The End of the Line (23 page)

“Yes,
wonderful. Every city should have one.”

“Why
do you think Canadian women outshine Canadian men in music?” Latesha casually
asked.

Peter
stiffened and sat up straight. “That’s a bold statement.”

“Celine
Dion, Shania Twain, Alanis Morisette,” Latesha said. “Should I rest my case,
counselor?”

Peter
licked his lips.

Latesha
continued, “Joni Mitchell, Nelly Furtado, Avril Lavigne.”

“You’re
not trying to draw me into a battle of the sexes, are you?”

“Just
throwing it out there. Prove me wrong.”

“All
right.”

“Joni
Mitchell,” Latesha said defiantly. “Give me a male counterpart.”

“Well,”
Peter began with a look of deep concentration, “if you switch from folk to
country, you have the legendary performer, Hank Snow, the country music legend
from good old Nova Scotia. Do you get extra points if they’re from Nova Scotia?”

Latesha
shook her finger and told him there were no bonus points.

“Take
Rush,” Peter continued. “Their song,
Closer
to the Heart
, may be the quintessential Canadian rock anthem.”

“Celine
Dion,” Latesha countered, “had the biggest song in a decade with
My Heart Will Go On
.”

“Great
song,” he admitted, “but what about the Guess Who and
American Woman
? That’s still great after more than three decades.”
He hesitated, suddenly thinking of something. “And part of Celine Dion’s
success has to be attributed to her savvy French-Canadian husband, Rene
Angelil, not to mention that little movie called, um, um, what was that? It’s
on the tip of my tongue.”

“Are
you thinking of
Titanic
?” Latesha
said with a wry smile.

“Yes,
that’s it.
Titanic.
A movie directed
by James Cameron, yet another Canadian man. And what about Neil Young with the
song,
Ohio
? In many ways, that was
the song of the Vietnam War era in the United States.”

“That
was Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young,” Latesha clarified, “and three of those
musicians were Americans, not Canadians.”

“Picky,
picky,” Peter said, lowering his head and frowning. “You’re only giving me a
quarter of a point for Neil Young?”

“Yes,
a quarter of a point, but that’s only because you’re my boyfriend.” As soon as
she said that, she laughed awkwardly. Peter was not her boyfriend, could never
be her boyfriend, and she had no right to lead him on. “I mean you’re a man,
and you’re my friend, so I mean you’re my man friend.”

“Okay,
woman friend,” he said, trying to make her feel more comfortable, “if Celine
Dion has a nine-piece band and every one of them is from Wisconsin, does that
mean you only get one-tenth of one point for
My Heart Will Go On
?”

“Now
who’s getting picky?” she queried.

“Just
using your logic.”

Suddenly
he stopped talking because Latesha unexpectedly put the bottoms of her feet
against the bottoms of his feet. Peter looked at her with the expression of a
man who is powerless, a man happy to relinquish control and willing to become a
musical instrument played by the beauty and capriciousness of a woman.

“The
opera singer, Maureen Forrester,” Latesha said.

“African-Canadian
composer, pianist and conductor, R. Nathaniel Dett,” Peter countered.

Latesha
sat up straight and looked at him with great appreciation. “Good one.”

“Thank
you.”

“The
renowned opera singer, Portia White.”

“Nicely
done.”

“Karen
Kain,” Latesha mumbled quickly.

“What
do you mean, Karen Kain?” Peter objected. “Karen Kain was a ballet dancer. What
does she have to do with Canadian music?”

“She
danced to music, didn’t she?”

“Yes,
she danced to music,” Peter said, emphasizing the word ‘danced’. “When George
Chuvalo trained to fight Muhammad Ali, I’m sure he punched the heavy bag and
skipped rope to music. If you count Karen Kain, I count George Chuvalo.”

“What’s
your favorite video by a Canadian woman?” Latesha suddenly asked, ignoring his
negotiations.

“
Moment of Weakness
by Bif Naked,” Peter
said. “I love the energy.”

“Who’s
your favorite female Canadian singer?”

“Impossible
to choose only one.”

“I
know it’s hard, but try.”

He
laughed, his face warm and handsome in the dappled light. “Vanity,” he said.
“She was with Vanity Six, but she put out her own work, too.
Samuelle
is my favorite song by her.”

“Are
you sure she’s a Canadian?”

“Niagara
Falls, Ontario.”

“Okay.
So, let’s continue,” Latesha said. “Diana Krall.”

“The
Barenaked Ladies.”

“You
already said the Barenaked Ladies.”

“I
did not say the Barenaked Ladies,” Peter disputed, while at the same time
trying to recall if he had in fact already mentioned the Barenaked Ladies.

“Yes,
you did. You said the Barenaked Ladies twice already. Stop cheating.”

“I
did not say the Barenaked Ladies twice,” Peter stated emphatically.

“You
seem awfully interested in bare naked ladies,” Latesha said with a laugh,
mightily pleased at having distracted him.

Peter
looked at his companion. “I’ll have to plead the fifth on the grounds that I
might incriminate myself.”

“This
is Canada. We don’t have the Fifth Amendment.”

“I’m
taking it anyway,” he said cutely. “Your favorite song is by Leonard Cohen, yet
another Canadian man. Oscar Peterson was called the ‘Maharaja of the keyboard’
by Duke Ellington. Glenn Gould was one of the most celebrated classical
pianists of the twentieth century. How about April Wine, Gordon Lightfoot,
Bryan Adams.”

“Anne
Murray,” Latesha said, crooking an eyebrow.

“Bachman-Turner
Overdrive, Michael Buble, Drake, Justin Bieber.”

“All
right, all right,” Latesha said, shaking her head. “You’ve made your point.
Canadian men are great, too.”

“A
draw?” Peter said, standing and holding out his hand.

She
accepted his hand, stood and faced him. “A truce,” she said with her femininity
on full display. “A temporary truce. We’ll continue this some other time. I’ve
still got five favorites left.”

“I’ve
got ten,” Peter said.

Latesha
laughed. “I think we could debate this for the rest of our lives.”

He
gently kissed the back of her hand. “Arguments aside, there is one indisputable
truth, Ms. Thomas.”

“Which
is?”

Peter
looked into her eyes. “Men and women make beautiful music together.”

“Yes,”
she mumbled, secretly wanting him to kiss her. She glanced at her watch. “Time
to head back.”

They
put on their socks and boots, and resumed their journey to Beechwood. The trip
back seemed much too short.

“I
enjoyed myself so much today,” Peter told her when they reached his truck.

“I
had fun, too,” she assured him. “I had so much fun.”

“Did
your father know we were taking this walk today?”

“No.”

“What
would he have said?”

“He
wouldn’t have been very happy, that’s for sure.”

“He’s
dead set against me.”

“Yes,
he is.”

“Can
I talk to him?” Peter asked hopefully.

Latesha
recoiled. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“How
can I have a relationship with you,” Peter asked, “if your father hates me? I’m
stuck, Latesha.”

“Just
out of curiosity,” she ventured, “what would you say to him? Would it be
anything personal about you and me?”

“No,
I’d ask him about the doors. They have to be installed tomorrow or the next
day. That’s not open to negotiation, but right now things don’t look good.”

“All
right,” Latesha said in a rush, looking at her watch. “Drive me home and walk
right into the house with me. He expects me every day this time, so nothing
will seem out of the ordinary. When he sees you, he’ll have no choice but to
speak with you.”

During
the drive to Latesha’s house, she never stopped talking, telling Peter what to
do in any number of scenarios that might arise. When they walked up the
driveway she could see the back of her father’s head as he watched television.
Latesha glanced at Peter with a look somewhere between trepidation and
downright fear, and then led him up the steps. She opened the door and walked
in, Peter directly behind her.

“Hi,
Dad,” she said.

“Hi,
honey,” he returned, eating popcorn and not looking back. “How’s it going?”

“Dad,
someone wants to talk with you.”

He
turned around as if only half-listening, but when he saw Peter, his eyes opened
wide and he stopped eating the popcorn.

“Good
afternoon, sir.”

“How
dare you come into my home without being invited,” he said ominously,
straightening up.

“I
invited him, Dad,” Latesha defended.

“I
didn’t,” Mr. Thomas said harshly.

“I’m
here for two reasons,” Peter began, trying to restore some semblance of
civility.

“You’re
here for one reason,” Mr. Thomas shot back, “and all three of us know it.”

“I
have two things to discuss with you,” Peter repeated. “First, I’d like to know
your thoughts on hanging the doors. I called Mary this morning and said you
were considering it. She told me Deon offered to help you. Apparently you used
to coach him in minor football.”

Mr.
Thomas just stared at him.

“Mr.
Thomas,” Peter continued with his chin held high, “regardless of how you feel
about me, Mary’s son needs a positive male influence in his life. He sits home
all day playing video games and is on the verge of being expelled from school.
If you could get him to help you, it might jump start him into something more
constructive. Mary said he thinks the world of you.” When Mr. Thomas didn’t
respond after a few seconds, Peter spoke again. “Your thoughts?”

Still,
he did not speak.

“You
did coach him, though?” Peter asked, trying to salvage the conversation. “What
was he like as a player?”

Nothing.

“Sir?”

Latesha
glared at her father with such irritation that he felt self-conscious. “He’s an
athlete,” Mr. Thomas finally surrendered, obviously willing at that point to do
almost anything to avoid Latesha’s withering stare, the same stare her mother
had used like a weapon. “He’s got speed and quickness. He’s a good kid, too.”

“Well,
right now he’s no good to his mother, or even to himself. He needs someone.”

“That
someone is you, Dad,” Latesha added, supporting Peter’s stance.

Mr.
Thomas grimaced. “Why are you bothering me about this? I can’t work anymore.”

“You
can if you want to,” Peter disagreed, “but if you don’t, the community center
will not pass inspection and the play will have to be canceled.”

Mr.
Thomas brooded, watching Peter as warily as if the younger man was a known
thief. But the situation was undeniable.

“Can
I call Mary back and tell her you’ll come down to the center?” Peter persisted.
“The doors and framing materials are just waiting for someone who knows how to
use them.”

“All
right!” Mr. Thomas shouted irritably. “I’ll go down now and have a look, but
stop nattering at me!”

A
long pause followed.

“You
said there were two things,” Mr. Thomas noted. “What else do you want?”

“I
don’t mean to pry, but I was just wondering the name of the company you used to
work for?”

“What
business is that of yours?” the elder man shot back.

“I’m
just wondering.”

Mr.
Thomas shook his head with annoyance. “It was Clark Construction. They’re over
in Belmont. After my accident, Big Whitey showed me the door so quick it made
my head spin. Twenty-five years and I end up with a small injury benefit and a
pension I can hardly live on.” He sighed and then said sarcastically, “Anything
else, inspector?”

“I’ll
call Mary,” Peter said, “and have her tell Deon to meet you there shortly.”

Mr.
Thomas retained his sour expression. “There, that’s done. Now there’s no reason
for you to be in my home, is there?”

Peter
glanced at Latesha and nodded at her. “I’m going back to the center and see if
I can help out.”

“Is
there?” Mr. Thomas repeated, this time more loudly. “For the sake of my
daughter, I am trying to remain calm, but I want you to know that Latesha is
off limits to you. I want you to stay away from her. Even if you’re seen
together people will talk.”

“Good
day, Mr. Thomas,” Peter said.

Mr.
Thomas completely ignored him. Peter left the house and drove directly to the
community center, leaving Mr. Thomas and Latesha alone to work out any matters
that needed attention.

“You
shouldn’t have done that,” Mr. Thomas said.

“Done
what?”

“Bring
him here without asking first.”

“As
if you would have agreed.”

“Nonetheless,
this is my house and you know how I feel about whitey. That was out of line,
Latesha. You really put me on the spot.”

“I
really put you on the spot?” she cried sarcastically. “What spot, Dad? Peter
has worked hard to help out and all he did was ask you to help out, too. You
make it sound like he owes you something.”

“He
doesn’t owe me anything,” Mr. Thomas said, “and I don’t owe him anything.
Especially not my daughter.”

Latesha
sighed irritably.

“This
friend of yours has an agenda,” Mr. Thomas said cynically. “Why did he want to
know who I worked for? Have you got any idea?”

“None,”
Latesha returned honestly, puzzled. “But he’s right about the center, Dad. We
need you. The inspector is coming really soon so that means the doors have to
be in and functioning by the day after tomorrow.”

For
several minutes her father pondered the options with a scowl on his face. “Can
you help me get down the road?” he finally asked, looking for the shoes he
never wore. “I don’t know if I can get there by myself.”