The End of the Line (33 page)

“Jack
Pearson was just here,” she said meaningfully, as if speaking in code. “He
brought some good news for Dad.”

“I’m
glad,” Peter said, glancing at Mr. Thomas who stood staring at him from the
middle of the living room. “Your father and you certainly deserve it.”

“Thank
you for all that you’ve done,” Latesha said emotionally, her voice cracking.

“You’re
welcome.” He looked directly at Latesha’s father. “The first day I came here,
Mr. Thomas, I saw your sign on the mailbox. I really liked it and Latesha was
kind enough to let me borrow a similar one in the porch.”

He
felt on the verge of fainting, but Mr. Thomas fought to control himself.

“Jack
was the president of the club for decades, but now he’s retiring. We’d like to
hang a masthead and a plaque honoring him. Will you consider doing it?”

“I
read the letter,” Mr. Thomas said. “I’ll make the plaque for Mr. Pearson,” Mr.
Thomas said, still overwhelmed, “but I don’t want to be paid for it. I just
want to do it.”

“He
would appreciate that, I’m sure.”

Peter
and Mr. Thomas did not know what to say, so they said nothing. Deon
unexpectedly arrived five minutes later and coaxed Mr. Thomas outside, where
they threw the football back and forth.

“Would
you like a cup of tea?” Latesha asked when they were alone, her whole spirit literally
trembling with excitement.

“I’d
love a cup of tea.”

They
could see Mr. Thomas playing catch with Deon, though by his expression he
seemed to be floating in a dream world. And though he was frustrated at not
being able to throw as well as he used to, he laughed with a newfound freedom
and praised Deon’s ability to catch the ball. Soon the young man was running
patterns and sprinting like the wind.

“We
can never repay you for all that you’ve done,” Latesha said. “Never in a
million years.”

“You
owe me nothing,” Peter replied. “You received only what was rightfully yours.”

Latesha
spontaneously hugged him and held tightly. He held her softly, stroking her
hair. Suddenly she pulled away from him, wiped tears from her eyes, and pointed
out the window. Peter stood behind her the way a husband stands behind his
wife, and they watched as Deon opened the door to the workshop. Mr. Thomas
looked extremely animated, his face full of hope and purpose. He peeked into
the workshop, asked Deon for help, then held tight as Deon took him over the
threshold. Latesha smiled emotionally as she sat with Peter at the kitchen
table.

Ten
minutes later, Deon helped Mr. Thomas back out of the workshop. Together they
fashioned a ramp and installed it, giving Mr. Thomas the ability to
independently access the workshop. Soon they were laughing and joking, again
throwing the football. Latesha and Peter walked outside and stood by the step.

Deon
threw a lame duck pass to Mr. Thomas but he reached far to the side and caught
it.

“You’ve
got great hands,” Peter said to him.

“Just
like riding a bike,” Mr. Thomas responded, a great sense of lightness in his
tone. “You never forget.”

“Dad,”
Latesha said, “I’m going to show Peter the swimming hole.”

“All
right,” he said, almost nonchalantly.

Latesha
and Peter walked along a path behind the house, traveling through a small field
before reaching a wide, deep river. Directly below them was a pool with a sand
bar stretching out into the middle.

“I
started swimming here when I was little,” Latesha told him, sitting on a log
bench her grandfather, Jefferson Thomas, had made decades earlier. “I used to
think this place was magical and it’s always been our little hideaway. You can
access it only through our back yard, so we’ve had it to ourselves all these
years. I still remember the day I swam to the sand bar all by myself.”

“You
must have been very proud of yourself.”

“I
was. At that time it seemed like a mile, but now it looks so insignificant.”

“Thank
you for bringing me to your magical place,” Peter said, sitting beside her.

She
could feel their arms and legs touching ever so slightly. “Things are more
special when you share.”

“Is
this where you invited my mother to come swimming?”

“Yes.”

“Well,
who knows? Stranger things have happened.”

“I’d
like it if she did.”

“I’d
like it, too.”

Deon
came down the path. “Latesha, you’re wanted on the phone.”

“Who
it is?” she asked, disappointed with the interruption.

“Peter’s
mother.”

Latesha
quickly stood up and smoothed out her dress. “Can you wait here?”

“I’ll
wait.”

She
hurried back to the house and saw her father pushing himself around the beech
tree. Latesha expressed a few words of encouragement, then went in and picked
up the phone. “Hello,” she said tentatively.

“Is
my son with you?”

“Yes.”

“I
thought we came to an understanding, Miss Thomas.”

“Not
that I was aware of.”

“I
heard about the play. You kissed my son in front of all my friends.” She paused
as if waiting for a response, but when none was forthcoming, she continued. “I
need to speak with you. We have to clear up this problem once and for all. Can
I meet you at that new coffee house near the university?”

“I
don’t have a car.”

“You
don’t have a car? How do you travel?”

“Bus.”

“Public
transit?” she cried incredulously.

“You’re
welcome to come here.”

“Me,
come to Beechwood?” Mrs. Elsworth said in shock.

“That’s
where I live.”

“Are
you sure you can’t get to the city?”

“I’m
sure.”

Mrs.
Elsworth hesitated for several seconds. “All right, I’ll have to come there
then. It will take about twenty minutes.”

Latesha
gave her the address. “Mrs. Elsworth!” she suddenly exclaimed, hoping to catch
her attention before she hung up.

“What?”

“My
father is a very proud man and wouldn’t appreciate you coming here to scold me.
If you wish to speak, you can say whatever you want, but I’d like to do it in
private. I’ll tell Dad you accepted my offer to go for a swim in the river.
We’ll have privacy there, but to make it more convincing, bring your bathing
suit and a towel.”

“As
you wish,” Mrs. Elsworth agreed. “But we will have this talk, Miss Thomas,
whether you like it or not. Good bye.”

Latesha
hung up and headed back to Peter.

“What
are you going to tell her?” he asked after she told him about the call.

“I’ll
cross that bridge when I come to it.”

She
didn’t have to wait long to start crossing because Mrs. Elsworth soon pulled
into the driveway. Peter and Latesha approached as she was lifting her wicker
bag out of the back seat. When Mrs. Elsworth saw her son and Latesha, she
immediately straightened up.

“Hello,
Mrs. Elsworth,” Latesha said.

“Hello,”
came the subdued response.

Mr.
Thomas wheeled around the corner, followed by Deon. They stopped and looked at
the refined lady, not quite sure what to make of her.

“Dad,”
Latesha said, gesturing at the visitor, “this is Mrs. Elsworth, Peter’s mother.
Mrs. Elsworth, this is my father and our friend, Deon.”

“Hello,”
she said. “Your daughter invited me to go for a swim. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s
a free country,” Mr. Thomas said, then wheeled away with Deon to toss the
football some more.

Mrs.
Elsworth looked reproachfully at her son. “Do you mind if Miss Thomas and I go
for a swim alone?” she asked. “I’d like to speak with her in private.”

“I
think you better ask her, Mom.”

“I
don’t mind,” Latesha said.

“Good,”
Mrs. Elsworth replied.

Latesha
gathered her bathing suit and towel, then pointed the way and led Mrs. Elsworth
along the path toward the river. They didn’t speak until they reached the bank
where Latesha and Peter had been sitting earlier, but then Mrs. Elsworth laid
down her bag and put her hands on her hips.

“Miss
Thomas,” she said, her face red with frustration, “this situation has gotten
way out of control. It has to stop immediately.”

“Isn’t
this a pretty view?” Latesha asked, gazing at the river.

Mrs.
Elsworth noticed the beautiful landscape for the first time, particularly the
wide, deep section of the river. “Yes, but I didn’t come here to discuss
geography.”

“My
mother and father used to bring me here when I was a little girl. They would
sit right here while I puttered around in the water. Dad used to sing, you
know. He has the most beautiful tenor voice. I can remember him singing Ol’ Man
River when I was still a child. Have you ever heard that song, Mrs. Elsworth?”

“I
believe so,” she dismissed irritably.

Latesha
walked to the river’s edge, followed by Mrs. Elsworth, then took off her shoes
and socks and waded out ankle-deep into the warm water. “Ol’ Man River is about
a river that flows day after day. People are born, they live, they die, and Ol’
Man River just keeps on flowing, not caring about anything. The river is a
metaphor for time. Time just keeps on flowing. It can be your enemy or your
friend, but it doesn’t really care.” She turned to Peter’s mother and then
looked at the water. “Ol’ Man River taught me to cherish every moment because
every moment is a gift.”

“Miss
Thomas,” Mrs. Elsworth said with a sigh, “let me lay my cards on the table. I
do not want to lose my son. I demand that you stop seeing Peter.”

“Let’s
go for a swim,” Latesha suddenly said with girlish enthusiasm.

“No,”
came the immediate reply. “I don’t swim.”

Latesha
looked at her. “Peter said you loved swimming.”

“I
don’t swim anymore,” she insisted.

“Why
not?”

Mrs.
Elsworth frowned. “You can be awfully forward, you know.”

“Why
don’t you swim anymore, Mrs. Elsworth?”

“Because
I have horrible scars on my legs, if you must know.”

“You
still play tennis. If you can play tennis, I see no reason why you can’t swim.”

“In
tennis I can wear slacks to cover myself.” She had a mortified look. “I cannot
cover myself with a bathing suit. There, satisfied?”

“My
father is in a wheelchair,” Latesha said without missing a beat. “He was once
an outstanding athlete and now he’s paralyzed from the waist down. I’ve never
met a prouder man than my father, but he’s throwing a football around right now
in the backyard. If Dad can do that, you can certainly go for a swim. I’m going
to.”

Latesha
walked into some tall bushes with her things and soon stepped out wearing a
dark blue, one-piece bathing suit. “It’s warm,” she said, putting her feet in
the water and turning back to Mrs. Elsworth. “Come in.”

“It’s
easy for you,” Mrs. Elsworth said, gazing at the young woman. “You’re a beauty.
I’m ugly.”

“You’re
not ugly,” Latesha said. “You’re beautiful.”

Mrs.
Elsworth’s cold demeanor softened. “My scars are horrible.”

“I
learned a lesson from Ol’ Man River,” said Latesha, wading knee-deep. “I
learned to just keep on flowing and not to worry about what other people
think.” She paused. “Our fears are just dust in the wind.”

“I
can’t,” Mrs. Elsworth said with a pained and anguished look.

“Yes,
you can,” Latesha told her with a gleam in her eyes. “Come in. Join me!”

Mrs.
Elsworth swallowed hard and looked around.

“Come
on,” Latesha coaxed, walking backward into the river.

Still
she hesitated.

“Go
for it,” Latesha urged, walking up to her hips.

“Are
you sure no one else ever comes here?”

“This
is our private sanctuary.” She pointed at the high bushes. “There’s the change
room.”

Mrs.
Elsworth froze for a moment, then, surprising even herself, walked into the
bushes and put on her suit. When she emerged, she still looked attractive,
though she was no longer in the spring of her youth. Latesha glanced at the
scars running from her hips to her knees, then looked into Mrs. Elsworth’s
eyes.

“See,”
Mrs. Elsworth said painfully. “I look like Frankenstein.”

“Don’t
be silly.” Latesha started swimming toward the sand bar. “You’re beautiful.
Come on.”

Mrs.
Elsworth looked pleased, exceedingly pleased, that Latesha had paid such little
attention to her disfigurement. She waded into the water, begrudgingly
commented on how warm it was, then followed Latesha toward the sand bar. Before
Latesha knew it, Mrs. Elsworth was laughing and reveling in the feeling of the
water washing over her body. She lay on her back, kicked her feet, then turned
over and followed Latesha upstream toward a huge maple tree that had fallen
across the river. When they reached it, Latesha scampered onto the bank and sat
on the tree, holding her feet in the river. Mrs. Elsworth followed and sat
beside Latesha, her feet also in the water and her scars clearly visible.
Latesha never even looked at them, a fact not lost on her older companion.

From
their vantage point, they could see the backyard where Mr. Thomas and Deon had
been playing catch. Suddenly Latesha noticed her father and Peter throwing the
ball back and forth. Mr. Thomas, veering back, threw the ball hard and it
sailed over Peter’s head. He jumped, but missed it, and they all loudly
laughed.

Peter
ran to the riverbank to retrieve the football and, just as he was picking it
up, saw his mother wearing her bathing suit and sitting beside Latesha. Not
only did she seem perfectly relaxed, chattering like a school girl, she also
had a glow in her eyes. Peter then glanced at Latesha and saw that she was
looking right at him. Mrs. Elsworth casually asked Latesha if they could swim
some more. Latesha smiled at Peter, then led his mother back into the river.
They swam side by side for twenty minutes and talked with such an unrestrained enthusiasm
that they could be heard from the back yard. Thoroughly invigorated by the
exercise, they emerged together from the water under a cloudless blue sky.