Walk on Water (16 page)

“Champagne of course,” Luke finally spoke. “To toast you, Mother, our esteemed docent of the year.”

“Hear, Hear!” agreed Mr. Sterling.

Mrs. Sterling’s disconnected smile remained intact, and I had a vague sense of being at work when a family needed to talk about something looming among them but wouldn’t. Or couldn’t. Once we each had our glasses, Luke lifted his glass high and we lowered ours to meet his—arriving in that space between sitting and standing.

“To Elizabeth Sterling,” Luke said. “If only we could live up to her standards.”

The words were right—almost, and at last Luke and Mrs. Sterling were looking at each other again. Mr. Sterling and I were merely witnesses, but I was a little afraid of what I was seeing.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Sterling,” I contributed sincerely, as if I could compensate for what seemed to be lacking.

“Thank-you, dear,” she replied to me, as Luke drained his champagne flute in one gulp.

.

FIFTEEN

B
ased on the collection, it seemed safe to say that Ansel Adams had been more a photographer of places than he had been of people. The exhibit was primarily comprised of various landscape scenes taken in every season. His bio in the pamphlet about the exhibit said that Adams had been a conservationist and his love of America’s national parks was on splendid display here tonight. Without a drop of color, using only light and shadow, the photographs were somehow brilliantly vivid.

“It’s amazing how he could do that,” I whispered to Luke while we were standing before the photograph,
Oak Tree at Sunrise.
“It’s almost like I can see the green in the grass and the yellow sunshine.”

“You do see it,” Luke said. “With your memory.”

I smiled at him. Perhaps. But I was just glad that now his face was better, relaxed.

“Do you ever do landscapes?” I asked moving on to the next photograph.

“I’ve taken a few shots,” he replied.

“In black and white?”

“No.”

“You really should, Luke,” I said intently studying the photograph,
Birds on a Beach.
“You have a special eye too. Your work could be in a gallery.”

“I suppose it could be a nice way to spend a vacation,” he laughed dryly.

“Absolutely!” I replied, meaning it. “I’m just surprised you didn’t think of it sooner. You’ve traveled so much. I’m sure you’ve seen some incredible places.”

Luke rolled to the next photograph. I followed him. This time it was a picture of aspens taken in New Mexico. It made me think of the enchanted forests described in storybooks.

“Not so sure family vacations lend themselves to artistic concentration,” he said.

As a child, when Mommy and I had gone on vacation it had always been to visit relatives. As an adult there had been sight-seeing trips with Robert, but I didn’t remember them as being a lot of fun. Our honeymoon had been okay. We had gone to Hawaii for a week. It had been practically a cliché.

“You know what my dream vacation would be?” I asked Luke.

“What?”

“A train trip across Canada,” I said moving to the next photograph. “Through the Canadian Rockies. Toronto to Vancouver. Wouldn’t that be ‘loverly’ as the song goes?”

“So why haven’t you done it?” asked Luke.

Staring at the mountain stream, I heard inside my head the water rushing over the stones. Sunlight shone on the tiny whitecaps but the water would be cold, I thought, cold and clean, and good to drink.

“I don’t know,” I sighed. “It’s more fun to dream about it I guess.”

“How satisfying can that be?” Luke wanted to know.

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” I told him.

You learned to be satisfied with dreams, and hold onto them like Langston Hughes had said. It was nearly nine o’clock when we finished the Ansel Adams exhibit, and Luke didn’t think there was enough time to see anything else. He was ready to go. We were outside the exhibit in a corridor.

“Shouldn’t we try to find your folks and say good night first?” I asked.

“They could be anywhere,” he said. “You want me to have them paged?”

“No, but I’m just saying…it would be kind of rude just to leave. And Lucas Sterling,” I said playfully patting him on his breast pocket where he kept his cell phone. “You do have your cell and I’m sure your dad has his. So don’t be getting smart with me about paging.”

He grinned.

“Okay, busted,” he surrendered and took out his cell to call Mr. Sterling. “I may not get good reception in here,” he complained.

“Talk about your bad reception,” I replied. “Leave here without saying goodnight and see what your mother does.”

Still sensitive to what had happened earlier during the awards ceremony, I moved away to give Luke a little privacy in case something came up and out during the call. The family counselor in me was anxious to broach the subject, but there was the issue of invitation or the lack thereof. It was Sterling family business, and I was neither solicited nor appointed to intervene.

“All right,” Luke said coming up behind me. “We’re meeting them downstairs in the main lobby. And it’s your fault if we’re late for our dinner reservation.”

“Then we’d better get going,” I replied taking off towards the elevator at a fast clip.

Zipping passed me Luke reached the elevator first and triumphantly pressed the button. I laughed merrily. The doors opened.

“Your chariot awaits, Madame,” he said bowing solemnly.

“Thank you, my lord,” I nodded gravely and stepped inside, giggling at our fake formality.

But then again he really was my eternal
Prince Charming
, even if I was destined to always be just a
lady-in-waiting
.

We caught up with the Sterlings in the center lobby. The crowd was smaller now, since lots of the people had dispersed to see the various exhibits. The quartet continued to play, although more quietly. Mr. Sterling was enjoying the fare from the buffet table, and Mrs. Sterling was still busy accepting the congratulations of her friends and peers. Luke interrupted his parents’ conversations to inform them that we were leaving.

“So soon?” asked his mother. “But I suppose it is a work night.”

“We’re going to dinner,” Luke informed her.

Mrs. Sterling’s mouth twitched before she smiled one those smiles that didn’t light her eyes.

“Isn’t it too late for that?” she asked.

“But too early to leave here?” returned Luke dryly.

“Son,” interjected Mr. Sterling looking around for a place to discard his plate. “Before you go, I want to introduce you to Jim Holden.”

“Dad, we have—”

“It’ll take just a minute,” Mr. Sterling cut him off. “It’s important.

We’re discussing a new venture. Something you could probably help us with. At least advise us on. Five minutes. Just give me five minutes.”

“Okay,” Luke sighed, then turning to me he added, “Five minutes, Rachel, then come and get me.”

“Sure thing,” I smiled at him.

“Don’t worry,” offered Mrs. Sterling. “I’ll keep Rachel company.”

How bad could it be, I reassured myself. A little polite conversation. Like we were in the Bath and Body Works again. Even if she was a woman who could be as chilly as her crystal prize. We could talk about being a docent. Maybe she’d even try to recruit me. I wouldn’t mind being a museum tour guide. I liked art. I liked people. I could learn. It could be fun. And then we would have something in common besides her son.

With the men gone I wondered aloud about Mr. Sterling’s new
venture
.

“It’s politics as usual,” Mrs. Sterling said dismissively. “Some campaign or another.”

Luke still rarely discussed it, but I supposed the Sterlings remained steadfast Republicans. For my part I didn’t ask. I was more than ever a dedicated
bleeding-heart
Democrat, so like many others of my kind, I had learned a long time ago that politics was a notoriously dangerous conversation topic in mixed company, particularly in Texas. It was much easier to point out the failures of government programs than it was to prove a causal relationship between such programs and better communities.

“Oh,” I replied benignly moving on to something else. “Mr. Sterling must be enjoying retirement.”

“Is your mother retired, dear?” asked Mrs. Sterling.

Her voice was soft and refined, fitting perfectly her fine-boned frame. Her natural thinness was enviable. Mommy was probably younger than she was, but she was not prettier. Mrs. Sterling didn’t even have a belly paunch to indicate that she had ever been pregnant. I wondered now if maybe she had had
work done
as they said.

“No,” I answered her question and said no more because talking about Mommy didn’t feel prudent either.

“Not yet?” replied Mrs. Sterling apparently surprised. “Is she still a lab tech?”

A lab-tech supervisor
, I wanted to inform her but elected not to. Sensing danger like a deer in the woods, I was on alert.

“I would think she’d be at retirement age by now,” continued Mrs. Sterling. “Of course she did have you when she was quite young. Sixteen wasn’t it?”

And Mommy had gotten the laboratory technician job much later as a result of one of those government-sponsored job training programs. In between my birth and the laboratory position there had been many lean years.

“Seventeen,” I corrected Mrs. Sterling, now listening attentively for the footfall of the hunter.

“Just a baby herself,” she continued smiling sweetly except in her eyes. “You were so much more careful, weren’t you?”

I must remember to smile too. Such was a requirement of polite conversation. Truth, on the other hand, not so much. Had it been five minutes yet? I could excuse myself and go to the bathroom.

“She must have instilled that in you, dear,” said Mrs. Sterling. “I’m sure she didn’t want you to make her same mistakes.”

How rude was it to remind me that I had been a
mistake
? However I kept my cool. Fat legs, bastard birth. Okay, in the words of Pat Benatar,
hit me with your best shot
. My theatrical smile didn’t waver. I knew how to handle people like her. Besides, less than two hours ago she had embarrassed her own son over something he couldn’t help. Why would I expect to be treated any better? Luke was right, his mother was at the very least
challenging
. Yet maybe it wasn’t deliberate. Maybe she couldn’t help it either. Some people were just rigid by nature, and cold. She had a cool temperament, and not too unlike her son’s, who could also be a little dismissive of other people’s feelings. I sorted through my brain for some kind of witty but topic-ending reply but came up blank.

“I would say you turned out very well considering,” said Mrs. Sterling. “And of course some women just aren’t meant for motherhood,” she added. “You must see a good deal of that in your work.”

Okay, so we were going talk about my being barren and my work now. Her tone was charitable. Republicans were adamantly pro-life, weren’t they? At least that was what they said come every election. Pro-life, pro-family, pro-Christian—even if only
socially
.

“That’s true,” I replied. “Although with the right support, they can become good mothers. And that’s what we all want, isn’t it? What’s best for the children.”

“Indeed,” agreed Mrs. Sterling, her smile finally vacating. “Which is why I want to know what’s going on between you and my son.”

I should have run away when I had the chance. Now I was hit. But I wasn’t down.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said calmly.

“I’m sure you do,” she said icily. “I know you’re seeing each other. And that little display for the Parkers. What was that? A little announcement?”

Why was she asking me? Didn’t she communicate with her son at all? He could easily set her straight and relieve her mind.

“Luke and I are friends, Mrs. Sterling, that’s all,” I told her deciding to address her fears myself.

Since there was already something a little not-right between mother and son, far be it for me to make matters worse by leaving things unclear.

“Really?” Mrs. Sterling’s teeth showed again, and somebody across the room could have mistaken it for a smile. “Is that what you call it?
Friends with benefits
, I suppose. Such that they are now.”

Another direct hit. This time I wobbled.

“I know you’re after him,” she continued. “You’ve always been after him. Since he doesn’t have a choice anymore you think this is your golden opportunity. But you won’t get anything. The Sterling money will go to his children, my grandchildren. All you will get is him, and I wouldn’t think you’d want to end up a nurse for the rest of your life. So considering the terms, I would suggest you keep your day job.”

If had been wearing higher heels I would have toppled over, but the chunky heels on my shoes ensured that my feet were solidly planted, keeping me upright even though my legs were rubbery and my head was spinning.

“Luke has plenty of choices,” I heard myself say.

“If he did, do you honestly think he’d be settling for you?”

“But-but you wanted him to call me,” I said incredulously. “You gave him my—”

“Yes, I did,” she cut me off. “He always enjoyed having you around. You were like a little puppy. Luke’s devoted little protégé. The accident, and then the divorce, have been difficult for him. I thought it would do him good to have you around again. But I see now you’ve taken advantage of his situation, and while he may let you, I’m telling you that I won’t. I’ll put an end to this foolishness before he is hurt by it.”