Sutherland

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Anyone else would have stumbled in the darkness, but Jennalee climbed the bluff like an antelope, leaping when the Kreutzer’s finale began. She knew the sonata well; she and Mr. Mendel had spent much of her final year on it, and her fingers fluttered in recognition. She ran toward the summit and hopped up onto level ground, where moonlight illuminated the area like a city street corner.

He was back near the oak, face in shadow, but she recognized the hair and the white vest which lost its pinstripe to the dark. She didn’t intrude, but waited near the edge and, when he’d completed the rousing presto, she applauded. “Do you know the Spring, too?” she asked as she crept forward.

He didn’t answer right away but stood there, violin in one hand, bow in the other. “Yeah,” he finally said. “Do you?”

“Piano. We had it down…” She began to cry and he slipped his instrument and bow into the open case, then came to her.

“I like the Kreutzer better,” he offered. “Do you know it?”

Jennalee nodded and cried all the harder, hands traveling from eyes to nose to mouth as she fought the onslaught. Harley handed her a rumpled handkerchief. “Let it go,” he said as he guided her to the bluff’s edge and sat her down beside him. They remained silent until Jennalee ran dry.

“I hope the Kreutzer didn’t do that,” he said.

She smiled. “Some. It was so moving. I heard it down below and couldn’t believe my ears. It came down the hill like some prayer.”

“I think God might be pissed at the analogy, but thanks.”

Jennalee sniffed and blew her nose.

“Harley Laidlaw,” he said, extending a hand.

“Lee Preece.”

“So there’s a piano down there now?” Harley asked, holding onto her hand.

“In the Oak Room where you have your big dinner or whatever. My folks put it in for me.”

“Our whatever. How long have you been playing?”

“Since I was four.”

“And now you’re…”

“Eighteen. How about you?”

“Piano at three, fiddle at five.”

“And now?’

“Nineteen.”

“You’re really good.”

“I’ll bet you are, too.” He squeezed her fingers and got up. When she stirred, he told her to stay put, and behind her began to play something she didn’t recognize, a slow piece that wrapped around her and made her cry all over again. “Elgar,” Harley said from the shadows and she asked for more.

“More Elgar,” he said and continued while Jennalee stretched out, shut her eyes, and let her fingers play over the dry grass.

“You better not be asleep,” Harley said when he finally sat beside her, concert over. She opened her eyes to his profile, sharp features lost to the cockscomb hair.

“Floating,” she murmured and he stretched out next to her. “I can still hear it,” she said, “that first Elgar.”

“Salut d’Amour.”

“And that other one?”

“Canto Popolare.”

“You don’t know which one I mean.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I should get back,” Jennalee said, sitting up. “It must be really late and my dad would s**t if he knew I was up here.” When Harley said nothing, she asked, “Are you planning to stay up here all night?”

“Probably.”

“You share a room with Garth, don’t you?”

After a pause, Harley offered, “He’s an asshole, you know.”

“Yeah,” she managed and she sat for some time looking down at the inn and the lights that dotted the winding path. She pictured Garth in the pool ramming himself into one of the inflatable toys. “I should go,” she said.

“See ya.”

I should, she told herself, but instead she sank back onto the grass and closed her eyes. “I should,” she repeated before falling asleep next to Harley Laidlaw.

Vivaldi split the dawn and Jennalee opened her eyes and smiled as she thought the maestro might if he happened to be looking down onto this impudent protégé. Harley was grinning when she sat up, but it wasn’t his look that told her he loved this music, it was the music itself, high notes so pure and clear, lower registers so full they ached. She swam between the two as bow darted and fingers skated and she decided this was possibly the best start to a day she’d ever experienced.

The bluff was bathed in that early heat that still holds a measure of night, a residual cool on the ground that chilled Jennalee’s backside. The oak’s shadow stretched over the bluff, speckling everything, including Harley as he brought the piece to a thrilling conclusion. “What was that?” Jennalee asked. “It’s gotta be Vivaldi, but which piece?”

“Sonata No. 2.”

“What a way to wake up!”

“I hope the others share your enthusiasm.”

She almost replied, “f**k them.” She would have if Jimmy what’s-his-name had been talking to her or any of the Malvern boys or even Garth Laidlaw, but it didn’t fit to say it to Harley, never mind how he looked. She was discovering appearance had little to do with him and yet she was starting to find that very thing appealing. “More,” she urged, and he nodded and took off on another baroque whirl.

“Think they’re all awake?” he asked later when he sat beside her. He kept the violin with him, and when Jennalee reached tentatively toward it, he handed it to her.

“I don’t play,” she said, but still she put the instrument to her chin and squeezed the neck. “It’s the only thing I have against piano, the distance. Sometimes I want to crawl inside and pluck the strings.” With her right hand, she stroked the G. “It must feel wonderful,” she said, “vibrations coming right up under your fingertips.”

She found him staring at her. “That’s what I like best,” he said. “The piano was this huge beast and it pretty much overwhelmed me, but that first little violin…” He laughed softly. “We called it the Lundstrom because this guy, Fred Lundstrom, pawned it and never came back. What kind of parent pawns his kid’s violin? My mom had already seen piano wasn’t going to fly with me so she brings this thing home and I start squeaking and scratching on it and it felt so good. It still does; it’s never changed except I’ve gotten past the squeaking and scratching.”

“It came from a pawn shop?”

Harley nodded and she handed him back his violin. “The family business,” he explained as he rested the fiddle on his knee. “Grandpa Laidlaw started it back in the forties and my dad got it when he died, but Mom really runs it. Dad’s pretty much what you see.”

“Is your mom a musician?”

“She was. Her grandfather Adair was a pianist, but her dad didn’t follow and then she came along, the new family hope, this little keyboard genius, but she met Earl Laidlaw and that pretty much did her in.”

Jennalee said nothing. She watched his playfulness fade. “She’s really good,” Harley continued, “but she got pregnant with Garth and they got married with all hell breaking loose because a Sutherland had broken ranks and her dad was ready to kill and then gradually I guess it all settled down and Garth was there and life goes on.”

“How come you’re the musician and not him?”

“Dad claimed him, practically cloned him. You’ve seen the result.”

“Then you came along.”

“Three years later, yeah, and Mom was ready this time. She offered Dad a deal he couldn’t refuse.”

“Deal?”

He was smiling now; she felt him relax again. “Harley Laidlaw. Think about it.”

“Then you are named after the bike.”

He nodded. “Dad wanted it the first time around and she said no way, but this time she knew it was the only card she had to play. He could name me Harley if he allowed her to teach me music.”

Jennalee laughed, then caught herself. “Sorry, it’s not funny.”

“Yes, it is.”

“So is your middle name Davidson?”

“No. There are limits. It’s Adair, after Great Grandad.”

“What a saga.”

He sighed, got up, and put the violin into its case. “Won’t they be looking for you?” he asked.

Jennalee hated the intrusion. It seemed that was all her parents did anymore, but she saw Harley’s genuine concern and conceded. “Probably. You hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s get something to eat.”

Sutherlands had taken their coffee and rolls outside to settle at assorted tables and chairs scattered in clusters on the large patio immediately behind the main building. Several nodded to Harley, but none spoke. “They love us,” he told Jennalee as they reached the lobby.

Gerald Preece was deep in conversation with a tall, white-haired woman who flapped her arms as she gestured. She wore a sleeveless aqua jumpsuit with silver belt, silver sandals, and silver hair that looked to Jennalee like a hard hat. Jennalee was glad her father’s attention was diverted, but found her mother’s much the opposite, drilling her as she charged through Sutherland circles. “I want to talk to you, young lady!” She reached for her daughter, but Jennalee whirled and came to rest behind Harley.

“Mother, this is Harley Laidlaw. Harley, my mother, Jane Preece.”

“Mrs. Preece, it’s a pleasure.” He held out a hand and Jane took it, then quickly let go.

“That was Harley playing this morning up on the bluff. You heard, didn’t you? Wasn’t it great?”

Jane Preece was derailed exactly as her daughter intended, staring first at Harley’s hair, then his earring, then his shoes—black and white wingtips. “Harley,” she said tentatively, “yes, beautiful music, but Lee has some responsibilities she needs to attend to so—”

“Can’t I even eat?” Jennalee whined so loudly heads turned. “I’m starving!”

Jane’s jaw went rigid. “All right, but then I’ve got things for you to do.”

Jennalee nudged Harley’s lower back. “C’mon,” she whispered as her mother strode to the desk.

“You’re in trouble,” Harley said later as they ate donuts and coffee on a section of unoccupied lawn.

“Nah. She’s so busy it’ll all get lost and maybe I will, too. What are you up to today? What goes on at this shindig?”

Harley stuffed the last of a glazed donut into his mouth and took his time answering. “It’s already going on. Hi, how ya been, what ‘cha doin’, my how you’ve grown. It starts out like that, then somewhere along the way somebody gets drunk and says too much or too little, and somebody else gets pissed, and then we’re into the heart of Sutherland territory. By Sunday night, the real fireworks will be anticlimactic.”

“So what do you do?” Jennalee prodded, his elusiveness unsettling her.

“Practice. And stay out of the way.”

“Can you get one of the bikes? We could go for a ride.”

“No.”

“Don’t you ride?”

“Not anymore.”

His tone had such a finality that Jennalee went no further. She brushed crumbs from her lap and stood up when he did. “I’ll see you later,” he said and she watched him stride away.

She remained fixed until he was out of sight, then hurried after him, slipping behind corners to follow him to his room, where she saw Garth push the motorcycle out the door. Harley stood to one side and they spoke briefly before Garth hit the starter. He alone caught Jennalee looking—Harley had gone inside—and she froze when he rode up the lane, then cut across the lawn to her. “How about a ride?” he said, gunning the engine in a slow rhythmic pulse.

Jennalee ran a hand back through her hair and looked out toward the hills. She could hear her mother telling her no, herself telling her no, but he kept gunning the bike and she felt that familiar quickening. “Okay,” she said and climbed on. “But let’s go somewhere else.”

“Name it.”

“Turn right onto the main road, go about six miles, then make a left.”

They put on the required helmets and he settled back against her, pulling her arms around him and pushing her hand to his crotch. She could feel him growing there, and when his hand left hers, she didn’t retreat. At this he kicked the bike into gear. They loped easy through the grounds and she presented a studied aloofness to Sutherland glances, savoring both the promise and danger of her assignation.

Six miles of Garth Laidlaw’s erection set her squirming, and when his hand reached back to her thigh, she opened to him as far as was possible on the narrow seat. She leaned forward to give directions and he followed, guiding the motorcycle with only his right hand.

Jennalee led him to a forgotten shed she used with the Malvern boys. They’d made a s*x nest of sorts: old blankets, empty beer cans, potato chip bags, and used condoms scattered about. As soon as they were inside, Garth was at her and she didn’t resist. “We need to use something,” she reminded him as he pulled off her tank top and kneaded her breasts. He kept at her until she added, “I insist.”

He pulled away, face flushed, extracted a condom from his pocket, applied it, then stripped away her clothes. He took a long look at her before pushing down his jeans and all but knocking her to the floor. He was inside her in seconds, pumping as his fingers dug into her hips. She felt herself rising, her own urgency pushing forward, but then he was coming, slamming at her, and everything within her retreated. Afterward she lay with her arms wrapped around him, rubbing his back while trying to feel something beyond a sense of abandonment.

“You are one good f**k,” he said as he raised up off her. He gave her a slow thrust before pulling out and holding the condom up to her. “Full load,” he said, grinning before tossing it into a corner.

She reached up to run her hand over his chest, reminding herself how handsome he was, more so than Howard who she’d once thought the ultimate. And this was a man, not some high school boy; this was c**k, not some puny p***s dangling beneath gym shorts. This guy had a load. She liked the sound of that and she sat up and tossed her hair back.

“What’re you after?” he asked and she smiled as she saw herself queen again. She parted her legs and ran her tongue along her upper lip.

“All right,” he said and he eased her back, pulled her legs up over his shoulders, and dove in. As his tongue brought her along, she told herself over and over that this was a man, her man, and he was doing her like she’d commanded. When her climax arrived she cried out, so grand the release.

“I sure had you wrong,” Garth said when he sat up. He wiped his arm across his mouth. “You know what you’re doing.”

Jennalee said nothing. She gave him a half-smile and allowed a sigh of satisfaction. “You get enough?” Garth asked.

She said, “For now.”

He was up then, zipping his jeans. “Want to go get a Coke?” she asked as she dressed. “How about we hit the McDonald’s?”

“I need to get back,” Garth replied. “I told my dad I’d help him with his bike. It started crapping out on the ride up and we’ve got to get it fixed before we start back. Maybe later.”

“Sure. No problem.” On the ride back, Jennalee clung to him but he felt taut now, unresponsive.