Wayfaring Stranger (Holland Family Saga 1)

“These things?”

“Don’t start. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Hershel isn’t one to disappear without saying anything. Why didn’t he tell Weldon or somebody at the office?”

“Maybe he did. Anyway, you’ve done your best. Time we talk about other things, namely ourselves. You know how I feel.”

“Does your friend want a drink?”

“Don’t shut me out like this, Linda Gail.”

“I asked if your friend wanted a drink.”

“No, he needs to sulk awhile. He does that every time I beat him. He was the clandestine Jew in our fraternity. I was the only fellow who knew he was Jewish. He’s extra-sensitive, particularly when I hammer him on the court.”

“Why would you want to belong to a fraternity made up of people like that?”

“All of the fraternities were like that. They still are. In Louisiana, a lot of Negroes attended your school and church?”

“None of us had choices about where we went. You did.”

“How about that drink?”

She filled a tumbler with ice and three fingers of Scotch, then squirted soda into it and wrapped a paper napkin around it and handed it to him.

“You’re not joining me?” he said.

“I have to find Hershel.”

He leaned forward in the chair and circled her wrist with his thumb and forefinger. His grip felt like a wet manacle. “Stay. Please. I’ll shower and change clothes, and we can go to a restaurant for dinner. There’s so much to talk about. Everyone is excited about the picture. There are so many wonderful things waiting for you. I want to be there when those things happen, to help you, to be your friend in any capacity you wish.”

“I betrayed Hershel and I seduced you,” she replied. “Believe me, I’m not worth your concern.”

“Give me a little credit. I don’t get seduced,” he said. “When you all got married, Hershel was a mature man and a combat veteran. You were sixteen and knew nothing of the world. You call that a level playing field? I doubt Hershel would.”

“I’m not your intellectual match. Thank you for going by the house. I’ll be seeing you on location, I guess.”

He put his drink down on the floor and stood up. “Are you saying good-bye?”

“I don’t know. Do you want to divorce your wife? Do you want to marry me and start spending the holidays with my relatives in Bogalusa? Would your father and his friends approve of me? Would your father have my Jewish agent in his house? Would he like Rosita?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

“I think you probably would. You’re quite a guy, Roy. The problem is, I’ve never figured out who you are. Maybe your wife has and sees a kindred spirit in you. That thought frightens me to death.”

She went out the door and began walking toward her automobile. She heard the chain-link door on the tennis court swing open behind her. “Miss Pine?” a voice said.

“Yes?” she said, turning around.

“I’m Bill Green. I’ve always wanted to meet you,” Roy’s tennis partner said. His hair was as black and shiny as a raven’s, his face fine-boned. “Wiseheart and I are old friends.”

“He told me. You were fraternity brothers.”

“That’s why I have to teach the bum a lesson on the tennis court sometimes. He’s a fierce competitor. I let him have that last point because you were watching.”

“I see. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Green.”

“You have to go?”