Chapter 31

Stoney's turn:

Okay, I do admit that meeting Dan Richards and his surprising wife Cindy left me thinking. I was serious. Cindy, barely fifteen, was a cutie.

"Jo, drag out the baby pictures," I said.

"Baby pictures?"

"Yeah, I want to see what you looked like growing up."

"I don't have 'em. Mom keeps those."

"I wanna see 'em," I said. "You might've been a horribly ugly child. I want to prepare myself for our offspring."

She slapped the back of my head. "I was a wildly beautiful child in an unconventional way."

I had no doubts. I thought about a gangly redheaded girl. Trouble was, I now HAD a picture of a fifteen year old redhead. Okay, Cindy's hair is not quite as bright a red as Jo's. Cindy's like a worn penny. Jo's is like one that's only slightly tarnished.

"We need to get those pictures. Scan them."

"I'll tell her to box 'em up and send 'em."

"I'm calling right now." She fast-fingered her iPhone and held it to her ear. "Hi, Mom!" Pause. "Yes, your son-in-law is doing quite well. He can walk short distances without a crutch." Pause. "Yes ma'am, I did have a reason to call. A bunch, actually." Pause. "First, I love my mom and dad. Second, my husband, YOUR son-in-law, wishes to see what I looked like growing up. Wants to make sure you don't get an ugly grand-child."

She held the phone away from her ear to avoid the expected, inevitable squeal. "Here, you talk to him." She passed me the phone.

"Hello, Stoney," Bridgette said. "Let me assure you that your wife was a beautiful child, in that knobby-kneed, freckle-infested, redhead tradition."

"And now her knees are no longer knobby," I laughed.

"How's your leg, Stoney?"

"Getting better every day. I can clump around the house without crutches."

"And our Johanna is being properly caring..."

"And nurturing," I added.

"What brought on the desire to see her pictures?"

"You mean, other than the fact that I adore her?"

"Is that her squealing?" Bridgette said. "Stoney, you're spoiling her."

"Happily so," I said. "We had another couple over, and the wife was a fifteen year old redhead..."

"Wife? Fifteen?" Bridgette gasped.

"Long story," I said. "Good ending. Anyway, it got me to wondering what my own Johanna looked like as she grew up."

"Ahhhh," Bridgette said. "At the risk of sounding like a doting mother, which I am, you will find her pictures a delightful history of my beautiful daughter. We'll bring them down next time we come to town."

"That's wonderful. You want to talk with your daughter some more?"

"Yes. Put her on. And Stoney, have a good evening."

"Thank you Bridgette. Tell Anders that I said hello." I passed the phone back to Jo and lifted myself up for a bathroom trip, leaving the two of them talking.

When I got back, I eased back down beside Jo. We lounged lazily for a while, listening to music, talking.

"Trade places," she said, wiggling out of my arms.

I know the drill. She gets up, I pull up to sitting position, she sits back down beside me, I lay back with my head resting on her thigh, and get the daylights caressed out of my face. Life could be better. I could have my leg back at what passes for a hundred percent, but for what things are right now, things are pretty good. She adores me and I adore her right back. Wonderful, it is.

Her fingertip touched my nose. "Can you stand a soup and grilled cheese sandwich dinner?"

"Yes. Anyone announced a visit for tonight?"

"Nope. Just you and me. All by ourselves."

"I regret that I can't chase you around the house naked."

Giggle. "Sometimes hunting is not about the chase. Sometimes the hunter waits and his quarry comes to him."

"Just so I get to eat my quarry," I said.

"Sir!" she squealed. "Take care. You hunt dangerous game. The hunter may become the hunted." The giggles came tumbling out as she settled into my arms.

I wrapped her in my arms, inwardly cursing my partially functional leg. Her back was against my chest. I nuzzled the top of her head, feeding my senses.

"I'll never get dinner made like this, sir," she said.

"We can live on love," I countered.

"Nuh-uh!" she squealed "I've heard your stomach when you get hungry."

"Well, dear, if that characteristic of my digestive tract is an impediment to our continued happiness, then perhaps a meal is in order."

"I will do dinner. Then we will shower, and I guarantee I will wear you out," she smiled.

"I see that as a challenge. I'm not the one subject to losing consciousness during orgasm..."

She kissed me long. "That's because I have YOU for a partner."

Okay, Jo has played with 'grilled cheese sandwich' and taken it further, eschewing the sliced American cheese and white bread in favor of something from a cheese case at the market and bread from the bakery, and soup is something we make a big pot of on occasion and freeze in serving-sized clods. So it was good soup. And good cheese sandwiches. And good company.

And I'm walking better. Around the house I dispense with the crutch or the cane. And in bed ... Well, Johanna still likes to be on top, leg or not, so I'll settle for that concession. I get to gaze up into that angelic face, blue eyes sparkling, the grin, the formation of freckles, and all that is given to me freely, lovingly, and in ways my feeble imagination never was able to generate.

That takes care of evenings. I was dying during the day. My doctor, despite my entreaties, wasn't ready to release me for work.

"Randall..."

"Yessir."

"You try too hard already."

"Doc, I've been through this before."

"You were ten years younger."

"I promise I won't walk but short distances, I'll rest, and I'll use the cane."

"Randall, the week before Christmas. NO sooner."

"You don't understand. I am an engineer. It's not like I'm scaling the high iron downtown."

"The week before Christmas."

"Yessir..."

Despite the fact that I was much more able to care for myself, Key's visits didn't stop. "Jo, really, I don't mind. He studies with me. We even play music together."

That got me the "Stoney. You and Key?" talk.

"Key's got Hutch. I LIKE Hutch. I'd never do anything but be a friend to Key for a million reasons, Johanna Elise."

"A Million?"

"Yeah, and nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred of them are the love I have for every freckle on your pretty face."

Squeal. "I don't have THAT many freckles."

"They multiply in my head. You know how I am about your freckles."

"You're just strange. But Key..."

"Beautiful. Smart. But NOT you. I married you. That's a forever thing and I don't mean I get to dip in another pool from time to time."

"Key's..."

"Exotic? No ... Well, yeah, but not as exotic as a freckled, redheaded, Irish-Norwegian concert musician who loves sailing."

"Because she's black?"

"Oh, heavens, no. The girl's a delight, but there are societal hurdles there. But the biggest hurdle, dear, is that I am in love with you."

"So it's safe, her coming over?"

"Yes. She's sane. I'm sane. We have something in common: You're adored by both of us."

"But she told me that if she was into 'white boys'..."

"When'd she say that?"

"When we first started dating."

"Baby, you know that she took me off the list when I became your possession. As I did with any other woman, when I met you."

She flopped atop me. "Good answer. Because I'm that way about you, too, Mister Jackson."

"So my friend can still come over and play?" I asked, smiling.

"As long as the game doesn't involve 'hide the pickle'." Giggle.

"Johanna, I love you."

"And I love you. And that's a forever thing."

Of course, I should know that such a conversation would be passed on between two girls who'd roomed together.

Key looked up from her iPad when I walked back into the living room. "You're limping less, Stoney."

"I'm doing pretty good between the kitchen and the sofa. I get kind of twitchy going across the parking lot," I replied as I sat down.

Dark brown eyes regarded me. "Jo talked with you about you an' me, huh?"

Okay. How much did Jo tell her best friend? "Yeah..."

"I think it's cute," Key said. "You know Jo's my best friend, huh?"

"That's the way I understood it. Why?"

"Because since you an' her connected, you're like one of my best friends, too."

"I count myself privileged."

She giggled. "As well you should. But..."

"But what?"

"Got me a Hutch."

"Got you a great guy, as best I can tell. Of course, he and I never have long conversations about relationships..."

Another giggle. "Not a guy thing," she said. "But yeah, I think so. But I know she told you that I said that if I was into white boys..."

"I count myself privileged again."

"You should. And I love you like a brother. An' I love Jo like a sister."

"Makes us good friends."

She smiled. "Yes it does. And your wife loves you to pieces. And me, too ... I love both of you."

So let's just leave it like that. So when Jo pushed the door open one afternoon, I was sitting on the sofa at one end with my banjo and Key was at the other with her oboe.

"Gitcha flute, white girl," Key laughed.

"We've reached a conclusion, Johanna," I said.

"Oh?" Her eyebrow arched. I'd seen the same expression on her mom.

"If you think that flute and banjo is incongruous, you oughtta consider banjo and oboe."

"An' I was gonna get 'im to wear blackface..." Key giggled. She caught Jo's expression. "Yeah, I can say that. I'm a black girl."

Squeal! "You ARE? I just thought you were just well-tanned!"

"PFFFFFFT!" Key stuck her tongue at Jo.

We played a bit, heard a soft knock at the door. Jo answered it. "Oh, please come in," she said.

The Hlinkas came in, accompanied by the aroma of freshly baked cookies.

"You don't have to pay your way in here, Mizz Betta," I said. "But you do make the best cookies."

Georg smiled. "A man who comes home to the smells of those in his home is a fortunate man indeed." He surveyed the room. "Of course, a man who can sit in his home and make beautiful music with two lovely ladies is equally fortunate."

"We're just playing around, Mister Georg," Key said.

"As we did in my youth, Miss Key," He said. "Betta and her friends would sit and listen and laugh as my friends and I loved and lived and laughed with our music. To be free, to have the power to make music, it was good." His old eyes slipped far away, then returned. "Very good. And I am able to see it again in you."

Key's face was soft, understanding. She's not a dummy in the first place, and not insensitive, in the second. She realized what she was hearing. "Mister Georg, thank you so much for saying that to me. Mizz Betta, no wonder you married 'im. He's got the heart of a poet."

"Oh, my dear, you should have seen him at twenty-two. He made my heart leap. He still does." She smiled. Fifty years of wrinkles disappeared as in my mind's eye I saw Georg and Betta as my Johanna and me.

"Mister Georg, play with us," Jo said.

He smiled. He had Key's old oboe case with him. "You young people make us remember..." as he opened the case and assembled the instrument. He and Key tuned up, then we played bits and pieces of familiar classical pieces for an hour before Betta gathered Georg up to return to their apartment and Key had to leave to go meet Hutch.

I sat there as Jo picked up a few plates and glasses.

"Do you see what we just did, Stoney-guy?" she queried.

"I saw something. What did YOU see?"

"Time travel," she said. " I know I saw Georg and Betta as themselves in 1968."

"That's what I saw."

She smiled. "I hope they saw it, too."

"I know they did," I said. "If, indeed, they ever stopped seeing it."