. There’s nothing I would like more.”

“I
guess this means we’ll have to send each other a secret decoder ring in the
mail.”

They
both laughed and a soft, pervasive warmth hovered over them as they sat side by
side, saying nothing, but feeling a powerful awareness and appreciation of each
other. It felt right. It clicked.

“Here
it is,” Peter said, pointing to the gates of The Old English Club.

“All
right,” Latesha said, straightening up like a model.

Peter
greeted the attendant and the middle-aged man did a double take when he saw
Latesha. She smiled at the man and he smiled back, tipping his hat out of
respect. Peter drove past a complex of eight tennis courts and parked next to a
large, impressive clubhouse built in the style of a southern plantation. “Lots
of people here tonight,” he said, looking at the great number of cars. “We
don’t have to stay long. An appearance will do.”

“I’m
your date,” Latesha said with a worried look. “Let’s see what happens.”

They
stepped out in the gathering twilight and walked along a cobblestone path with
grapevines and roses wrapped around high, wooden archways. Everywhere was the
scent of flowers, their hues still brilliant. Latesha paused for a moment to
look at the courts, all of them filled with players dressed predominantly in
white. The sound of rackets hitting tennis balls was punctuated by laughter,
compliments on each other’s play, and subdued applause from the half dozen
seniors sitting on the deck. Every person there, without exception, was white.

“Would
you like to play sometime?” Peter asked her.

“I
don’t know,” she said with a timid smile. “I’ve never tried it before.”

“Trying
different things can be fun. It makes you a more well-rounded person.”

“Suppose
so.” She looked back at the players and felt morbidly nervous. “I’ll try it
sometime if it’s just you and me. I wouldn’t want anyone watching.”

“We’ll
come early some Saturday morning,” he suggested. “The courts are empty then,
except for the older ladies, who play every day.”

“I’ll
think about it,” Latesha offered.

A
man came to the deck and called out, telling everyone that cake was being
served. Immediately people laid down their rackets and sauntered into the
clubhouse, bantering as they walked. Everyone on the deck also filtered inside.