Part 38 (1/2)
Esther's eyes were moist but she waved heartily from the window. When she turned and faced forward, her eyes sparked with excitement.
Nora started the engine. In so many ways, this was going to be a long journey to New York, for both of them. She backed out slowly, careful not to hit any dogs, cats, or junk on the front lawn, and eased onto the road. Frank, Katie Beth, and Junior walked the length of the front yard after them, waving. May, Zach, and Sarah watched with solemn faces from the front porch, while Grace and Timmy chased the car down the road calling out, ”Bye, bye!”
They hadn't traveled more than a minute when Nora spied a blue pickup speeding down the road after them, honking. She pulled to the side, recognizing the truck as John Henry's. From the corner of her eye, Nora saw Esther's face pale and stiffen.
John Henry parked on the side of the road, just ahead of them. He leaped from his truck, leaving the door wide open, and ran toward Esther's door.
”Oh, no,” Esther moaned, with more sadness than irritation, as he approached and yanked open her door.
”Esther, we gotta talk.”
”I tried to yesterday but you wouldn't come out. It's too late now. Let it go.”
”Es, please. You can't go like this.”
Esther glanced at Nora, who promptly nodded and lifted her hand in a signal to get out. She did, reluctantly. They walked a few feet from the car.
”I know you're doing what you always wanted to do,” John Henry began, marshaling all his reserve. ”I respect you for that.”
”Thanks,” she whispered, holding herself taut.
”I'm sorry I've been so hard on you-”
”You haven't,” she interrupted.
”I have, but it's because I love you so much.”
Esther wouldn't look up, afraid to see the pain she heard in his voice. ”I care about you too.”
John Henry cleared his throat of the cry that suddenly shot up. He stood ramrod straight and he spoke forcefully. ”I don't know when you'll be comin' back, or even if you are. Even if you do, I don't know if I'll be waitin'.” He paused. ”Es, look at me.”
Esther raised her eyes, and in the man, she saw the boy. Esther shuddered and willed herself not to cry.
The wind streaked John Henry's brown hair across his cheek.
”Before I go I want you to know that, no matter what, I'll always be here for you, Red. Know that John Henry Thompson will always be your best friend.”
Esther stepped forward, slipping her hands from her pockets to go around his neck. She couldn't tell him that she loved him too, for fear he'd take it the wrong way and start to hope again. So Esther just whispered, ”Thanks,” against the fine short hairs along his neck.
They sealed their pact of friends.h.i.+p with a hug, neither knowing how long it would be before they would see each other again, or whether they would ever be able to touch each other again with such intimacy.
John Henry was the first to break away.
”Good luck, Red,” he said heartily with a brave smile and a hasty wave of his palm. Then he retreated to his truck, his pace far too quick for indifference.
”G.o.d, I hope you know what you're doing,” Nora muttered when Esther slid back in the car beside her.
”Me too,” Esther said gruffly, thinking of the water that pooled in John Henry's eyes as he turned away. She leaned back, rested one worn shoe across her knee and stared out at the mud ditch that John Henry's tires dug in the road.
”Let's go,” she said.
Nora had driven this route many times, but the New York Thruway had never before seemed so long. Each mile brought a new knot of tension along her spine, at each exit she fought the temptation to turn around and head back home.
The mountains shrank in size as she headed south. They were spa.r.s.e of trees and thick with ski runs. The traffic picked up and the drivers were more aggressive as the scenery changed from rural to suburban. Nora cut through Westchester, past rows of middle-cla.s.s postwar houses. Then she hit the New York City limits and the scenery changed drastically.
She was back, she realized with a small s.h.i.+ver. She had thought she was ready to face that metropolis of memories, but now, speeding toward its skyline, she wasn't sure. New York, for Nora, was a melting pot filled with too many ingredients. Rich, spicy, hot, sour. She just couldn't digest it.
Esther sat up in her seat and gawked like a tourist at the billboards, the boarded-up buildings, and the high-rise, low-income housing. Nora's face was grim as realization of the transition she must face hit full force. Here she was Mrs. Michael MacKenzie, with all the history that name evoked. Nora hardened her heart, sharpened her wits, and toughened her hide.
This was more than a change in scenery. This was entering another world.
Big-city driving is as much a learned arrogance as an acquired skill, but once you have it, you never lose it. Nora b.u.mped over potholes, cut across lanes, and shot down to the south of Houston.
Jenny Gold came out to greet them and Nora hastily made the introductions. Jenny and Esther stood eye to eye at the gallery's threshold. Both women were tall and angular, but the similarity ended there. It was city mouse and country mouse. Jenny Gold's kohl-lined eyes shrewdly evaluated the simplicity and utter lack of chic in Esther's severe black cotton dress and worn leather flats. It pained Nora to witness Jenny's subtle sneer and hear the thinly veiled contempt in her welcome. Nora closed her eyes, inexplicably weary of the significant subtleties of this world.
To her credit, Esther was neither mincing in manner nor shy. It was as though by her very arrival in the city, Esther had validated her talent and her dreams, cloaking her with a unique aura of confidence. Nora thought Esther was like a brilliant red rose: magnificent, straight, and th.o.r.n.y.
It was Jenny Gold's job to recognize uniqueness in any form, and she was good at her job. Her sneer s.h.i.+fted to a wide, toothy grin and she swung wide the gallery door.
”Do go off to wherever it is you have to go,” she blithely informed Nora with a wave of her hand. ”I'll see to Esther.”
As Nora drove away, Esther flashed her a delightfully discreet thumbs-up sign.
In contrast to Esther's confidence, Nora was shaking in her boots. She parked her luggage in a modest, discreet hotel, then headed straight for the Blair Bank, before her nerves failed her. She had carefully chosen a conservative, well-cut suit of dove gray, a white silk blouse, black low-heeled pumps, and matching black purse, and of course, Oma's pearls. It was her intention to confront Charles Blair with the journal and insist that he pa.s.s out the word that the MacKenzie estate was indeed solvent. As the elevator pa.s.sed floor after floor in the Blair skysc.r.a.per, Nora counted reason after reason why she had to face her enemy.
The doors slid open, revealing a long, well-lit corridor of highly polished wood and stark walls covered with a breathtaking collection of Hudson Valley artists. Along the walls sat sleek desks and behind them sat equally sleek and polished secretaries. This was the anteroom of the executive offices, the inner sanctum of the Blair Bank. Nora smoothed her French twist, clutched Mike's journal, and stepped forward.
Her heels clicked along the bare floors as she walked down the long hall. The eyes of the secretaries discreetly followed her as she pa.s.sed each desk. Their expressions were curious, and Nora knew they were evaluating the expense of her suit and the millimeter of her pearls. Undaunted, Nora continued walking until she faced the largest desk at the end of the hall. Behind it was an imposing wooden door with a discreet bra.s.s plate: President.
”May I help you?” The secretary was a big woman: eyes, bones, belly, and all. With her dark suit, her severely pulled back black hair, and her sharp expression, the woman looked like an SS guard off rations.
Nora raised her chin and spoke with authority. ”I want to talk to Mr. Charles Blair. I am Mrs. Michael MacKenzie. It's urgent.”
The woman raised her brows and clasped her hands firmly upon her desk. ”I'm sorry. Mr. Blair will not see anyone without an appointment.”
Nora bristled. ”Announce me, please.”
”I'm sorry. Mr. Blair will not be disturbed.”
”Is he in?” she asked in her most imperious tone.
”Yes.” The word was a dismissal.
Nora studied the pinched face of the secretary and knew there would be no coaxing this gatekeeper. She had bigger battles to fight than with this battle-ax. Holding her purse and journal tightly, Nora swung on her heel and swept past the desk.
”Mrs. MacKenzie! Stop! You can't go in there. Mrs. MacKenzie!”